A Speedy Recovery Part 5 (Final)

Part 1    Part 2     Part 3    Part 4

Months went by and although business was gangbusters, Carl had a lot of questions. First, where was Dustin? Second, how did his business go from almost going under to breaking all previous sales records if basically nothing had changed? He sold his entire stock every single day since the promotional party that Dustin threw together.

One Saturday night, as Carl was sweeping up, Dustin appeared, from what seemed like out of thin air, walking from the kitchen into the dining room.

“Hey” he said, startling Carl half to death.

Carl was at a loss for words. On one hand Dustin had, for lack of a better term, pulled a Dustin. On the other hand, things were going great and quite possibly the promotional party that Dustin had produced may have played a role.

Carl sighed “Hey. Where have you been?” he asked.

“You’re never gonna believe this” Dustin answered.

“Try me”

“Well, let me show you” Dustin said, before vanishing.

Carl demonstrated his shock with a loud “Huh?”

Dustin appeared again. “Crazy isn’t it?”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m dead Carl!”

Carl just fixated on Dustin without blinking or saying a word.

“Well, I owed someone, like, a lot of money. So I decided to sell our stash to pay it off because they were going to kill me! But, the deal went bad and I got “got””

“Oh my…” Carl said, putting his hand to his mouth, “That’s why you disappeared”

“Yeah, but check this out. Apparently, on the other side, where you go when you die, you get to call up a favor. Even a scum bag like me! So, I felt bad, for like, fucking you over, so I asked to help out the shop with my favor”

“I’ll be…” Carl just stared at Dustin, even passing his hand through him.

“I know you said ‘no fuck ups’, but I made it right, didn’t I?”

They talked through the night until Dustin had to go. Carl told of the success of the shop and Dustin told what he was allowed to of the other side. Dustin also told Carl that the shop would only continue to have success if Carl personally ran it. As soon as he stopped or tried passing the shop along, the favor would not work anymore. It was part of the “Rules”. Dustin promised to visit Carl as often as he could and that made Carl very happy.

The End.

A Speedy Recovery Part 4

A Speedy Recovery Part 1

A Speedy Recovery Part 2

A Speedy Recovery Part 3

Weeks past and business boomed. The store was crowded from the time it opened until the last call. No one had seemed to be the wiser about the special ingredient.

Carl was very conscience about trying the sandwich himself. After all, he had watched the movie Scar-face and rule number one was “don’t get high on your own supply”.

Dustin was good about keeping the supply of product flowing but was a little flakey about actually coming in and working as per the agreement. Carl was okay with that as long as he had his special ingredient.

Carl didn’t worry much when three days passed and Dustin hadn’t shown up. On the fourth day, delivery day, he became rather upset when neither Dustin nor product showed up. In fact he panicked.

With the prior stress of being in the financial doldrums, mixed with the new stress of his illicit activities, he was already having small panic attacks. Now that his special ingredient, the chi of his success, dried up, he was experiencing full blown anxiety.

He needed an escape. He wanted to feel better. He wanted to at least feel different from what he felt currently. He decided to eat a sandwich to see if it would make him feel good. Thousands of local customers couldn’t be wrong, could they?

He sat down at a table with a root beer and thought to himself, here goes nothing. And that was exactly what he felt after downing half of the sub. Nothing. He thought he should eat more but he could only put down another half because he was so full.

He felt no different, except that he was stuffed. He was perplexed. The bread was made this morning. He went to the vat that held the remainder of the secret ingredient. He scraped enough to make a pretty decent sized line and laid it out on the stainless steel prep table.

He cut a third of a straw off and snorted the substance. “What the fuck?!” he yelled aloud, eyes watering. He knew nothing about drugs but was an expert in baked goods. It was nothing more than manioc flour.

“I’m gonna kill Dustin!”

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

A Speedy Recovery Part 3

A Speedy Recovery Part 1

A Speedy Recovery Part 2

A few weeks later on a Saturday afternoon, the place was packed.

“It worked! You really pulled it off. How did you get D.J. Cyanide, one of the biggest DJs around to agree to do this?” Carl asked Dustin.

