8 million stories: How I Lit my Ass on Fire

| 11 Nov 2014 | 02:14

    I woke up naked in a twin bed in a room I didn’t recognize, wondering how the fuck I got there.

    There had been a Halloween party the night before; my friends were going as “Malice in Wonderland” and “Little Dead Riding Hood,” and I was going to be “Snow Fright” in my first slutty, store-bought costume.We kicked off the night chugging vodka out of a Poland Spring bottle while marching in the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade and then moved on to 230 Fifth, a rooftop bar where my friend was throwing a party. I had guzzled my weight in Stoli Vanil by the time we arrived and immediately got separated from my friends. I had another drink and danced with a Ghostbuster.

    Feeling lightheaded, I stumbled over to a long booth lined with small tables, each with a single lit candle as the centerpiece. As I slid between two of the tables to take a seat, the bottom of my dress, which puffed out like a tutu, caught the flame of a candle. I suddenly realized that my ass was on fire. I sat down on it quickly to put it out. I was mortified, but I didn’t think anyone had seen me. I tried to look cool, but when I felt the back of my dress, I found that it was melted together in a plastic ball and had become even shorter than before. There was a hole in my stockings; a piece of the plastic had melted on my backside. It hurt. I got up and went back to the bar for another drink. I should have gone home after that. Instead I called Andrew.

    Andrew and I had an understanding. He understood that I really liked him, and I understood that he really liked to have sex with me.The next thing I remember was getting out of the cab in front of his Red Hook apartment. I was actually starting to sober up when he offered me some pot. I had never done drugs before so I took a huge hit, wanting badly to do it right and look cool.That’s the last thing I remember.

    I shoved him awake. “Oh my God, did we have sex?” “Are you kidding? You don’t remember?” He started freaking out a little. “You were totally into it. In fact, it was your idea, I swear to God.” He left the room and came back with water,Tylenol and my purse. He offered me money for a cab, but I was sitting on his bed in my bra when he opened his wallet; taking the money would’ve made me feel like a hooker, so I refused. I got up to put my costume back on, but it was soaking wet. Andrew said he had tried to give me water the night before, and I kept spilling it on myself.

    My underwear and pantyhose, which were also soaked, had big holes in the back from the fire. Andrew hadn’t even noticed the sticky, scabby welt on my backside until I pointed it out to him. I begged him for something else to wear.

    He looked around his room and gave me a T-shirt and a pair of blue boxer briefs that fit like baggy shorts. I put them on, wore my dress over that and the T-shirt on top. I felt horrible, I looked ridiculous, and every part of me was sore.

    “I can’t believe I got so drunk,” I said. “You must think I’m such a whore.”

    “Believe me,” he replied, “you are the least whore-ish of all the girls I call for sex.” This was not the answer I was looking for. I went to clean up and was glad to be wearing my shoes. The bathroom he shared with three other guys was disgusting.The floor was filthy; the mirror was smudged with spit; and the toilet, which was surrounded by mangled Playboy magazines, looked like it had been sprayed with shit. I ripped off my false eyelashes, dropped them in the toilet and hovered above it to pee.When I was done,Andrew walked me to the bodega on the corner so I could go to the ATM. Men whistled and catcalled at me as I hobbled along in my platform shoes, a pathetic poster child for the walk of shame.

    Andrew called a cab, and it pulled up in front of us. I hugged him and he let me; he didn’t hug me back. I sunk into the back of the Town Car. It was an unseasonably warm Wednesday in October, so I rolled the window down for the scenic trip back to Astoria. How did I become this girl? In Rhode Island, I was the sweet, sober virgin with the homemade fairy princess costume.

    When I moved to New York City four years ago, I never dreamed I would become the drunken girl in the slutty outfit who lit her ass on fire. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends back home. ------