boozy sluts and mistletoe

here's why you don't let me drink. i am a boozy slut. it's sad, really. kind of gimmicky. like the whole 'not getting gremlins wet' thing. it sounds lame and made up. like a quirk you'd give yourself in an effort to seem more interesting.

yet it's true. i can't hold my liquor. it makes me all sexxed up and wanton and prone to make mistakes and be indiscreet.

he invites me to a christmas party. we're not an item, just a couple of good friends who are growing increasingly tingly around one another. immediately, there are jello shots. i don't really drink, but it's jello and almost yuletide, so i partake. he looks so damn cute tonight. i'm remembering laughing in his car until 4 a.m. the other morning. and how i couldn't think of a way to kiss him.

i spy the mistletoe and say (oh so subtle, oh so smooth) "you should go stand under it and see if anyone kisses you."

he does and i do. the rest of the party is a haze of booze and smooching and people inviting us to 'come back tuesday night and make out in the hallway again.' sure, we'll come back tuesday!

then, we're back at his place with a few friends. they smoke out, i don't. he rests a hand, nice and easy on my bare leg and i lay my head on his shoulder. everyone chatters around us. but we are still. finally, i get up and say that i should go, but (ready, here's another smooth line) "hey, i've never seen your bedroom, you should show me"

he tumbles me onto the bed. we don't go for the whole show, but i drop my blue ribbon 'butterly' move on him. and he's real happy. we cuddle. but i start to feel sober. in both senses of the word. i say "i have to go." he wraps his arms tight around me.

"don't leave" he holds me and looks full into my face. "stay"

but i go.