Artie 01

Artie 01

So, you know me, right? I mean, I was the queer one who ate and sat alone at the lunch table, but you respected me because for some unknown reason, I've always had a mean sidearm throw that really brought the heat. I mean, to the others, it meant a pretty sure thing going into the end of the game, but to me, it was just something that my arm and eyes did without a lot of training.

Also, if you've ever let your eyes track a good sidearm throw, it starts low, takes an upward arch and then zings back down, much like the shape of a shapely woman lying on her side while reading a book at the beach. It's a wonderful thing and even though I never asked to have such an ability or that type of body, it officially tagged me as a jock in school.

And jock is not plural. Don't put a baseball bat or a football in my hands because that image would look more like Mr. Williams from the Tech class and even if you try to bang me on our first date, I wouldn't be so mad at you to put that image in your head [ooh, shakes head violently].

And speaking of first dates, here's what had happened in that department. Not much since this guy, Barry, asked me to be the jock that I am once and side caddy for him during the school circuit golf games because anybody can pull a wheeled golf club bag without creating the image of a naked human being, but while wearing Denim shorts, right?

Oh, and not to change the subject, but, ahem, I don't know where my legs came from either, but I'm keeping them.

Anyways, so, back to what had happened then. Before Barry asked me to side caddy for me, I mean, I joined the club and not the golf club, club. I joined the posting selfies club and I suppose it's not breaking news that sometimes selfies wander down the risqué avenue before too long, so, I started to receive phone calls and text messages and those sneaky behind the scenes date offers, um, suggestions maybe, right?

But I knew better than to fall for most of those tricks, but I must say, I mean, before too long, I mean, my text message screen actually had a list of text strings and that, wait, um, wait, and then my text message screen on my phone actually had a string of shared texts on it!

So, one exclamation point later, I thought that a day on the golf course might lead to actual face to face conversations and I was so ready for that, especially if there was casual in-person flirting because I was so ready for that too, but then it happened, the cheating incident.

Now, I don't know jack jock about the rules of golf, but apparently, the other people, um, golfers and spectators are not allowed to side kick a fallen golf ball and when Barry's partner, Nate, started to throw an even bigger hissy fit that I've ever thrown before about how two of the competitors were laughing and acting like they were going to kick his ball, I mean, it's not my fault that they put that side saddle pocket on the golf bag for extra balls, right?

I mean, one moment there were two competitors from Hillsdale standing and laughing just across the perfectly manicured grassy green area while challenging Nate because he was too far away to stop them and in the next moment, I side armed two spare golf balls and explained it different to them, like clunk, clunk, in the foreheads different.

Tee he, hey there, people, I stuck with Artie as my name because I thought a little more masculine name would deter some guys from trying to just get one thing from me and I've been arrested before!

"Your Honor, I object because I didn't hardly understand a single word the poopy head Prosecutor just said, therefore, here within, albeit, so be it, let there be light, I'm innocent by default, slam your cute little hammer down, the end!"

[Slam the little hammer, bang, slam the little hammer, bang]

"Order in my court this instant, you prissy little missy! You're not innocent until I say so! Ahem, what the poopy head prosecutor just said was mostly in your favor, so..."

"Oh, then let the proceedings carry on then, your Honor, so."

[Slam the little hammer, bang, slam the little hammer, bang]

"Order, I say because I do the saying around here and not you! Where so you think you are, huh? At some pot smoking and beer drinking party where you're probably the hit of the bathroom hallway? Anyways, the poopy head Prosecutor said if you agree to accept a ban for life from literally any golf course in the Middleton area, he'll drop most of the charges and even help you and your wicked sidearm pitch get a scholarship into CC down on the coast, so, how do you plead now, huh, missy ma'am?"

"Oh, I plead that I have a wicked pleated school girl plaid skirt in my closet that I've yet to wear to a pot smoking and beer drinking party, but since I just now received a text from your grandson to attend his party this Saturday, I accept that I plead crazy, so, am I free to go now, hmm?" Your Honor?"

[Slam the little hammer, bang, slam the little hammer, bang]

"Fricking order, I say again! Well, I have one last thing to say, unless the poopy head Prosecutor has anything else to say or add, so?"

"Um, no, your Honor, the prosecution rests it's case. Well, unless your grandson's party is age limit open, so?"

[Slam the little hammer, bang, slam the little hammer, bang]

"That's enough of that, but I'll check. And as for you, missy prissy, for next time, Daisy Dukes are not appropriate wear for court, time served and two monthly bake sales in the Hoosegow as community service, court adjourned [one last slam down of the cute little hammer]

Well, his Honor was totally wrong about Daisy Dukes being appropriate court wear according to a few other people, so, anyways, back to my story.

