I'm sitting at a corner table in new swanky bar downtown watching people make their way into the pub, cross over the billiards section, and arrive at the main liquor trough. The whole time I am wondering how I got here. No, not the bar, I took the L for that. What I'm trying to figure out is how I have arrived at this place in my life.
The place where I think it is a good idea, a healthy one even, to be hanging out with a bunch of girls who are about to call into question my moral code. Enthusiastically, call into question, I might add.
It's a thing with us, the Mr. Fuckability contest. We hit a new bar every third Saturday of the month, preferable one that none of us have been to before, less likelihood of meeting a former contestant that way.
A few basic rules to the game: everyone has to agree on the target. One girl is selected by way of drawing straws. The last girl to play holds the straws for the next round thereby making her exempt from the night's activities. And there is a prize for all this. Drum roll, please... The last player gets to pick what the new player has to do.
We always meet up the next day for a full debriefing; pun intended, at
Monuts
, the local coffee shop owned by, you guessed it, a guy named Mo with a passion for dough. Or at least that's what the slogan says.
I've been lucky in the past, only drawing the short straw once, so my hands always start to sweat a little when the lineup comes.
Jess, my best frenemy, lines up the straws in her well-manicured fingers. She is exempt from this round, her price for freedom: doggy style by the pool in the freshman college dorm. Evidently, there had been quite an audience. The swim team had an early practice and rumor had it the head coach may never recover.
Jess keeps glancing up at me, and then shuffling the straws. Glance. Shuffle. Glance. Shuffle. I can practically smell the brimstone in the smug look she is giving me, mentally willing me to get the short straw. I shiver. God only knew what her freak-a-deeky little mind is thinking up. Out of all of us, Jess is by far the most sexually liberated. I am the polar opposite. If there is a sexual spectrum than she is the east and I am the west. I am the most reserved girl in our group, hell, probably the whole bar.
So why am I here? Well, my life is so boring that I, on occasion, hang out with my neighbor's dog just to have somebody to talk to. Yes, I know how pathetic that sounds. Now you understand why someone who spent their high school years with her nose stuck in the Bronte sister's books would be out doing what we are about to do.
"Come on girls gather round, you know what time it is." Jess cackles. She sounds frightening like the crazy witch from Harry Potter and a sense of foreboding chases goose bumps up my arm. She holds up her glass; we all clink, then tilt them up and drain them.
"Jess has been bragging all week that she's going to rock somebody's world. I can't wait to see what she has us doing now!" Georgia giggles leaning up on her arms making Groucho Marx eyebrows at me across the table.
Georgia is precisely what her sweet, deeply southern accent promises. Short, curvy, cute face, and pigtails that no one over twelve should be able to get away with, but she has a baby doll face, so it works for her.
Natalie, our final participant in the Mr. Fuckability Contest leans back sipping a water to chase the liqueur she has just downed. She has a smile on her lips, her eyes trolling the bar alight with possibilities. She's always the first to point out a potential target. If I come along for the company and excitement, then she comes along for the sheer joy of ring mastering this insanity.
Jess is the sexual conductor, Natalie the spotter, Georgia the cheerleader, and I...am clearly out of my mind for being here. Still that doesn't stop me from sticking my hand on the end of one of the available straws when they are offered. Peer pressure is a bitch.
Jess counts to three and everyone pulls. I don't have to look at the other two girls to know that I have the shortest straw. It falls out of my hand rolling ominously on the table like Edgar Allan Poe's tell tale heart.
BA dump, Ba dump, BA dump, Ba dump.
It should not have had that much natural momentum.
BA dump, Ba dump. BA dump, Ba dump.
Jess howls in distinct joy. I cringe, the sound making me even more worried about my impending future.
Georgia just giggles and says something that I can't make out, but the encouraging tone and cheerful smile tell me it would be something to the effect of "Oh it's going to be fun," or "You only live once." The stupid things your friends tell you right before they convince you to do something that will get you arrested or worse, on You Tube.
Jess gives me a once over and I see a familiar instigating glint creep back into her dark, heavily lined eyes. Jess knows me the best out of everyone. We are probably the closest of all the girls. unfortunately, because she knows me so well, she also knows how shy I can and considers it her personal mission in life to push me beyond my boundaries. Actually, Jess will try to push past reason in general if given the opportunity, but she holds a special place in her heart, and there by, her evil little plans for me. I think it's because she knows I wouldn't be nearly as outgoing as I have become with out her constant badgering to "just go do it already". I both loved her and hated her for the same reason, however, when she get's this gleam in her eyes she flat out scares the shit out of me. She smiles up fluttering her lashes and bearing more teeth than Jaws. Yep, this is definitely going to be one of the times our love/hate relationship is going to falls on the hate side. She leans up on her elbows and practically purrs as she waves us forward to hear my sentence.
"You have got to take one of these poor bastards home, tie him up, go all dominatrix on his ass, fuck him senseless, and leave him in the lurch. This one is perfect for you Danni, if anyone needs a little bad girl in them, honey, it's you." She cocked her pierced eyebrow at me.
I can't see myself, but I know that I have turned a very humiliating shade of red. The heat in my cheeks gives it away.
"I can't do that. I'm not even sure that's legal. Besides it's not exactly like I carry rope or handcuffs around with me."
The truth is I'm about the least dominant female at the table. I don't have an authoritative bone in my body. I can't even make the neighbor's dog sit on command. Something in Jess' smug grin tells me she is thinking the same thing and has no intention of letting me slide. I watch as she leans down to grab her purse. I realize I have clearly underestimated Jess when she pulls a pair of handcuffs from her purse. She carefully lays them on the table, biting her bottom lip as she slides me the key.
"Don't lose this. It's the only one I have."
I look down at the cuffs and know that they were not bought for tonight. Eww. Maybe I can wash them off in the bathroom or something?
She sits back crossing her arms over her chest. A smug curl to her lips says she is enjoying every minute of this. She probably rigged the straws.
"Cuff him, fuck him, drop the key in his hand, and walk out. Are you up for this?"
Oh, Jesus was I up for this? Hell no, I wasn't up for this. When is anybody ever up for this? I am starting to panic, and we haven't even picked a target yet.
"I don't think she has enough balls to do it." Jess looks at Natalie for encouragement, who shakes her head in agreement clearly egging me on.
"Sure she will. Come on Danielle, who knows you might actually like it. They always say it's the quiet ones that end up being the most surprising." Georgia reaches over to squeeze my hand reassuringly. It doesn't help.
