The Infamous Ellen James (Infamous Series) (3 page)

During the first week, I went into a severe depression.

I couldn't eat, sleep, or even find the motivation to shower. After five days of lying around in my own filth, Amy shoved my stinky ass into a bath and even took the time to wash my hair. Let's face it. If it weren't for her, I'd probably still be lying around in my panties and an old Patriots t-shirt, shoving ice cream down my throat.

As time passed, I began to have moments where I felt like myself again. Although these moments were few and far between, I was happy to know the old Ellen was still in there somewhere.

The second two months were the most interesting to date. I attempted to drown my sorrows in alcohol and find drunken solace in a string of one-night stands.

Nothing says "I'm trying to get over my ex" like going on a tequila bender and waking up with some random, faceless guy passed out in your bed. When guys talk about "beer goggles," I always kind of thought they were full of shit, but now I can say I understand this term one hundred and ten percent. I have had my share of leaving with a hot fucking ten and waking up next to a sweaty, smelly, and far-too-hairy five.

Don't get me wrong. There were a few really attractive men, but there were also some disturbingly pathetic drunken hookups. I guess I just thought that by refusing to date and taking any man I wanted to bed I was somehow getting back at John for what he did.

Deep down I know that most of these random one-night stands were motivated by my newfound trust issues and never-ending yet nonconventional quest to move on. There is one hookup that Amy loves to remind me of, because frankly, it's pretty ridiculous. Not many girls can say she took a deaf guy home, had sloppy sex with him, passed out, and then forgot the next day that said guy is actually hearing impaired.

Yes, you heard me correctly.

I drunkenly screwed a deaf guy, and the next morning, I forgot the guy was in my bed and, more importantly, that he was hearing impaired.

Chapter Four

“Sign language is useful. You never know when you'll find yourself being thrusted by a guy with a hearing impairment and you want to tell him to plunge that dick harder.”

I felt the sunlight filter through my bedroom window and winced from the already prominent hangover headache that was pounding inside of my brain. My head felt as if someone was banging my skull into cement, and the unfortunate tequila aftertaste was making bile rise slowly up my throat. My mouth tasted like someone had shit inside of it, and I could only imagine the breath I was sporting. I jumped out of bed and raced to the bathroom, knowing full well that I was going to be praying to the porcelain gods for a while. Tequila and I had a serious love-hate relationship. I loved to drink her all night long, and then the next day, I hated that bitch something fierce. With my head in the toilet, I proceeded to heave everything out of my stomach until I was sweaty, shivering, and had tears streaming down my cheeks.
Worst feeling ever.

"Elle, you okay in there?" I heard Amy say outside the bathroom door.

I groaned out a pathetic yes and continued to go for round two with the toilet bowl. I was having one of those awful hangovers where you truly believed you were going to vomit your entire stomach up and still have no relief in sight.

Dry heave… Vomit… Dry heave… Vomit.

I might have unintentionally cracked three ribs and given myself an appendectomy.

This was the moment where I'd promise myself I would never drink again, despite the fact that I'd be ready to hit the bottle once I was fully healed.

Yes, I was having one of
those
hangovers.

"I feel so bad for you right now. I'm just thankful that I don't feel as shitty as you. Holler if you need anything." I heard Amy step away from the bathroom door and head down the hallway.

After I'd proceeded to vomit like a bulimic girl who'd just binged herself through a pack of Oreos and several McDonald's Quarter Pounders, I hopped into the shower to wash off last night's alcohol and remnants of today's puking marathon.

The warm water felt soothing on my now achy muscles, and I took my time washing my hair. I could only imagine the shenanigans I'd gotten myself into last night. If I was this hung over and couldn't recall how I'd gotten home, things probably had been out of control. I jumped out of the shower, brushed my teeth, dried my hair a little, and put on my favorite comfy robe before heading back into my bedroom.

"Ahhhhhh! What the fuck!" I screamed as I realized there was a sleeping man in my bed.

