“Blue Balls”



Forty-eight dark bottles stand on the long counter, proudly displaying the labels that showcase the expensive burgundy liquid they contain. I regard them as they stare back at me in silence, not needing to say anything as the cursive font of Italian words and old dates speak for them.

I try to recall the last time I had wine—or anything stronger than a cup of coffee.

It’s been years since I’ve had a real drink. Probably not since my twenty-first birthday, and even then I only downed a few shots before I completely spiraled into a drunken stupor.

Not my proudest moment.

I’ve tried to hold my liquor on every single occasion I’ve made the mistake of having any but it’s no use. I’m a hopeless lightweight. I just don’t get along with alcohol—or maybe alcohol doesn’t get along with me, I don’t know. Plus, it just makes me feel really weird. And strangely horny—which really isn’t fun unless you have someone other than your drunken, incapacitated self to take care of said horniness for you. I think it was that night I realized girls can have “blue balls”, too.

Not quite the vision I had to ending my first night as a legal drinker.

You need to be logged in to view the rest of the content. Please . Not a Member? Join Us

Leave A Comment

Please Login to Comment.

I accept that my given data and my IP address is sent to a server in the USA only for the purpose of spam prevention through the Akismet program.More information on Akismet and GDPR.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.