Sunday, August 26, 2007
Place: Knoxville, Tennessee
During my last two years in college, I lived in a large house with three other guys. When we threw a keg party, the house would get packed with our friends and people I’d never seen before and never would see again. The music was loud, the beer and the drugs flowed freely, the girls got drunk, and the guys got stinking drunk.
I was so inebriated at one of our keg parties; I was unable to get off the floor. I had sat down on the floor of my roommate’s room to talk to some of our guests, and then found I couldn’t get back up. Luckily, there was a guy sitting next to me who was in the same predicament as me.
“Hi, my name’s George,” he said, “and I can’t stand up.”
“What a coincidence,” I said, “neither can I.”
George and I had a very nice conversation about how being able to walk upright was overrated. We were trying to decide if girls’ asses looked better if you’re sitting on the floor when we heard this guy yelling in the hallway.
“Who wants to get their ass kicked?” the guy bellowed. “Now come on! Who wants to get their ass kicked?”
“I do!” George shouted, holding up his hand.
If the guy heard George, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he kept saying over and over again, “Who wants to get their ass kicked?” His voice became fainter as he stumbled down the hallway and out of the house. Maybe he had better luck on the street.
George shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, he asked,” George said.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Place: Atlanta, Georgia
I was working as a paste-up artist at a printing company. The typesetter and I worked side by side in a small office. The typesetter, a zaftig woman about the same age as me, had a thick Southern accent, and was extremely good at her job. We got along very well and often went to lunch together. Our relationship was platonic. There was no sexual tension between us, besides she was happily married.
The printing company had two large four-color presses and three smaller two-color presses. Bill and Dwayne ran the four-color presses. They were both fat slobs. Bill was an alcoholic who routinely missed a week of work starting the Monday after payday. He would cash his paycheck on Friday and drink heavily all weekend. It always took him a week to recover.
Dwayne was not an alcoholic. He was just mean. Dwayne had Barney Rubble’s body, wore Coke bottle glasses, and kept his black hair shiny and slicked down with hair gel. His mutton chop sideburns were manicured into sharp points along the side of his pudgy cheeks. Dwayne loved to sing as he worked. He only knew one song, well actually, one lyric, which he sang over and over again as loudly as he could.
“It’s hard to be humble,” Dwayne sang. “When you’re perfect in av-er-ree way!”
Dwayne kept asking me when I was going to have sex with the typesetter.
“She’s cute,” Dwayne said. “You should get ya some of that ass.”
“I have no intention of getting some of ‘that ass,’” I said. “Besides, she’s married.”
“Married?” Dwayne said. “That don’t mean nuthin’.”
“Really?” I said. “Then tell me Dwayne, what’s your wife doing tonight?”
Dwayne’s mouth dropped open. He stared at me silently for a full minute.
“Why would you want to go out with her?” he asked.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Place: Atlanta, Georgia
I heard this story from a woman named Paula. She was quiet and reserved, so her story caught me off guard.
Paula was a lesbian. She and her girlfriend, Megan, had a solid relationship, except that Megan was a homebody and Paula liked to go out every now and again and play the hound dog. Usually when Paula went out to bars by herself, she would have a few beers with her friends, maybe flirt with a few girls, before going straight home. Then there was the occasional night when Paula would give in to temptation and hook up with a strange girl.
Paula was having a drink at Tallulah’s, a popular Atlanta lesbian bar. Many a romance had begun and ended there. Paula was there on a weeknight, so the place was nearly empty. She was quietly nursing a beer when she noticed a small, thin woman checking her out.
Paula was trying to be a good girl and not cheat on Megan, so she moved to another part of the bar. The small woman followed her and just as she started to sit next to Paula, Paula got up and moved again. The two women played a game of musical chairs, until Paula gave up. She could always tell the woman to fuck off.
“I want you,” the woman said.
“I have a girlfriend,” Paula said.
“Oh yeah?” the woman said, “Where is she now?”
“She’s at home,” Paula said. “Yes, it’s an issue, but we’re dealing with it.”
“If you come home with me,” said the woman, “I promise not to tell her. Hell, I don’t even know her name.”
“And I don’t know your name,” Paula said.
“It’s Judy,” she said, “and what should I call you?”
“You ready to go, Paula?”
Paula hadn’t misbehaved in a long time. Her hunger for something different had grown too large to ignore. Paula followed Judy to her apartment. On the drive over, Paula kept wondering why she gave in so easily to Judy’s proposition. Maybe Paula wasn’t ready to commit to a long-term relationship.
Judy shared the apartment with two other girls, who were out for the evening, and wouldn’t be home for some time. She and Paula had the place to themselves.
As soon as they entered Judy’s bedroom, Paula began to have second thoughts. There was pulley with a rope attached to the ceiling. As the women undressed, Paula noticed that Judy’s arms and legs were covered with bruises.
“I hope you’re not opposed to getting a little kinky,” Judy said.
“That depends,” Paula said, “on what you have in mind.”
“I want you to tie me up and hang me upside down,” Judy said, “then in that closet you’ll find my collection of whips. Just pick whichever one strikes your fancy.”
That explains the pulley, thought Paula.
Paula got as far as binding Judy’s arms and legs and hanging her upside down when Paula finally had enough.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this,” Paula cried.
Paula grabbed her clothes, and ran out of the house. She dressed in the car, and drove home as fast as she could. When she got home, she climbed into bed and wrapped her arms around Megan.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Megan said half asleep. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“I just really love you,” Paula said.
“That’s so sweet,” Megan said.
A month later, Paula figured it was safe to go back to Tallulah’s. She was sitting by herself at the bar when she spotted Judy making a beeline towards her. Paula and Judy played another game of musical chairs. Paula finally gave up and Judy sat down next to her.
Judy leaned in close to Paula and through gritted teeth said, “What you did.”
“I know, I know,” Paula said, “I don’t know what came over me.”
“What you did to me,” Judy said.
“Was inexcusable, I know.”
“You left me hanging upside down. I couldn’t move. I was like that until my roommates came home at four in the morning to let me down.”
“Oh no. That’s not good, you know, all that blood rushing to your head.”
“What you did to me…was fucking amazing. No one has ever done anything like that to me before.”
“I loved it. Please tell me you’ll do it again.”