People tend to have a certain look reserved for individuals who ingest pills directly from a pharmacy bottle while stopped at an intersection. A quivering of the lips to an immediate frown. Twin caterpillars just above their ocular cavities making a slow march for a face to face meeting. Eyes blasting rays of condemning judgment on one who is truly loathsome when stacked against their principles. “Why couldn’t he do that in the parking lot outside of Walgreens? Or at least wait until he was home? Oh sweet Jesus/Allah/Vishnu/Aquaman! He’s chewing them!……and without water!”
Sorry ma’am. The thing is, I was not at a pharmacy at all, at least not one that offers a bill of fare to treat typical ailments. This bottle came out of the med center that is my glove compartment and its contents originated from a truck stop near Athens. Yellow jackets are street legal now, and I have a loooooooooooooong night ahead of me. Seriously, it’s gotten to the point that sometimes I am in bed by ten. Weird, right? Not even thirty yet, but asleep before Leno and awake for Mama’s Family. By chewing them, one guarantees fast absorption of their drugs through the mucus membrane which in turn gets them working faster. Neat-o right?
A winning smile did nothing to mitigate her reaction to my vehicular stimulant session. With a green light, I tore off into a frantic 40 mph dash down the main drag towards Roy’s house. There, a drinking platoon of the finest soldiers were to be assembled with limited transport and your narrator not responsible for operating any! Traditional pregame beers were slugged in hungry anticipation of high prices at the Q Arena. A fine dinner of grilled sandwiches and even more barley sodas were purchased at a nearby downtown eatery. Soon my mind was engulfed in the warm fog of a solid buzz. The yellow jackets did not seem to be yielding any adverse effects for the moment. Wait, we’re at the game already?
Kuz-nax was nipping off a flask as I sucked down two containers of concession stand nacho cheese in addition to relieving myself in the kiddie urinal (the one that sits the lowest). Did I even buy the pretzel? Light beer is like water to a booze aficionado such as myself. Why doesn’t anyone do the wave at sporting events anymore? It’s pretty stellar when you’re a tot, but when you’re jacked up on tablets and tipple………..like a roller coaster in space! None of my fellow game patrons seemed to share this philosophy on the subject sadly. Repeated invitations to join my efforts were rebuffed with uncomfortable glances and threats to call security. Our team was victorious! On to a shitty club that just opened across the street. Why were we at this shitty club with snooty waitresses and fakey atmosphere? Kuz-nax dutifully pointed that I should probably think that sentence instead of saying it in a loud alto voice. He was right, but why try and impress a mediocre looking barmaid in yet another loud music, overpriced, “you’re so money” image, in a wanna be New York city but actually the secondary Rust Belt capital drinking establishment? Apparently this statement also was not restricted to the confines of my mind as was intended. A group vote was called, and the resulting tally put “strip club” for the win.
Under more sober circumstances, this would be a no-go for The Lonesome Jester. Such locations strike me as incredibly expensive teases for the socially inept. I don’t like watching women wiggle their naughty bits in my face when there are stringent “NO TOUCHING” rules in play. Plus it was going on midnight, so there was no chance of there being any kind of free buffet. However when you have a cajoling group of your close friends offering to buy drinks, dances, shirts, and maybe you did some ground up adderall disco style off the hood of a random Geo Prizm,…… well to say these circumstances might sway an inebriate is an understatement. Inside is exactly what one would expect it to find in a den of flesh viewing so I will not go Hemingway on the description. The uggo strippers pounce as soon as a table and seats are found. What is up with that? Loser guys come to these joints to get something they cannot normally get; an attractive woman . So why do skin dives even hire the not-so-pretties? Is there a fetish market out there? When the JV squad got the vibe that we were not into their exterior organ wares, they opted instead to hang out and make chitchat. We were imparted some of the inside gossip of their den of ill repute and some its inner drama. Cinnamon was pregnant and her baby daddy still wished to pursue his dreams of running his own corner. Raven was pissed at Giselle because she had made fun of one of her outfits. Starla was possibly back on the pipe. Roy suddenly burst into my vision to inform me that a dance of the lap variety had been purchased in my honor.
In terms of mental cognizance, I was maybe at the level of a nematode. A line-up of five or so ladies was arranged for my selection. Giddiness had begun to well up within me like several angioplasty balloons inflated simultaneously. Not the kind that makes me a competitive four-square player, this brand is typically more of the libertine sense. Vision seemed to flicker a bit as the prospects were surveyed. Somewhere in the steam pipe gallery of what passes for a mind, the near mad boiler operator named Maniacal Anthony, threw a lever that channeled the whimsical sensations. A smile lights across my face as cynosure is pinpointed for a necessary flash of clarity. Roy and the others gazed on me with appetence to know my preference. I leaned towards him and whispered, “Gimme the bitch who’s been crying.”
We had seen her previously weeping slightly over some boyfriend tiff. Her eyes were still a bit red, make-up a bit smeared, but she must have felt limber enough to join the contest for grinding rights on The Lonesome Jester. All right then, tally ho! She leaped onto me and initiated clothed genital contact with exceptional vigor. Her skin was overly marinaded with lotion or powder, and of course the obligatory glitter. My aspect was nearly enveloped by her massive and now free flying bosoms. Most dudes would be of the “Hell yeah!” and “Motor boat” persuasion. I couldn’t help worrying about what would happen if I let loose a violent sneeze. With each thrust onto me my face plunged deeper within their crevasse. Our friction induced an erection that was having a very difficult time mushrooming into the leg of my jeans. Her pudendum was not unlike a corseted mallet walloping my firm shaft. Saline smell as a liquid dribbles down the end of my nose. Stripper tears!? The song thankfully ended and she attempted a bumbling semi-sensual dismount. Comments were made about how nice I seemed, how cute I was, would I like it if she hung out with me some more, etc. There was a sad desperation in her voice that any amateur psychologist could detect. Perhaps she really did long for companionship that a guy like me could offer. Maybe she just needed to make enough money to keep her deadbeat boyfriend happy.
The rest only comes back in flashes. Roy’s younger brother getting the deluxe treatment from a young lady who held a disturbing resemblance to Hermione Granger from the Harry Potter films. Quite energetic with her efforts in full contact burlesque as well. Car chorus of Billy Ocean’s “Get Out of My Dreams (Get Into My Car). Obligatory late night Taco Bell run complete with free chalupas thanks to our team’s win. MSquared giving a fierce wind-up and lauching a Crunch Wrap Supreme at a belligerent Steeler’s fan. A potatoe sack race held on the basement stairs of Roy’s house. A frenzy for the books…
Amongst a majority of guys, this would simply be a weekend outing to be recounted at later Dudes’ Night Out type dealies. I am not so set to add it to my scorecard. A dark side of me was exposed. During that paid act of humdrum gratification, while that girl agonized over whatever background drama was occurring,…..I knew a delirious rapture unlike anything ever known. A bizarre combination of drugs, camaraderie, gluttony, sex, and feeding off another person’s misery. Part of me was revolted when that tear hit me, but there was another part that wanted to grab her ass and bay with feral laughter. It took almost nine months to possess the fortitude to write about this. Still not quite certain how to even begin to analyze these episodes. There are no residual cravings to relieve that eventide’s debauchery, so I’m probably not too malevolent a human. Though karma will most likely attune my end some how, some day.
Bravo… simply bravo…