Why didn’t someone stop me? When Fred walked up to us at the bar, and asked me to dance, all my so-called friends just stood by and laughed when I staggered onto the dance floor.  Not one person grabbed me, or lifted a finger to stop me. One drink makes you relaxed. Two makes you happy. Four dulls all pain, and six makes you do things you may regret for the rest of your life.

I vaguely remember walking outside and fumbling with my car keys.

“Becky, you ought…you really shouldn’t be driving. Let me carry you. No…that’s too far.  I…I…will walk you home.”

I was so touched by Fred’s gallant invitation that I happily grabbed his shirt, and somehow climbed up his chest.

“Thank…thank you Freddie. You are…you…are such a sweetheart. I owe you a big wet kiss,” I said before sticking my tongue down his throat.

They say 99% of people don’t remember what they did while drunk. I guess I beat the odds that night, because not only do I recall every place I put my mouth when I got home, but I was the one who suggested we turn on the webcam.  Worst invention ever!

Some people who commented on YouTube said that I shouldn’t worry about the video, because you can’t really see me or my face.  More than a few said that I should marry Fred; a guy who can give a drunken woman multiple orgasms is a keeper.

I don’t know, maybe they’re right. He is sweet. No man has ever sent me so many flowers and cards the next day. When I get out of the hospital, I may call him.