After being “Eye candy” at the Patriots game, I spent most of the following week looking for work. As Jake I liked to work. My job as a motion graphics artist (I did graphics for television) was interesting and paid well. Plus people generally thought I had a cool job—people would ask what I did for a living, and I would say something like “Did you see the commercial with the aliens that buy a spaceship from the used car salesman? I did the aliens.” The reactions were always the same—“You did that!? That was amazing!” I pretended to be modest, but deep down I am an artist, and artists like to hear good things about their work. I guess I liked the attention I got as well.
These days I’m getting much more attention than I ever did as Jake. Unfortunately it isn’t work related. No, I get noticed everywhere I go because I have magic boobs. I say magic because my boobs seem to affect all those around me. People, mostly men, but a few women too—can not keep their eyes off of them. As Jake I had a girlfriend accuse me of having “elevator eyes” and she was right, I was admiring her curves. I wondered how she could tell where I was looking, and let me tell you: Guys it is incredibly obvious. Imagine trying to have a conversation with someone who was staring down at the floor. It is not subtle; you are not getting away with anything.
On the plus side, my magic boobs attract free things. I have been given more free things in this time as Ashlyn than I have in my entire life as Jake. People WANT to give me things. I have received free cab rides, been given free tickets to movies, and free food. Managers at restaurants suddenly appear at my table and say the meal is on them. I start going to a Starbucks at the same time everyday, and soon I start finding my order is there waiting for me when I walk in—and it is on the house. I’m constantly amazed by what people do to get close to my boobs.
Last Friday night the power of my boobs reached a new high—Billie, Jordan and I went out dancing and bar hopping. I wasn’t something I had wanted to do, but when they asked if wanted to go and I immediately said no, they turned on the pressure. Apparently Ashlyn has been a real bad roommate in the past. Jordan started listing all the reasons “I” owed the two of them, and I had no defense, for all I know the original Ashlyn was a real pain in the ass. I give in, I want to be on good terms with my roommates—rent is due in a week and I am still a little short. “Why do you guys want me to come?” I ask. Billie and Jordan give each other a look like I asked something odd. “You know.” Jordan said rolling her eyes and walking away.
Later that night, when I first stepped out of my room and said I was ready, the two of them took a look at me and almost simultaneously asked “You’re wearing that?” They demanded I change out of my jeans and t-shirt. I ended up in something they picked out, and Billie helped me with my hair and makeup. What they picked out were some tight red pants and a white “cami” top that really showed off my boobs. Even worse, the pants were so form-fitting that I had to wear a thong. Apparently it is some big social crime to show panty lines.
We grab a cab and head into Boston—a place called Cactus club. They had amazing margaritas. The margaritas kind of made me homesick for Texas—you can get them everywhere there. I downed two of them. Funny, I really started to loosen up after that. We were a popular group; lots of people joined us at our table. After a while I quit worrying about being a girl, and just started to have a good time.
About a hour later, Jordan leans over and asks me and Billie if we are ready to go to “Dad’s” which is short for “Dad’s beantown diner”. At the time, I didn’t know “dad’s” was a dance club, so I gave her an enthusiastic yes. She then slides over the bar tab to me. It had all of our drinks on it, as well as some of our “friends” who stopped by our table. It wasn’t the hugest of bar tabs, but in my financial state, I really couldn’t afford to be buying everyone drinks. “You want me to pay this?” I ask her incredulously.
“No.” She says, “Just do that thing you do.”
My thing? She reminds me, giving me an odd look—“You know, the thing where you stand up, wave the tab in the air and say: this is my bar tab, going once, going twice…”
I could not quite grasp what was supposed to happen, but it was apparently something Ashlyn had done in the past. I was drunk enough to give it a try.
I stood up, waving the bar tab over my head. “This is my bar tab.” I pause, feeling like an idiot. “Going once, going twice—“
Three guys suddenly appeared in front on me, one was faster than the other two and he snatched the tab out of my hand. He turned to the other guys and gave them a “too slow.” He introduced himself as Mike and said he would love to pay my tab. I then realized why Billie and Jordan wanted me to tag along—they wanted to borrow my magical boobs.
