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  • Writer's pictureHenry Cavanaugh

Drunk Conversations


You know, I’ve had some pretty weird conversations when I’m drunk before. I’m really no stranger to a good night out and more often than not that involves having a drink or two but no amount of drinks could prepare me for the conversation I was currently having. The guy talking to seemed pretty sober but I wasn’t totally convinced considering the shit he was coming up with. It was the kind of thing only a drunk person could come up with because it was making me laugh uncontrollably.


“You… you think we switched bodies?” I asked, repeating what he’d just told me before breaking up into even more giggling. Seriously, who was this guy? He’d just walked in here with that oversized suit of his and acted as if this was a totally normal conversation to have. Was this or a prank or something? If it was then it was a pretty damn lame one because I’d never take something like this seriously.

There he goes again, insisting that he’s really me. That he’s really a twenty-seven year old stud called Jacob Thorne, not a forthy-something who’d all but thrown his life away. He was nothing overly special to look at - especially not compared to me - so it wasn’t all that surprising that he fantasized about being somebody else. If I was him then I’d probably want to be somebody else too. It would beat being stuck looking like somebody’s creepy uncle that nobody even really liked.


Lets be honest, it’s pretty obvious what’s going on here. This guy is practically begging for me to fuck him because he knows I’m the hottest guy in the room. Sure, there;s a lot of models and television actors here but none of them have a scratch on me. In fact a couple of them have already approached me to make a move and there’s no way I won’t be going home with one - or more - of them. tonight. You know back to my penthouse suite where I be as loud as I want as I fuck the hottest studs in New York City.


Ugh, he’s still talking and his stories aren’t getting any better. Why can’t he just admit that he wants to fuck me rather than making up some story about how he pissed off this chick who turned out to be a witch and switched him with one of the poorest men in the room. Apparently he needed to be punished for acting like he was better than everybody else just because he was rich and that was when our bodies were switched. It was the biggest load of crap I’d ever heard and definitely the weirdest story somebody had used in order to try and get in my pants.


“Whatever, dude!” I drawled before knocking back the rest of my vodka-coke and smirking at him. “You’re not my type and honestly, you’re a fucking weirdo so I suggest you fuck off before I get security to throw you out.” It wasn’t just a threat either - I new that the hulking security guards would do exactly what I asked as long as I slipped them a note or two.

Unluckily for him he didn’t seem to get the heat and continued to badger me, even grabbing me and insisting that I needed to go with him. All of two minutes later and he had been forcefully removed from the premises while I happily waved him off. I had stopped caring about the conversation a long time ago as I spied a handsome blond hunk eyeing me up by the bar. Suddenly I was feeling very thirsty and after putting up with a lunatic for the past ten minutes I was definitely due some appealing company…

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