I was shocked my shrill yell hadn't startled him awake. I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd woken up the entire apartment complex. Amy came running in with a look of terror on her face and then abruptly stopped when she realized what my dramatics were about. We were both standing at the foot of my bed, staring at the still sleeping guy, with puzzled looks on our faces.

Amy looked over at me with a goofy grin before putting her hand over her mouth in attempt to hide her laughter. I elbowed her in the stomach in hopes that I could shut her up and then proceeded to grab her by the wrist and quickly drag her out of my bedroom. We headed into the kitchen and did what any girl would do in this situation—tried to recount last night's events.

"How in the hell did you not see this guy when you woke up?" Amy was grinning, her perfectly white teeth practically shining back at me.

"Well, let's see. I woke up with a pounding fucking headache and then had to make a mad dash to the bathroom, where I proceeded to vomit for like an hour. I'm pretty sure you should have called a priest. I could have used an exorcism in there!"

Amy started to laugh a little and shook her head at the nonsensicality of this scenario.

"Okay. Let me get this straight. You didn't happen to notice that
a man
, who looks to be about six foot and a muscular two hundred pounds, was lying in your bed? Seriously, Ellen? Are you that clueless?"

"First of all, who the hell are you? Do you secretly write height and weight statistics for the NFL? Secondly, I was too focused on how god damn awful I felt! My head was pounding and I could barely open my eyes! I was probably still kind of drunk when I woke up!" I said a little too loudly.

Amy motioned for me to quiet down, and we both glanced down the hall in hopes that Mystery Guy hadn't woken up and overheard our conversation. The entire apartment was uncannily quiet, and we assumed that my unexpected guest was still sound asleep in my bed.

I abruptly sat down at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands, huffing out a deep breath of frustration. My mortification was at record-breaking levels.

How in the hell do I find myself in these situations?

"I've got to get my act together. This one-night stand shit is starting to get out of control," I said in the whiniest voice possible with my head still buried in my hands.

"Elle, it's fine. We've all been there before. Okay, let's look on the positive side. At least he's attractive and not covered in back hair like that one guy from—"

I quickly interrupted Amy and gave her a serious look. "Enough! Now is not the time for a rehashing of my past hookups. I just need you to help me get this guy out of here so I can still maintain a tiny bit of my already scant amount of dignity."

She glanced at the clock and sat down next to me at the kitchen table. "All right, well in my opinion this guy has already overstayed his welcome. It's almost ten, and in proper one-night stand etiquette, his ass should have been out the door over an hour ago."

"Proper one-night stand etiquette? Do you realize how absurd you sound right now?"

"Ellen, there are some unwritten but very well-known one-night stand rules, and having your ass out the door before ten in the morning is definitely one of them!" Amy threw her arms in the air, indicating she was irritated with Mystery Guy for not following the so-called one-night stand book of etiquette.

I rolled my eyes skyward. "Whatever. I'm not discussing this with you right now. Let's just get this idiot out of here. We need to be really loud so we wake him up."

Amy stood up from the kitchen table and loudly grabbed a frying pan from the cabinet. "Good idea. I'll make us something to eat and make sure I'm extra noisy so we interrupt ass-clown's beauty rest. Go turn on some music."

I plugged my iPod into the stereo and blasted Incubus while Amy proceeded to bang shit around in the kitchen.

Forty-five minutes later...

Amy and I had now successfully cooked breakfast, eaten said breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, and listened to the entire Morning View album by Incubus
on surround sound. Yet, there was still no sign from Mr. Sleeping Beauty. I decided to take matters into my own hands and leave my dignity in the kitchen. I headed into my bedroom and forcefully shut my door, the slamming vibration nearly sending shockwaves throughout the entire apartment. I looked towards my bed, hopeful that Mystery Guy would start to stir.

No flinch.

No startle.

Not a single budge.

What the hell?

If I couldn't have visibly seen this guy breathing, I'd have been worried that he was dead. I cleared my throat loudly. "Excuse me... Uhhh...are you awake?"

