2.

Write about your one night stand experience, if you've never had one, make one up.

Jonathan:

I remember it being loud. Too many people talking and trying to dance to “Just Dance.” 

I’ve had a bit to drink but I remember everything. I remember my girlfriend calling me for the seventh time and letting it go to voice mail for the seventh time. 

There was smoke and lights. I remember thinking it looked like a painting. Then everything became blurry. Everything melted into everything else. Everything looked like runny watercolors. 

When things came back into focus, there was a girl sitting on my lap. Her hair was gold and her accent was southern. She kissed me and called me sweet pea. She kissed me and put something in my mouth. 

She told me to come home with her. I remember saying yes.  

When I came to, I remember being in a dark room. She was undressing me. I asked her what her name was and she told me while she was kissing me. She kissed me everywhere and I remember being cold from the moisture. Everything became a blur again. I remember only snapshots. Only quick second poloroids of time. Her on top of me. Me on top of her. Her sitting on my face. And me on top of her again.  

In the morning, when everything was no longer a blur and nothing looked like a painting, I remember her gold hair on my chest and her arms across my chest.  

I remember her waking up and her big blue eyes smiling at me. She kissed me and called me sweat pea.  

I remember my phone ringing and me picking it up out of habit. I remember the tone of my girlfriends voice when she asked me where I was. I remember a knot in my stomach. I remember my heart rate elevating.  

“Where the fuck are you?” she yelled. I heard her parents in the backround. 

What I did then, THAT i don’t remember.

Hannah:

I was lonely, confused, and painfully forlorn. Devoid of all the love and affection I once sought for in someone who I thought was my world, my only, my being. He left, he left, it’s been a month since he’s been gone and I was left alone to pick up the pieces of myself. It was so pitiful I couldn’t bare it. I couldn’t stand how cold it was at night and how long it took for my bed to warm up. My full-size mattress felt like a California King. I couldn’t sleep. And the empty places where his things were made the silence pound in my ears. It screamed at me and reminded me of things that used to be. I couldn’t bare it. 

And so, I did it. I did what I didn’t think I was able to do. 

Who is this stranger, in my bed? Who’s clothes are these, strewn so carelessly across my floor? I don’t know. These hands that roughly caress me are not his, these thirsty kisses do not come from him, and these eager advances tell me that this is all too unfamiliar, yet in intoxication my body is now accustomed to its rhythm. 

This stranger is merely a man that reminds me of him, merely a slight hint of the essence of what once was, and with each thrust, with each wave of ecstacy, I forget. I forget. 

And now, lying here in the foreign solace of a man’s arms whose name I do not and will not remember, I think of him and the love I lost and I cry at my attempt to fill my void. 

Heartbroken girls make the best whores.