COCKTALES

I had just returned from the war. After a year and a half of smoldering desert heat, working day after scouring day, the last thing I wanted to do was go back to working long hours in the meat room for some chump minimum wage. I still had a good ten thousand saved up of Uncle Sam’s tax-free dollars, so I reported back to work just to tell them I was back but I wanted to take a couple of weeks off before I worked again. Plus I had school coming up again and I deserved a break. My supervisor told me it wouldn’t be a problem and offered a recommendation.“Why don’t you head down to Tampa? They got shake joints on every corner.”

I had been away 18 months without even smelling a decent woman, let alone seeing one dressed in nothing but stilettos and fishnets. Well, unless you count the black market skin-a-max DVDs I bought from the locals off the side of the road.

Without haste, I went to my place to plan a relaxing vacation of sun, sand, and debauchery. I called my cousin, Javier, to see if he was interested in joining me. Unfortunately, his fiancé, who was pregnant with his third child, knew us all too well. She knew my intentions and sensed a horrible spiral of events. Hell, in high school, we were the hormonal duo the girls used to hide from. It was said that if you hadn’t fallen victim to one of our charms, you knew someone who did. Whether they’d admit to it or not… well, everyone lies on their dick at some point in their life, right? So anyway, she could pretty much imagine what our itinerary would consist of. I politely asked her if Javi could borrow his balls for a week. But she wasn’t going to risk it and told me to fuck off and enjoy catching herpes B.

Damn it, I needed someone to buy my drinks so I wouldn’t have to spend all of my trick money. Next, I tried McGirt…even though he’s broke. He’d just have me driving around searching for prostitutes to flirt with. I’d heard too many tales about convincing looking transvestites. I didn’t really want to take a chance on having to drop kick a woman in her balls, but I needed a wingman. Of course, he had no money to go and would need me to spot him. Survey says… XX.

As I was thinking of a worthy wingman and navigator for my 18-hour road trip along I-95, one of my ex’s older brother called me up. Even though Reggie’s sister and I didn’t work out, we remained close. We kept in touch for the last five years and occasionally he’d sneak Javi and me into the clubs with him when we were still in high school. This was perfect. Reggie was in his mid-thirties and laid back. Anything that I could possibly put him through would be a rerun for him. Nothing would occur that got him so upset that he couldn’t control himself.

He once dated a stripper who would get drunk after her sets and while he waited for her, she’d purposely flirt with the john sitting next to him in attempts to make him jealous. Firing back, Reggie would go up to the stage and toss 1s on any stripper (with his girl’s money, mind you) and later get some head in the champagne room. Eventually, though, he grew tired of the bar scene one Saturday night, dumped the slore, and ironically found his future wife at church the following Sunday.

I remembered that Reggie had family in Clearwater. “Reg, I’m taking a trip down to Tampa. Want to come?” I prayed he wasn’t too pussy whipped these days to go, or else I’d have to take the trip myself, hoping that my mature-for-my-age looks would bypass being carded at the Publix when I tried to buy some hard lemonade. I was only 20 at this time.

“I’m game, man. When we leaving?” he agreed.

We arrived in Ybor City at 11 in the morning. Mid-day happy hour. We stopped at a few bars and filled up on rumrunners and imported beer at the convenient open-air bars. There’s nothing like Florida air. Right before the daily mid-afternoon rain that washes away the early day’s stress and freshens up the tourists and locals alike for the sunset festivities in the spring nights. The Gulf winds sweeping across to the east, filling the air with that sweet salt mist. The sight of palm trees and lizards gliding up and down the bark puts me in nostalgia of being in the islands. It’s the exoticness of the New World at the heels of America. Poetic ain’t it?

We spent a few hours people watching, flirting with honeys, cruising two miles an hour so everybody saw us. It would have been a lot better if we put any efforts into trying to pick up girls. But by this point, the alcohol was mixing with our fatigue and we were on the brink of incoherency. I had already stumbled over three patio tables and a 6-year-old kid. We needed to make it to Reggie’s cousin house quick to activate Operation Ass-to-Face.

Reggie got us to Tampa by midnight. He took the back roads since we had drank so much and wanted to avoid any inkling of authority as much as possible. Though I had fewer beverages, my tolerance had been much lower due to the dry Arabic culture. Reggie’s cousin, Herm, offered us his guest room and told us that if we were up to it, we could go golfing in the morning. I was in town for booties, not bogies. The only holes I wanted to fill with my balls weren’t made of canisters. I had something better planned, anyways.

I called up this girl I had gone to high school with, who had moved to Brendon after we graduated. We kept in contact while I was away talking a lot about “what ifs”. She always made sure to let me know that if I were to ever in town to call her up. For her, I was the challenge she never conquered. For me, it was warm ups. So at about 1:34 am I put my running shoes and sweatband on.

“You sleeping?”

“Who’s this? It’s like 2 in the morning.”

“1:35 really. It’s Alex.”

“What the hell? Are you back in the States?”

“Yeah. Yours actually.”

“Really? For how long? We should get together for lunch or something tomorrow.”

“It’s technically already tomorrow and we should cut the bullshit. How about we meet now?”

“I gotta work in the morning.”

“I won’t keep you long.” Honestly I wouldn’t. I hadn’t had sex with anyone other than Deborah and Sammie in over a year. Don’t act like you don’t name your hands…"I’m ready to subdue to your will.”

