"Needs a Night Out"

Reads: 107  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 2

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young woman needs a night out on a lonely Saturday...

Submitted: April 15, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 15, 2017



“Needs a Night Out”



She didn’t really have,

Any place to be,

But it was Saturday,

And she had Sunday off too.

She started dropping texts,

Early this morning,

Trying to set up,

Something for tonight.

She hadn’t gone out,

In ages,

And was dying,

Just to see,

A few hot guys,

In jeans too tight,

With muscles,

That looked like,

They were swimming,

Under their tee shirts.

She turned 33,

A couple of weeks ago,

And ended up,

Spending that night,

At the movies,

With Steff,

One of her,

Married girlfriends,

Who out of pity,

Passed over a date night,

With her husband,

Just so she,

Wouldn’t be alone,

On that special night.

Steff also gave her,

The only gift she got,

For her birthday,

A gift,

Which still sits,

Wrapped up,

On the corner of,

Her coffee table.

She was feeling good,

About tonight through,

She woke up,

Extra early,

And started cleaning,

Her already pristine kitchen.

She didn’t know anyone,

That got up before,

Even the Starbucks,

Were open.

It was only 8:03am now,

And she had,

Already drank,

3-large cups of,

Black coffee,

And washed her,

Two favorite sets,

Of party clothes,

Both of which,

Were already clean,

To begin with,

But knowing they were,

Just washed,

Just made her,

Feel better.

Her first outfit choice,

Was of faded jeans,

And a tight fitting blouse,

Which was what,

She thought,

She looked best in.

But the blue skirt,

With a white top,

Plus cowboy boots,

Was what she,

Was wearing,

The last time,

She got laid,

And for that reason,


It climbed into,

The number two,


She tried to sit still,

Thumbing through a magazine,

Checking and rechecking,

Her phone,

For any,

Answer back texts.

An hour later,

She got her first reply,

From who she was thinking,

Would be one of her,

Most promising prospects,


Which was strange,

That she was,

The first to reply,

Only because she rarely,

Got out of bed,

Before noon.

But as she read,

The text,

That was explained,

When she got to,

The part,

Stating that she was,

One week into,

A 30-day alcohol free,

Self-imposed sentence,

After waking up,

In the backseat,

Of her car,

And not remembering,

A thing,

About the night before.

Which would have been,

Bad enough,

If not for the fact,

She had broken a window,

To get into,

The backseat,

And the other fact,

She didn’t own,

A car.

She texted her back,

“Good for You”,

“Stay Strong”,

Secretly wishing,

She would have,

Broken that 30-day pledge,

The night before.

She decided to take,

A quick drive,

To kill some time,

And work off,

Her restless energy.

She drove out to,

The local farmers market,

And spent an hour,

Picking through all the,

So called organic,


Fruits and vegetables,

Wrapped up and presented,

As if they were,

Christmas gifts.

She ends up taking,

Two reusable bags worth,

Back home with her,

She rewashed everything,

Before putting it away,

Setting aside the stuff,

To make a nice,

Lunch salad.

Half way through lunch,

She got a call from,


Who was having,

To bow out,

Of tonight’s events,

She was getting,

Back together,

With her Ex-Boyfriend.

She told Trish,

Over the phone,

That she was,

Happy for her,

And hung up,


She had said,

Those exact same words,

To her,

5-times already,

In the last 3-months.

She decided to call Chris,

She was her,

Ace in the hole,

She was always up,

For going out,

Regardless of the,

Place or time,

Never needing,

Any kind of,

A reason to party,

Just never having,

The money too,

Finance her endeavors.

But this was well known,

Among all her friends,

And if you called her,

She pretty much expected you,

To carry her,

But in return,

You got,

One of the most,


Guy magnets,

To ever,

Drunkenly stumble,

Across a bar room floor.

It was well after 3:00pm,

As the phone rang,

For the seventh time,

Before Chris,

Finally picked up.



“Chris can you hear me?”

The back round noise,

On the phone,

Was over powering,

It sounded like,

A cross between,

A  European soccer chant,

And an Irish wake.

All of a sudden,

Chris’s voice comes through,

Loud and clear,

“Hey What’s Up”,

“I got your text”


“Where are you?”

Well I’m in the bathroom,

Of a large tour bus,

For an Australian rugby team,

At least I think,

Their Aussies,

Just judging by,

All the empty,

Coopers beer cans,

That are littering,

The floor,

South Australia,

If I had to guess.

