I could hear their laughter echoing off the walls.
I couldn't see them, since my face was buried deep in Shane's hairy armpit, but I could certainly hear them laugh. I tried to pull my head out of the sweaty, musky trap, but his free arm was locked around my upper back in a vice like grip, keeping our chests pressed tightly together. With every struggle, every muffled yell for them to stop, I could hear my girlfriend giggle even harder.
My left arm was wrenched behind me, pinned to my lower back by my girlfriend's weight. My right arm struggled helplessly, but it was sandwiched between Shane's considerable mass and the floor. "Sandwich" was a good way to describe my position in general, actually; Shane with his back on the floor, me sprawled on top of him, my girlfriend pressing down on my back from above.
"You look so fucking stupid!!!" Claire cackled breathlessly, in-between bouts of laughter. "Oh my god, babe, you can't even get out! You're right in his armpit!"
I yanked my head back, desperately trying to give myself some breathing room, but Shane followed my every movement. He deftly maneuvered his thick black hair back onto my nose and mouth, forcing me to inhale more of his scent.
"He's squirmy, Claire. You're right though, he's totally stuck. How long should we keep him like this? Forever?" Another round of laughter bounced around the room. This time, a third voice joined in. The incredulous scoff was unmistakably that of my girlfriend's roommate, Sam. My face burned red, reminded that there were spectators to this ordeal. After a moment, my reprieve came.
"Alriiiiiight, that's enough Shane. Let my wimpy boyfriend go." I felt her hands release my left arm, and the weight of her body lift off me. I immediately used my newfound freedom to wrench my face free of Shane, though he continued to hold onto my torso, locking my body in place. I glared at him, my face mere inches from his. I could feel that my cheeks were crimson with embarrassment, and I was too flustered to even speak.
"Hm, should I really let him go, though? He looks pretty mad, C." Shane replied, a bemused look on his face.
"He's not mad." I could see Claire rejoining the other guests over by the bar out the corner of my eye. "-just emasculated." She punctuated that last point with a wink in my direction. A flurry of shame wracked through my body. I opened my mouth to retort, to offer some defense of myself, but Shane cut me off.
"Alright, I'll take your word for it. You're off the hook, Jay, but only because Claire said so." He roughly pushed me off him, then stood up and casually sauntered over to the bar. He took a position next to Claire, and they shared a smile. "You wouldn't mind making me one of those?" He asked, gesturing to the gin and tonic she was preparing for herself.
"Not at all, hun." Claire retrieved another tumbler from under the bar, then looked to me inquisitively.
I could only stare back at her. After a moment of stunned inaction, I picked myself up off the ground and wiped Shane's sweat from my mouth. The room had an awkward tension in the air as everyone tried to process what just happened. I looked from face to face, trying to find some clue as to how I should handle the situation, some indication that someone here was on my side. Thomas and Angie sat on the couch, facing me. They were a couple, high school sweethearts that tied the knot right after graduating. Thomas was tall, broad shouldered and conventionally handsome in way that bordered on irritating. Angie was tall as well, perhaps only a few inches shorter than her husband, and equally as attractive. Thick, red curls accented her pale, freckled face, and her brown eyes were somehow always piercing.
They had always been at least polite to me, but in this moment they only looked on, aghast. Thomas was about as confused and uncomfortable as me; his square face fixed in a look of disbelief at what he had just witnessed. Angie, on the other hand, didn't even try to hide her disgust. While Thomas averted his gaze from mine, pretending to check his phone, Angie met my eyes without dropping them. I could tell exactly what she was thinking, just from that stare:
You're pathetic.
I quickly dropped my gaze as a new wave of humiliation washed over me. How did this happen? How did I let this happen?
It started innocently enough; Shane and I had always had a sort of friendly rivalry, ever since Claire introduced the two of us. We'd make jokes at the other's expense, and when drinks were involved our insults usually escalated to some form of playful rough housing. We might grapple with one another for a few minutes, or arm wrestle, or whatever else. It never went too far, and in general we got along, but...I could always tell our animosity for one another was only semi-ironic. He definitely thought I was a pussy, I definitely thought he was kind of an asshole. But since we ran in the same circles, we always hid our disdain for one another well enough.
That particular night, we had all had a few. We hoped from bar to bar for a few hours before deciding that it was cheaper to drink the liquor we had at home, and so made a pilgrimage to Claire's place sometime around 11pm. Shane had been on a warpath since bar number one; he heckled me while I played Claire in pool, repeatedly called me a "beta male", and even loudly insinuated that I had a small penis after I wouldn't buy him a round. For Shane, this was pretty typical behavior, if not dialed up a bit. I matched him beer for beer, and soon enough I was firing back insults and taunts of my own. I told him he had the reading level of a third grader, that he would never find a job he couldn't fuck up, etc. He stretched his arms over his head while I was standing next to him, and I reminded him of the wonders of showers and deodorant.
I would come to regret that last insult.
The rest of the group rolled their eyes at our blatant dick measuring contest, except Claire, who only egged us both on. While she always seemed to enjoy it when Shane and I went at it, that night she seemed absolutely determined to make us enemies.
"Babe, you gonna take that from him?"
"Shane, what were you saying about Jay's dick earlier?"
"Hey, which one of you guys would win in a fight?"
It was that last one that sealed both our fates. Obviously, each of us had our own answer to the question. "Of course I would win a fight against the manlet. Not even a question." Shane scoffed before finishing his beer. While I'm not short, Shane does have a few inches on me, and more than a few pounds. It always bothered me when people mocked my height, though, and he knew it. "Oh, fuck off. Having a slightly longer skeleton doesn't make you fucking tough, asshole." Came my retort.
We went back and forth like that for a while, until finally the killing blow was delivered:
"I think Shane would win." Claire said, with a wink in my direction. The humiliated knot in my stomach only tightened at that remark. I took one more look at Shane, whose face was now plastered with a shit eating grin, and immediately charged him.
He laughed as I wrestled him to the ground, still throwing out insults as he grappled for control. It was evenly matched for a time; despite his size advantage, I've always been scrappy, and I was spurred on by Claire's comments. Before long, I had him flipped onto his back, with my dominant arm trapped under him. We both wrestled with our free hand for control, but it seemed like we were finally at an impasse. Normally when this happens, someone steps in to break it up. We both pretend we to want to continue, but are secretly happy that we could save face with a draw. This is what I was expecting; any second now Thomas would step forward and say "Come on, guys, that's enough" and we would laugh about it over the next round of tequila shots. But instead, as I lay there ineffectually grappling with my adversary--
