Come In

You say, "I get it. It wasn't that long ago that I was your age. You're young and crazy and reckless and it's fucking awesome. If you're anything like I was, you're probably going to get drunk, feel each other up, and head to a party for some drinks, dancing, and knocking boots. That's if you don't wind up fucking each other until you pass out in some one's lawn first. Right?"

The group shares a moment of silence. Some of them look amused, others look oddly guilty, but all shocked by the way you're speaking to them. They're certainly not children, but still young enough to hear a more seasoned adult speak to them like this.

"I'll take that as a yes," you say with a warm smile. "So here's the thing. I can't just give you hard liquor."

You stifle the emerging group groan by putting a hand up and continue: "Think about it. Some uptight Karen is gonna catch you and call it in. That's open container violations, drunk and disorderly-- not to mention the cops asking you where you got the booze since you're under 21."

"How do you know we're not old enough?" The coquettish co-ed dressed like Dorothy asks.

You smile at her cheekiness, but quickly answer, "Because this is the same shit I did before I was 21. Now, I know you want to have a good time, but like I said, I can't just hand you a couple bottles."

Jason sighs, "It's cool, man. Worth a shot. "

The group begins to saunter away. You let their disappointment hang for a moment. You know that if you let them think they struck out, any offer you make after has a better shot of landing. After all, they weren't that confident when they originally asked and probably could tell that you live alone. Odds are you were there best shot at getting anything that night. You can't believe what you're planning to do, and have no idea what will happen even if they accept your offer. But fortune favors the bold.

So you let them make it all the way off your porch before you call out: "Wait a minute...I think I know how I can help you out. "

The group shares bemused glances with each other as they make their way back to your door.

"So, I can't let you go wandering the neighborhood with open bottles, BUT..." you lower your voice. There's no one around who could hear you, but you hope the secretive tone makes them feel included in some priveleged, conspiratorial way. If they feel that you're all in it together, who knows they might be open to.

"If you're down," you go on, "y'all can drink here. "

You see them mulling it over and you can sense the **** in the group. So you sweeten the deal.

"It's still early and I can't be your last stop of the night. I've got a fully stocked bar back here and good liquor should never go to waste. My pantry isn't so bad either, so you don't have to drink on an empty stomach. You guys can have a crack at whatever looks good."

You can see the group begin to soften.

You tell them, "You hang out, drink, eat, and leave whenever you're ready to go. My only condition is that you let me call you guys an Uber so I can send you on your way with a clean conscience. Deal?"

You don't show it, but you're nervously anticipating the answer. You remember how wild and down for anything you were back in college, how every night could potentially turn into an adventure and how fearless you were, like the world was a giant bounce house and nothing could hurt or hinder you. You also remember how incurably horny you were and all of the debauchery that you discovered when you let your libido take the wheel-- though that hasn't much changed. You're really hoping these kids are the same.