THANKS TO AN UPTICK IN class work for me and a test Ember has today that she’s been studying for, I haven’t seen her all week. Not since she left Sunday morning, a morning that consisted of perfect amounts of morning sex, cuddling, and Netflix.
It’s hard to make sense of what I’m feeling. Not long ago, my heart was being stomped on by Chelsea. Now she hardly even crosses my mind. Not since Ember has taken up residence. As confident as she is, like me, she shows damage too. She possesses this darkness, this depth, that I connect with on a visceral level. I find myself yearning to talk to her, to get to know more about her, to give in and let my heart take the wheel. But in the same breath, the ever-present anxiety persists and warns me against making any rash decisions. It reminds me about my weary heart and the battering it’s taken over my lifetime.
I trace the Corazon Agotado ink that arches over the grenade-heart tattoo I had inked on my bicep after my first deployment, smirking and shaking my head. Taking a pull from my cigarette, I think back to that time, sitting in the tattooist’s chair at Fort Bragg. I was one month removed from my deployment to Iraq, and five months removed from finding out my high school girlfriend had moved in with another man shortly after I deployed. She didn’t even bother telling me. Twenty years old and heartbroken, the tattoo was a reminder that the worst kind of scars are the ones you can’t see. The ones we wear on our hearts.
“Earth to Bishop.”
I hear the voice, I can make out the words, but I’m completely zoned out.
“Yo, Bish.” Mac snaps his fingers in front of my face and it startles me. He takes a step back, putting his hands up. Carter and Jeremy stand behind him.
“Shit, man. Y’alright?” Jeremy asks. He points to my hand. “Your cigarette’s about out.”
I look down and see that the ash has built up to about half an inch, and the ember has reached the filter. Tossing it into the butt bucket, I rise to my feet, shaking my head.
“Fuck, I was zonin’ out hard. Barely slept last night. Y’all got a crazy amount of work in your classes too? Like, more than usual?”
Mac nods. “Yeah. They’re getting us prepared for midterms,” he says.
“Well, I fuckin’ hate it.”
“Yeah, and this frat bullshit doesn’t help any. Anybody got a clue what’s going on tonight?” Mac asks as I light another cigarette.
I shrug. “All Damian told me was that it involves JD.”
“Oh Lord,” Jeremy says, chuckling. “That motherfucker is a mess.”
“Y’all wanna make a bet? Twenty bucks says he talks about ass, or shit, or somethin’ involvin’ the asshole within the first ten minutes,” I say, pulling out my wallet and grabbing a twenty-dollar bill.
“You’re talking to a freshman here, man. Twenty dollars to me is a fortune,” Mac responds.
Jeremy grabs his wallet. Nodding, he says, “I’ll play that game. I got twenty on him sayin’ it by about the twenty-minute mark.”
“So, does it work like The Price is Right?” Carter asks. “I get everything over thirty minutes?”
“Fuck you.” Jeremy laughs, handing over his twenty and pocketing his wallet.
“How about this, I got twenty on the fact that he’ll mention anal sex first. Pick a topic. Whatever he discusses first, winner gets the pot,” I say.
“Sounds good,” Jeremy says. “I’m bettin’ on him talkin’ about poo.” He laughs.
“Alright, I’m game,” Carter says. “Mind if I pay you later?”
“Sure,” I respond.
“Okay. I’ve got twenty on him talking about fisting, doesn’t matter if it’s ass or pussy,” Carter says, and I nod with an approving smile.
“Game on, bitches,” I say, stacking the twenties, folding them, and stuffing them in my pocket. “This should be interesting.”
“Now gentlemen, before we start the pledge challenge tonight, I wanna have a heart to heart with ya’ll,” JD says, sitting in a chair in the middle of the basement, a cold Busch in his hand and a cooler full of them at his feet.
We are on the edges of our fucking seats, in a half-circle in front of him, waiting to see who will win the bet. He’s been here only ten minutes so far, and topics have consisted of the difficulties that accompany pissing with a hard-on in the morning and the gas Mr. Chow’s General Tso Chicken gives him. Carter was really interested in that one. I can only assume he was hoping that the gas conversation would naturally lead to JD sharing with us the consistency, texture, and color of his last bowel movement as well, making Carter our winner. Thankfully, for Jeremy and me, he didn’t.
“Do y’all have any clue what tonight’s about?” JD asks, leaning in with his on his knees.
“No idea,” I respond.
