By staff writer Mitch Cundiff
It was Spring Break and slews of young adults were making their annual migration to South Padre, Texas, the women already thinking about how many cocks they could collectively stuff into their vaginas, and the men dreaming to be one of those cocks. (Well, not at the same time as the others, because that’s just fucking gross.)
Oh, my friends, how the people will fuck. It will be glorious: a giant tree of pussy with the most beauteous women on the top and the most hideous cock wenches on the bottom. Survival of the fittest at its best, with the cesspool of STDs ready to capitalize on their opportunity to multiply and infect.
Where will these people fuck? By the beach? On the street? In a dumpster? Yes, all of those places. But mostly, in a bed. You see, a bed in South Padre is not used for sleeping; it is used for fucking. Pure and simple.
Lips and dicks will indiscriminately stain every bed in this fair city. But for now, we will focus on one particular bed. This bed was one of many in a large condo on the beach, but for some reason, this bed was chosen. It was chosen not only for the fucking, but for the puking, pissing, and bleeding. Truly a martyr among beds. We will call it simply, the bed.
My friends and I arrived in South Padre wearing our hope on the outside. A hope of getting completely shit-faced and doing horrible things. Things that make mothers cry and brothers laugh. Our bags hit the ground minutes after arriving and we unloaded a myriad of liquor and beer, taking pride in our massive achievement of collecting such a copious amount of alcohol at the ripe under age of 18. Of course, the first thing every did was run around the condo claiming beds. Sadly, I had the runs, so I was spitting diarrhea out of my ass while this was going on. Wouldn’t you know, I was stuck sleeping on the couch. Fortunately, this would come to be more of a privilege than a detriment to my trip, due to the fact that dudes were doubling up on beds, and for the most part, I only enjoy cock on the weekends.
The bed sat in its own benevolence, its sheets spread like some albino woman’s vagina, waiting for the satisfaction of my salami. Lunchmeats aside, I got absolutely no pussy on this trip. My friend Clayton (R.I.P.) was the only one who got any action because he was a fucking stud. You won’t envy him for long.
The town of South Padre can best be described as completely awesome, and at the same time, horribly egregious. The first day we arrived, I met some girl on the elevator who was talking about how she “chilled” with Ludacris and did coke with him. “AWESOME,” I thought, “wow you just totally impressed me.” As I drifted away from the conversation, she then mentioned how earlier in the day, she saw a guy get thrown off of a five-story balcony.
Slut (giggling like a stupid whore): OMG, he flew like, fifty feet, and like, almost died!!
Me: Was he doing coke with Ludacris?
Slut: LOL, um no. Ludacris is staying at (blah blah blah)!!!
Me: You’re important.
I walked off the elevator two floors early and decided it would be nice to use the stairs. (A positive alternative to riding in the elevator and getting ear cancer from Cokey McSuckfuck.) When I arrived, everyone was playing power hour and doing shots. I do not feel the need to go into details here, because basically, we all got very drunk and went to a few clubs. But what happened after we returned is very important. Clayton was in the bed pounding out some vagina. I was fucking pissed off because I could not sleep, and had to reduce myself to jerking off in the corner of the room in the fetal position. I think he felt kind of shitty in the morning looking at how sleep deprived and un-sexed everyone looked, so he cleaned the condo. Good guy.
The following day, we repeated what we had done the prior night and got completely wasted. But…no one had sex on this night. However, someone DID piss all over himself in his sleep. Maybe it’s just me and my unusual urine fetish, but I would much rather see a guy covered in his own urine then see two people having sex. Wait, what did I just say?
My friend Darren disappeared for about three hours during the day, and showed up completely hammered. Up to this point, I had honestly never seen someone so ridiculous. And by ridiculous, I mean fucking ridiculous.
Darren: IF YOU DON’T GIVE A FUCK, WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!!
Everyone: Dude, shut up.
Darren: IF YOU DON’T GIVE A FUCK, WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Me: Holy shit, get the camera.
(At this point someone started video taping it, and one of my good friends still has the tape. If I ever get ahold of it, I will put it up, and Darren will make me famous.)
Darren: IF YOU DON’T GIVE A FUCK, WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA, OH SHIT, WATCH ME SEAWALK!!! OHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Everyone: (Couldn’t talk because we were laughing so hard.)
Darren is blacker than Dawson’s mom’s taint, so he can get away with doing the seawalk. Darren danced for a good hour or so on the beach getting mouthfuls of sand every few minutes until we pulled his ass inside. Eventually, all of his extremities ceased to function and it took six of us to lug him in. Although no longer moving, Darren continued to yell.
Darren: IF YOU DON’T GIVE A FUCK, WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!
Everyone: Shut the fuck up!!!
Darren: I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!!
