By way of apology... Storytime!

So yeah, to try and make up for the whiny travesty that was my last effort on the forum, here's a story from something that happened to me a few years back... I wrote it back then, so the tense might seem off... Hope you enjoy!Home Sex OperatorI had a big night last night. Actually, a big couple of nights. I left to go to work on saturday morning, took a change of clothes with me, and only returned on monday evening, about 2 hours ago. I'm starting to feel pretty sleepy. Anyway, saturday night was pretty decent. Bought tickets to see Grinspoon play at a theme park that sits right on Sydney Harbour, right underneath the bridge. It was pretty cool. Got smashed listened to good music, talked all night with this girl afterwards; lying in her bed, fully clothed, talking about this or that. It was really cool. Next day, I went to work. Ugh. Less said the better about that. Sunday afternoon, I call the boss in to give me an early mark, because I just can't take one more control-freak, pushy, selfish, petty, stupid parent, and I'm beginning to look at the baseball bat under the counter and twitch involuntarily at the brutally murderously satisfying possibilities it offers. The boss comes, I go. Asleep on the long bus home, the phone rings. It's my mate Luke. "Hey, man, where are you?" He asks in a voice like clouds. What's with that. "Uh. asleep. Bus. Whassgoinon?" I mumble in reply. "Wha? Oh. Hang on." There is some muffled talk and rumbling on the line. "Sorry 'bout that, I just had to hug Maggie." Ah. So THAT'S what that 'cloudy' tone in his voice is. "Hey, you should come to Allie's, Newtown festival just finished and we're going there to party. Come along, man." Im feeling pretty shit, and tired, but if there's one thing that can perk me up, it's the chemical happiness that's fueling Luke's voice. On the other hand, I really need some fucking sleep. "Yeah, fuck it, I'll be there in twenty minutes." I said "Awesome, man. See you soon." He says in a softly happy voice. "Yeah, cool." I say and we hang up. Twenty Minutes later, I'm knocking on the door. I gotta play catch-up. Pronto. I secure some party favours, a beer or three and the night progresses. I'll spare the description of the usual party hi-jinks. Suffice it to say that people talk, people dance, people hook up, people take photos. People come, people go. I chat to just about every person in the house over the course of the night. Really fun night so far. Anyway, it's whateverthefuck o'clock and I'm talking to some mexican-indian guy, all face painted up like his ancestors, a thick red splotch across his eyes. we're chatting about travelling around Australia, as I have done a bit and he hasn't yet. I'm telling him to get his friend with a car to go with him, so he can walk on beaches and see only his footprints on them, the only ones for fuck knows how long. He tells me a little bit about Mexico, and I decide right then I'm gonna check it out. Cool guy. Anyway, the conversation eventually ends, and I've just about talked to everyone at the party, except for the two really good-looking gay dudes who've been making out in the corner all fucking night. I decide with the certainty of two pills and a few lines that I absolutely must talk to someone else, anyone else. I pick up a cordless phone, and walk into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I sit on the toilet and think of a number to call. I remember that I gave my phone to some girl to put her number in, and accordingly don't have anyone to call. I can't remember a fucking phone number in this state. On the ground next to the toilet is a porn mag. well, I assume it's a porn mag, as it's face down, but the back cover is littered in phone sex ads. I quickly pick up the mag, and sit in the bathtub and begin to dial. Beep. Beep. Boop. Beep. Boop. Boop. Boop. Beep. Boop. Beep. Beep. Beep. Wait... "I'm sorry that number is not connected." What!? Oh... Beep. Beep. Boop. Beep. Boop. BEEP. Boop. Beep. Boop. Beep. Beep. Beep. Dial tone, yesssssss. "Hey, baby, this is Rachel, what can I do to you." A sultry voice purrs at me. Hey, Rachel, this is Sam, I'm really fuckin' trashed right now, how are you?" "Pardon?" She replied, and we began to chat. We talked for an hour and a half about this, about that. the conversation goes in weird, drug- (on my side) and boredom- (on hers) fuelled directions. She's laughing, genuinely. The line goes quiet for a