The taste of blood in my mouth can only mean that I had a pretty good night. It's metallic, the taste is. This isn't the first time that I've woken up to the taste of blood in my mouth or my face stuck to a bloody pillow. This also isn't the first time that I've woken up between to beautiful naked broads, but this sure as hell is the first time I've woken up to both.

My face feels fine, where the hell is this blood from? I need a cigarette. Where the fuck are my pants? I slap the broad to my left on her perfect tanned little ass. I must have been rough on her last night; her ass is covered in teeth marks and bruises. She moans and rolls over on her side. Good, at least she's not dead. I turn over and try to shake the other broad up, but she just mumbles something and shrugs me off. I get off, climbing down the foot of the bed. I've got a mean piss to take.

As I look down at my cock, piss and toilet, I notice my right hand, all swollen and bloody. That answers the question as to where the blood on the bed came from. The toilet is home to some more blood, bloody toilet paper and used condoms. I don't even flush; this is a job for a professional to clean up. I walk over to the sink to wash my self up. I turn on the faucet and look up to the mirror. I think I know now where I busted my hand up on. The mirror is shattered and most of it is missing. I wonder where it is, it's not in the bathroom.

I look into a small section of the mirror that survived the pounding and can actually see my reflection. My hair messy, my eyes are lost behind puffy dark bags, my face is scruffy and scratched a bit, and my lips are cracked and bloody. I do my best to wash my hands and face. My neck and shoulders are full of scratches, bruises and all other signs of a good night. I turn around for a towel but there aren't any; instead there is a pack of cigarettes, resting carefully on the rack. I grab one; luckily there was a book of matches inside. I light it and walk back out to the room.

The women still sleep, so I sit on a chair in the corner of the room. This seems like a pretty nice hotel, I really hope I'm not paying for this. I can't believe I don't remember anything from last night. If I could find my pants I'd get the fuck out of here, just book. If the hotel people had any questions, I'd blame the sluts that stole my wallet. If they say they saw me too, I guess I'd just have to pay for the damages. There is no need to get legal with all this.

As I looked around the room, without ever getting up from my chair, I spot the girls on the bed again. I can't tell the quality of women that these are; from my headache ridden blurry vision, they could go two ways. They were either young college women who I somehow coerced to come to a hotel with me for a night of sex, drugs and apparently violence. The other the type of women that could be professional spies sent here to learn the truth about me, but since I'm just a regular scumbag, they're probably hookers.

All this would be a whole lot easier if I could find my clothes, or even their clothes for that matter. Look at them over there sleeping on the bed; I don't care how much this might be costing me, because this is awesome. I stretched down for a second and found my boots underneath the chair. I grabbed a hold of them. Inside one boot was my money clip with cash, my pocketknife and some keys; in the other boot was an almost finished pint of Jim Beam. I take out everything in the boots and put them on, I made sure to lace them tight.


I stand up in them and look around. I'm put naked with boots on, I have no pockets to store my things, but at least I have some Beam left. I polished the bottle and grabbed another smoke. Well, there's not much that a drunk man with nothing on but ass-kicking boots and his skin can do. So I jumped unto the bed, right between the two broads and when I landed I felt the shittiest pain I've ever felt in my life pulsating from my knee. I looked down to see my knee dripping blood all over the white sheets. I found the other piece of the mirror.

It was underneath the fucking sheet. I also found the drugs that surely lead up to the decisive conclusion the girls required to follow me or stay with me much longer that they had anticipated. I guess I deserved this. I got up and washed my knee up and got it to stop bleeding. Surprisingly, all this has still not awoken any of the girls. I grabbed an already bloody towel that laid on the floor and managed to pick up all the glass in the bed with it. Luckily, the small bag of ya was not consumed totally and was not destroyed by the evening's carelessness.

I grabbed it and sat up in the center of the bed with my back on the headboard. I wonder how asleep these broads really are, "Anybody want some of this?"; I say out loud. The two broads both sit up really fucking quick, these scheming, scavenging whores. I don't really need to tell you the rest of the story, do I? I did what any naked drunk man with ass-kicking boots and a bag of blow would do and it was done right. Otherwise, I never would have started telling you this story.

I never found my pants.

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