“Well, I’m a fan of his and he’s a fan of a certain product. I just called in a favor” Dustin answered.

“I’ve never seen so many people here before. This is bigger than when 94.1 ZROK did a remote from here 15 years ago!”

“And everyone’s eating sandwiches!” Dustin added, rubbing his hands together in a sinister fashion.

The place remained at capacity until closing time. Dustin and Carl had to practically beg a few stragglers to leave so they could clean up and count the day’s money.

“We did well, Dustin. This is by far the most successful promotion the store has ever done” Carl said as he sorted debit receipts from credit receipts.

“This is nothing, bro. This just gave the public a taste. The real “W” will come when the people are trying to smash down the door to get more”

“Your mouth to God’s ears”

“Ha! God…I’m not sure He’s gonna be a big fan of this endeavor”

The next day Carl saw a crowd in front of the store as he pulled up. It was only 7:00am and the store wouldn’t open for another three and a half hours. He was there to make the day’s bread.

The crowd cheered as Carl stepped out of his car.

“Sandwich man!” a man in the crowd shouted.

“We’re hungry!” another voice shouted.

“Folks, we don’t open until 10:30!” Carl said “I still have to make the bread”

“I’ll take some dough raw!” a voice cried. It was followed with a salvo of “Me too!”

Carl had a sinking suspicion that he may have gotten himself in over his head.

 

Fear of High

 

“I’m exhausted” Adie said aloud, though to herself, as she poured vodka into a glass. She had just put her baby, Belle, to bed after much fussing. As she put the bottle down, she reached for a half smoked joint. She went right to the kitchen window and smoked what was left.

The alcohol and marijuana always offered the same one-two punch. The booze numbed her while the weed sunk her into a pit of guilt and memories, deep inside her mind. She sat down on the couch with a familiar feeling of satisfactory intoxication and echoing regret.

“Why am I here again?” she pondered. The feeling was compounded by knowing she told herself she would “take a break” today, when she woke up with a slight headache from the previous night’s exaggerated indulgence.

These thoughts vanished like a puff of smoke in the wind when she heard a desperate scratching at the front door of her apartment. At first she thought it was a cat. Then she thought, but how? None of the neighbors on her floor even had a cat.

Furthermore, how would a cat get through the front door of the building and past security? After that feat, it would have had to either used the elevator or managed to open two fire doors and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor.

She was petrified with fear. The scratching continued, slightly more frantic now. Belle started crying. Belle only woke if she was sick. Something must be dreadfully wrong. Adie rushed into the baby’s room and immediately locked the door behind her.

She soothed the agitated baby; herself shaking all over. She couldn’t focus on a single thought of the many swirling in her head but they were all colored by terror. “What kind of mother am I?” she thought. “I can’t even protect my daughter, I’m so high”

As Belle calmed down, Adie fought back sobs. She put the baby back down to bed and went to confront the threat.

“If I die tonight protecting Belle” she thought, “At least my life was useful for something. Up to this point I’ve been a worthless loser” Calling for help was completely out of the question when Adie was in this state. Her paranoia of people didn’t even let her answer her phone when she was like this. Hearing footsteps in the communal hall sent her into panic so she knew she had to conquer this on her own.

She fumbled with her purse for the mace and stun-gun she had never used. Everything fell to the floor. Between the panic and the inebriation, her motor skills were compromised.

The scratching reduced but had not ceased. As she walked to the door, she played out many scenarios in her head. None ended well for her. After what felt like a long journey, she made it to the door.

First, she undid the chain, then the bolt. When she went for the lock on the doorknob the scratching picked up in intensity. She threw open the door. A shadowy figure darted for the couch. In the melee she couldn’t make out what it was.

Her eyes focused. There sitting on the back of the couch was Hope, her very own cat. In her intoxication she had forgotten she had one. That night she promised she’d reel it in and clean herself up. It wasn’t the first time she made that vow and it wasn’t the last.

