It is her night.  She is riding high and I am happy just being there with her. 

            We conquer West Hollywood, one bar at a time and for the second day in a row it is nearly sunrise before we find our way home.  We are driven, via limo, to Ashley’s house in a drunken stupor.  Our laughter is uncontrollable and we are just having the time of our lives.  It is the blind leading the blind as we unsuccessfully attempt to hold each other up and make it safely into the house.  Once inside, there are at least two points where we fall to the floor and lay there hysterical over our inability to scrape ourselves up. 

            Upon reaching the bedroom she hands me something to change into and announces she has to go to the bathroom.  I sit on the bed holding the clothes, unsure of my ability to proceed with the task.  I just stare at the shirt and laugh out loud at the seeming impossibility of going through with it.  When Ashley returns she has sweatpants and a t-shirt on.  For a moment I wonder if she really did have to use the bathroom or if it was just an excuse to change without me being present.  That thought leaves my head just as quickly, when she runs into the edge of the couch and nearly loses her balance, causing another fit of laughter.

            “You know the object is to change so you are more comfortable.”

            “Help me.”  I flash my most pathetic ‘please’ face with pouting lip and everything.  When she walks over to me I raise my arms above my head.  She smiles at the action and reaches to my waist to grab the bottom of the tank top.  I stare at her, trying to make eye contact, but she seems to be focused on what she is doing.  She slowly pulls the garment off my body and over my head.  She reaches for the top she has given me and starts to prepare it to put it over my head.  I reach around my back and unclasp my bra, pulling it off my shoulders.  I look up at her again only to find that she is diverting her eyes, waiting for me to be ready for the shirt. Her behavior leaves me feeling suddenly self conscious and without further hesitation, I take the shirt and pull it over my head.  She offers her hand to help me to my feet and I accept.  Once up, she unbuttons my pants and pulls them off my hips.  Standing is a problem already, so I brace my hands on her back.  In one smooth motion she has me out of my pants and into boxer shorts.  When she returns to an upright position, my arms rest on her shoulders and this time I am determined to make eye contact.  I grab my left wrist with my right hand, locking my arms gently around her neck.  Her head is down.  I adjust mine accordingly, searching for her eyes.  She finally submits to my attempts and raises her head to look at me.  I see nothing in her eyes but fear.