One thing about Chris,

You spend enough time,

Hanging out in bars,

You do tend to learn,

A thing or two,

About beer.

As for the state,

I’m in,

I couldn’t tell you.

Last thing I remember,

I was at a party,

In the valley,

This cute guy,

Wanted to show me,

His rugby uniform,

That was in the bus,

Well anyways,

That was 15-hours ago,

So in less this bus,

Has been traveling in circles,

I don’t think,

I’ll be anywhere near,

The strip tonight.

“Well Chris”,

“You sound like”,

“You got your hands full”,

“Of what though”,

“I’m afraid to ask”.

Chris laughs,

As the chanting sound,

Returns to its,

Riot level of noise,

Right before,

The phone goes dead.

She crosses Chris’s name,

Off her list,

And wasn’t feeling,

All that good,

About her options,

For tonight.

She popped open,

A beer,

And sunk into her sofa,

Her abundance of energy,

Slowly wilting away.

She sits on the sofa,


Having two,

Then three,

More beers.

The T.V. has been on,

For well over an hour,

And from where,

She was sitting,

She could see into,

Her bedroom,

Looking at both her outfits,

Lying across her bed,

Wondering which one,

She would have picked,

If she only had a reason,

To make a choice.

She looked over to,

Her kitchen counter,

Where six or seven bottles,

Of assorted liquors stood.

She got up,

And walked over,

To the counter,

Pulling forward,

An unopened bottle,

Of pure blue,

Agave tequila,

Pops out the glass stopper,

And holds it,

To her nose,

Deeply breathing in,

The peppery and caramel,


She opens her,

Cherrywood cabinet door,

Takes out a shot glass,

She got two years ago,

On a trip to Vegas,

Fills it,

As high as it will go,

Causing it to bulge,

Over the top,

The surface tension,

Of the tequila,

Grabbing at the rim,

Of the shot glass,

Struggling to keep its self,

From flowing over,

Its banks.

She bends down,

And puts her lips,

To the rim,

Of the glass,

Sucking off enough,

Of the tequila,

To make it safe,

For transport.

She carries the shot glass,

And the tequila bottle,

Over to her coffee table,

Setting the bottle,

At the 12 o'clock ,

And the shot glass,

At the 5 o'clock clock position.

Then she walks back,

To the kitchen,

Grabs a small cutting board,

Out of the top drawer,

Then one of her,

Organic limes,

A paring knife,

And a shaker,

Filled with sea salt,

Puts all that,

On the cutting board,

Then walks the board over,

To the coffee table,

And sets that,

At the 9 o'clock position,

Returns back to her,

Cherrywood cabinets,

Swings open another door,

Takes out a dinner plate,

And puts it in the center,

Of everything,

On the coffee table.

She starts to walk back,

To the kitchen,

But then thinks,

Better of it,

And turns left,

Towards the bedroom,


Moments later,

She returns,

Dressed in the,

Blue skirt,

White blouse,

And cowboy boots,

Smiling to herself,

Over the fact,

That she found a reason,

To choose between,

The two outfits.

Feeling much better,

About herself,

Not because of the,


Or the beer,

Or the soon to be,

Drank tequila,

But because of the,

Change in her attitude,

Concerning this Saturday night.

She walks over,

To the freezer,

 Pulls out a pint,

Of Breyers,

Chocolate fudge,

Ice cream,

Takes off the top,

And throws it,

In the trash,

Grabs a spoon,

And drives it into,

The center,

Of her guilt free,


Walks over,

And puts the pint,

Of ice cream,

In the center,

Of the dinner plate,

Making sure everything,

Is perfectly positioned,

And then sits down.

Then she notices,

Her still wrapped,

Lone birthday present,

Still sitting,

On the corner,

Of her coffee table.

She reaches over,

Grabs the gift,

And tears the,

Wrapping paper,

Right down,

The center.

Her eyes get big,

And she can’t hide,

Her beaming smile.

A DVD of,


The unrated version.

She starts to laugh,


Takes the shot,

Of tequila,

Forgetting all about,

The lime and salt,

And says,

To nobody but herself,

“Tonight couldn’t have”,

“Turned out any better”,

“If I had planned it”.

She gets up,

Starts to walk towards,

The Blue-ray player,

Then she loudly squealed,


“The Deleted Scenes Included”.

The moon that night,

Rose over,

One of the best,

Saturday nights,

She has had,

In a long,




Tom Allen…04-09-2017…









© Copyright 2018 Tom Allen714. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:






More Other Short Stories