OK, I suffered a massive creativity failure with Nanowrimo. Having a job lasting nearly the entire month buttfucked any chance I could have done this, and it stalled at this point, 21,301 words or so in. Here’s the last bit I wrote. I’m going to go stroke my ego better.

Having rolled off of his arm, the woman groaned. Evidently, she had had a fair few herself. This wasn’t something he thought too hard about, since he was shaking his am into some semblance of life. The thrashing motion seemed to alert her to the presense of something else in her bed.
“Eurr… who’re you?” she groaned.
“I was… oww… hoping to ask you… eeeeh… the same question.”
“Ahh… do you remember what happened last night?”
“Not in particular… ooh, my arm… I know we were talking, and somehow we ended up here, and I’m hoping this is your room.”
“Yeah, thankfully. Did we…?”
Graham knw that he didn’t have a clue, besides the circumstancial evidence, but he didn’t quite know how to say this without accidently offending his currant hostess.
“I don’t know. It seems… oooeies… it seems quite likely.”
“What’s wrong with your arm?”
He froze at this question. This was most definatly one of those questions you dodged around like you were roller skating through a minefield, with an erupting volcano behind you: get out quickly, but do it carefully.
“I think I slept on it funny. It’ll be fine in a minute.” Which was near enough the truth, apart from the bit about it being alright.
“But its gone a funny colour, maybe you should take it to a doctor…”
“It’ll sort itself out, don’t you worry.”
Which wasn’t necessarily untrue, it had started to throb a bit less painfully, although it was still going to be some time before he could actually bend his fingers. She dragged herself up somewhat, and Graham actually managed to see who he was sharing a bed with.

She seemed to be one of those people who looked as if they would be stunningly beautiful if they were at least half their weight. She was blonde, with hair that cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, and she had blue eyes that sparkled, even though her hangover was paining her as much as his was. She fumbled around on the nightstand next to her, and found a pair of stylish looking glasses, which she rested on her face, before turning her eyes on him.
“Say, you’re not bad looking, actually,” she said, smiling slightly.
“Well, you’re… erm… not too bad yourself”, he mumbled, and he was annoyed that she would have been stunningly beautiful if there wasn’t quite so much of her. This fumbled compliment seemed plenty enough for her, however, and she broke out in a broad smile that actually seemed to glow. It seemed Graham had followed his old friends advice to the letter, but not necessarily to the spirit.
“So what’s your name then?” she asked.
“I’m…”, and here he stumbled. Having never done the one night stand thing before, and not so sure he should have done this one, he didn’t know the etiquette of trying to fob them off and making a run for it.