“Well then, let me tell y’all. Tonight ya face a challenge. A challenge against each other. A challenge unlike any other. A cock challenge. And it involves my favorite thing on God’s green earth… strippers.”
We look at each other, confused, before JD continues, “And before we bring the girls in here, and before I explain to y’all just what this challenge entails, I need to let y’all in on a little life lesson. I need all ears, cause in less than ten minutes y’all may find yerself in this predicament and yer gonna wish you’d listened.”
Perking up in my chair, I grin, knowing the “life lesson” he’s about to lay on us involves a stripper, and I can only deduce he did something to her asshole from what I know about him.
He clears his throat. “I’d just finished basic trainin’. We were at this titty bar outside Fort Leonard Wood with some of the other graduates. We got shit-canned. I’m talkin’ ‘Y’all might as well leave the bottle’ drunk. I went from a broke ass high school kid down in ’Bama, to a goddamn soldier who couldn’t touch his bank account fer three months of trainin’. Let me tell ya, fellas, I made it fuckin’ rain that night.”
He abruptly stands and acts it out, tossing imaginary bills with quick swipes of his fingers against his palm.
“And I’m gettin’ fuckin’ lap dances out the ass. Twenty bucks, she touches my dick outside my jeans. Fifty, she’ll give it a good stroke to the tune of “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” Classy kinda place. I dished out hundreds that night, fellas. Hundreds. And by the end of the night, when I was so pissed I could hardly see straight, I went in fer one last dance.”
He hesitates, taking a deep breath. He looks like he’s a doctor about to tell us we have cancer.
“Gentlemen, that was one last dance I shouldn’t’a taken,” he says, taking a seat again and shaking his head somberly.
I want to bust out laughing, at nothing more than how completely odd this motherfucker is, but I don’t. I’m too engrossed in the story.
“I’m sittin’ there, my dick harder than Chinese Trigonometry, and I pulled another fifty outta my wallet and slipped it in her g-string. She pulls my fun gun out and starts strokin’ it.” He pauses, taking a deep breath through his nostrils as he eyes us. “Fellas, there’s somethin’ about the smell of White Diamonds and pussy that just gets me juiced. I could feel the nut collectin’ up in my balls like a fuckin’ scrum and then it comes shootin’ out all over her hand. Now, I ain’t proud’a this, but when that nut was exitin’ my balls, I … well … I managed to get so worked up that I shat a little bit.”
“Yes!” Carter cheers, a fist in the air.
Jeremy and I let out disappointed sighs.
JD looks at Carter, a tilt to his head and his eyebrow arched. “No, guy. It ain’t yes! It’s a big fuckin’ no, in fact. Capital N. Capital O. When it happened, I could tell it wasn’t a whole lot by the wetness against my ass cheeks, so I figured I could play it off long enough to get the fuck outta there.” He shakes his head, shame in his features. “I wasn’t so lucky, fellas. That shit stunk to high heavens and she freaked the fuck out.”
“Dear Lord,” Mac mutters, shaking his head.
JD raises the pitch in his voice to sound like a woman, waving his hands frantically, and says, “‘Oh my God, Jimmy! This motherfucker shit himself. Get him the fuck out of here!’” Returning to his normal pitch, he continues, “And so this big pro rasslin’ cocksucker throws my ass out. And damn it if I didn’t shit myself again when I hit the ground. Now, y’all don’t understand. When ya mix as many alcoholic beverages as I did that night, it turns yer guts into a bag of feral cats. Even after shittin’ myself twice, I had more in me. So, I ran into the bushes and finished the job.”
Mac bursts out laughing. “I’m so fucking confused.”
“I’m gettin’ to the point goddammit. If you’d just open your ears, Kathy Griffin. Now, hold yer tits. I’m tellin’ a story here.”
“What did you even wipe with?” Carter asks.
JD stink eyes him for a moment and then asks, “What was yer name again? Lance Bass?”
“Carter.”
“Carter, I gotta question for ya. Ya ready?”
Carter nods.
JD continues. “There were certainly leaves on the bushes I coulda wiped with. A few fast food bags. But Carter …” He leans forward, looking him in the eyes. “If I just shit my goddamn pants twice, why in the hell do I need to wipe?”
Mac cracks up and I just shake my head, a stupid grin on my face.
JD sits back, clears his throat, and crosses one leg over the other as he takes a swig of his beer. “Moral to the story is, gentlemen, when those strippers are dancin’ on ya tonight, if ya feel yer gut rumblin’, ya need to get the fuck outta dodge. I don’t wanna see the same thing happen to y’all.” His facial features go serious, a wrinkle in his brow. “One casualty is enough! Never again, goddammit,” he says, putting a fist in the air and then pounding it down onto his knee.
