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I Went Home With Trailer Trash

A true-life hook-up disaster from After Dark reader Luxx Fontaine.

I was out at an industry party (of course, what else do we do in Los Angeles?) and a colleague introduced me to his brother. I wasn't totally into him, but was being showered with his attention and I enjoyed it enough to continue the conversation/drinking at several other bars that night.  
 
I knew I drank a lot when I realized I'd lost track of the beverage count after only the second bar. We had tequila there.
 
I've learned there's a point when you acknowledge all the moments you could have or should have made a better decision. Here were mine:

    • I probably shouldn't have flirted with him. I wasn't interested.
    • I probably shouldn't have swallowed that fifth (?) shot of tequila.
    • I probably shouldn't have gotten in a car with this dude. To Venice.

I lived 30 minutes away, making a walk of shame impossible, and a cab ride of shame was not in my budget that week.

But did that stop me?
 
When we got to his place it took forever for him to make a move, and I had to help it along.

It had been months since my last make-out session and I was psyched to get down to business.

I was disappointed pretty quickly.

My boredom sobered me up pretty fast and I went for the easy way out: talk dirty, let him take care of himself and then pretend it was awesome.

Works. Every. Time.
 
I slept hard and it took more than a moment to realize where I was – and what had happened the night before.

As my eyes fluttered open and I looked around and realized I wasn't in a house. Nor was I in an apartment, or even a building.

I was in a trailer.

An Airstream to be exact.

In Venice.

In my party clothes.

With a dude with a small penis.
 
I hoped I was dreaming. I wished I was still drunk.
 
“Oh. My. God. No. Do-over. DO-OVER!!” (Yes, I said this out loud.)
 
It all came rushing back to me. He kept joking about a trailer, but I didn't realize he was serious.
 
In order to save face and/or be polite we went to brunch and it was complete torture. We had nothing to talk about and with each moment, I felt more and more hung over.

I felt like I was going to die.

The car ride home was even worse. It was hot and there was no AC. The food was making me ill and when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he decided to take the freeway.
 
A week later a friend asked if I knew anyone with access to an Airstream trailer for a photo shoot.
 
"Please,” I replied. “As if I would know anyone who owns a trailer.”

Image: Simon Howden.