4-4-1 Guys at a Bar

A particular picture was drilled into my memory, that one picture of little Becky dressed up in black (with purple for the occasion), hair done up, heels instead of boots, and standing next to some geek that was too shy to ask why she kept disappearing to the dance floor without him. My own prom wasn't that good, but she looked like she enjoyed hers. But now that picture said something else. It was just a picture of my sister just like Bill and Sam had, but theirs were trophies. Mine should become a trophy as well. As soon as I got one for my wallet, that is.

I groaned quietly; my hand had begun stroking furiously on cleaning my equipment without me knowing. It'd be good to drain out the stress before an important party, but that it was thinking of my sister that was getting me off, phew. I was about to come hard and fast. She'd probably find it stuck to the wall next time she showered.

"You in here, dork?"

"Shit, shit, and more shit found in cans of delicious soda," I swore. I was seconds away, but I tore my hand off lest I make some giveaway noise. "Find your hairspray on your own fucking time," I yelled, but still she browsed through the counter like it was a thing to do with me in the process of bathing.

"What's your problem? You 'busy' in there? Should I come back in two minutes?"

Fucking women. No fucking wonder I could hardly stand them anymore. Even my mother most of the time, though it was too bad, since my stepfather was even worse.

"Done, thanks," I grumped, quickly grabbing a towel and letting it have its way with me for all of eight seconds before I wrapped myself up and pushed myself past my cunt sister and off to my room.

***********8

"This place is teh bwalz," Bill complained.

"We just got here, nimdickrod," Sam guffawed. Once again he was king of the crop, the little matter of his little sister forgotten. He barged his way through the front doors of the largish house, pushing through the crowd of ill-dressed women and poorly-dressed men.

It's a sickness in this town, women. They love us, then leave us, yet we can't put them down, and they always show up when we're trying to have fun, dressed as they are. There's Roxanne, my old ex. Some guy's kissing on her when I know for a fact she's dating someone else. He probably is, too. Then there's Cindy and Sara, right on cue. They're the ones in the center of attention, surrounded by boys and shooting them down one by one. Some just don't get it, and they come back for more punishment. They're not going to be putting out, yet they're still dressed in states of undress that's par for the party.

Like I said, a sickness. We all hate each other, yet we can't do without each other. Ooh... woman.

I spot a pretty young thing by the beer. "What's crackin', sweetheart?" I ask her as I fill myself a pint with a stein I keep tucked into my party tunic for just an occasion. Never trust the plastic cups, and they look stupid.

"Nothin'. You?"

"Just got here," says I. The brew is both moist and delicious. Even if we have sex wars at parties, the beer they have there is too good to turn down. "I had no idea I'd get so lucky in my first minute." My eyes were doing all the work, staring straight into hers instead of glancing down to her ridiculously open chest. Sam was a master at that and other such key approaches, but I was learning slowly.

"Hey, Ice, baby," came... Meb? from somewhere else, slipping his arm around her like he owned her. Meb is Sam's chickenshit little brother. A guy that didn't have the balls to get laid because "it might hurt his best friend's feelings". I've seen Lyla; she's cute, but constantly tipsy, if you know what I mean. "Who's your friend?"

"We weren't introduced yet," Ice answered. "Ice" was right. Ice-blue lipstick and ice-blue eyeshadow for her ice-blue eyes. These cheerleader types took their nicknames seriously. "But he was just telling me how he had already gotten lucky." She pushed a fleck of blue-frosted blond hair out of her eyes.

"Really? Let's hear it, then," Meb said proudly. Little fucker drew Ice in closer. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Goddammit, this isn't fair. We boys, we can't be blamed for having the same targets in our sights, and you can't expect some guy you're not mates with to stay away from your own flock, but there's supposed to be at least some code. You can't stop yourself from taking what's already taken, but don't make it personal. Don't rub the other guy's face in it.

I'd talk to his brother about it later. "That would be telling, wouldn't it?" I said cheekily. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a one-minute limit if I'm to familiarize myself with everyone in the crowd."

Asshole. If it was my woman and I'd already hit that and I'd seen some guy moving in on her, I'd probably just leave it the fuck be so I could call her on it like it was some excuse to not call her anymore. But that's chickenshit Meb for you. Reminds me of Dree, only Dree was only defensive about his...

"Hello, legs," I said to a particularly pleasing set of stems first thing out the keg room.