I ended up giving Mike my phone number—not because I wanted too, but because I felt obligated to after he spent so much money on me. Billie leaned in and said to him that “we” were heading over to “Dad’s” and maybe we would see him over there.
As we walked out of the Cactus club Billie said to me that Mike was really cute. I say I didn’t notice, and she shakes her head. “It must be good to be you, cute guys fighting over your bar tabs.”
The dance club was packed, and there was a line out front. I started to get into line, and Jordan and Billie looked disappointed. “What about talking to the guy at the door?” Jordan asks, “He might know you.”
I walk up to the guy at the door and give him a big smile. To the annoyance of everyone in line, we were let right in.
A few drinks later, I was brave enough to follow Jordan and Billie onto the dance floor. The lights were flashing, the music was loud and I danced with the girls. I really didn’t know what I was doing, so I just mimicked some of the women near me. No one seemed to notice, and it was really kind of fun, so I really started to let go and get into it.
I kept drinking and dancing and at some point I was no longer just dancing with the girls. Mike had shown up, and I danced with him and some other guys. It felt so good on the dance floor, I just didn’t care. I had been so stressed for so long—even before I became Ashlyn, I hardly took any time off, I was all about work—it felt good to just cut loose and not worry about anything.
Then suddenly I was dancing with Josh. He said he had talked to Dean and found out I had gone dancing—and he wanted to see if he could have a dance with me. I considered walking off the dance floor, but I had already danced with just about everyone, one more wasn’t going to kill me. I decided to not make it a big deal—I just wasn’t going to let him get too close, he stole a kiss the last time I saw him.
So we danced. We take a break, he buys me another drink. In the back of my mind I was wondering how much Ashlyn could drink—little alarm bells were going off—but when you have already crossed the “I’ve drank too much” line, you tend to ignore the warnings.
Billie and Jordan catch up with us, and let me know they have had enough, and were going home. Was I coming with them? I hesitated and Joss said if I wanted to stay longer, he would take care of me.
So I stayed, and we danced some more. At some point I forgot to keep some distance between us, and our bodies started rubbing against each other. I remember that when I looked at him, I wasn’t attracted to him—he was just another good looking guy, and that really didn’t do much for me—but when I closed my eyes, and I could feel his hands running over my body…suddenly I felt like I was on fire.
We started kissing on the dance floor. This time the kisses were not stolen, because I was kissing back.
I woke up the next morning hung over, in a bed I didn’t recognize, wearing a t-shirt that wasn’t mine and my thong. I was completely disoriented, my brain sluggish. Then I put all the evidence together.
OH MY GOD.
I jump out off bed, but my legs were not ready for that, and I fell to the floor. As I was thrashing about, Josh came into the room; he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and looked like he had been up for a while.
He helps me up, and I punch him.
He falls back, more surprised than hurt. “Fuck! Ash, what did you do that for?”
“You son of a bitch! You knew I was drunk! You took advantage of me!” I screamed at him.
“You don’t remember what happened after the dance club.” It was a statement, not a question. He starts laughing—which really infuriates me. I start kicking him while he is down.
“No! Ash! We didn’t do anything! I swear!” He then goes on to tell me that I had all but passed out on the dance floor, so we took a cab to my house—only I apparently had lost my keys. So instead of knocking on the door and waking everyone up, I asked to stay at his place. Unfortunately, during the short walk to Josh’s I became sick and threw up—getting some of it on my clothes. Josh basically carried me in, undressed me, cleaned me up and put me to bed. He had slept on the couch.
Feeling very foolish, I apologized. We wash my clothes and had breakfast together. Josh had ran out and gotten us donuts and coffee. The coffee was amazing. I asked Josh what kind it was and he grinned. “It your favorite.”
I get dressed, hesitate, but give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
It’s a short distance, so I decided to walk home. All the way home, what was really running though my mind: Why did I ask Josh if I could stay at his place? Why didn’t I just wake someone up? And what would have happened if I hadn’t thrown up?
Damn. I meant to go over some things from the trip to Maine, but I guess I needed to get Friday night out of my head and onto the page. I’ll catch up later.