 

I´m in Miami B****! (part 3) FINAL

I’m in Miami B****! (part 1)

I’m in Miami B**** (part 2)

 

A half hour after the tray of drinks had been consumed, Alonzo felt incredibly dizzy. His eyes betrayed him. They wouldn’t stay open and when they were, his vision was blurred. His legs felt like jello. He succumbed and collapsed on the spot.

He woke up in a hospital. A nurse came in to check on him and he asked her where he was and what time it was.

“9:00 am, in Mercy Hospital” she said, not even taking her eyes off of her clipboard.

“9:00 in the morning?? I slept through the whole night?” he said. He was extremely saddened to find out he had lost yet another night. He rationed, at least he had one more.

“No hun, you lost two nights. It’s Monday morning!” she said, finally looking up at him, “You had an ungodly amount of homemade barbiturates in your blood. You slept like Cinderella. Doc almost called for a prince to come kiss you awake” she scoffed.

“Oh no! My flight is in two hours. I gotta go!” he said in a panic.

“Hun, you’ll only get released in two hours. You better hold your horses”

When he was finally released, he realized his cash was gone. Credit card, too. He went to the hotel. His bag was confiscated by police when housekeeping found what they thought was cocaine.

“It wasn’t even real” he screamed.

The manager felt so bad for Alonzo he offered the $120 needed to catch a bus to go back home, from his own pocket. Alonzo dejectedly accepted.

The manager left him with one last pearl of wisdom, “Miami ain’t for amateurs, son.”

On the bus back home, Alonzo was sat next to a beautiful woman. She was warm and willing to talk to Alonzo. “How can this go wrong?” he lamented to himself.

Their conversation went great. They seemed to hit it off well. Alonzo glorified his adventure, softening or completely leaving out the most embarrassing parts and playing fast and loose with the truth. They even made plans to go out the next weekend together, back in their home city.

Both decided to get some sleep. They said their last goodbye; to anybody this side of existence. At 3:00am a truck driver, high on methamphetamine swerved into the lane they were traveling on. Not a single person on the bus survived. Because Alonzo had no I.D. and the scale of destruction of the remains of the passengers was so great that identification was impossible, what was scraped up of Alonzo was sent back to Miami to be buried.

The End.

I’m in Miami B****! (part 1)

Alonzo saved money for two years to have a blowout vacation in Miami. He, being from Wisconsin, held ideas about Miami that were quite romanticized to say the least. Miami represented a fantasy of tropical paradise and non-stop partying.

Besides the financial burden, he also prepared for the trip in other ways. For starters, he drank at least three beers a day, usually a few more. This was to build his tolerance to alcohol. He also scoured the internet for information on prolonging male orgasm. Even though he usually had little to no luck with the ladies back home, surely, he fathomed, things would be different in the M I A. He also took to masturbating three times a day to decrease his sensitivity. He was taking this trip very seriously.

His plane touched down in Miami and he could already feel the warm, humid air from inside the taxiing plane. His excitement increased tenfold. As he took off his Green bay Packers hoodie, that he clearly would not need, he felt for his wad of cash to make sure it was safe.

He was going to spare no expense this weekend. The wad was a loaded banana clip to be sprayed all over Miami in his quest for carnal pleasure.

He got his bag and stepped out to hail a taxi. He saw an unmarked car with the driver leaning on the hood. “You want ride? Where you go?” the driver asked with about as much purchase on the English language as Alonzo had on getting by in the streets of a big city.

“Uh, are you a taxi?” he asked.

“No. I good citizen. I like you. I take where you go” the driver smirked. Alonzo stood there dumbfounded until the driver said, “I joke! Of course I taxi”

They both had a laugh, the driver’s genuine, Alonzo’s more of the nervous sort. Being the people pleaser that he was, Alonzo obliged and stepped into the vehicle despite having reservations.

Through the typical taxi chatter, the driver learned that Alonzo was a fish out of water. “You want ticket for club, much beautiful girl. Good for sex. Go with everybody, even you” the driver offered. “I have good discount”

Slightly offended by the last part of the description, but curious about this oasis of feminine promiscuity, Alonzo asked, “How much?”

