The orgy that was Phuture

I'd like to know how many guys from Phuture went home with dirty boxers last night.

Really. *scratch scratch

All they had to do was position themselves strategically among the hordes of sexily dressed girls last night who were writhing insanely on the dancefloor.

C and I were pressed together like 2 kissing pig magnets, one guy behind each of us, and one at each of our elbows. It was so crowded it wasn't dancing we were doing - we were body surfing. I couldn't even move my arms. All you had to do was stand still, and you'd move with the surging crowd, or maybe that girl with that huge ass behind you would be wearing down the material of your jeans.

The guys around us were decent looking enough, but why oh why (*scratch scratch) do I keep hitting the chin of the guy standing behind me with the top of my head and is that the crotch of his jeans I feel rubbing against the low of my back? I'm not accusing him or anything. It was just that crowded.

If I were a (nerdy, pervertic, loser, opportunistic kind of) guy, I would gather a group of friends and then scatter among the crowd of girls on the dancefloor. Then at the end of the night, we would compare and see how many times we got our rocks off. The one with the wettest underwear wins.

If not for the 1-for-1 drinks (*scratch vehemently), I'm probably not going back to the Phuture.



*I get rashes when I drink, and I drank (*scratch) quite a bit last night.