Subdue to your will? What a fucking tool. I really did say that, though. Liquor talk…

“You’re cute. I’m off on Tuesday, so we can hang out tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, OK. Just call me up when you’re ready.”

The next day Reggie and I woke up around 12. Parched and hungry, we skipped showers and drove over to the pizza restaurant on Del Mabry for the lunch buffet. I didn’t hesitate to stack two plates immediately with the imaginative array of pizzas. When I sat down, I couldn’t scarf the food down fast enough. I felt as if I hadn’t eaten for months. I slammed down a whole pitcher of cola. I felt like the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Tunes. Reggie, at a steadier pace, cleared his throat and informed me that our waitress had come over while I was eating with my eyes and had asked if I was taken. “Which one?” I asked as my hunger switched to scavenger hunter. “The black one with the booty.”

She had a slender figure with humble breasts. Large B, could pass for C. And indeed, she had a booty. Her hair was long and pulled back in corn-rows. She had a smooth dark chocolate complexion and hands fit for caressing. She returned to refill my pitcher. “You need some more napkins?” In my gorging and gawking, I had forgotten to wipe my mouth smeared with tomato paste and a strand of cheese connecting my goatee to my inner cheek. She pointed to her chin and giggled, indicating that I had something on my face, you know the gesture. I wiped the marinara from my jowls with my arm hair. I looked at her nametag to make my first line more personal. “Why yes, Diedra, I do. That way you have something to write your number on.” Look, I’m never going to claim I’m some Don Juan, but I do know certain looks in a girl’s eyes, and she had the fucking look in her eye. So, when you see that look, it doesn’t matter if you speak caveman to the chick, you’re going to get from her what she wants more from you.

She smirked before taking our dirtied plates and returning to the kitchen. “Was that the one you used on my sister?” Reggie joked.

“It wasn’t as difficult. All I had to do was unzip my pants for her.”

I hurried to switch topics, as I knew I’d gotten too cocky when I saw Reggie’s expression change. “I’ve never really picked up a random chic. I usually meet my girlfriends or acquaintances through other people.”

It’s true. Before Facebook, I was like a real live social networking player. But Reggie reminded me that I had just gotten back from being around an abundance of sausage and not enough roast beef lips, “You should be functioning on instincts.”

This was true. Maybe it wasn’t the look in her eyes that had my hormones revving. Maybe it was Darwin’s sexual instinct of the fittest—because the Catholic Church probably published his books, don’t feel stupid if you never got a chance to learn this part of Darwinism. It’s true, though, I promise.

The waitress returned with fresh plates and napkins. She hadn’t written her number on the top one. I was convinced I was lame. But I didn’t expect it to work anyway. I had some ass lined up later and money to spend on strippers I’d never see again and who’d forget me within three steps of walking away. After placing our plates down, she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “We have clean bathrooms.” I watched her walk back toward the kitchen, but turned right to go into the bathroom. She began to untie her apron as she walked in.

“What did she say?” Reggie asked.

“I’ll be back.”

I still wasn’t old enough to go into clubs, but I’d heard of bathroom stall hookups. This was my JV to repetitive feats of that years from now. I pushed the door open and saw a pair of shoes underneath the furthest stall, the one with the handle bars beside the toilet, with an “Out of Order” sign hanging from the door. I locked the door behind me and walked into the stall.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and began kissing me feverishly. She kissed my neck, sucked my… lower lip, a little nibble to the left ear, back to my neck. I pressed her against the tiled wall and began to unbutton her white dress shirt. I moved my hand inside her shirt reaching for her bra hooks. I tried something I had envisioned in my mind many times before; I went to unhook her bra with one flick of my fingers. I thought this would be a real smooth move. It couldn’t get any worse, I was already getting it in.

It worked. I fondled her breasts and softly twisted her nipples. Is that even arousing, I wondered? What can you really do with nipples besides lick them and maybe the occasional light bite? She began unzipping my pants and reached in. I was correct; her hands were built for caressing. I began to unbutton her pants and slid them down to her thigh where they fell on command.

As we stood there finger banging each other* through our underwear, I could feel her getting really moist. I rubbed a little harder. I wanted all that wetness to seep through and in between my fingers. I was almost certain I wouldn’t get to penetrate her. I just knew I’d end up cumming on myself first.

Then something stung my nostrils. An odorous rust smell. Pungent, like fish washed up on the beach baking in the sun, mixed with sweaty feet. I looked down and pulled my fingers out. Before I looked at them, I caught a glimpse of the embarrassed look on her face. Oh fuck!

My fingers were smeared with blood and the front of her panties was stained dark red with an orange tint ring around it. “What…the fuck!?”

“It doesn’t bother me, if it doesn’t bother you,” she said with a grimace.

I was dumbfounded. This had happened to me before. Kind of… bu that's another story I won’t tell. Let’s just say I’ve already earned my red wings.

I stormed out of the stall, slamming its door behind me. The acoustics of the bathroom reverberated the clang. I struggled to snap the other door unlock and forcibly pulled it open. I marched towards the table, trying to zip my pants up with one hand.

Reggie looked confused and impressed all at once. “I already got the check, playa.” He looked at my blood stained hand.. and pants. "Holy shit, are you ok? What happened?"

“Let’s go.”

I grabbed the napkins.

*I finger banged her, there was nothing on me that she finger banged. Just for clarification.