Three bottles, four chambers

We went through three bottles of wine and two plates of pasta. By the end of the night we had befriended a gay couple, knocked silverware off the table and fallen onto the bed in a fit of drunken passion. I fell asleep. He carefully unzipped my dress and opened the window a crack. He brought me a glass of water. He stretched out next to me and closed his eyes. And when I awoke—my mouth on his shoulder, my hair in my face—he rolled closer and dropped his arms around me, momentarily postponing the headache that ensued.


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