So, anyways, um, my totally masculine name didn't deter anybody or anything, the hoosegow jail is scary, especially when they assign you a holding tank based on your birth gender and not your chosen gender and then the word got around that maybe putting me into a weird date situation may not be the best idea if there is something nearby that can be thrown, so, tee he, I'm a look at, but don't touch kind of person, I guess.

Now, if some of that sounds contradictory, I mean, maybe. I don't want to be forced into anything, but I am so, so, so, so ready to be seduced, slowly, but surely seduced! I mean, I'm so ready be asked out on a date.

Anyways, no dates for me and I promise you, the small bucket of golf balls near the front door of my apartment are whiffle golf balls given the small courtyard size at my apartment complex and besides no dates for me, I'm not allowed anywhere near the golf course ever again! I mean, I keep getting calls to visit the jailhouse for old times sakes, but I'm not a "orange" wearing type of person. Susan can pull off wearing orange since she works at the wing's restaurant, but me, not so much.

Well, fast forward a little bit to graduation and a few post grad selfie postings and literally nothing has changed. I mean, the calls and the texts and the offers keep coming, but it always the same old "asking you to suck my dick, Artie, is seduction" or my "are you going to take that booty to the grave, Artie" or my absolute favorite "I'm telling Judge Henderson that you violated parole by stealing Andrea's thighs" and Frank should have stolen a kiss from me for that right there and then! And he might have a surprise in his future if he helps with my community service bake sales in the Hoosegow. As long as he starts it anyways. And just as long as Frank trades places with Nate.

Anyways, as a "hands off for fear of Artie's right hand" person, things muddled along, until I ran into Nate again at the Renaissance Festival recently.

"I mean, Nate, why don't you just grab one of those oversized turkey legs that Renaissance festivals are famous for if you're hungry, hmm?"

"Um, Artie, I wasn't expecting to explain the birds and the bees to you today, but, um, I'm challenging you, Artie, for a midnight snack if I win and for a midnight snack if I lose, so?"

Well, damn it, people should start out by saying "this is flirting" before they say anything else! I mean, I'm untouchable and mostly untouched and I don't know these things!

"Oh, um, are you sure, Nate? And I'm only asking because I'm that stupid, so?"

"Artie, if you win, we'll play by your rules, but if I win, we have playtime after my midnight snack, so?"

Oh, that I understood alright. He wants me to power up the game console after his sandwich, right, folks? Gulp.

Anyways, it may have been weak, but I felt a little schmoozed.

"Well, Nate, I'm just saying that some people here at the festival have been stuffing my back pockets with cash to sink Mayor Henderson in the dunk tank, so, that's my warning since you haven't even seduced me, I mean, told me what your challenge is, so?"

"Tee he and how many times have you sunk that old faggot in the dunk tank so far this afternoon, huh, Artie?"

"Oh, I didn't think that I was going to have to explain the birds and bees to you today, Nate, because we're secluded enough behind the cotton candy machine for you to figure that out for yourself!"

Huh, he understood that well enough!

[Mwah, grip, smooch, dig count that paper, smack, smack, this booty is not going to the grave, smooch]

"Bah, bah, bah, um, hey there, hey, Nate!"

[Mwah, count, count, count, count, squeeze, squeeze because counting is overrated, squeeze]

And I still didn't what his challenge was! But I knew Nate knew how to kiss back!

"Oh, you don't think that I was going to challenge with you with something that you could throw, do you, Artie, huh?"

"Nate (breathing heavily), all I know is that your playpen has a pulse and I'm not complaining!"

[Attacks back, smooch, hump, grind, smooch, throw me on the ground right here, smack, smack!]

"Ahem! You two are up! (Tee he, in more ways than one, tee he, lucky ass SOB). And we're burning daylight, so, um, tee he, one more quick grind and let's get a move on!"

LOL, Renaissance festival workers in renaissance garb outfits, right? Oh, the bar wenches are cool and all, of course, but the overweight dudes in fur, tee he, not so much.

And I still didn't know what the challenge was, but there was a 50-50 chance that I could win the challenge, right? Because if I didn't win (gulp), I might finally lose something on my couch as I clean up the sandwich plate! Which I promise, I'm so ready for. Gulp.

And then I did know what the challenge was. Gulp.