Still no response.

Now I was starting to get a little pissed at Mr. Sleeping Dead. Again, I cleared my throat as loudly as humanly possible. "Hey. You. Guy. Could you wake the fuck up?"

And still, no response. This guy might as well have been in a coma.

Who sleeps this deeply and doesn't hear a single thing all morning?

I looked towards the night stand to make sure there wasn't a small hearing aid missing its owner. . And just thinking that thought brought up drunken flashbacks from the previous night into my head...

I'm looking down at this incredibly attractive man as I continue to ride his cock. He's looking up at me in a seductive, euphoric way. Who cares that he's deaf right? I mean, this guy is unbelievable sexy. Blond hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a set of washboard abs that would make any girl's panties wet.

I've taken care of people with hearing impairments. I know sign language…a little.

I managed to get him back to my apartment and undressed, so that's all that really matters at this point. He flips me on my back and starts thrusting deeper inside of me.

Damn, this guy knows how to use his dick.

He's average-sized, but he has nice girth and I know he's got the tools to bring me to orgasm.

"Oh yesssss! Harder! Harder!" I yell and can't ignore the fact that my drunken slur has it sounding more like "Uh Yessss! Hardhurts! Hardhurts!"

Oh well. He can't hear me anyway.

He abruptly stops the thrusting and just stares down at me with a look of concern.

What the fuck? Why isn't this guy continuing to screw my brains out?

"No! No! No! Keep going! Go! Now! Move your dick! Keeping moving your dick!" I say with urgency.

He's still not moving and is just looking at me. Oh no. He was good at lip-reading at the bar, but I bet he's having a hard time understanding my Tequila English.

What's the sign for harder? Think, Ellen! Think! Sign for harder? Pelvic thrusting motion? That would probably work…

I blinked back the drunken flashback and flushed cherry red with embarrassment.

Holy mother of pearl! This guy is actually hearing impaired!

I'd brought a deaf guy home, and I'd been trying to wake him up all morning by making noise. Noise he couldn't hear because he was motherfucking deaf! I slapped my forehead with my right hand, dragged it over my eyes, and then slowly shook my head.

How in the hell had I managed this one? I drunkenly brought a deaf guy home from the bar, blacked out, and woke up without remembering any details. Oh wait, I had some details. The mortifyingly embarrassing ones! I was pretty sure I'd attempted to sign "harder" to him by motioning a pelvic thrust with my hips and arms.

Ground, please swallow me up! Lightning, strike me dead right here in my bedroom!

After several moments of self-deprecation, I decided to end this embarrassing moment by tapping his back with my foot. Mystery Guy rolled over on his back and sleepily looked over at me. I forced a tight smile on my face and gave a slight wave.

Oh great. Now I'm waving hello at this guy.

I was waving hello at the guy I was standing three feet away from, and less than twelve hours ago, he'd been muff-diving like a god damn professional. Now that I was starting to recall bits and pieces of last night, I could definitely remember that this guy had some serious oral skills. If the Olympics had muff-diving as an event, he would definitely be on the medal stand with the Star-Spangled Banner loudly playing while the American flag hung proudly behind him.

That guy had eaten my pussy like a fat guy on death row smothering himself in a box of Twinkies.

Mystery Guy smirked back at me before grabbing his cell phone from my night stand and checking the time. I could tell by his facial expression that he was shocked it was almost noon.

Yeah, fucker, haven't you read the one-night stand book of etiquette?

He abruptly stood up and began to collect his clothes while simultaneously giving me a full-on naked view of his very nice ass.

And that's the story of how I brought home a deaf guy and had drunken one-night-stand sex with him. You're welcome for the comedic entertainment.

In that moment, I promised myself I would never drink tequila
or
have one-night stand sex again until I manage to get over this terrible hangover and seek therapy.

God damn drunken one-night stands...

I've got to get my act together and stop doing this.