The party was getting out of control. The 8th round of shooters had just been consumed and everyone was getting a bit sloppy.
Who was this girl? She kept rubbing Brock's back and telling him how hot he was.
"You're a swimmer?"
"Yeah. Hoping for the Olympics."
"Ugh. My boyfriend is some skinny loser."
"Oh...well that's too bad."
"Yeah. It is too bad. Wanna go outside and..."
"um...ok."
Brock went outside with the girl. She was older than him by a few years.
They stumbled drunkenly down the block.
"Here's a good spot," she slurred.
"Behind a dumpster?"
"Whatever. F*** me."
Brock was nervous. But he was also very drunk. Drunk on life.
"She is begging me for it," he thought.
The two tumbled onto the ground and began to make out. The girl seemed really into him.
Brock started to take off her clothes. This older girl said she was going to teach him a thing or two.
But suddenly the last shot hit her. Her eyes fluttered and she fell asleep.
"Wait...no. Wake up. I thought we were....damnit."
In the distance Brock heard a yell.
"Hey! What are you doink? Ve are Swedes. Vat is wronk?"
Brock looked at the girl. She was fast asleep.
"Oh shit. This doesn't look good."
The Swedes rushed towards Brock, their eyes gleaming with rage. They were both 6 inches taller than young Brock. One of them grabbed a stick.
"We were...I was...oh sh*t."
Brock ran. He had no way to explain why he was on top of the girl.
The Swedes chased him and swung the stick at his head. He fell unconscious.
He awoke in a jail cell. Everything was blurry and his head hurt. He remembered what had happened, but he wasn't too concerned. Surely the girl would explain that they were both drunk and she fell asleep at an inopportune time? Right?