My First And Last Eyeball

My First And Last Eyeball

My First And Last Eyeball

I welcomed the new day with a searing pain somewhere in the middle of my mouth, a piercing headache like that of mum's whenever she pays for my authentic designer scarves and a pang in my heart caused by my prized Balenciaga giant work bag gone missing. When you wake up to mornings like this, when you have but a vague recall of how out-of-hand the previous night had actually been, you can only wish you never woke up to see the light of day. With fervent hope that my bed would come to life and eat me all up, I closed my eyes tightly only to get a detailed account of the fateful night that was.

My thorough search for Burberry scarves on the cheap made me stay online longer than usual. It wasn't until the bewitching hour that I landed on a seemingly trusted website that offers almost all kinds of designer items on discount. Authentic Chloe handbags, signature Chanel earrings and of course, my favored scarves to name a few steals. When I was just about ready to shut down the computer, an instant message window popped out on the screen. It was really my intention to disregard it and go straight to sleep but the profile picture of mystery message sender was oh-too-cute to be dismissed completely.

What seemed to be an innocent online run-into turned to be one for the (erotica) books; I probably need not delve into detail. It must be the ungodly time of day that caused me to agree on meeting up with the no-longer-mystery-sender later in the day. For the record, I do indulge myself once in awhile, or maybe even more than I can admit to myself, in steamy encounters online but never have I instantly agreed to do an eyeball'. With authentic Balenciaga bags at the back of my mind and our scheduled date clouding my mind, I was surprised that I was still able to catch some Zs up until it was time for the meet-up.

The meeting place was in a prominent state school, in the middle of a campus fair gone wild. It wasn't easy to spot my eyeball' mate given the rowdy crowd, with most if not all guys looking strangely alike. I practically drowned in the sea of black punk's not dead in that side of town before I finally spotted him. I was forcibly thrown into the maddening mosh pit and found myself hollering "rock on" and "enjoy, enjoy" with much gusto before I actually got to where my date was. I was beside myself when I got to him, perhaps from all the sweat, tears and (I could swear) blood that I have inhaled from the mosh pit. I was totally zonked out when I agreed to have my tongue pierced by no other than my date himself.

Guess I should be thankful that I made it home in one piece, though with a ballooning tongue and no Balenciaga bag on hand.

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