Fuck Buddies

Have you ever made out with a friend and then immediately regretted it?
I have avoided this situation. When sober.
Call me traditional, but I don't have sexual relationships with people I want to remain friends with. It's, like, jungle law. Or something.
Anyway, that's not to say that I want to date and marry every guy I've ever fooled around with. I don't really want to date or marry any of them. Well, definitely not date, anyway.
It's just that when it gets sexual, the relationship changes, and you can't pretend it doesn't. At least I can't.
I made out with one of my best friends a month and a half or so ago. I threw up in his sink, first. Twice. It was fuchsia.
You know the drunk where your face muscles kind of twitch and give up, and your one eye is getting all wiggy winking squinting, and the other one isn't focusing on anything? The room spins when you sit still, and your feet spin when you walk. That's the drunk I was that night.
There are pictures. My friend Jameson whipped them out via his camera at South Point one night and showed the group. He claims they will never go online, but that there will be prints made, and he will show them to my children, if I have any. They are horrifying, but funny to everyone else. I don't remember those pictures being taken. Or that party.
Anyway, my make out friend:
He tried to take my pants off, and I stopped him. I don't have sex with guys drunk. Anymore.
He didn't call the next day. Or any days after that.
We aren't really friends, anymore.
Rock N Roll No More, Please.