“At door $400. Me, $250” the driver answered.

Alonzo rationalized that the $150 he would save on admission, he could buy drinks. “How about 200 bucks?” he asked, feeling like a sly negotiator.

“$225. Last offer.” The driver snapped back.

“Deal!” Alonzo said, reaching for the wad with his chest puffed in pride. The cash caught the driver’s eye and his face lit up like a 50’s neon sign.

“….and kok?” the driver asked.

“Kok?” Alonzo asked, nervously wondering what the driver was going on about.

“Kok! You know, sneef, sneef” the driver answered.

“Oh! Coke” Alonzo corrected. This made him a little nervous. He liked to drink a bit but was not into drugs. He bowed to the tension the driver artificially concocted so well, “Uh, ok. How much?”

“I has good kok. One bag, $200”

Alonzo had no idea if that was a good price or a bad price. On instinct, he felt his hand reaching for his phone to Google it but scolded himself in silence. “I’ll take it” The driver took a sandwich bag full of white powder from the glove box and threw it into the back seat. Alonzo quickly stowed it away in the pocket of his jeans he had specifically bought for the trip. The driver let him off in front of his hotel, considerably lighter in cash. He put his things in his room and went to the hotel computer to look up the club for which he bought a ticket .

To be continued…

I’m in Miami B**** (part2)

*****************************************************

 

 

For the Kids

“Let’s take the kids to the zoo?” Mindy asked as she meticulously wrapped sandwiches into clear baggies.

“It’s such a bummer for me to see all the animals far away from their natural habitats, not doing their natural things” Katie said as she watched Mindy.

“Oh come on, do it for the kids, they don’t know any better, for them, they are just looking at animals” she said, admiring her growing stack of sandwiches.

“Ok, but I’m gonna leave a joint in the car if I can’t bare the sadness”

“That’s the last thing you’ll want to do, get all hyper sensitive”

“You’re right! I’ll down a few zanbars and bring a squirt bottle with vodka. You’re such a good friend, Mindy!”

Mindy just rolled her eyes.

As the SUV rolled into the parking lot Mindy turned to Katie and said, “Take it easy on that squirt bottle, we have a long day ahead of us. Pace yourself”

“Relax” Katie said with a slight slur. Mindy rolled her eyes once more.

After about an hour into the visit, Katie declared she needed to sit down and catch her breath. She told the group to go along without her and that she would catch up with them later.

As she sat there, counting the seconds, seven to be exact, from the time the sun made light, to the time she felt it on her tingling skin, a handsome zoo worker sat beside her. “Hi, I’m Justin”

“I’m Katie”

“I don’t do this often” Justin lied, “But I’m going to feed the hyenas and I’d like to take you behind the scenes and show you how it’s done” This was Justin’s go to move when he saw a pretty female by herself. He usually offered the more majestic beats, but they have already been fed that day.

“Oh my God, that would be awesome!” Katie said imagining how cool it would be see with her 8 out of 10 buzz going.

When they got behind the hyena pen Justin asked Katie to put rubber slickers over her sneakers. “One important thing, always look down, the hyenas take eye contact as a sign of aggression” Justin warned.

Katie barely paid attention while she fumbled with the slickers. Her foot seemed to be three times larger than the hole.

“Let me help you there” Justin offered. As he slid the slicker on, his hand traveled up to Katie’s thigh. “Oh, sorry” he said.

“That’s ok” Katie assured. Justin moved in for a kiss and Katie acquiesced. For a moment Katie enjoyed it, until her head spun in dizziness and a wave of nausea passed over her. Justin’s hand already found its way up her shirt and onto her breast.

Katie pulled away “Let’s go do this? We can still make out after, I promise”

Usually the women had already succumbed to Justin’s advances or had run away in disgust at this point. He had never actually taken one into the animal holding. He was nervous.

Not seeing a way out he stammered “Ok…”

Katie had already forgotten Justin’s instructions.  She immediately skipped up to a group of resting hyenas, hand outstretched.

“Get back you crazy bitch!” Justin cried.