bit. I'm about to say something when she says "Where are you?" in a serious, non purry, off-the-clock voice. "Um, Enmore, I think. Wait yeah, Enmore." "What street?" "Uh, (x) street, next to the club." "I know it. Can I come pick you up in a half hour?" "Ah, wh-what? What? Yeah! Yes, I mean, sure, yeah ah, I'll give you my mobile number, call me when you're on station street and I'll come outside." I give her my number and we hang up, a little awkwardly, after she tells me she's not logging the call, so thankfully, an hour and a half of $1.95 per minute wont get charged to my friends phone bill. I get up out of the bathtub and scramble out of the room. Someone had been patiently waiting for me to leave so they could relieve their bladder, for fuck knows how long. They didn't even knock. Well, maybe they did, it's entirely plausible I didn't hear it. I run to find Mick, who's house it is. He jumps back a bit as I run up to him, with what I'm sure is a scary rictus of happiness and surprise on my face. "Dudedudedude! I just picked up a phone sex operator!" I said. I notice that suddenly, some nearby conversations seem to stop. "What?" "I called a phone sex line just then, and picked up the chick on the phone. She's coming to get me in a half hour." He doesn't seem as impressed as I thought he'd be. "Dude, you ever seen Blues Brothers? Those phone sex operators are all old, old women, like knitting and shit as they talk some guy in to coming in his hand." I thought. "That's not Blues Brothers." "Yeah it is. AH fuck, who cares, as if I could remember now. The point is, they're all either old women are really fat ugly slags. There are a few fuckable women here who I know you can fuck. Way to shortchange yourself." He wasn't gonna spoil this for me. "Yeah, but fuck it, I'll just close my eyes and it'll be rad again. The voice was sexy enough. Besides, most of the available girls here are exes of yours." "Yeah, you're right, it is pretty sweet. Follow me." I follow him into his room where he treats me to one last, congratulatory line and I go get a beer and wander around, rejoining the party. A while later, I'm standing in a circle of people with our pants or skirts around our ankles, and discussing the amazingness of the fact that none of us are wearing the same colour underpants. A colombian guy walks into the room, I remember chatting to him. He was sober and boring then, maybe he's better now. "What are you doing?" He asks quietly, with widening eyes. "We're comparing underpants, man. Come, join in. What colour are yours?" I reply In answer, he backs slowly out of the room. I consider chasing after him and asking for some coke, (after all, he's columbian) when my phone rings. Holy shit. I'd forgotten. Don't you love it when you forget about something cool that you're about to do or get, and then you remember? It's like finding out for the first time, all over again. Stumbling, pulling my jeans up, I make for the door, yelling good-byes to whoever can hear. Outside is a small, girly car, it's engine running, waiting for me. I down the rest of whatever it was I was drinking and jump into the car. "Sam?" says a familiar, sultry voice. "Yep. Hey." I say and lean over and we kiss for quite a while. "Let's go." I say after, and we move. I take a good look at her. Wow, she's quite cute, good body, nice face. I rate her maybe an 8-8.5. Of course, this is the beer and drugs talking, so really, shes probably a 6-6.5. Either way, she's not some giant beast, and she's not Mrs Methuselah, so I'm not complaining. She lives not far from here so we get back to hers quite quickly, where we fuck till morning. It's maybe ten in the morning when I get out of her bed and notice and accordingly remember her broken bed. The top right side collapsed last night during a particularly percussive moment I'd forgotten all about it. I laugh to myself as I see I made her sleep in the broken side. I get my shit together, leave and head back to Mick's place where a few stragglers have started to watch Kill Bill 2. I grab one of the few remaining beers and find a spot among the people on a couch. "How was the home sex operator?" Luke asks from underneath some girl. "'Home sex operator', I like that." "You should, you texted it to me not two hours ago." I really gotta ask a doctor or something about this memory of mine. "Really?" "Yeah. So... how was it?" "Ah, you know, dude... I lived the dream." I said, and took a sip of my beer.