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Puck Cainly  

       I woke up completely and utterly naked.  

       Okay. I can deal with this.  

       Slowly opening my eyes, I blink. I recognize the ceiling. That's a good sign. 

       Another good sign? The fact that I can feel the mattress beneath me. I haven't been dropped on the side of the road as some practical joke. 

      My head is pounding. That's important information. Probably a hangover.  

       There's this weird, tingly feeling and the fact that I can't remember anything from last night... 

       And there's also this one last fact that seems really important. A noise. I strain my throbbing ears to listen and realize that it's light snoring. 

       I'm butt naked. In a bed. Feeling tingly, though my head is pounding. And someone's snoring beside me.  

       This can mean only one thing. 

       I, Puck Archibald Cainly, got laid last night. For the first time, like, ever.  

       And I don't remember a single thing about it.                                                   

       Well, that's okay, I guess. I can just make up something to tell my best friend, Caleb, later. (Of course he'll want to know all of the details.) It'll come back someday.  

       But right now...  

       I have to figure just who I'd be describing.  

       I wonder who it is. Maybe Pamela Tate? She seems like the type to do this sort of thing. Caleb had noticed her looking at me on Thursday. Not to mention the fact that she was at this party. 

       So it's Pamela Tate. Now what? 

       I look over at her. She's rolled up in the sheets (in fact, I've just noticed that it's pretty cold down here. Cover hog.) so I can't see her face. 

       And now the awkwardness of a one-night stand settles in. I've never done this before. Do I leave? No, I'd be a jerk if I just left her here without at least doing...something. Do I wake her up? Leave a note? 

      Yeah. I'll leave a note. Perfect. 

       I scoot out of bed carefully and tiptoe over to my boxers, sliding them on. I sneak a glance over at the mound on the bed. It hasn't moved.  

       The room that I'm in is decidedly male. You can't really tell at first, because it's pretty clean, but there's black and blue shoes lined up along the ground. There's also a guy's shirt hanging on the lamp. Mysteriously enough, though, there's no girl clothes around. Maybe she put them back on...? 

       My socks came next, then my shirt (I had to search a little for that one--it was balled up near the door). My jeans are near the bed, a bit harder to put on, but I manage it without falling over. 

       My shoes are on and now I'm staring down at a sheet of paper, holding my head in one hand. The hangover's making it hard to think... 

       Do I say 'thank you for a good time'? I try and think back to the movies that I've seen and decide to just leave my name and number.  

       There. It's done. I can walk away with my pride and the knowledge that after sixteen long years, I've finally gotten laid. (It's a pretty awesome feeling.) 

       Before I go, though, I have to check and make sure that it's Pamela. Because let's face it: A guy has to know who he lost his V-card to. And just assuming that it was Pam isn't going to cut it.  

       So I put the note and pen down and slowly, carefully, creep over to the ball of sheets.  

       I was right to check. There's a tuft of white blonde hair sticking out from the top. Pamela's hair is auburn.  

       The girl's hair is sort of short, I guess, but oh well.  

       I slowly, carefully, lift a sheet, just to catch a glimpse of the person beneath... see a guy. Looking at me calmly. 

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