My first blackout (part II)

Following my narrow escape, which had more to do with a lack of willingness on their part than any light-footedness on mine, I'm walking down the street. The middle of the street. There is no island, no center divider. Only a median lane, cars on either side of me. I'm carrying my shoes. This is partially for comfort and partly to attract attention. Because I've got such a long walk ahead of me that I'd almost rather get arrested than finish this leisurely stroll of mine. Besides; if my friends are anywhere between where I came from and where I'm going, there's no way in hell they can miss me. 

Trekking a busy stretch of road on Saturday night, I have time to think. I give the façade of a rich homeless person. My button-front Hugo Boss untucked from my $200 silk pants and I'm stepping all over the backs of the inseam. Now I take off my socks. I have nothing but time.

What could I have done to piss those guys off so bad? It couldn't have been all my fault. I mean... okay, what did I do? I was looking for my friends. But I was talking to somebody before I left. Said his drink was too strong and asked if I could take it off his hands. "I'm here to help." That's what I said. That's what I always say. Then looking around for my friends some more. Started talking to a girl. It always starts with a girl.

I'm so tired. I just want to lay down right here in the middle of the street and take a nap. The memory comes in little flashes. Most people sleep through this part. It's never been so hard to attract attention; I must look like a psycho here in the median of traffic.

Another memory flash. Oh yeah; some times I forget that people don't know my sarcasm. What did those tall guys get all pissed about?

I went up to the girl all nonchalant. "Where you headed?" "We're going to a party." I introduced my self. Made her laugh. Asked if I could hitch a ride. That's all I needed was a ride down the street. There wasn't enough room in the car so she sat in my lap. The driver took a head count and noticed me. Politely, she ejected me from the car. I was getting out and... then the guys.

They pulled up and got all pissy with the girls. "Who the hell's that? Where'd you find him?" "I'm Gino!" That's what I always say. Right away, they wanted to fight me. What a cluster-fuck.
      "Were you gonna rape our girls?"
      "Your girls? Are you leasing to own?" Typical Gino shit.
      "You were gonna rape 'em; weren't you?"
      "Yes. I was going to rape them. All six of them. I was going to have all of them. With my six dicks and ten arms, I was going to rape all of them at the same time."
      "We knew it!"
      "Well you got me, bro." The girls started yelling at each other. Then at the girl who let me in the car. "These are the kind of guys you bring around, Kimberly!" Then Kimberly. "He's not serious! Can't you tell?" Then she turns to me. "You're not serious, are you?"
      "No. I needed a ride down the street. It's ten minutes in the car and an hour walk. And you're going the way I'm going." Then I turn to the douchebags all ready to fight me.
      "How helpless do you think they are?! There are six of them. I have four limbs. Even if I was a big dude!.."

They went on with the tough talk. Called me a pussy for not wanting to fight. A coward, a piece o' shit. For some reason, it really hurt when the dude called me a pervert. Then they got the worst of me. Maybe that's why they were scared. Guess it's the adrenaline that brought me back. So I really wasn't gone for that long. Maybe twenty minutes.

I'm so thirsty. My cell phone rings. It's my dumbass friends. And my dumbass ride. "Where the fuck are you?" "Where the fuck were you?" "Where did you go?" I'm so thirsty. I must look like hell on wheels. The cops pass me by and don't give a second look. "Do you need us to come get you?" I tell them too little too late. I'm around the corner. I ask them how didn't they see me. I'm in the middle of the fucking road.

Getting up to the meeting place and they're too drunk to figure out what happened. They're just lucky they didn't kill anybody on the drive here.

My first blackout.

When I come to, I've got five guys in front of me, all taller than me, talking about how their going to work on me with a set of golf clubs. I'm trying to figure out how I got here, but my mouth doesn't skip a beat.

      "Golf clubs are pretty expensive, bro. You sure you wanna ruin a nice set o' golf clubs on little ole me?"

The last thing I remember, someone gave me their drink to finish. I was looking for my friends and... Oh yeah. I guess it was just a glass of whisky I drank. Whisky and a little ice.

Now they're talking about baseball bats. Guess they really considered my advice about the golf clubs.

      "You know," I tell them. "It's not as easy as it sounds, beating on a person with a foreign object. I know; I tried. If you've done it before, than cool. But I'm just sayin' it's not as easy as it sounds."

They're conferring. What should they do? How should they go about this? One guy nuts up and says he's just going to beat my ass and get it over with. I assume the stance. I think about what I should do. How I should go about this.

      "Don't do it," another one of them says. "He looks crazy." I feel flattered and my expression goes soft like someone just told me I'm pretty. "Nevermind," he reassesses. "Go for it." I assume the stance again. I get that calculating look on my face. "No wait." I wish these guys would make up their collective mind. Finally, they pile into a truck and threaten to run me over. I'm playing matador with a two ton piece of machinery. Where in the fuck are my friends?

