Thursday, August 11, 2005

Party Naked

Friends have a way of peeling away like old paint from a pressure washer when a guy meets his future wife, but the ones that are still around when the steam clears are the good ones, like my buddy Whit, in it for more than the party.

Whit had an apartment in the Polk district of San Francisco, near Greens Sports Bar where I went on Sunday mornings to watch the Dallas Cowboys with my fellow dedicated cloister of fans, here because the only televised games were the Forty Niners or the Raiders, unless there was a black-out for non-attendance, and even then the odds weren't very good. Whit invited me to a party, the likes of which I hadn't attended since before my soon-to-be finance moved in with me. Frankly I didn't miss the single scene too much; parties like this one usually involved the same conversations, a lot of how-do-you-do's and what-do-you-do's, loud pounding music and the occasional connection with someone interesting.

The night went by according to expectation. As is my wont, I was one of the remaining stragglers at the party. The empty keg floated in a barrel of nearly melted ice, and orphan plastic beer cups littered the available shelf, cabinet and table space, and the stuffy apartment air was thick with the smell of smoke and stale beer.

I was talking with Mike, a mild mannered boy from the deep south, who found the San Francisco scene to be quite different from his hometown in Kentucky. He had an innocence that could illicit the maternal instincts of an jaded school marm or a the most hardened employee of the DMV.

"There are a lot of bums here," he told me.

"Yeah, like at every street corner." I replied.

"I don't have much money," he continued, "and I can't give it all away, can I? I feel so guilty all the t-" His eyes widened and his mouth stopped moving. He stared in total shock through the entryway behind me. I turned around and followed the line that his eyes described. Standing five feet away was a tall, well muscled guy, looking at Mike like a hungry lion, wearing nothing at all, standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his legs apart, like an artists' rendition of Mr. Clean with a curly mop of hair.

I turned back to Mike, who looked at me bewildered, then looked back at towards the circus freak. "Trevor," he gurgled, "what in the hell are you doing?"

Trevor said nothing, uncrossed his arms and walked towards Mike with the same prowling countenance. I stepped back into the corner of the living room and willed myself to be invisible. Trevor gave Mike a shove with one arm, which Mike absorbed by twisting his shoulder back and snapping back to hold his ground.

"What's your problem man?" Mike asked with an embarrassed smile.

"I don't have a problem," said Trevor as he shoved him again. "Why? Do I look like I have a problem?"

Mike shoved him back, and it occurred to me by the look on his face that he was enjoying this. "C'mon man, cut it out!"

Trevor got Mike into a headlock and pulled his head down to his belly, with Mike's face towards his flapping manhood. Mike screamed and I thought that now was the time to get out before Trevor turned his attention to me. I felt my chances were good that I could win out in a wrestling match. Although Trevor was big, he wasn't that big, and I would be playing a whole different game, where the loser would be missing a few teeth. It was the embarrassment factor that chilled my heart; what if somebody walked in while I was wrestling with a naked guy? But curiosity is what froze me like a palace guard; this was better than anything television had to offer, not scripted like the WWF, and I had to know how this was going to end.

Trevor forced him to the carpet and announced. "I am now going to place my balls on your forehead," and Mike's scream could be heard across the Golden Gate Bridge. "Noooooo!"

And that is just what Trevor did. He roared, "My BALLS are on your FOREHEAD," and repeated this until he was satisfied, until the lion's hunger was sated. Trevor unwound himself, stood up and left us alone to sort out the details.

Mike got off the ground, made sure he was gone, then gasped, "OH MY GOD!"

I rolled my eyes. "Ok, that is the wierdest thing I have ever seen."

He let out a small nervous laugh. "I'm glad that my friends back in Kentucky didn't see that. The would NOT understand."

12 comments:

jenbeauty said...

You found something funny today!!! YAY...as I LMAO!!

Boys...*rolls my eyes*!!

Scott said...

I've been saving it for a while. Glad you liked it!

Jay said...

Well...that was weird as hell.

Thanks.

trinamick said...

Oh...my lord. There is a seriously screwed up image in my head now.

Scott said...

Jay - Yeah, it was one of those head scratchers.

Trina - You? The image is imprinted on my brain!

mr. schprock said...

That scene should have been preceded by the Monty Python announcer guy saying, "And now for something completely different—"

Scott said...

Yeah, well that was about as different a thing that has ever happened in my life, except for being groped by a man with green teeth once, but I digress.

A. Darcy said...

wow, and I thought I had stories....

LaidBare said...

That must be freakin scary then, but weirdly funny when you look back on it :)

Shesawriter said...

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Balls on the forehead. Yuk, yuk, yuk. You painted a vivid picture, Scott. Too vivid, I'm afraid. LOL!

Tanya

magnetbabe said...

Hahahahaha! Takes me back to my college days. There used to be a guy we knew that would strip when he drank too much. We called him "Naked Thunder." I know too many weird guys for that story to shock me too much. Hilarious though.

Scott said...

MB - I think I freaked my readers out with this one, except for Jen! Thanks for the laugh.