My worst one night stand was during a time where I was experiencing both an overactive libido and terribly poor judgment.
After chatting with Karl, a burgeoning actor/director/musician/voice over artist/screenwriter barista I decided to grab drinks at a dive bar in close proximity to his apartment…which he shared with several other people…
We got drunk, made out at the bar and decided to take it back to his place.
(As I mentioned, standards were questionable).
Not long into our little Rendez-Vous we found ourselves 4 PBRs and 2 shots of Jame-O deep and engaged in some considerable heavy petting. As our conspicuous displays of affection began making our fellow patrons obviously uncomfortable Karl suggested we take things back to his apartment so we could continue our adult fun in private.
Karl's place was quite the sight to behold, indeed. This garden level apartment was the epitome of a multi-inhabited 'artist' apartment in NYC. The walls were covered in eccentric artwork, it was impossibly cramped and smelled of incense and sweaty feet.
His room measured no more than 8×8 and consisted of his bed lofted upon a rickety-looking wooden structure with an equally questionable ladder leaned up against it. A dirty hole-ridden futon and a 'desk' propped up on some cinder blocks sat in the space beneath the bunked bed.
An (almost) naked man appeared in the room. It wasn't Karl.
When I reached the floor my eyes finally adjusted. I found myself standing completely naked in front of a strange man almost equally as exposed as I was (save for his tighty whities) sleeping on the futon.
His eyes opened, and I freaked. the. F*CK. out.
"AHHH! OMG!" I screamed, causing Karl to spring from his deep slumber.