[Smoothly pulls back the bowstring, aims, releases, swoosh, zip-zip-zip-zip-zip-zip, whap, twang!]

"Hah, red-yellow and only because the low sun was in my eyes! Your turn, Artie."

[Fem grunts, grr, not so smooth of a pull back of the bowstring, looks, pokes self in eye with thumb, releases, whoosh, wobble, wobble, wobble, wobble, um, the arrow landed safely somewhere way, way, way over there, so, it's okay folks]

"Oh, I guess my arrow went right through the target, Nate, so, that's a point for me!"

[Way, way, way off in the distance at the festival]

"(Ouch! Damn it! Medic! I have an arrow in my ankle!)"

[Smoothly pulls back the bowstring, aims, releases, swoosh, zip-zip-zip-zip-zip, whap, splinter, twang!]

"Hah, I split my previous arrow, boom! Your turn, Artie. Oh, and that's Playtime 2, Bitching Out 0."

[Grunt, strains to pull back bowstring, closes eyes, wipes lip gloss with thumb, releases, whoop, whirl, whirl, whirl, whirl, pop, pop go the Mylar balloons over the cotton candy machine and um, the arrow kept going until it safely lands, um, somewhere way over there, so, it's okay folks]

[Safely way over there in the far parking area of festival grounds]

"[Clunk, plunk!] honey, I think a bird just flew into our car while you were parking."

[The hubby is convinced that an arrow in the rear door is not a breed of bird and frowns]

"Yay, my arrow stuck in something, so, am I winning now, Nate (gulp)?"

[Smoothly pulls back bowstring, aims, releases, swoosh, zip-zip-zip-zip-zip-zip, whap, twang!]

"Hah, all red and that's my last shot, Artie, so, it's your last turn now, so, make it count or I'll recount all of the paper cash in your back pockets again."

[Grr, grr, manages to pull back bowstring, closes one eye, goes with duck lips, releases, flutter, fizzle, whizzle, wobble, whirl, whizzle, wobble, whirl, thumps into something soft like a straw filled target]

"[Off to right] ouch! Medic! Butt arrow!"

"That's two points, right, Nate? I split my previous arrow too, right?"

"Well, Artie, you did manage to split that guy's, um, okay then, we need to drop the bows like we were never here and scram back to your place for an early snack, quick, Artie!"

[Expensive festival compound bows hit the dirt like nobody was watching and they scrammed]

You know, folks, somehow that all felt like a little bit of a setup, don't you don't think? I mean, not the guy with an arrow in his, um, it was my best seductive schmoozing to date and we took off to my place like at the birds and the bee's speed!

[Huffing, ducking, puffing, wheeze running, huff, hey, wait, wait, hit the renaissance brakes]

Well, we made it a long way from the archery range and all of those people were busy trying to pull my arrow out of that guy's, um, hey, look, a Renaissance Festival food tent!

"Wench, Wench, Wench Wendy!"

"OMFG, Artie, call me Wench Wendy one more time and your post grad "undies" posted selfies will need to be reposted to show that 3 is a lie because I have a big knife to cut off these big turkey legs! Anyways, how are my renaissance boobs looking today, hmm?"

"Fuller than ever, Wench Wendy. Anyways, I owe Nate a midnight snack at 7pm now because I lost his challenge, so I need two oversized turkey legs, a container of brown slop and a container of the white sludge, all to go and a text or two on what happens after the meal, like at playtime, so?"

"OMFG, do I really need to explain the birds and the bees to you today, Artie? Also, is Nate your dinner boyfriend tonight then, hmm? And how did he trick you into a challenge where you wouldn't be able to throw literally any object, hmm?"

I mean, they should put a sign on the Renaissance Festival Food Tents in that fancy old timey calligraphy lettering, that's hard to read in these modern times, that says "Renaissance food and wench boobs only! No relationship advice!", am I right, people?

[Um, Renaissance festival food "to go" bags might be made of fur too]

"Are you bitching out on me, Artie?"

"Oh, no way, Nate, um, um, I'm in for a penny and I'm in for a pound, or maybe for a pounding if things get that frisky, um, um, um, there has never been a condom in my apartment!"

Update, the Renaissance festival people should put up a fancy lettering sign that says "whisper fool" or something like that, I suppose, um, my bad.

So, um, Nate and I had an early midnight dinner snack at my place, so, what?

And Wench Wendy texted me play by play moves based on time passage, LOL. Until Nate put my phone away because he had his own birds and bee's playbook.

And he had a big bird with two overly active bees. But he still tasted better than the container of white sludge, so.

End Artie 01