Perchance to Dream

Disclaimer: See prologue

Summary: The aftermath. Will Stan concede the issue?

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Elsewhere V

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It's been an hour since Kyle pulled out of me. My ass hurts, and I still need a shower. But instead of letting me clean myself up, Kyle is snuggling with me – asleep for the last half-hour, mind you – and spooning me. I'm disgusted with myself. I need to get out of this bed, have a very long, very hot shower, get out of this room, get out of this hotel, and proceed to a straight bar where I need to drink until I don't know my own name anymore. And until the pain stops. Or whichever comes first.

But before I can do any of that, I need to make my escape from Kyle's grasp. Grabbing my two pillows, I slide one in between my ass and Kyle's crotch, and the other into his hands before wriggling away, leaving him spooning one pillow and holding the other like a stuffed bear.

Step one: accomplished.

Getting the shower isn't difficult, though I am of course annoyed at the bar soap that you have to unwrap and get wet before you can do anything with it. It's slippery as fuck too, which is another downside. Who the fuck uses bar soap anymore anyway?

I stay in the shower until the water starts to get cold, hoping the steam and heat can make me clean. I step out and towel off, walking back into the bedroom and re-dressing. Before I make my way out of the room, I pay a visit to Kyle's discarded pants and lift 40 bucks from his wallet. That should cover cab fare to downtown and the first few shots.

To leave the room, I quietly open the door and close it as quiet as I can behind me, then all but run down the hall and down the stairs to the front desk. The manager looks at me funny, and I give him an apologetic look.

"Could you call me a cab?" I ask. "My friend's asleep and I'd rather not wake him up so he can take me downtown."

"Sure thing," the man says, accepting my explanation without any questioning. Ten minutes later, I'm headed to downtown Boulder. Of course, taxis here aren't the yellow cars most people from larger cities associate with the term taxi, usually they're the cab company's owner's personal car with his company logo stuck on the rear window and a CB radio installed so his wife/dispatcher can route him to fares. Such is the case here; the cab I'm riding in is a purple 2004 Dodge Intrepid driven by a guy in his late 40s.

"So, you wanna be dropped anywhere in particular downtown?" he asks.

"Not really," I reply. "First bar you see, I guess. I just need to tie one on, I'm not that particular as to where I do it."

"Sure thing," the guy says, pulling to the curb a few minutes later next to a very neon storefront. I unbuckle my seatbelt and pull out my wallet.

"Fifteen bucks," he tells me, and I hand over the cash. "Have a good night."

"You too," I say, exiting the car and heading into the bar. At least it's not karaoke night, though the country music isn't much better than drunken amateurs belting out "Never Gonna Give You Up." I take a seat at the bar and flag down the bartender.

"What d'you want, son?" the guy (who's probably around 50, with a very Texan mustache) tending bar asks.

"Straight-up whiskey," I reply. "Shots. Just keep it coming, alright?"

"Sure thing," he replies, not even asking for ID, just setting a shot glass up on the bar in front of me and filling it with Jack. I grab it and knock it back, setting it back down to be refilled. I do this at least five times before I start to feel a little unsteady. Nevertheless, I set it back up to be refilled.

"Last one for a while, son," the bartender says. "You need a sandwich or something to soak up that alcohol." I knock it back.

"Fine. Gimme a ham sandwich, and some peanuts, and … that kinda stuff," I say. "Just make it quick, I'm not in a mood to quit drinking yet." He gives me a concerned look, but puts a dish of peanuts up onto the bar and heads off towards the kitchen. I grab a handful and stuff them into my mouth.

I eat the ham sandwich. I polish off the peanuts. I even drink two cups of coffee before Yosemite Sam will give me more liquor. I quickly knock back five more shots, consuming enough liquor to kill an emo kid. I will admit to being quite dizzy at this point.

"OK son, that's enough," the bartender says, snatching the shot glass out of my hand. "You owe 50 bucks for the night."

I grunt understanding, pulling out my wallet and tossing money onto the bar. I'm not entirely certain of my ability to form coherent sentences at this point, so it's best to just not talk at all. Old guy takes it and gives me a few back; I don't pay any particular attention to the denominations, I just shove 'em back in my pocket.

As I spin myself around to leave the bar, I come face-to-face with a not-quite-as-drunk-as-I-am Bebe and her roommate…Kelly, I think her name is. They're dressed like Daisy Duke, right down to the short-shorts and cowboy hats.

"Heeeeeeey Stan," Bebe drawls. "I thought that was you. You wanna…come back with us?"

Her proposition doesn't seem like that bad of an idea, especially considering I need a place to sleep tonight with Matt having his ass pounded by a big black dick. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm capable of fully enjoying the night.

"Suuuuuure," I reply, trying to imitate her drawl but instead slurring it. I imagine I look like an idiot. I sure feel like one.

"Great! C'mon, we need to sneak you in the window…and then the night can get started! Oh yeaaaaah!" Kelly says, grabbing my arm with one hand while high-fiving Bebe with the other. Bebe grabs my other arm, and they lead me out of the bar. Once outside, two scantily clad, rather hot girls have no trouble flagging down a cab to take us back to campus.