"Hello, eew?"

I knew that voice.

"Hey, pretty breeze," I said to the most delicious pair of dark green eyes in town, playing on her middle name.

Ivy was already staggering under some unfelt zephyr due to the short glass already half-empty in her long fingers. "I swear, if I have to put up with you and your stupid friends hitting on me all night, I'm just gonna go now," she fumed.

"You're perfectly safe with me, my dear," I said in what warm tones I could muster towards the opposite sex. "In fact, if there's someone that gets too fresh with you tonight, I'd be perfectly willing to come to your aid."

And it was perfectly true. The off-limits list to a guy like me includes a buddy's ex and a buddy's sister. The ex because you know they weren't good enough to keep or too fickle to stay around, the sister because you don't want to be the one guy in a group of friends that goes after another friend's family. They were like little sisters to all of us, really. Only not, and we enjoyed looking at them just as much as their brothers did.

She excused herself with eyes rolled up so far it was sure to kick her hangover in three hours early. I'm used to girls walking away; in fact, I encourage it as I love to watch them leave. While Ivy could do wonderful things with a pair of tight jeans, she loved the attention she got on her bare legs when she wore short skirts.

I continued through the various rooms looking for more, but only going so far as my hefty mug would carry me. See, not only does a plastic cup look stupid while you're trying to talk a girl up, you're also prone to running out, and holding six or eight cups' worth just looks silly.

"Wow. You always bring your own mugs to parties?"

"Maybe I'm friends with the guy that lives here," I said to whomever had picked me amongst the crowd to start up with.

"Then why're you showing up late, getting shot down by the first girl you talk to before you even fill the thing up?"

Fucking headhunters. See, this is why I don't like being late to a party. It had taken Becky forever to get ready, while all I had to do was put some clean, pressed clothes on with some cologne and my nice shoes. In fact, I was all set to go when suddenly she comes out of nowhere, yelling at me for not waiting for me. "You told me you didn't wanna go," I'd said, but that got me nowhere since I'd already told her I'd take her so she didn't get raped or whatever on the way there. Point being, I like to be at a party early so I can keep an eye on the door, watching the women come in one by one until I have a list of faces I like. Obviously this girl had the same thing in mind. Saved me the trouble, really.

"Little sister had to... holy shit." I had turned to look at her, and that did me in right away. This girl was wearing nothing more than a yellow bikini top and barely-there shorts. Parties with pools were automatically pool parties, but come the fuck on.

"Something wrong, handsome?" she asked with a smirk on her immature face.

It's a sickness. There's something of a war of genders going on in this seemingly peaceful town, and it's girls like this that make the war hard to win. Headhunting is a difficult game that requires experience, but anyone can figure it out after a few parties if they don't get told about it to begin with. And then there are girls like this: Tiny, tiny girls who look like they're fresh out of junior high. They think that just because they're in high school they can go to all the "big kid" parties where highschoolers and college-goers mix. It's a given that whenever there's beer and kids there'll be skin, but it's these stupid girls that think they have to get an advantage by showing ridiculous skin. I mean, I've bedded quite a few girls in my day, but I never knew whether they shaved or trimmed (got an unmowed one once, wtf?) until I got them into bed. This girl, you knew she straight up waxed. Girls like this, you're pretty sure they're not even eighteen. And you are, so be polite and excuse yourself before someone sees you talking to her.

"I know what you're thinking," she says. She's got a bit of beer on her breath and dirt on her bare feet. "You think I'm some dumb college girl, don't you?"

"Nothing like that ever crossed my mind, I assure you," I said with perfect honesty. I didn't even have time to think about her being dumb, and forget about thinking of her in college.

"I work really hard at the boutique..." Oh. So that explains the impossibly smooth skin. "...But all I get is bullshit from guys like you who're only looking for easy high school girls."

"So, are you mad at me because people think you're in college or because they think you're not in high school?" I asked with genuine confusion.

"Duh! Yes!"

"...So... it was nice talking to you; see you ar..."

"Wait! Where're you going?"

Stupid cunt. "Going to find someone who doesn't open conversations with man-hating slander."

"See, that's what I hate about you guys! No one ever takes me seriously!"

"Why do you think that is?" I asked with feigned interest. "It can't possibly be your sales pitch, because I was ready to drown myself for the cause."

