If I Could Fuck Myself Real Good

"Oh, don't get all mushy on me Jesse!" She said as I leaned in and began confessing my love for her.
I told her I was too high to realize how weird I was being, but that wasn't true. I was as sober as ever.
"Are you going to go to the Animal Collective show on the 23rd?" She asked. "Yeah, you?" I responded. "I'm not sure, I want to go, but none of my friends want to go. They think Animal Collective is just a bunch of noise! They obviously have never heard Loch Raven, or Number One, or Unsolved Mysteries, or Banshee Beat, or any of that stuff! They're probably basing it off of like Who Could Win a Rabbit or some shit! Hha." "I know what you mean, I HATE Who Could Win a Rabbit. Why don't you come with my friends and I?" She looked at me, a bit puzzled like. I'm not sure what she was thinking in that split second. Maybe something along the lines of whether or not I'd try to make a move on her then, or if I'd think of it as more than just two friends going to a show. She would have been right to think both those things of me. The only way I could justify it is by saying that I'm lonely. And by saying that I haven't had sex in six months now. Not that that's any justification at all.
"Sure" she finally said, after what seemed like a lifetime of deliberation. "Okay" I said, and then I leaned in for a kiss and we fucked all night long... Yeah, that's how it happened... Yeah...