I can’t remember our ages but I know we were still in comprehensive school. We were camping in the woods and Appetite for Destruction was jumping out of the beat box. It was cool; I think it was sometime between autumn and spring, and there was no sign of wind, just an eerie calm permeated by the occasional mad shriek of Axl Rose. The choices of poison ranged from Mad Dog 20/20, a bottle of wine, cans of Breaker; and I distinctly remember seeing a pack of stout. How strange? We had no money, so we stole what we could from the drinking cabinets of our parent’s homes. The adults were wholly responsible for the eclectic mix, but they were unaware of their influence.
We hadn’t planned on camping. In fact, we didn’t even have a tent. The original plan was for a house party, but my friend’s parents returned unexpectedly. So it was through improvisation that I now found myself lying on a bed of brown leaves. They were slightly damp, as were the back of my jeans; and the knickers of the girl that I was fondling. My tongue was darting in and out of her mouth, and occasionally it would brush against my friend’s phrase producer as he savagely probed and pushed from the other side. Without the poison it would have been an uncomfortable gay moment. Instead, it was just a tongue in a mouth with two other tongues. If it flapped, it was licked, simple as that. When the ménage a trois had started everything was nice and gentle, but there was an edge to it now. Her jeans were still hugging her hips, and just her top button was open – zip-fallen, with two hands fingering and frolicking inside.
Under questioning, people who drink alcohol will often big up the positives and suffer amnesia at the mere mention of the negatives. One of the positives that are often cited is the loss of inhibition. It’s a good thing. It helps the shy amongst us infiltrate the world of the not so shy. It aids social occasions because after a few shots of the poison everyone loosens up. Well this girl was certainly loosening up. Her loss of inhibition was certainly a positive for my friend and I; and the girl herself wasn’t complaining either. She was moaning, of that I am sure, but I don’t think the groans were of a disapproving nature. I doubt her parents thought the loss of inhibition was a good thing.
It wasn’t just the three of us writhing in the leaves; everyone was at it. The poor unfortunate few who didn’t have a mate to grope had ringside seats. Nobody needed privacy. Loss of inhibition does that to you too. The flesh was free. Anyone could ogle and anyone could touch. Soon the threesome became a foursome. There was no more room in the mouth. Three fat tongues are enough, but there was plenty of body to go around. By this time her jeans were down to her ankles. It was all getting a little crazy. I remember looking at her and her eyes were sewn shut. She was lost. I have no idea where she was, but she was lost and completely oblivious. Intoxicated.
By the time the school bell would next toll she would be called a slag. Everyone in the school would hear about the orgy because the boys would tell everyone. Her rosy red shame reflected in the fiery heat of our pride. We would tell the world about how great the night was. None of us would remember it, but that is exactly why it was great. I wonder how the poor girl felt? I wonder if she remembered everything that happened?
That’s what we used to do when we were younger. We would get pissed and fuck anything that moved. At the start of the night we would set our sights high, and by the end of it anything would have done. I was 14-years old when I lost my virginity. I was sober that night, but I doubt I ever had a one-night stand thereafter when I was in control of my faculties. You just have to stand up and applaud the loss of inhibition that the poison produces. After all it is a virtue that everyone stands and salutes. It was also the loss of inhibition that enabled me to avoid wearing condoms. Strange the girls didn’t ask for me to wear them either. I am pretty sure no one wanted a baby, or the diseases that can often stop you producing one. But that’s the beauty of inhibition. That’s why everyone sings its praises: Oh Sweet Child O’ Mine.
This is why I never wanted a baby girl. I was always scared of the poison; the tales of the wondrous elixir of life and how it has the potential to help you lose your inhibitions. Like the girl lying on the bed of leaves; four boys hanging off her like leaches; dark blood oozing likes the stout that went before her.
People who drink alcohol often cite the loss of inhibition as a positive reason to drink. I tend to disagree. Where do you stand on this point of view?
Photo courtesy of wackybadger (CC&Flickr.com)