Then I saw a foot fly directly into his ribcage. Just as I was about to get pissed off at someone for kicking such a defenseless drunk, I noticed that the foot was my own, and soon came to the conclusion that Darren deserved it. After he stopped coughing, Darren started chanting again louder than ever. So we threw him in the bed and went out. I kind of wished he would choke on his own vomit. (Not really, but yeah really.) We had a great night and everyone came back to sleep at around 3AM, completely unaware of what we would wake to in the morning.
I woke up with a very familiar stench in my nostrils. It almost smelled like pussy, but with more rancidity to it. Maybe a pussy with a yeast infection? Who even knows. As I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, I noticed a pair of urine-soaked, puke-covered jeans. Holy shit, someone had a good time. Despite my massive headache, I forced a smile and walked into the bedroom to see who had pissed all over himself so I could exploit him, thus making myself look superior. (Yeah, I’m an asshole like that.)
I saw three guys piled into one twin bed with NO girls. That’s pretty heterosexual I guess. Then I turned my gaze to the other twin bed (the bed) containing a sole occupant. It was Darren. And, well, Darren had no pants on. As I moved the rest of the sheet out of the way, I noticed a considerable area of condensation radiating from his genitals. It had a yellowish tint to it as well. Darren had…(sigh)…wet the fucking bed.
Before I could laugh, I just stood there in shock. Pissing your pants is one thing, but for some reason, wetting the bed is just fucking ridiculous. I began laughing uncontrollably, proclaiming my great discovery to my friends asleep in the next bed. Everyone scoffed at me, too hungover to give a shit. There could have been a fucking nuclear explosion, and they still would not have cared. Then, I looked over at my friend Elliott, now the best damn cocksucker at West Point, and he cracked a smile and began laughing quietly. (You big silly bastard, you still to this day have never let me down.)
Everyone slowly arose and realized what happened. Eventually, everyone was sitting there staring at Darren in disgust, writhing in his own waste. He denied pissing himself, even though he was glistening with urine. We all moved on from this episode, but I could not help but be in awe the bed. It almost had a soft glow to it, sitting there basking in sexual juices and urine. But its journey was not over yet.
The day went on as usual, with the occasional reference to Darren the bedwetter. Every time we brought it up, he pleaded for us not to tell. Up to this point, I think everyone kept their mouth shut—sorry Darren.
We all played volleyball for a few hours, and decided we would take a break from the club scene that night and stay in the condo. Bad news considering we have close to $300 worth of alcohol sitting in our kitchen. Surprisingly, we met more people in the surrounding condos than we did in the clubs. Sure, the people we met were fucking trailer trash and walked into our condo and drank our beer without even asking, but what can you do? Oh yeah, lock the door.
The night became a blur of drugs and alcohol and I do not remember any of it. Luckily, we had the camera rolling the entire time, which would help explain the piles of vomit we would find in the morning, leading from the bathroom into the hallway, and sure enough, all over the bed. Everyone woke up promptly at three in the afternoon and laid eyes on the puke-covered room. And there it was again, the bed, this time covered in a pink bile substance. Everyone was accounted for except for my friend Michael. The search for Michael lasted 10 seconds: there he was, slung over the toilet with vomit crusted all over his hair and face. Smile for the camera.
We got the camera and rewound it to watch the previous night unfold. One shots, two shots, a million fucking shots. Everyone was drunk as shit, but Michael hit the ground first. We dragged his ass to the bed, and as soon as he landed, out came the vomit. It shot from his body with such force that I thought he was a dragon. We picked him up again and slung him over the toilet in the same position we found him in the morning. One of my friends says he remembers getting up in the middle of the night to take a piss, and just moving Michael’s head over a few inches so the stream of piss only grazed his eyebrows.
After binging for about a week, we all needed a night to recoup our energy. I forced myself to trade in the intoxicating qualities of beer for the rejuvenating qualities of water. My friend Clayton, however, had different plans. He wanted to have some sex, so he had some sex. The girl was drunk and very loud, and yet again, no one could sleep. I can’t really blame him though; I would screw over a busload of friends to get some ass. Sure enough, they fucked all night and we got barely any sleep. In the morning, I got up to go get a change of clothes from the room so I could take a shower. As I walked by, Clayton and the girl were lying in the bed passed out. I laughed to myself as I thought about the layers of puke and piss on that thing, then I started to get turned on. Just kidding.
I hopped in the shower and only washed my stinky parts, because I am a busy guy. Then I dried off and walked into the bedroom to get some toothpaste. Clayton was just standing there looking at the bed. Puzzled, I stared at him for a minute and asked him what was wrong. He just stood there with a smirk on his face, his eyes fixed on the bed. I looked down and sure enough, there it was, a big fat period stain in middle of the bed. Nice.
Whether it doubled as a urinal, a porcelain god, or a tampon, the bed was there. I have yet to experience sleeping on a bed that has had such foul things happen on it. Well, except for that time me and my friend Dawson’s mom got a hotel room and…well, I’ll let her tell you Dawson. Just don’t be surprised if you get a new baby brother nine months from now.
*This story is dedicated to Clayton.