Mindy and the kids happened to have just wandered up to the hyena pen. “It’s feeding time kids” she said “Oh look, Aunt Katie is in there!”

They hyenas all rose up on their feet, baring teeth, cackles reaching for the sky and with backs arched in an aggressive manner. Katie thought they were being playful.

“Oh no” Justin murmured.

With lightning quickness and a sniper’s precision, the lead hyena jumped up at Katie’s throat. It landed back to the ground with a considerable chunk of flesh in its powerful jaw. The others immediately pounced, toppling Katie. As they tore her to pieces, Justin ran away. He was never seen inside the zoo again. It took the law one month to find him. He, much like the hyenas, ended up spending many years in a steel barred pen.

Rock On!

“If this guitar could talk…..” Barry said as he pulled the cord out that connects it to the amplifier.  His breath reeked so much of bad habits that it could be perceived back by the drum kit.

“Yeah man, living the life!” Steve said as he, too, unplugged his bass with an equally offensive odor emanating from his mouth.

“We´re really living the life. We actually get paid for this shit, man”, Barry said.

“Not very good, but shit, we get to drink and fuck for free” Steve replied.

“Yeah, how many chumps from high school pull down around what we do but with none of the perks….and they have to put in a whole lot more hours” Barry said as he extended his pointer and middle fingers as to make quotation marks at the word “perks”.

“Most them fools have kids and shit, just weighing them down” Steve added.

“Fuck that. Now let´s party!” Barry said as he snapped the case of his guitar shut. Steve did the same and they both left the room.

*           *          *           *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

After a few moments of silence and when it felt the coast was clear, the guitar piped up. “Hey bass, you hear those losers?”

“Yeah, they don´t even know their losers. How did we end up with them?” the bass sighed.

The drums then chimed in “They barely even get a girl once a month, without paying, and they think they are some kind of studs”

“They are right about the drinking though, they got that part down pat” the guitar said.

“Yeah, remember that fucking idiot Steve puked on me a few weeks back?” the bass said.

“Uh, huh” the drums and guitar said in unison.

“Why couldn´t we have been bought by some accountant type that a picks us up a few times a year to noodle on instead of these wanna-be jack offs?” the guitar queried.

“Even some random office type that plays in a shitty cover back from time to time would be better than this shit” the bass opined.

The drums and guitar grunted in agreement.

“Oh well, good night guys” the guitar said.

“Good night” the bass and drums answered.

 

The Match

The difference between one brother and another can be as vast as if the two have never lived under the same roof. That was the case for Brad and Erick. Brad was a giver and a pleaser. Erick was a taker and a seeker of pleasure.

The contrast was stark as far back as when they were babies.  Erick was always ripping the toys out of the Brad´s hands which was completely unnecessary because Brad would have simply given the toy if Erick had shown in the most miniscule level of interest in it. Erick preferred violently taking the toy because he would not want to see Brad feel any of the pleasure in giving. Decades of adulthood passed without the two having any contact. This ate at Brad and the latter fact delighted Erick.

One night both brothers received a call. The call came from the same person and had the same information. Their father was dying and both were being requested to take a donor compatibility test.  Brad relished in the opportunity to be a hero. Erick loathed the idea of being so inconvenienced and shuttered at the thought of a needle tearing a hole in his skin and penetrating his vein.  Besides, the thought of his mother being widowed and alone slightly tickled him.

As Brad sat in a thumbing a magazine, waiting his turn to have blood drawn, a disheveled bearded face plodded though the waiting room. “It couldn´t be” Brad thought to himself.

The man plopped down beside him. “Hey shithead” he said.

Brad fought a tear that was burning his eye with will to run down his face.

“Erick! Hey brother! You look, um good!” Brad said.

“No I don´t. But neither do you so we are even” he snapped, fighting the urge to smile. He didn´t want Brad to even dream that he was happy to see him, though he was a little.

“So, how´d they convince you to come?” Brad asked.