“So we’re just getting lap dances today?” Mac asks.
“Not just any ol’ lap dance, Molly Ringwald,” JD responds.
“My name’s Mac.”
“Goddammit, ya think I don’t know that, Conan from Late Night with Conan O’Brien?” JD remains straight-faced, taking his attention off Mac and focusing on all of us. “Y’all are gettin’ lap dances while yer wearin’ only underwear. Last man standin’ wins.” He tilts his head. “Well, I guess standin’ ain’t the right term.” He chuckles. “The last one of y’all to get a hard-on wins the prize.”
“What’s the prize?” I ask, concerned it has something to do with stripper pussy. Or, considering who we’re working with, stripper asshole.
JD turns to me and smiles. “The prize? The prize is, ya don’t gotta take part in tonight’s second challenge with all the losers. Tonight, those of ya who can’t keep yer dick down gotta eat a raw onion like an apple. All of it.”
“Motherfucker,” Mac huffs.
“Yeah, it is a motherfucker. Enjoy yer dances, ladies. And for you losers, the DIK Apple awaits.” His lips curl into a smile as he turns his back toward the door. “Bring ’em on in, fellas!” he yells loudly.
Trevor, who has been standing idly by the back door, swings the door open and in comes a group of brothers, hooting and hollering as they lead the four ugliest strippers I’ve ever seen in my life down the small set of stairs and into the basement. JD motions toward us, a giddy smile on his face. Music begins playing over the speakers.
“Right there, ladies! There’s yer prey.” He looks back at us, the strippers approaching his side, as well as every officer except for Sarge. “Gents, get down to yer skivvies.”
“Where did you find these fine ladies?” I ask as I stand and start undressing, keeping the sarcasm from my tone so I don’t catch a stripper heel to the throat.
“Oh, they’re the best money can buy offa Back Page. Well, I mean, not the very best, I ain’t a rich man, but they’re decent.” His eyes fall on the strippers and he ogles them for a moment. One of them is in a stars and stripes swimsuit, her messy, matted black hair a welcome sight compared to the girl next to her, wearing a rebel flag swimsuit, her head shaved half-bald. The other two wear gold and burgundy, Buchanan State’s colors. They look no less disheveled and coked out than the other two. They look like they’d rather be in the utility closet shooting up. But that’s neither here nor there. I have the unfortunate task of receiving a dance from one of these women, and I don’t know what would be worse, eating a goddamn onion or enduring a longer dance than I need to.
“Bishop, yer Pledge President, so you pick first,” JD says.
I raise my hand, asking, “Can we talk first about Mac’s tighty-whities?”
All eyes in the room shift to Mac, who wears a pair of Fruit of the Looms. A wave of laughter rolls through the crowd.
“What?” Mac whines, lifting his arms in the air.
JD takes a few steps toward Mac, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “Goddammit, son. Are ya twelve years old? Are there shit streaks in those things?”
“What’s wrong with these?” Mac asks, looking stupefied.
JD gets down on one knee beside Mac as if he’s a father coaching his son. “Listen, Seth Green. Everythin’ is wrong with them things. Everythin’. But worst of all, they give the boys no room to breathe. Danglies need room to breathe.”
“I think they’re comfortable,” Mac says, looking over toward us as if we’re going to save him.
“Mac, you look like you’re gettin’ ready for fifth grade gym class,” I quip, grinning.
JD nods, motioning to Mac’s chest. “And what the good goddamn is wrong with yer body? Ya look like one of them UNICEF poster children.”
“I have a high metabolism.”
“He looks like a red-headed Cryptkeeper,” I say, laughing.
“Like a used tampon,” Jeremy adds. “Get it? He’s skinny, white, and red at the tip.” He chuckles.
“I fucking hate you guys.” Mac crosses his arms, pouting.
“Now, y’all leave poor Annie alone.” JD stands up and makes his way back to the strippers. “Besides, we gotta challenge to tend to. Bishop? What’s yer fancy?”
“Well, I’m feelin’ patriotic today. Let’s say we go with the red, white, and blue.”
She smiles at me as I motion toward her, and I see that she hasn’t got a full set of teeth. A chill sweeps up my spine.
“Country Boy?” JD looks to Jeremy.
“I gotta go with the rebel flag,” Jeremy responds, winking at her as he turns his hat around backwards.
