Fuzzy Wuzzy
Lance and I were friends from college. Realizing that in our group of comrades we were the sole singles amongst a sea of marrieds, we began sleeping together. It’s always funny when you start knocking uglies with a friend. All of a sudden, your entire social entourage decides that they knew you were destined to be together from the start. In reality, it’s two people that can skip the initial need to impress each other and head right for the bedroom.
Lance and I were going to a friend’s birthday party one night. I knew he had liked me for years but nothing had come of it. We met at his place, had a couple drinks and headed out. Our friend Joe was turning 30. Joe is what I would describe as a spritely character. He played football in college, boasting 4 championship rings, is currently an aspiring actor, and used to sell us weed in college. I gathered he also pimps on the side, judging by an interesting proposal he drunkly offered me one night, but that’s another story. Joe pulls out an Altoid container and motions my way.
“Dude, is my breath that kickin?” I ask.
“It’ll be fresh after this.” He gives me a wink.
He opens the aluminum case to unveil a mint container not accommodating tasty breath fresheners, but a powdery blanket of MDMA. Well something is sure to be fresh after this, I thought. I licked the tip of my index digit and dug into the 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine. The powder and crystals stuck to my distal phalange like glucose. Bottoms up. It amazes me how open people are about ingesting and sharing illegal substances in public at times.
I felt my oral orbicularis start to contract and my lips curled up. My masseters gear up and I start to grind on my gum I had just popped in anticipation of the bruxism. Dopamine & Norepinephrine gushed from my synaptic terminals. Serotonin was pumping like a Reebok sneaker in the 80s. I’m not the biggest fan of illicit substances, but ecstasy is utilized in therapeutic settings to reduce anxiety, create intimacy, and cause a general euphoria. In my text book of life, this makes it a medical necessity, practically a vitamin. All I could think about was how much I loved myself and my friends I was there with, especially Lance. 3 am hits and we are out the door and wildly making out in the back seat of a cab on our way to his place. The only thing I could think about was how amazing doing the humpty dumpty dance on this incredible pharmacological gift from the gods was going to be.
There is always this moment before a man opens his bedroom door that I find exciting. Not only for the obvious reasons of the events that are about to transpire, but there is something about the anticipation of discovering what his personal man cave looks like. A man’s fung shui says a lot about him. It gives a clue into his level of maturity. Does he have a grown up job and sports pottery barn, or is he still rocking the same plastic dresser from Ikea that he had in college? I’m as eager to become a cartographer as I am to get laid tonight.
We can barely make it into the apartment before clothes are repelling off of us like malaria reacting to DEET. We nearly knock down the door as he picks me up and throws me onto his bed. I am thoroughly enjoying the mixture of the festival of affection and flood of neurotransmitters until something distracts me. There was an odd texture underneath my hamstrings. It was soft, kinda fuzzy. For lack of a better description it felt as though I had landed onto a giant teddy bear.
As my dress pulled over my head, my areolas contracted from the sudden chill. I reached for the sheet to pull over us, but all I could feel was more teddy bear. Jesus, how big is this stuffed animal. This guy is a walking case as arrested development. What was his bed wrapped in, a giant sasquatch? I began to imagine the head of the bed had giant fluffy ears and instead of bed posts, the stands were made of the fur of yeti’s extremities.
He pulled a cover over us. More fuzz! I had to come up for air and inspect the situation. A quick once over of my surroundings and I came to the realization that his beddings situation was not the typical 400 count cotton sheets from bed bath and beyond that 99% of the male population boasts. The blankets, pillows, and fitted mattress cover were all constructed out of a grizzly bear’s wet dream. Every piece of textile on this mattress was harvested from a gutted stuff animal. I’m all about getting my wilderness on, buck naked on a bear skin rug. Maybe in front of a roaring fire place in an isolated log cabin to boost my primitive impulses but how could this be a person’s bedtime baseline?
He grabs a condom. Luckily rubber doesn’t resemble Winney the Pooh’s shlong. His personal carpet however matched the sheets. I could feel a full body vasodilation and intense diaphoresis as the temperature inside this two-person snuggy rose. I wasn’t sure if I was at a heightened sexual arousal or if I was starting to have a bad trip from the Molly. Both his personal situation and bedding choice needed some serious manscaping. I decided I wouldn’t venture downstairs, as I would have ended up with pubic hair for dental floss.
I was fornicating in a Furby’s vagina. It was warm and comforting, but I could feel the lint accumulating on my diaphoretic glutes. The thought crossed my mind of how many other women had experienced this and could I somehow hold a panel discussion to explore their reactions.
Neither one of us finished that night. Maybe it was the combination of drugs and alcohol. For me, it was probably due to feeling that I was trapped in a carnival game or on stage with Miley Cyrus at the VMAs circa 2013. The last thing I can remember is falling asleep cuddled up to the softest, largest teddy bear as I drifted away that night. Fuzzy wuzzy was a bust.
