Confessions From Abroad: Nude and Confused in Lagos, Portugal
By: Beer Bong Betty
A bunch of friends and I spent a weekend in Lagos, Portugal, which is basically a Mediterranean party paradise. We stayed at the Rising Cock Hostel – no joke. Our last night in town was a Sunday and nobody was out, but my last surviving wingwoman and I found a place that was known for its beer bong tally – they had a list of countries written on a blackboard and each time someone did a beer bong, that country got a tally. Surprise, surprise, United States was leading the pack by a long run.
It was kinda dead but we decided to grab a beer anyway and just our luck, some guys start hitting on us and order us another round. My friend refuses hers but I have no problem picking up the slack. Three beers in front of me, out of nowhere they call last call. I look at the bartenders in shock and they explain that it’s dead on a Sunday so they’re closing up and tell me to finish my drinks. I debate for a second, drink half a beer, then demand, “gimme the beer bong.”
They cheer and load the thing up with the rest of my beer, one bartender holding it up and me getting ready on my knees in the bar. I start taking it down without issues until the chick bartender gets up on top of the bar, grabs a bottle of vodka, and starts pouring it into the beer bong while I’m slugging it down my throat. Stopping mid-beer bong means getting a gross beer-vodka mixture all over me, so I suck it up and take it down. Needless to say, after drinking all weekend long in the sun and drinking quite a few beers plus vodka in very rapid succession, I was well on my way to sloppy. The bartender heads over to congratulate me on my rockstar beer bong and pours me another shot. Soon he’s convincing me it’s a good idea to go back to his place even though I have to leave really early the next morning. My friend encourages the whole situation, as she’s busy with her own conquest, and assures me she can get back to The Cock okay.
In his apartment I start floating between being blacked out and being totally wasted, but I’m pretty sure we managed to have fantastic messy drunk sex a few times and pass out. In the middle of the night I have to get up and pee, but on my way back to dude’s bedroom I realize all the doors look the same and I have no idea which one I came out of… and apparently the multiple doors mean there must be roommates. Going to the bathroom ass-naked: bad choice. In my stupor I guess I decided to pass out on the couch for a while, but I can’t figure out why I thought this was a good idea when I wake up still naked without any blankets or anything. It could have been 15 minutes or three hours, I have no idea. I hastily peek into one of the doors that’s slightly open – success! – and sneak back into bed with the guy. He rolls over and asks “where did you go?” and I just reply “bathroom” without bothering to explain that I got lost for an indefinite amount of time.
More sex and more sleeping alternatively occur and when I grab my clothes next morning, I realize that I have no chance in hell of remembering what his name is. I figure why bother asking when I’m obviously never going to see him again, so after a quick kiss goodbye and a “thanks, I had fun,” I get the fuck out of Dodge. To this day he’s still the only guy I’ve fucked whose name I can’t remember – he’s just “Canadian bartender in Lagos.”
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this is hilarious! sounds like my last night in Madrid..lets just say tequila really does make your clothes fall off!