Wednesday, June 15, 2011
I Triple Dog Dare You
Place: Atlanta, Georgia
Her name was Nancy. She was Jewish and she lived three blocks from the duplex I shared with my sister. Nancy lived with her mother and her two pure breed Cocker Spaniels. Even though the female dog was getting old, Nancy refused to have her fixed.
“I’m only supposed to breed my dogs a certain number of times,” Nancy said. “But people pay a lot for Cocker Spaniel puppies, and I need the money.”
Nancy and I were about the same age. Nancy might have been Jewish, but she was white trash all the way. She dressed cheaply, and her makeup was clownish. She was also one of the stupidest people I have ever met.
Nancy loved to go disco dancing. “That’s how I control my weight,” she explained.
She went as often as she could. I was still new to Atlanta and didn’t know many people, so I agreed to be her date. Nancy and I went to the Limelight Disco. She knew one simple dance step that she repeated like a broken robot.
Nancy insisted on driving whenever we went out. She also insisted that I not put on my seatbelt, because she felt I was insulting her driving. I insulted her driving every time because 1) she drove too fast and recklessly, and 2) she had been in a terrible auto accident that left her in a coma for weeks.
When Nancy came out of her coma, she had to relearn how to walk, talk, and feed herself. She claimed her intelligence was stunted as a result of the coma. I believed Nancy until I met her sister.
“Did she tell you how her intelligence was stunted because she was in a coma?” Nancy’s sister asked.
“As a matter of fact,” I said, “she did tell me that.”
“She is lying, Nancy has always been reckless and stupid. That’s how she ended up having the car accident. She was drunk on her ass, driving like a maniac, and not wearing her seatbelt. Now she uses the accident as an excuse to be even more stupid and irresponsible.”
One late night, after disco dancing at the Limelight, Nancy and I decided we were hungry. Nancy suggested a restaurant on Peachtree Street that stayed open late for the night owls who were out partying into the wee hours. So we went to the restaurant, and were seated in the dining room, which was very large and had very low light. Other than Nancy and me, there were maybe three other couples in the place. Our waiter was a prissy gay boy who seemed altogether disgusted by our very presence. He gave us our menus and promptly disappeared. I was trying to decide between a western omelet or a bagel with cream cheese when Nancy commented that all the dancing we had done earlier had left her quite sweaty.
“I wish I could take off my shirt,” she said, “then I could cool off better.”
“Yeah, go ahead,” I said. “Take off your shirt.”
I didn’t say this because I wanted to see Nancy with her shirt off. Her body was too compact and she had almost no curves. I only said it to make conversation.
“You’re not daring me to take off my shirt, are you?” Nancy said, looking around the room to see if anybody was watching us.
“You bet I am,” I said, “I dare you to take off your shirt.”
Now I was just egging Nancy on to see what she would do. Nancy became very serious.
“Whatever you do,” she said,” don’t triple dog dare me.”
“And why not?” I asked.
“Because, “ she explained, “if somebody triple dog dares you, you have to do it.”
I had never heard this before. Somehow, I had made it this far in life without ever being triple dog dared or witnessing someone else being triple dog dared. I figured now was as good a time as any to see if it worked.
“Okay,” I said. “I triple dog dare you to take off your shirt.”
And off came the shirt.
It was a tight, cotton short sleeve top with stripes with visible sweat stains on the armpits. She grabbed the bottom of the shirt and slipped it off over her head. She wore a pink bra over her small compact tits. At that same moment, the waiter returned to take our order. He gasped. She gasped and struggled to put the shirt back on.
“I’ll give you a few more minutes to decide,” the waiter said and then he ran out of the room.
Nancy managed to get her shirt back on, inside out.
I was pissed. Our waiter was already slower than molasses, and now he would never come back. Nancy’s face was bright red. She went to the ladies’ room to fix her shirt. When she came back, she swallowed some water and said, “I told you not to triple dog dare me.”
I just kept thinking, why I didn’t I triple dog dare her to give me a blowjob?