Shame is for Assholes

The bass is thumping, the music's pumping and I just got through my third double vodka-tonic, each of which was used to chase a shot. I'm shitfaced and I'm bored out of my skull. This is when I get into trouble. Dr. Jekyll and Mr Jackass. I become the prankster version of myself. The guy you see in movies when the main character makes a double and he comes out with a skinny face, stronger jaw muscles and a goatee. 

The music is so loud out there, you couldn't hold a conversation if you tried, and if the walls weren't reinforced, the books would come right off the shelves. That's where I am. Somewhere with books and shelves. I got tired of waiting in line for the bathroom and I found a secret corridor with a private restroom. The manager's restroom. 

I'm searching around diligently, curiously. Rummaging. It's the old high school mentality. I want to leave some sign that I was here, but I sure as hell don't want to get caught. There's a wall of monitors getting feed from the security cameras and they show me all the sexy girls drone dancing in front of the DJ booth on a two second delay from real time. I hear the beat drop and I get the booty-shake reaction on the monitors just late enough for it to be awkward. I see the girls in skimpy outfits dancing in a tight circle with each other while they get all the unwanted attention they didn't bargain for. I see the guy dancing off beat and trying to sneak his way into a dry-hump dance. One girl accepts. Then she goes to the bar for a drink. He's alone again. There's the girl in the upper right monitor falling all over the DJ booth and she's going to screw up everybody's night if she scratches that needle against the vinyl. 

I see me in the lower left monitor. My profile. I look as drunk as I feel. My mouth hanging wide open and my eyes all but closed. What I wouldn't give to hear my friends tell me they want to leave already. But I'm having fun now. I'm invisible. I'm a wild card. I was never here. I wonder if these cameras are recording. Oh well; I don't plan to come back soon.

I'm sorting through all the random stuff in this dimly lit room. Save for the monitors, it's pitch black in here. I fumble through some accounting ledgers, the management schedule, a photo album of some kind... it's all pretty boring stuff. 

What's this? There's a mini-fridge in the back corner. What's inside. Oooh yeah... a Greek pasta salad. I'll just help myself to a little. No doubt, this is some bouncer's late night snack. All the good restaurants will be closed and it'll be three in the morning when he gets off shift and he'll be starving. But I'm sooo hungry right now. 

And what's this? On the top shelf, a big pink box. Looks like a cake box. Could it be? Have I hit the jackpot? I mean... somebody probably put this away for a birthday party going on in the VIP lounge, or an anniversary.

But they wouldn't notice if I took one little taste.

I reach all the way up top. Isn't there a chair I can stand on or something? I hate being so short. I'll just... ugh... reach-

This is the punchline.

Champagne flutes. 30 of them. They tip over, one-by-one, cascading over my head now pointed toward the floor, and the shattering is like the pitter-patter of crystalline raindrops. They fall slowly and gracefully as dignified champagne glasses should. And me, so drunk, so negligent, that I didn't even bother to put down the salad before I reached for the box of flutes. The salad is now completely covered in shards. I feel like a real jerk. Somebody somewhere is laughing. And why not? I would too.

I step outside of the secret corridor from my adventure in drunken wonderland and my friends are right there.

"There you are. We've been looking for you. Where the hell were you."

"I went to the bathroom," I'm quick to explain.

"For how long?"

"I had to take a shit."

"Oh. Well I don't know if you wanna stay, but we're hungry."

"Yeah. I'm down. Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Were you dancing with a chick?"

"No."

"You have glitter on you."

I love you. Don't call me.

I came in. She told me she would leave the door unlocked. She was in a nighty or a teddy. Whatever it was, it was made of satin and lace. I didn't notice right away. I don't find those get-up as flattering to the female figure as nudity or g-string underwear.

I was in deep shit. She went straight for the dick. "I don't think that's a good idea." She started crying. I had a slice of pizza. She threw a tantrum. I let her.

I decided I would fuck her. Didn't want to. Figured it could wait until after the pizza. "You don't want to," she said. I didn't

"Of course i do." She bitched and said her piece while I eased it in. She shut up. A cock's the only thing that'll do that. Shut 'er up. Then, the smell of ass. She must've been drinking all day. She'd always get all stank-ass whenever she'd do that.

"Didn't you want to bend me over something?" Not anymore.

What a piece of work.

I got the message the next day. "It's not worth it if you don't want to fuck me anymore."
"I'd like to be your friend. Can we do that?"
"My husband would kill me just for talking to you. It has to be worth it. It's not worth it if I don't get anything."
"Dick?"
"That's right."
"I love you."
"I love you too. Don't call me."

The Elastic Heart Theory

             I asked her, "Do you love me any less after you sleep with other men?"

She gave me a reassuring, "No."

            "Do you love me the same way you love your husband?"

            "You're completely different people."

            "However you do love him very much."

            "Of course.  He's my husband."

            "Then why would you assume that I love you any less only because I sleep with other women? There is nobody in the world like you.  That's why I love you." 

            She understood. For one instant, it all made sense to her. I don't doubt she forgot in the moments after I left that day.