"Not really, but he's a GREAT guy"

The timing was ridiculous, but what can I say? That’s how it happened. I froze, not wanting to eavesdrop but too close to avoid it. Corrine thought for a second and then answered, “You know, I don’t think so. It’s nice having a guy I can talk to who doesn’t treat me like I’m just a pair of boobs, but he’s not really that attractive. I bet he will be one day, maybe when he’s thirty or whatever. But he’s a GREAT guy.” Soon as she said it, Corrine realized I was standing there and she reflexively apologized. I assured her it was no big deal. We were just friends, anyway. I gave her a quick hug, inwardly groaning at the feel of her tits squashed against my chest, and headed outside to get some air.

Thirty?! I thought. Some consolation prize that is. I’ll be fuckable by the time I’m ready to settle down.

I needed another beer. It wasn’t that I was devastated to be rejected by Corrine–hell, I’d been expecting that. It was how her words had confirmed my worst fears: I was doomed to be “just friends” for the rest of my life.

An hour later, I was reclining on the hammock in the front yard, wallowing in self-pity over my bad luck with women, when a body dropped on me and snapped me out of it, a stray elbow clocking me in the face. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Talia laughed, clearly blazed out of her mind, “I totally didn’t see you there!”

I assured her it was no big deal, and she mumbled something incoherent about me being such a “great, great guy” or whatever. We were both too wasted to bother getting out of that hammock, so we just lay there together.

Talia and I barely knew each other. We’d shared a few classes over the years and I had seen her at one or two of Corrine’s parties, but at that moment there were only three things I could recall about her:

1. She was insane. I don’t mean the Ted Bundy/Ed Gein/Glenn Beck BAD kind of insane, I mean the GOOD kind of insane. Like a female Jack Sparrow, I guess? The kind of insane that livens up any party and provides you with a lifetime of anecdotes.
2. She was gorgeous. A raven-haired, smoky-eyed, exotic beauty with full, perky breasts and a fabulous ass she liked to show off with the skimpiest clothing she could find. And —
3. Talia was dating a twenty five-year-old **** dealer named Steve, who weighed about a hundred pounds more than me.

Regardless, I was horny, frustrated, mortified, and confused. And drunk. So I wasn’t exactly thinking straight when Talia started making out with me in the hammock a few minutes later. She was completely faded and her breath stunk of weed. Her kisses were awkward and sloppy, barely making contact with my mouth. It was about the least romantic scenario I could have hoped for, but I gave it my all, **** to prove Corrine wrong about my ability to attract a mate. My hands roamed her amazing body, daringly squeezing her firm, athletic ass–yes!