“The girl I´m banging said she wouldn´t put out for a while if I didn´t at least take the goddamn test. Even if it comes back positive, she ain´t gonna know” he answered.  The woman he was referring to is his live in girlfriend of five years.

“In that case, I hope I´m a match” Brad chuckled.

“Me too!” Erick roared with inappropriate and slightly forced laughter, sprinkled with a smoker´s hack.

Both men left the clinic with a band aid covered cotton ball on their forearm.  For the next few days Brad waited by the phone with waves of anticipation washing over him. Erick stayed drunk and even forgot why there was a dirty band aid clinging to his arm.

Neither had received a call but Erick´s arm had grown purple and painful to the touch. Brad´s impatience grew to epic proportions. Brad even tried calling Erick even though he knew it was of no use. Even if the number was correct, Erick would probably not answer it anyway.

After a heated, yet typical drunken fight, Erick’s girlfriend walked out promising never to come back.  Went it got this far it meant she´d be gone for at least a week. Usually, Erick relished in these recesses and basked in his freedom, usually getting drunker or higher than usual. This time he wouldn´t. Not even vodka and vicodin could mask the pain in his now swollen, multi color arm.

After seeking for more than three days, Brad finally acquired Erick’s address.  He would not rest until he knew that either he or his brother could be a possible donor. When he arrived to the house he was taken aback. Brad´s living conditions were even worse than he expected. “How could someone live like this?” he thought to himself.

He knocked on the door. No answer. He thought he heard moans coming from inside and they sounded like Erick. He slightly pushed on the door. It was enough to open it. The door did not close properly, let alone have a lock. Erick was on the floor. His face was white and covered with sweat. One arm was raw and swollen, it looked as if it has been burned. It was the arm the blood sample had been taken from. The smell was overwhelming.

Brad said in horror “Let´s get you to the hospital. That arm don´t look so good.”

“It don´t feel no good either” Erick replied, “Ever since that goddamn test. Knew I shouldnt´ve  done it. That bitch tricked me” he was drunk and Brad could smell it over the stench.  “That asshole, son of a bitch of a father of ours is finally gonna get his way after all these years” he stammered.

“What do you mean?” Brad asked.

“Bury one of us! Especially me, the fuck up” Erick said, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Brad convinced his brother to go to the hospital.  “You have an HAI Mr….”  the doctor trailed off. He couldn´t make out Erick´s last name.

“English, doc” Erick moaned.

“Hospital acquired infection, sir” the doctor replied. He continued ” It´s spread all through your body. Given your lifestyle it has already ravished your weakened system. Let me talk to your brother outside” he said with a forced smile and led Brad to the hall.

There he gave Brad the news that his brother would probably only live for another week. Brad took the news hard and asked if he could be the one to break it to his brother.  The doctor obliged. Erick took the news almost as a relief. There would finally be relief from the pain of his ailment and from the pain that was his life.

Erick was sent home with a smorgasbord of drugs to act as a bridge over pain from the current moment to his eminent death.  One day, high as a vulture with a good draft under its wing, he answered the phone.

“Is this residence of Erick….” the voice trailed off trying to make out the last name.

“Yeah, yeah, sure is” Erick answered.

“I have some good news and some bad news” the voice said.

“Hit me” Erick said.

“The good news is, you´re a match for your father” the voice informed.

“Go on, you said you had some bad news” Erick said with a smile.

“Yes, well, due to the infection I´m afraid we can´t use you and your brother is not a match” the voice said.

Erick sat there in silence with a smile from ear to ear.

“Sir….sir….” the voice on the phone called until there was an audible click.

“This is a great day to be alive” Erick said as he slipped a morphine strip on his tongue,  popped a rainbow of pills and washed them down with cheap vodka.

The Long Way Home

*note from author: I debated long and hard if I should post this or not. If you choose to read on, you´ll see it is pretty graphic. X rated, even. A part from a few details in setting, the story is fiction despite the opening line. I really want to make that clear. The exercise was to write a fist person, raunchy story. With that said, reader discretion is advised.

