RIPP. “Fuck drunk?” Dekk said as he pulled the onion from his sandwich and dropped it on his plate.

“Yup,” I said over the top of my beer bottle.

“Out of all your stories, that’s a first,” Dekk shook his head and took a bite of his sandwich.

“Shit, happens all of the damned time, bro,” I assured him as I placed my beer bottle on the table.

“I think it was the head steppin’ that did her in,” I laughed as I thought about my foot startling her as it hit the counter.

“You didn’t?” Dekk shook his head and dropped his sandwich onto the plate.

“Son-of-a-bitch, Ripp. You kidding?” he asked as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“Not even a little bit,” I laughed as I pulled the skin from my chicken breast and held it suspended over my mouth.

“From…” he shook his head and rolled his eyes as he thought.

“Yep. From the book where Kace got mad and tossed her Kindle deal across the room, remember?” I smiled as I dropped the skin into my mouth and began chewing.

“Yeah, I heard about it for a week. She should have never brought it up to you, that’s for damned sure,” he said as he scowled at me and picked up his sandwich.

“That’s what I like about Shorty; she’s like one of the fella’s. She can talk about whatever and she ain’t embarrassed,” I picked up my beer and took a drink as I swallowed the chicken skin.

“So anyway,” I said as I placed my beer bottle onto the table, “she came like a faucet. Maybe fifty times.”

I picked up my chicken breast and nodded my head jokingly as I gnawed the meat from the bone. If there was anything more satisfying for a man than actually fucking, it was telling your friends about it after it happened. I always seemed to make an event out of fucking, so my stories were generally pretty damned good. For me, the look of shock on Dekk’s face was a form of assurance I did my job well with Barbee.

“And I’m sure you wore your shoes the entire time,” although he tried to remain serious, Dekk started laughing as he finished speaking.

“Yep,” I said as I reached for a toothpick.

I pulled my beer from the table and leaned back in my chair, picking the chicken from my teeth. From the time I was a kid, I had spent the majority of the time in my home naked. My first recollection of doing so was partially a recollection, and a small slice of memory from a story which was told to me over and over by my parents and family members.

At the age of three, on an early summer day, my mother was trying to get me dressed. After throwing quite a tantrum, I took off through the house, stark naked. Out the back door and into the yard I went. My father at work, my mother was my only worry. As she attempted to catch me I would run, screaming the entire time. Eventually she gave up and went inside the house, attempting to wait for me to give in and give up.

I’m sure it probably doesn’t come as a shock to anyone, but I’m a very stubborn person. This characteristic started at a very early age, and I certainly wasn’t immune to it at three years old. I refused to go inside, and refused to get dressed. At lunch time she came outside to get me. Immediately, I took off down the street, still as naked as the day I was born.

Startled looks from the neighbors and people passing by were greeted by my signature hands on the hips pose of pride I still use as an adult. Reports to my mother from neighbors flooded in all day, testifying to my nakedness and free reign of the neighborhood.

I spent the day without food or drink, naked, walking around the neighborhood. Things seemed so much clearer when I was naked. I felt clean, free of restriction and able to face the neighborhood without any denial of who I was or what I was about.

Free will.

Oddly enough, I ended up in a profession where my work attire consisted of a pair of shorts. When not boxing, I typically wore my signature attire; a pair of cargo shorts and a wife-beater. Getting dressed up for me might include a tee shirt. Topped off by a pair of Chuck’s with no socks, I was as close to naked as the law will allow me to be – at least in Texas.

In the comfort of my own home, I spent as much time as possible naked. If I had guests, I typically wore shorts and Chuck’s. If I had a house full of guests, some of which I didn’t know, I would complement my wardrobe with a wife-beater - out of respect.

I laughed at the thought of Brandee and her sister’s thoughts of my nakedness.

“Dude, she asked me if I was showing off. I fucking had to laugh. I said, ‘Listen, I would be naked if you were gone, and I sure as fuck ain’t getting dressed because you’re here’. She asked about the Chuck’s, and I told her I hated steppin’ on shit. Funny how a guy can get hit in the jaw by a two hundred and fifty pound goon, but stepping on a pebble will bring him to his knees,” I pulled my toothpick from my mouth and finished my beer.

“So what about Liv?” Dekk asked as he rolled his eyes again.

“What about Liv?” I sat up in my chair and rested my forearms on my knees.

“Well, what do you think she’ll feel like if she finds out?”

“Well, she ain’t gonna find out. Barbee sure as fuck ain’t gonna call her and tell her. And I already told Liv the same thing I told Barbee. You know how I roll,” I gave Dekk my best form of an evil stare.

“You tell these girls you’re just fucking them, and there’s to be no feelings involved,” Dekk paused and looked up at the ceiling.

“Yeah. I tell ‘em that up front. They agree. I ain’t never forced anyone to do anything,” I raised my hands from my knees and held them up as I waited on a response.

“I wasn’t done,” Dekk complained.

“Well fuckin’ finish, Dekk. What are you trying to say?” I rested my chin in my right hand and raised my eyebrows at his silence.

He squirmed in his chair for a minute and took a slow drink of his water. Without a doubt, Dekk was my best friend and would remain so for life. He was a little bit of a romantic, and had some holier than thou frosting spread over the surface which sometimes made him a little hard to agree with when it came to my sex life.

