I passed out at Frank’s last night, and his house smells like flowers and sunshine. Instead of passing out on his couch, he offered me his bed, to ease his conscious for ruining yet another night. He never allows me to sleep in his bed, unless he did something wrong, no matter how much I complained of neck pain. It was either we slept in the same bed, yes he loved cuddling, even with a vagina, or I had to sleep on the couch. No, I frankly didn’t care about sharing a bed with a gay friend, but I knew my mother whom lives at least 400 miles away would object. You see even when you live on your own, the quilt of your mother follows like you a constant companion. And so I chose the couch at all times rather then sharing the bed with him. In the morning I would lie beside him, and we would talk about the night before. Sometimes hitting the gym together, but mostly buying junk food and eating it.
Last night we went out, got super drunk, and he ended up dancing on some random dude’s VIP table. We got kicked out, him for being an idiot, and me for being with the idiot. We walked all the way to his place laughing our asses off, until we woke up this morning and realized what he had done. I had a huge bruise on my arm, from being escorted out. This would be my second or third time being kicked out of a club because of him. The last it was because he threw a beer bottle at his ex’s head. He missed, but we still go kicked out. The third I don’t remember. I’ve also almost got arrested once for drinking in public. I wasn’t drinking, I was already drunk out of mind, but the police caught Frank with an entire bottle of Girls Night wine: Our favourite. He ran away, as I stood like an idiot in shock. The police did two thinks to me. They made me freeze, and the made me freeze. So I stood there like an idiot, in my heels, contemplating to run as the officer was a chub chub, only to realize my heels wouldn’t get me very far. And so I stood, looking around frantically, hoping to be saved by someone. Yes, that was the kind of friend he was, he would leave anyone behind to save his ass. And so I had to give up his name or get arrested. I did neither. I pretended not to speak English. How I came up with that idea? I have no fucking idea. It was one of those genius ideas that comes to you when you’re intoxicated. They kept asking me what language I spoke and so I kept saying no English and die. Eventually they got tired of me, and let me go, but not before giving me a ticket for public intoxication. That was the way with Frank, when he drank, he was a bucket of fun. It was always just him and I. I liked going to gay clubs way more, because it make me feel less quilty. While in heterosexuals clubs you had to worry about some sleeze laying his dick on you, in the gay clubs the gays didn’t care about girls. If ANYTHING they wanted them out of their clubs. Gays were there to get laid, but the straight girls were taking away their thunder. Every time we went out Frank complained that people noticed my outfits more then his.
“Aishhh I told you to dress down! You’re getting all the compliments again!”
But I never listened to him. A gay’s approval was worth a 1000 straight mens approval. And so we frequented the gay clubs dressed to the nines, because A, no one would find me there, and B I didn’t need to worry about some creep creeping behind me. Frank, however wasn’t impressed. He needed all eyes on him, and I hardly let let that happen. I can tell you some of my best nights was hanging out with that fun asshole, but I can also tell you that his friendship was like a bad relationship of ups and downs. Nights, where he would leave me all alone with out a word, and nights where he would make me run in heels, because he kept his pee in the whole time at the club (he had a thing against peeing in public). Who the hell has a thing against peeing in public when you have a penis? Yeah, I don’t know anyone either.