"Really?" her eyes brightened. Beautiful blue eyes on this girl. Fuck! No! No looking!

"No, not really." Yes, I'm ready to kill myself, but not for her sake. More to get me out of this conversation. Maybe there's an open window nearby.

Her eyes lowered in immediate sorrow. "Dammit, I'm never gonna get a date!"

If not, I'm sure I can find a chainsaw and make one.

We were by the stairs. Couples were going up and singles were coming down; Sam had set the bar by taking up one in each hand. In a corner, two girls were getting very frisky. I was trying to find the right phrase to get this silly chicken out of my way so I could get between the action.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Huh? Oh, sure," I said while trying to keep my eyes fixed on the empassioned brunettes.

"You could at least look at me when you say that."

"Look... what's your name?" Whoops. Stupid question.

"Cypher," she said with a frown.

"Look, Cypher... what; you a cheerleader?"

"I was; nobody seems to remember my first name, so I don't bother anymore. What were you gonna say?"

"Huh? Oh. Look, a million women ask guys if they think they're pretty, and all it does is cause trouble. Now if you'll excuse me..." I needed to get out of there. Long, silky blond hair; big, cornflower-blue eyes; miles of skinny, toned legs; flawless skin; and that overall narrowness accented by the immature attitude that makes her a perfect picture of innocent youth. A package that can make you cry. Why, you ask? Because you can't have it; you're not even supposed to want it, but you do, even if it gets you arrested. And that package, I can guarantee you you would. I shouldn't even be caught talking to her, much less looking at her. I've already bumped into like four people here that I know.

"You wanna go swimming with me?"

What the hell? I had walked past her, but she'd already grabbed my hand. I watched with a tear in my eye as the brunettes walked up the stairs together, no man between them to balance the hormones. "Look, I've gotta..." I stammered, trying to follow them. "What'd you say?"

"You wanna go swimming with me?" she asked again, already dragging me toward the poolside family room.

"I didn't bring a..." Damned women and their damned body parts distracting me. While I was distracted by the hordes of women in increasing stages of undress, Cypher had drug me out to the pool room. I turned to her with thoughts of freedom when she released my hand, but my eyes caught hold of her cute little butt being freed from her shorts that looked like no more than a mouthful. Cute matching yellow bottoms appeared from behind the shorts that shimmied their way down the smooth, tan legs; another tear was squeezed from my eye. There are just some things that are too beautiful to look away from, no matter the shame, no matter the danger.

"Come on, get undressed!" she encouraged with something of a squeal when she unbent herself and placed her shorts in safe keeping. I mechanically did as I was told as though under some spell of those yellow bottoms. Even though she was watching my eyes locked helplessly on her skinny ass, I couldn't pry my attention away.

I was down to my shorts without realizing what was going on, and she had tossed the rest of my things into a conspicuous locker that had been previously empty. Great setup at this place, was my thought. On the wall there were shorts for swimming. I heisted one, replacing my undershorts once Cypher went off to the shower to get hosed down before hopping into the wetness.

With my shorts and socks in the safety of the locker, I headed back into the house through the nearby door, which dropped me off at the doorstep of the beer.

"Hey, trunks," came a familiar voice when I began refilling my stein. "What was it you were saying before?"

I looked to see Ice, still sitting on a barstool next to the beer, no Meb in sight. "Something about 'getting lucky'?"

Women. A sickness, them. I could see it in her eye, undressing what I had left. And it wasn't one of those looks that a girl gets when she's about to say something humorous at your expense.

"You wouldn't want him, Ice, he's diseased." The blue-lipped goody was distracted from gazing at my newly revealed form by none other than my sister.

What a cunt, for her to chase off my trim. I'm not trying to mack on someone in front of her, but still. That's just childish.

"Mmm... I think I'll be the judge of that," Ice retorted, leaning in to breathe of my cologne.

"I'm off for a swim," I said in the same tone of voice she had adopted.

"Sounds tempting, but I didn't bring a suit."

"You know, I said that same damn excuse," I said, shining her on and walking out. My sister began gagging.

"Ooh, thank you!" squealed Cypher once I had stepped outside. She grabbed my freshly-refilled mug and took a large sip. Rule number twenty-seven-and-a-half: Never let a woman drink from your drank. But rather than wait around to hear the rules of parties, she grabbed two of my fingers with two of hers and led me to the pool. A few guys I knew eyeballed her dripping-wet form every bit as hard as I had as we passed, and she leaped in after turning to blow me a kiss.