He placed his glass of water on the table and rested his face in the palms of his hands.

“Just because you tell them not to have feelings doesn’t mean they’re not going to. When women have sex with a man, they feel. So these women, I guarantee you, all have feelings for you. If you don’t believe me, ask them. But telling them not to feel is no assurance they don’t or won’t. All women want a man to care for them, love them and cherish them,” Dekk took a slow breath.

I was done trying to listen to Dekk’s preaching. I pulled my hand from my chin and slowly started clapping.

“Tell that shit to someone that’s going to listen to you and believe you, dude. Jesus. You know me, and I ain’t trying to get preached to. This ain’t the first bitch I ever fucked, and it damn sure ain’t gonna be the last,” I stopped clapping and rubbed my hands on my shorts as I shook my head lightly.

I really wasn’t in the mood to argue about a woman’s ability to get fucked and enjoy it. Sometimes Dekk could be exhausting with his attempts to be mister nice guy. I was as nice as he was, all things considered. I just had more fun being nice. It didn’t make me inconsiderate or mean, it just made me different. As I exhaled a shallow breath and looked at my empty beer bottle, I noticed a person’s head glide by the top of the table beside us.

“Oh. Good God damn. What the fuckin’ fuck,” I stood up in my chair and looked over Dekk toward the aisle which led foot traffic to and from the bar.

A guy in a wheel chair slowly rolled his way into the bar and stopped at a table twenty feet from where we were sitting.

“Oh fuck dude we gotta go,” I said, half frantic at what I’d seen.

“What happened,” Dekk said as he looked over his shoulders.

I reached for my wallet and started pulling bills out.

“Dude. A fuckin’ cripple. In a God damned wheelchair, c’mon. What’d you have? Sandwich? Ten, my chicken and two beers, twenty, three, three, twenty-six. Fuck it, I’ll leave forty and include the tip,” I tossed two twenty dollar bills on the table and put my empty beer bottle on top of them.

Slowly, Dekk turned to look around the bar as he stood.

“C’mon, motherfucker. You know I can’t stay, this is freaking me out,” I started pushing my way through the empty chairs and tables, quickly making my own path toward the exit and into the parking lot.

For as long as I could remember, people who were crippled had always freaked me out. I felt pretty bad most of the time about how I felt, but it wasn’t a decision I consciously made. No matter how hard I tried to force myself to accept it, them, and the fact they existed, I couldn’t accept it as a part of my responsibility to be in their presence. When I saw them, try as I might, they kind of scared me. I’d never been afraid of another human being, and hell, I’d fight anyone. Place me in the same room as a person in a wheel chair, however, and I’d stand there and just shake. Give me enough time, and I’d be crying like a baby.

Crippled people.

And fucking midgets.

And God damned clowns.

Crippled people and midgets I felt terrible about. I couldn’t help it, but I felt the way I felt. To me, they were like spiders or snakes were to other people. I actually feared them. But a clown? Clowns are just fucking stupid. When I see a guy in a clown suit, I want to beat the shit out of him. He chooses to be a clown; crippled people and midgets can’t help it.

Fucking clowns.

As I reached for the hand controls on my bike, I noticed my hand shaking. I extended my fingers flat and tried to steady it, but it continued to shake uncontrollably.

“You alright?” Dekk asked as he stood between his bike and mine, staring at my hand as it shook.

“Fuck no, I’m not alright. That fucker just slid by where we were sittin’. No warning, no nothing. Just a fucking head rollin’ by in a chair. Seriously, that’s fucked up,” I clenched my jaw muscles and stared into the parking lot.

“Let’s go down to dirty sixth and hang out in a bar. The Jackelope. How’s that sound?” I asked as I gripped the throttle on my bike.

“You know there’s nothing they can do about it,” Dekk sighed.

“Don’t even fuckin’ start. You know how I feel. Been this way since I was a kid. That shit creeps me out. They’re like fucking spiders,” I said as I turned on the ignition and fired up the bike.

Dekk shook his head and slowly walked his swaggering ass over to where his bike was parked.

“Want to go to Dirty sixth? Jackalope?” I hollered over the sound of the exhaust.

Dekk threw his leg over the seat and fired up his bike. As his engine warmed up, he turned and nodded my direction.

Great. Let’s get the fuck out of here.

Most people see me, meet me, or hear my slow Texas manner of speaking, and they assume I’m stupid. In fact, I’m far from it. I received a full ride scholarship to college, and it wasn’t what most would have guessed which got me there. Academics. An academic scholarship for a guy built like a linebacker.

Go figure.

I never really cared for sports, not with my heart. I didn’t look at boxing as a sport, per se. It’s not what drove me to compete and excel. Beating another man’s ass was what fueled me. Winning a one on one competition let me know it was me and me alone who won the contest, the fight, the competition or the match. No one else. Win or lose, it was all me.

Naturally intelligent, and as mean as a snake. An odd combination, but I couldn’t change who I was. As smart as I was, I had never been able to determine why I felt the way I did about crippled people and midgets. It bothered me and I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t change it. I couldn’t really accept it either.

I grabbed a handful of throttle and closed the gap between Dekk’s bike and mine. As we sped down the highway toward downtown, it dawned on me. I was doing what I’d done pretty much my entire life.

Relationships.

Getting a real job.

Facing my fears.

I was running.

Hell, maybe I’m a little bit smarter than I look.