Liz sighed. "Claire, you're a hot bitch. You could stand there and do nothing and he'd still want to hump your leg. You just need some confidence. Repeat after me, "I am a dirty, dirty slut."
Liz stood there with her hands on her hips waiting for me to comply. I looked back nervously at Carter but he was deep in conversation with Drew.
"This is ridiculous," I complained.
"What's ridiculous is that you don't think you can be slutty. Do you honestly think I would be friends with you if I thought there wasn't a dirty whore lurking in there somewhere? Give me a little credit please. You are the quintessential lady in the streets, freak in the sheets."
“You need to stop quoting Urban Dictionary,” I told her.
Carter had probably been with lots of women. Women who could suck a golf ball through a garden hose and dance on a pole. Liz meant well, but I just didn't know if I could pull this off.
"You're starting to piss me off. Just say it. I am a dirty, dirty slut."
I rolled my eyes. I might as well do what she says or she'll never let it go.
"I'm a dirty, dirty slut," I mumbled quietly.
Well, that did feel a little good saying it out loud. Maybe Liz was on to something.
"Come on dirty girl, you can do better than that. Do it again, and put your vagina into it," Liz encouraged.
I took a deep breath and said it a little louder. Thank God there was music playing and people talking.
"Wow, did you see that?" Liz asked. "Carter’s disco stick just shriveled up and died. You suck at this, and not in a good way. Again!"
I clenched my fists at my sides and my breathing sped up. I could be a dirty slut; I could be dirtier than a hooker at a gang-bang.
Okay, maybe not that dirty.
I took in a big gulp of air and let out all of my nerves, all of my anxiety and all of my irrational fears with one sentence.
"I AM A DIRTY, DIRTY SLUT!"
Unfortunately, the jukebox decided to move to a new song right then, so the decibel level of the bar had dropped considerably. I was too busy empowering the slut within to notice. Too bad for me no one else had been preoccupied with anything other than my screaming confirmation.
Everyone within shouting distance immediately started clapping and cheering. There were a few cat calls and wolf whistles and one over-zealous person who yelled, "Save a drum, bang a dirty slut!"
Drew got smacked in the arm by Jenny for that one.
Everyone felt so sorry for me that free drinks were sent to me for the next hour. And I couldn't be rude. I had to drink them. Which was why Carter was now helping me walk into my house because my feet just did not want to cooperate and - oh look, pizza!
I stumbled away from Carter and flipped open the cardboard box my dad left on the counter, shoveling an entire piece into my mouth.
"Mfmmff soooo fucking good," I mumbled around bites.
Carter stood behind me holding onto my hips to steady me while I inhaled two more pieces and guzzled two glasses of water.
"Fuck, this pizza is like...good and shit," I told him, wiping my greasy hands on a towel next to the box.
Alright, enough stalling. Time to do this shit.
I turned in Carter’s arms and gave him my best sultry look, chanting my mantra over and over.
I'm a dirty slut. I'm a dirty slut.
"Are you okay Claire? Do you have something in your eye?"
Carter cupped my cheeks and tilted my head back so he could look in my eye that did NOT have anything in it but sex appeal.
I am a drunk, dirty slut. I am a drunk, dirty slut.
I pulled my face away from his hands and decided to stick with a smile. It was safer.
I could do this; I could so totally do this.
I lifted the hem of my shirt up over my stomach, my black lace bra, and my head.
Except, my shirt got caught in the bobby pins on the top of my head. I was standing here in front of Carter with my shirt stuck around my head and chin and my arms stuck out in front of my face.
I am the great Cornholio. I am the great Cornholio. I need TP for my bunghole.
I started snorting and Carter bent his knees so he could peak into the opening of my shirt.
"Baby, what are you doing?" he asked with a laugh.
"I might need some help getting nuded," I said through snorts of laughter.
"Did you say neutered?"
Carter’s question just made me laugh even harder, which naturally made me cry - deep, heaving sobs with snot running down my nose.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have now entered the drunk crying portion of our evening. Please put your seatbacks in the upright position and try not to stare at the train wreck to your left.
Carter helped me get my shirt back on and put his hands back on my face, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.
"Hey, why the tears? What's wrong?" he asked softly.
That just made me cry harder. He was so nice and pretty and…nice. I sniffled loudly.
"I just wanted to be a slut so you'd like me and I don't want your penis to be disappointed and Twat Face is going to beat me up because I called her vagina a clown car."