Shocked Awakening

I open my eyes.

Wait, when did I come back to my bed?, I think to myself.

I look over at my clock: 7:40am.

I look around my room in the hostel: everyone's asleep.

I look down at myself: I'm completely naked on my bed.

Oh god, it happened again! Another black-out, when drinking the night before and then waking up on my bed naked!

Just as I started to worry about what I might have done the night before (for god's sake, I'm naked on my bed, sleeping in a room with 6 other people!) a friend walks into my room looking for me. I pull the covers over my waist just in time.

Friend: Get up Jon, we need to catch the ferry! I was wrong, we need to be there fore 8 am, not 11 am.

Without thinking about what she's talking about, I reply:
Okay, I'll be out in a second!

She leaves the room and I start rummaging for clothes.
No time to think about what embarrassing/awkward/amazing things I might have done......God, I hope I didn't freak out the cute German guys I flirting with.

Boobies

Every so often, when I drink a huge amount of alcohol, I get inappropriate. I don't mean the normal verbally-rude or blatant shit-talker, nor the inconsiderate guest or flash-everyone-my-privates-inappropriate. Those are all quite fun and, by my friends' and my own standard's pretty normal. The type of inappropriate I'm talking about is when I start to molest my female friends' boobies.

It starts off innocuously: We're all laughing and drinking. One of my lady friends is sitting next to me or on me. Maybe I'm practicing my gangs signs (below). Everything is normal.


Then, when she least expects it, WHABAM - Hands all over boobs!


At first, it's all just a funny joke. Someone takes a picture and my friend isn't offended because she knows I'm gay so it's not like I'm getting off on all of this.

But, then my wandering hands keep going....And this is when everything gets fuzzy. I never remember fondling my friend's boobs. The alcohol and my poor inhibition control can be blamed for this. Typically, it's only the next day that someone informs me:
"You were going pretty wild all over her chest yesterday."

Of course, I feel bad when I hear this because if I can't remember ever doing it I wonder what else I can't remember, such as maybe the owner of said breasts yelling "Stop fucking molesting me!". I'm lucky, because that's never happened. Why hasn't it happened? Well I consistently always fondle 2 women's chests: the girl in the above picture and Liz. Liz tells me she has had to slap my hands away because I get too "investigative", but the other (nameless) girl seems to just go with it. Since we all know each other well, no police are called!

Naturally, I always do this with a crowd around. My straight guy and lady friends are always watching. Tim likes to remind me that he has even yelled out:
"God, why does he get to touch your boobs and not me!? I'm ssooooo good at it!"

Ironically, my friend in the picture above says plenty of straight guys can't touch her as well as I can, which honestly unsettles me a bit.

Kieran likes to remind me that most of the time when I start fondling the boobies, I use the line:
"This is only for empirical research!"

Forgetting about the potentially unfortunate molestation charges I could receive one day, I wonder why I do this? It's not like I want to experiment with women. When I figured out I was gay a long time ago, regardless of how closeted I was I didn't want to even try to fool around with the opposite sex. I don't think I get off on it - of course I'm also drunk enough that I never remember this happening. But honestly, I really doubt I'm looking for a titty-fuck...

For the time being, I've kind of reasoned that I do it just to entertain everyone else, since I love to get attention (in my situation of choosing) and I always want everyone to have fun. Hopefully I'll grow out of it or grow out of getting hammered, but really I doubt that second one will be happening soon.

5 Days

Let's set up the scene:

My Friend and I are in St. Petersburgh, Russia. This is the first part of our whirlwind tour of Eastern Europe for the half of the summer. It's windy and raining outside, so her and myself are sitting in the hostel's kitchen, talking to a cool Australian guy.

The protagonist of the story, Nikita, is sitting at the front desk of the hostel, having just started his shift. He is the good guy, although still a dick.

Enter the antagonist: Phil, the middle-aged, German tourist, walks into the hostel. He's a bulky guy (250 pounds) and a little socially awkward. Not in a pleasant "we all speak different languages and come from different cultures so we inherently appear slight awkward and funny to one-another" but in a "whenever he's in the same room as My Friend, he can't stop silently staring at her and he especially loves to do this when she is sleeping".