The following story is factually true. Take into consideration it is being told through the distorted lens of a drunken teenage boy. Seventeen years already has history distorting powers. Let´s take into consideration the alcoholic soup the story swims in. Reader discretion advised. Enjoy.

It started off as a typical Friday night. Warm ups included whatever was the cheapest thirty pack of beer the store had to offer and taking turns on the gravity bong. The gravity bong for the uninitiated is simply the most ridiculous homemade device for smoking marijuana. Google it. Ours was a one gallon milk jug in a bucket of water. The same bucket we used to clean the house. Who am I kidding, the house never got cleaned.

We were good and wrecked when somebody suggested we go to frat row in down town New Brunswick, New Jersey to “get fucked up”. We were all attending an educational establishment too embarrassing to mention here, so we piggy backed the party scene at Rutgers University. We decided I was not sober enough to drive so someone else, who was probably equally inebriated but could hide it better, did.

At this stage of my life, Friday and Saturday nights had two purposes. Get wasted on whatever I could get my hands and cumming. The former happened regularly, the latter, at least at the hands of others, not so much. We got to the party and I set my internal radar on drugs, alcohol and any girl with self esteem low enough to touch me. On this fortunate night, I scored on all three fronts.

As I said, full recollection of this story is impossible but some things are still clear. The girl I struck up a conversation with was blond, so skinny she could elicit pity and had awful teeth. I remember the teeth because this is a pet peeve of mine, but I was talking and she was listening so I looked away. I remember playing a few rounds of beer pong when she suggested we find somewhere a little more private to enjoy each other´s company.

The Rutgers frat houses are strange structures. They are the old mansions of Johnson and Johnson executives from a century gone by. They are full of little hidden hallways, staircases and rooms that are hard to imagine what purpose they once served. We found an unoccupied room that only fit a bunk bed. You had to contort you body just to get into the thing. Bingo! We found our love nest.

We started making out and I managed to get her clothes off. She was too drunk to get mine off so I was obliged to help. I don´t remember much from this passionate encounter but I remember a few things. First, we did not have sex. As you will see, it would have better if we had because I would have been able to break her evil spell, get away from her and the rest of the night would not have gone down the way it did. We were then interrupted by a chubby fellow and told to leave the ex slave´s quarters immediately.

I pretended to like her for a few more hours with the hopes that she would make that sneezey feeling in my crotch that seemed to be the focus of my life. The party was winding down and I noticed my ride had left. She offered her place to crash. What a coincidence. I wish I could give more details of what happened next but I really don´t remember.

I do doubt we had intercourse because no black out is stronger than an orgasm. No matter how drunk or high I was, I remember them all and file them to be later used in search of manual relief. When I refer to this night in my mind, a message comes up “file empty”. But the story does not end here.

I woke up in a strange place. I was cold. In fact I was shivering. I pulled the covers over my shoulders. Colder yet. What gives. I looked around. I was clearly in a girl´s room but there was no girl. I put my hand down on the mattress. I realized what had happened. Exactly what I feared most as a twelve year old when I slept over at friend´s houses had happened. I made water in her bed, Miss Daisy. It was a gusher too. Everything was wet. My mind raced despite the pounding headache. I thought about gathering my things and jumping out the window. We were on the third story.

I did what any honorable man in my position would do. I pulled my jeans over my pissed in underwear, put the rest of my clothes on and went down stairs. She didn´t even look up from the television. This I remember as if it were yesterday. I told it was fun and it was nice to have met her. I even remembered my manners and told her she had a lovely home despite the fact it looked like a future hoarders episode. It was a few years away from that but that´s ok because the show hadn´t been invented yet. Like the gentlemen I was, I offered my phone number. She told me to write it on the dry erase board on the fridge. It had the grocery list and I felt bad about erasing it so I left it alone.

This was an age before cell phones. I had no cash for a cab and not even the bus. I was a good five miles from where I lived. Talk about walk of shame? This was the Bataan Death March of shame. I put my head down low and took that walk. I threw up a few times along the way but I made it. I was greeted with a round of high fives. I regaled them with my tale and I was awarded the “green hit” from the gravity bong for my troubles.