The Time I Tried To Kiss A Boy And He Vomited On Me

When I was a senior in high school, I decided to try on a pair of Good Person pants and volunteer at the local LGBT center. (OK, fine. It was required community service I needed in order to graduate. But I’m still a good person! I don’t need the pants!) Luckily for me, teaching gay youth that safe sex means more than locking the door actually turned out to be a fun experience. It also didn’t hurt that my boss Pedro was a sexy Latin boy who liked to listen to Radiohead and read super smart books, and had a huge penis. I knew this because a]. I could actually see it in the outline of his baggy jeans, which if you know anything about dick, is an impressive feat and b.] Pedro once told me he was a bottom because his penis was abnormally large and terrified the assholes of potential suitors.

I worked with Pedro for eight months and for most of that time, I had a boyfriend. However, that didn’t stop me from deluding myself into thinking we had crushes on each other. In reality, Pedro was a 23-year-old who was interested in boys his own age. He probably thought of me as someone he had fun mentoring but that’s it. 17-year-old me didn’t know that though. 17-year-old me liked Pedro and thought there was a possibility he might like me back so when my boyfriend and I had an explosive fight one night, I decided to get some revenge and invite Pedro over to my house for some drinks and illegal smooching.

In high school, I loved to drink. And by “love to drink”, I actually mean hate to drink because I thought it tasted so bad and oh my god, how did anyone drink this shit? So to avoid consuming alcohol, my best friend Beth and I decided that we would just get pretend drunk with Pedro and keep it a secret. Seriously. We hated alcohol that much. Plus, we were weird drama freaks so any excuse to play a character was totally exciting and cool for us. Before Pedro got to my house, we poured some vodka down the sink to make it seem as if we had made a dent in it. I think we accidentally ended up pouring out half the bottle. Like if we had actually drank that much, we would’ve spent the whole night vomiting into each other’s hair or dying. Whatever. Pedro didn’t question it.

When we heard the doorbell ring, Beth and I got into character and answered the door.

“OMG. Party! Sexy! Pedro, we’re like sooooo drunk. Oops!” Beth was making sure her boobs were falling out of her top while she was talking, which I sincerely appreciated. She was always willing to go the extra mile.

Pedro just stood there stone cold sober and said, “Oh my god, you guys are so fucked up. I better catch up. Wanna watch some Kate Bush music videos?” Pedro asked, giving me a DVD of what appeared to be, in fact, a compilation of Kate Bush music videos.

“Um, sure. Go drink! I’m so crazy. Wahhhhh!” I said, secretly horrified by his suggested entertainment.

I spent the next few hours in my version of a K-hole, which was watching Kate Bush’s music video for “Babooshka” 8,000 times while listening to Pedro talk about Belle & Sebastian B-sides. Despite the lackluster ambience, I was still excited. After all, my plan appeared to be working. Pedro was getting drunk, which meant that he was probably going to make out with me, and I was going to be able to write a cryptic Livejournal post about it. The post would say something like, “too many drinks…too many regrets last night. Teenage wasteland.” and then my boyfriend would read it, comment “WTF?” and call me immediately We would fight for six hours until he’d come over and fuck me. Afterwards, we’d go out to Carl’s Jr. for some burgers and be fine. Yay!

Unfortunately, the karma police had other ideas. Feeling insecure about having a late start, Pedro decided to take 7 shots of vodka in 25 minutes, and by the end of “Running Up That Hill”, he was seriously drunk—the kind of drunk that doesn’t end in sloppy kisses and rubbing your things together, but rather in sickness, despair, and terror. Panicking, I kicked my best friend out and took Pedro immediately to my bed. I figured I had about 20 minutes of potential sexytime with him until shit got weird. I was determined to not lose Pedro to vomit.

We got into bed together and started talking in that hushed intimate nighttime way. I think at this point I stopped pretending that I was drunk because Pedro was actually too wasted himself to notice. As we laid next to each other in bed, there seemed to be a 2.5 second window of opportunity for me to try something, but I remember feeling so nervous and realizing that I probably couldn’t go through with it. It’s funny. When you’re a teenager, you spend most of your time trying to act like a cool asshole without feelings. In reality though, you are the five-year old baby who is crying for their mommy; you are nothing BUT feelings. You have the adult sized private parts but you still have the maturity of someone who shits their pants.

Cheating on someone that I actually liked was not something I was capable of doing. The Ryan who wanted his life to be a TV show would’ve made out with Pedro 30 minutes ago because he was mad at his boyfriend and needed to feel desired by someone else. But that Ryan wasn’t that powerful. He was like a yippy little dog that needed to be put down.

So here I was with this hot drunk twenty-something in my bed and my legs are trembling under the covers because I’m so terrified. Luckily, I didn’t have to feel this way for that long because Pedro started puking ten minutes after we had gotten into bed together. I spent the rest of the night taking care of him instead of eating his face but I figured it was better this way. Cleaning up vomit is a big bummer but hooking up with Pedro when I had a boyfriend would’ve made a much bigger mess. You can Google “how to clean up vomit on my mom’s rug” and find a solution in seconds, but you can’t Google “how to fix being a vindictive teenage brat.” And if you can’t Google your way out of something, that’s when you know you’re in deep shit. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

image – Romana Klee

Ryan O'Connell

I'm a brat.

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