Somewhat dazed, Frank the Nurse, Mr. Saturday Night himself, was roused to consciousness by the relentless heat of the Greek morning Sun and the adventurous flies exploring his nasal cavities in the bright new day. Swatting the spelunking flies away; Frank sat upright and instantly regretted such turbulent motion to his brain as it sloshed about in his skull. Squinting, Frank tried desperately to focus his vision through his hangover on something, anything. Eventually, his bed wear came under his rather groggy scrutiny: a skirt bunched up round his waist and women’s panties.
"Right," thought Frank, "clearly some inquiries into last night’s memories are in order." His brain replied back after some delay that such information was temporarily unavailable but to try back later and thanks for calling. After a few minutes of fumbling Frank managed to shed his bed wear and pull himself into a pair swim trunks and began a slow stumble to the pool.
Across the campground, Louise, clad in Frank’s "Dangerous Cock" boxer shorts, swatted unconsciously at the flies, rolled onto her back and began to snore.
From the deck of the pool, I looked up from my game of chess with Big Frank, to watch a rather haggard Mr. Saturday Night lurch to towards the crisp blue water and topple in, thereby jumpstarting his brain.
Wet, but thinking a bit more clearly as his brain grinded from first to second gear, Frank sat at our table, a pool of water forming under his chair. "Bob," he began quietly (loud noises were best to avoided), "I’m trying to piece together last night. Can you explain the women’s clothing to me?" His eyes desperately sought an answer, and at the same time, dreaded what revelations might be forthcoming.
"It all began with Pip, Frank"
"Pip...."
Given a starting point, Frank’s memory suddenly restored communication with his brain and various fragments of memory started arranging themselves, sliding into place as puzzle pieces do when one realizes the jumble they’re looking at is the leg of the donkey.
I think at this point I should make a short digression to explain Pip, or Pippen. Now, it’s not as though any of the madness I experienced during my second week on Ios was Pip´s fault, but most of it can usually be traced back to an idea originating in her mind. Pip comes across as a nice, upbeat, goofy chick though rumor has it an easy way to get her seriously inebriated is to sit down with her and play a game of "I Never."
The idea that came from this nice, goofy mind on the night in question, when four of us: Pip, Saturday Night, Louise, and I were walking down the thronging alleyways of Ios´ nightlife was, "Hey! Why don’t we all swap underwear?" Needless to say we thought this a brilliant idea and after toasting Pip for her ingenious plan with a round of Vodka, we nipped into a sorta deserted alleyway to make the trades. I called dibs on Pip´s thong and soon was wriggling my way into that. Thus clad, we felt it only appropriate at this juncture to record the event with a photo and requested the services of some passing girl who quickly had her mind warped. Now, I can’t be certain, but I’m fairly sure it was Louise who felt that stopping at underwear was far too tame, and in short time we were back on the streets in full drag, Frank and I cutting a swath through the crowd. Needless to say, a few shots later we were dancing atop the bar at "Disco 69" the busiest club in Ios and generally causing the clientele some confusion, especially when we mooned them. It was a hell of a night.
The rest of this story has disappeared at some point on my travels, so I draw my narrative to a close. Hope you all find this enjoyable.
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