The rest of the night is pretty much a blur. I wake up the next morning with vague memories of cards, discarded clothing, and bad music. If the fact that I wake up naked, with Kelly laying naked on my chest, and Bebe laying naked between my legs with her head rested on Kelly's ass speaks volumes as to what exactly the three of us got up to in our drunken states. I make a note to myself to do it again whilst sober.

While I wait for those two to wake up, I spend some time waiting for my hangover headache to subside pondering how nice Kelly's rack is (it's very nice, I conclude, and I hope Bebe is into open relationships, because I would not mind doing her again), and then find the remote for their TV and tune it to the game. The loud screams of tens of thousands of impassioned football fans apparently does wonders for waking up girls. Especially for waking up hungover girls.

"Damnit Stan, turn that shit down!" Bebe yells, smacking my thigh. Kelly moans at the sound of the smack, her eyes fluttering open while I thumb the volume down.

"Fuck, my head hurts…" she mutters. "Bebe, where d'you keep the aspirin?"

"It's up by Stan's head. Pass it down here when the two of you are done with it." I reach up and find the appropriate bottle, popping it open and dropping out two tablets for myself, and two more onto Kelly's outstretched and waiting tongue before replacing the cap and tossing the bottle back to Bebe while watching Kelly sexily swallow the aspirin.

"What time is it?" I ask the girls, presuming they can see the clock on the table.

"Um…12:12," Kelly replies, looking up. "Why?"

"Nothing, just wondering if I should head back to my room yet, as comfortable and sexy as this arrangement is," I say. "I doubt it. Matt has a bad habit of keeping guys over for 16 hours or more…"

"Well then, who's up for another game of poker?" Bebe asks, sitting up.

"Um…we don't have anything to bet with," Kelly points out. "We're already naked."

"Oh, sweet naïve Kelly…" Bebe replies with a grin. "You two go shower…I'll set up." We exchange a glance as she climbs off the bed over to the small table we were using to play poker last night. Shrugging my shoulders, I gesture towards the bathroom.

"After you." She giggles and blows me a kiss as she disappears into the shower. When she comes out dripping wet, I have to run past to conceal the direction of my blood flow, though I don't jack off in the shower because I know how Bebe operates. I step back into the main room still naked, but game for whatever Bebe planning.

"We're gonna play truth or dare poker!" Bebe announces. "It's like strip poker, but since we're already naked, whoever loses the hand has to do a dare. And every dare will, of course, involve sex," she says with a grin.

Man I love college…

Six hands of poker later, not only do I know that neither girl has any inhibitions to speak of, but I also learned that truth-or-dare poker is an effective interrogation technique. No way else would I have learned that Kelly's first sexual experience was in the backset of a '73 Camaro with a 20 year old punk rocker who thought all girls swallowed.

"OK, I've got to go now," I say, grabbing the clothes I was wearing last night and pulling them on. "I'll call you guys later, 'kay?"

"We'll be waiting," Kelly says, licking her lips while Bebe waggles her eyebrows. I grin and slip out their window before making the short walk back to my room. Barely five seconds after I have put key to lock and admitted myself back in, I'm almost assaulted by a very angry Matt.

"Where the FUCK have you been!?" he demands, getting up in my personal space. I shoot him a glare before proceeding to my bed.

"Kyle has been calling me every half hour since he woke up to find you gone at six A.M. That was nine hours ago Stanley! Where the fuck have you been?"

"Passed out drunk until noon, and for the last three hours, playing truth-or-dare poker with Bebe and her roommate," I inform him.

"Still clinging to the illusion that you're heterosexual, I see," Matt sneers at me.

"If I was gay for Kyle, you think I would have run like the room was on fire?" I ask, grabbing a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and my mp3 player.

"To hear him tell it, you sounded far gayer for him than I am for any of the guys who've pounded my ass in the last two years, and that's a LOT of guys I've been gay for," Matt reminds me.

"Well, as usual, Kyle's lying through his bleached teeth," I reply, flopping down onto my bed, jacking the headphones into the mp3 player and putting them on my head, silencing Matt and ushering the sweet angry guitar melodies of Metallica into my ears. I stare at my roommate as he continues to flap his gums for five more minutes before giving up and walking out into the hallway with his cell phone attached to his ear. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's calling Kyle.

A few minutes into "Nothing Else Matters," he re-enters the room and stalks over to my bed. Before I can even ask him what the fuck he wants, he shoves my pants down and pins me to my bed before engulfing my by-now overused dick with his mouth. In less time than it would take Bebe to begin drooling at the sight, I'm getting hard and moaning. Matt grins and continues to blow me, until I succumb to his mouth's ministrations and shoot what has to be my fifth load of the day. In an act that has to be hard for a guy like him to do, but one that's filled with contempt, he spits it out on my leg.

"You fucking closet case," he mutters before stalking out of the room, forcing me to take my third shower of the day.

Goddamn Matt.

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Notes: A little quicker update this time. We're close to hitting the homestretch now. This plan may not have worked out the way Kyle wanted, but all that means is that he has to think bigger, as you'll see in the next few chapters.

Next update should happen (hopefully) sometime before Father's Day next month, depending on how my work schedule shakes out.

'Til then,

Phoenix II