The Bartender, The Waitress and The Dancer: Chapter I of II

The names have been modified for anonymity but the following story is remarkably factual.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?!”

“I bet you’re hanging with that fucking bitch Jelena.”

“Get your ass down here and pick me up!”

“If you don’t call me back I’m gonna tell everybody at the club we’re fucking sleeping together!” My voice-mail relays to me.

“Your psycho friend again?”  Jelena smirks.  A yawn follows as she unravels her naked body from my arms.

“Yeah, I think Tristys drunk again.” I hand Jelena my phone and have her listen to the R rated voice-mails as I slip out of bed and jump in the shower.

“I think you should see what the fuss is about.” Jelena yells from the bedroom.

I quietly sigh in agreement, staring at the beading water on the white bath tile as if artificial rain would offer any resolution. What the fuck did I get myself into? I ponder achingly. I continue to wash the sex off.

Jelena was the best FWB.  We both had an itch that needed to be scratched and in our early twenties, we were claiming our benefits almost daily.  The reigning Miss Friends With Benefits was quickly followed by Tristy and her congeniality sash that reeked of cheap alcohol.  At that time I thought that I had successfully juggled a pair of FWB’s. I was about to be upstaged by the ferocious intoxication of female emotions.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” I inform Jelena.

“Yup. Have fun with Tristy.” she sarcastically replies.

I throw a slight head tilt and she responds with a doe eyed lazy smile. Our interpretation of a couples goodbye kiss. A hug or kiss goodbye felt uncomfortably awkward in FWB land but playing ring toss with our genitalia was less than that. Funny.

“Tristys acting crazy and drunk of her ass again. Oh and Jelena asked for you to call her back.” I phoned Skye while driving to the club.

“Oh my gosh Kipp…I told you that girl is trouble. You should just hook up with Jelena already” Skye says.

“I know, I know. I’m pulling into the driveway now. I’ll call you in a bit.” I reply.

Skye was the mothering type and had always looked after my best interests. She was that something positive that inadvertently materialized from an environment padded with sex, drugs and Nokia cell phones with interchangeable faceplates.

I dart in and ask the bouncer where Tristy is.

“I thought you’re off tonight?” he asks.

“Yeah I’m off, but Tristy called and asked for a ride.” I masqueraded as a good Samaritan.

I find Triss sitting in the back corner of the bar, giddy in her bar stool. I weave my way through the crowd of patrons, busy ogling the gyrating girl on stage. Dodging as many co-workers as possible, I come up to Triss who greets me with a sloppy kiss.

There are three types of drunks. The punchy obnoxious drunk, the emotional loving drunk and the quiet drunk who usually passes out before the party begins. Trissy is that rare breed of all three.

“Kipp, you made it!” she emphatically says.

“Why the hell are you leaving me fucked up messages?” I snap back.

“Oh, you didn’t need to listen to those! I’m just drunk and I miss you!” she slurs.

I motion to her to ready the intoxicated exodus.  She receives a 4.7 out of a possible 10.0, as she struggles on the barstool dismount showing more concern of cradling her liquid concoction.  Trissy blows goodbye kisses to the bar crowd, spilling a bit of her drink with every unsure step.

Speaking to her soft and slowly as if she was a child, “Okay babe, time to put down the drink and walk to the car.  Say goodbye to your friends.”

Unsurprisingly plastered, Trissy manhandles my manhood and attempts to spark an autofuck.  Fearing the smell of female on my male, I deny the romp in light of the still lingering sex aura.  Our quick groping session in the car quickly turns into an argument.

“What, I don’t turn you on?”

I’m horny, how come you don’t want to fuck me!?

“You don’t think I’m sexy?

Trissys persistent interrogation begins to annoy me.  I couldn’t get a word in anyway, as my ums and buts were followed by more of her egocentric questions.  Fuck it, I tell myself.

I had an alternative outcome that played out in my mind.  It went simply, go and pick up the drunk bitch, take her home and be on my merry way.  Of course, real life never works that way.  I have zero patience for just about everything and at 21, I had fucked a chick to simply shut her up.

Trissy downshifts and grinds her emotional gears, letting loose her feelings for me.  God fucking damn it, my internal voice screams.  I wiggle my pants up my and start the car.  She bombards me with statements more suitable at a session for marriage counseling.  The drive to her home becomes nauseating.  The speedy freeway now moving at a lethargic pace almost becomes the last thing I see as Trissy reaches across me and forcefully yanks the steering wheel.  Tires screech and my nausea disappears and is quickly replaced by the onset of being on the brink of shitting my pants.

To be concluded next week…The Bartender, The Waitress and The Dancer:  Chapter II of II

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