And now for the action:

Phil yells at Nikita. "You call me a bastard! You call me a Nazi!"

I can't see Nikita's reaction.

Phil yells some more.

Phil walks toward us in the kitchen, still screaming. He opens up a beer bottle, drinks some, and then smashes it on the table spilling beer on himself. "They call me a bastard! They call me a Nazi!"

Australian Guy, My Friend and I stop talking. We all give each other awkward looks, to confirm that we realize that he's drunk and that clearly Nikita and himself have had some sort of mis-communication. That or maybe Nikita was just being a dick. I would be told later that, stereotypically, Russians don't like Germans. I would also hear later that he wouldn't leave the female desk clerks alone.

Phil, Australian Guy, My Friend and I all sit silently.

Phil puts down the beer, gets up and runs to the hostel desk and starts punching Nikita. We all stay seated in shock. Nikita jumps over the front desk and looks at Phil, yelling at him. Nikita doesn't know what to do.

Phil yells "I am not a bastard! I am not a Nazi! You are bastard! You are Nazi!"

Phil decides to turn around, walk back toward us and drink more beer. Nikita looks down the hall at us in horror. We look back at Nikita in horror. None of us know what to so.

Being the intelligent person that I am, I say: "Phil, I think you should just calm down. I have a bottle of vodka in the fridge. Do you want some vodka?"

Phil ignores me. Unlike the rest of us, he does know what to do. He opens a second beer, drinks it, spills it, puts it on the table and runs at Nikita again. Being 80 pounds lighter than Phil, Nikita runs out of the hostel. Phil doesn't chase after him, but instead decides to sit next to my Friend and drink beer. Australian Guy, My Friend and I all sit quietly, looking towards the floor wondering what the hell we're going to do.

Phil says: "Don't worry - no problem with you. Them, they treat me like shit. Call me bastard! Call me Nazi!"

A small part of me becomes calm. Luckily, the freaked out part of me screams in my head: "We all know how this is going to end! Russian police! Passport checks! Bribing! Ass-kicking". The asshole in me suggests making popcorn, in anticipation of the second act.

10 minutes pass.

Nikita walks back into the hostel. 4 of Nikita's friends also walk into the hostel.

Phil decides to run at them and swing a few punches. They dodge and hold themselves back. They want Phil just to stay seated in the kitchen. We just want to get the hell out of there. I catch a few Russians words that Nikita says. The police are on the way.

Australian Guy, My Friend and I all get up on the same cue and walk past Phil, Nikita and his friends to go outside. We'd rather avoid the police, who would really love to get their hands on our passports. Australian Guy brings an empty beer bottle.

We hangout in front of the entrance. They smoke and we all listen to Phil & "Friends" yell and possibly punch each other.

I ask "Why did you bring the beer bottle?" to Australian Guy.

"If Phil was going to rush me, I was gonna smack him with this," he replies.

I wish I was as smart as Australian Guy.

The police arrive. We simultaneously point them toward the entrance of the hostel. They go upstairs, we hear some more yelling and then it gets quiet. We decide it's best to go 2 floors up because it's cold and we want to avoid the police as they leave.

We hangout upstairs for a while, laugh and talk. It seems awfully quiet.

Eventually we head back downstairs to the main floor. The police and Phil are walking downstairs. We see Nikita and head over to him.

My Friend asks "Are you ok? That was so freaky!"

Nikita replies "Ya, no problem. It's all guuuuud"

I note that Nikita still sounds like a douche.

My Friend: "What's going to happen to Phil?"

Nikita: "They will send him back to Germany, but not after [punching motion] him in jail for 5 days."
Nikita laughs. Australian Guy, My Friend and I join in, laughing awkwardly while trading looks.

We walk back to the kitchen and look out the window. Phil is lying on the ground outside, getting kicked in the chest by one of the policemen.

------

A few days later, while drinking in the twilight of Estonia's capital, I think back to Phil. I can't help feel a little sorry. 5 days is a long time.