"Nice catch," Bill said when I took a seat next to him on the submerged pool bench.

"Shut up," I said from behind my beer.

"Not bad, not bad," he continued with feigned impressedness, "a little under-ripe, but given a few years..."

I socked him on the arm, which caused my beer to slosh dangerously. I stopped engaging the idiot talk to drown my sorrows in the precious brown fluid, and Bill was content to help me watch the multitude of female forms going in and out of the pool. Though neither of us said anything, we were slowly changing. More beer, more relaxing, our eyes more used to the light, more giggling; slowly but surely, we were changing. We were adapting to the situation. We were becoming predators, only it wasn't the weak and sick we would be aiming for.

"Anything yet?" I asked once we were both in hunter mode.

"Nothing," he answered with his voice full of business. His eyes, like mine, were narrowed, following each movement before us very carefully. We held our heads very still to catch each precious sound of a girl's squeal or gasp of pleasure as she was "accidentally" groped under, or out of, the water. "But there's no shortage, and there's plenty of time."

"True, true." That's my boy, positive to the end. These parties weren't made for dolphin-catching, but they sure did the trick. Sometimes he and I, along with Dree or Sam as instanced, would just find a couch or something and chill the fuck out with some beer, maybe play cards. If it the magic happened, it happened. If it didn't, no one's heart was broken. There were plenty of days in the year, and the subsequent years that we got older and wiser, the girls stayed small and stupid.

My "date," finished with her romp in the pool, came paddling up to me. "Look what I got you," she said with pride. She was twirling someone's bikini top over her finger.

"It's wet," I said casually from behind the lip of my mug.

"Double-Ds." She had such an excited smile on her face from bringing back a trophy for me, I felt obligated to acknowledge it for her, even though it was guaranteed to get me into trouble.

"It's usually panties I collect, sorry."
"Aww..." She tossed the top back to the poor victim and crawled into my lap. "We'll see if we can't do something about that. Mind if I borrow your friend for a while?" she said to Bill rather than me while pulling herself out of the pool and dragging me with her.

Whoever this "Brewer" guy was that was hosting, not only did his pool deck come equipped with a wet room with like a million lockers, it also had a huge sauna for people to dry off in before getting back into their clothes. Or in Cypher's case, her shorts she must've had with her since the third grade. My eye twitched thoroughly as I watched her rubbing that thirsty towel over every inch of her soaking skin. I was far gone by the time her hips popped into place back inside her shorts, I was powerless for her to pull me back into the house and up the fated stairs.

"I want you," she hissed in a hushed voice when she pulled us into the first door up the stairs. She pressed her mouth to mine, and I didn't even have time to think about the implications before I tripped on the bed and fell flat on my back.

"Ow!"

Fuck me; are you serious?

In the darkness, we had fallen on a romping couple. My first thought was that I had walked in on Sam, which may or may not have been a good thing, considering that he's a very generous individual when it came to his catch of the minute. But it wasn't; Cypher went about undressing me anyhow.

"Do you mind?" the guy asked. "We're already hard at work here."

"Not at all," Cypher said in an overly-giddy voice, "we can share, can't we?"

"Share." There's an operative word for you. Share the bed, or share more? Either way, I found myself thoroughly excited by this frisky young lady (no, "girl". “lady” just doesn't suit her as a description). Not just from her body now; she had topped a girl just to please me, now she was ready for side-by-side action, which is something you usually only hear rumors about from uncredible people (besides Sam; that man knew some magic).

I was pulled closer onto the bed; Cypher wasn't having anything stand in her way. I heard the girl next to us do her best to distract the lucky guy into continuing, but the moans and groans I was getting out of Cypher from every touch I reluctantly gave her must've been getting under his skin. I forgot to care. Cypher had gotten me to kiss her, and with each second I cared less and less how old, more specifically how young, she may or may not have been. Even still, my heart began to beat out of control, and I could hear the sirens ringing in my ear as sure as if the room were monitored by Rotterdale's Finest themselves. And stupid me, I carried on regardless of the obviously-going-to-happen consequences. And you know what? It felt good. Good to let go, good to pluck fruit I wasn't supposed to have. Only this under-ripe fruit tasted so much sweeter for it, not bitter at all.