“Justin Timberlake?”
“I guess I’ll go with burgundy.” Carter says, pointing to her but averting his eyes.
JD points a finger at Mac. “Alright, Eric Stoltz, from the Oscar winnin’ drama, and in my opinion, underappreciated film, Mask, that leaves Charlene with yer ginger ass,” JD says, putting his hands on the shoulders of the woman in the gold swimsuit and leading her to Mac. “Ladies, assume yer positions. Trevor, ya know what to do.”
Trevor nods and heads to the stereo near the bar. He turns it up. The strippers approach us, walking seductively, but goddamn does it make me sick to my stomach. Nauseating smells permeate from them as they get closer, the smell of old McDonalds and stale cigarettes.
Abruptly, the song changes, and Sir Mix-A-Lot takes over, rapping about big butts and turbo ’Vettes.
The strippers begin dancing in our laps, jerking and twisting in uncoordinated movements, their asses smashing up against our junk. My lady in the stars and stripes grinds away like she’s at an eighth-grade dance, and though I find her to be hideously ugly, I can’t help the sensation of pleasure stirring in my groin.
It’s only a moment before JD lifts his hands high in the air and yells, “We got our first loser!” He points to Mac, who drops his head in shame as the stripper departs, exposing a solid hard-on pushing the limits of his tighty-whities.
“Sonofabitch!” Mac groans, trying to cover his shaft with his hands.
“Betcha wish ya weren’t wearin’ tighty-whities now, huh?” JD cracks up, pacing back and forth in front of us as the other brothers crowd around behind him, watching and cheering us on. “Who’s gonna be next?” he shouts, clapping his hands together as he eyes each of us, occasionally bending down to get a closer look.
Carter falls next, not long after Mac, and I don’t know what will hurt him worse, eating the onion or the ribbing he got from JD for having a “small” dick. I’m not trying to look at anybody’s cock, but from what I saw, he isn’t much less than average. He and Mac now both hang their heads.
“Down to our last two! Who’s it gonna be?” JD calls out as if he’s a color commentator.
I’ve thought about everything I could over the first few minutes—baseball, ballet, taxes, senior citizen pussy—but I’ve found myself losing control, the build-up of energy in my sack becoming too much to bear. I can feel my dick start to twitch as she continues twerking, her thick ass driving me to a loss against Jeremy.
I look over at Jeremy and say, “Fuck you, man. I’m winnin’ this.”
He smirks. Shaking his head, he responds, “Not today, old man. I’m takin’ this one home.”
JD leans over and eyes Jeremy’s crotch. He straightens, surprise on his face, and says, “Not so much as a chubby! What about you, Bishop?” He leans back down and eyes mine, before he bursts out laughing. “Dead in the fuckin’ water!”
“Fuck!” I yell, fighting the urge to close my eyes, to enjoy this. “I’m not gonna break! Baseball. Baseball. Baseball. Baseball.”
I’m shit out of luck. It’s not two seconds until I feel the tip of my hard cock meet her ass. She stands straight, exposing my hard-on, and JD claps his hands.
“And we got ourselves a winner!” he shouts, lifting Jeremy’s arm in the air. He looks down at him and adds, “We gotta see how long this motherfucker can go,” as he lowers Jeremy’s arms and takes a step back to observe.
“Do we gotta?” Jeremy asks, disgust evident on his face.
“Yer goddamn right we do. We got records to maintain here. The record currently sits at three quarters of the way through ‘I Luv Dem Strippers’” he says just as “Baby Got Back” ends and 2 Chainz takes over.
“We’re gonna be here awhile! I got godlike control,” Jeremy says, shrugging. He motions his head toward the rebel flagged stripper and says, “Do your worst.”
“Oh, I will, baby,” she purrs, licking her lips and cupping each melon-sized breast.
Somehow, Jeremy made it all the way to the Ying Yang Twins rapping about salt shakers, the fifth song playing as we ate our onions before JD finally called it. JD then proceeded to get a dance from each one of the strippers, their hairy pussies bare and in his face. They were doing lines of blow, the five of them, in the utility closet when I left like he was some kind of fucked up trailer park kingpin.
Once home, I get in bed to rest my tired legs after brushing my teeth about twenty times to get the onion taste out of my mouth, but the taste still lingers. The warmth of the blanket wrapped around me while I watch the leather pants Friends episode for the millionth wonderful time quickly gets me so comfortable, I drift to sleep, thoughts of Ember and our social date tomorrow circling my brain.