Imagine you live in the South and you're gay. Conservative social stigmas are fighting against you from day one. I can only assume it must be pretty shitty.
I now live near what is most likely the gayest neighborhood in America. Rainbow flags blow in the bright Southern California sun in the median on Santa Monica and Sunset Blvds. And this is cool. Everyone deserves a place where they can feel comfortable. That's fuckin' America.
But there's a problem. And it's in this story:
It all started on an awesome night with my younger brother, Jordan, and some of his buds. We were pre-gaming for a night on what Knoxville, Tennessee (my hometown) calls "The Strip" which is like a landing strip of college hedonism via bars, clubs, restaurants, and regret. Except this shit ain't shaved.
I do not remember the name of the bar itself, but it's completely irrelevant. It was a bar, and it had alcohol. Done. It was not that crowded. We got there a little early. We proceeded to the bar and started putting shot after shot after shot back like we were made of money.
As time went on, the bar started getting more crowded. Jordan introduced me to all of his friends, and those people's friends, etc. All of a sudden, I noticed people's behavior started changing. All the alcohol people had consumed was now flowing through their veins like a silicon slip n' slide. Something bad was bound to happen.
Sure enough, like all people, Jordan has a handful of friends who are like magnets for shit/awesomeness/whateveryouwannacallit. We'll keep him nameless so I don't get my shit kicked in. This guy is always on the prowl for some puss. A real hero indeed.
Luckily, the place had a great vibe, and I noticed him (as usual) being a pro. He had the girl doing everything that girls subconsciously do to show interest. I was proud of him like a brother. It was gonna happen for him.
Some time went on as I caught up with Jordan and his other buds. The bar was now really fucking loud, and people were acting like idiots. All of them. It was awesome. I looked back over at the nameless friend, and he was talking to two girls neither of which was his former conversational girl. Two things went through my head: 1) he swung and missed with the first girl and now he's reloading or 2) he's going to hit the jackpot and have a threesome. I almost soiled myself.
Women don't go to the bathroom alone. One of the girls had to use it, so the other one went with her. I had to talk to him / know what's going on. I approached him. Here's the conversation as I remember it:
"Dude, tell me it's going to happen with them two."
-- "No, it's not."
"What?"
-- (while pointing) "She's coming too."
I needed a diaper. Sure enough the two girls returned from the bathroom with the girl he was talking to earlier. My head about exploded. He left with all three of them. I felt like I had just witnessed a miracle.
I just shook my head. Could this be the most defining moment of this man's life? Perhaps yes. And certainly not in the way he probably expected...
About an hour later, the bar was closing. Time to take this party back home.
Now what I'm about to tell you is going to sound so ridiculous your incredulous gauge is going to fucking explode, but it happened.
Before we get to the juice, I want to paint of picture of who's now in this group. A lot of people; most of whom are nasty dudes, making what's about to happen all the better.
My brother's apartment (where we were all headed) was a three bedroom apartment. As we made our way up the stairs, the line of people about to enter this apartment went from a second story entrance all the way down the stairs, around the corner, and to the street. I was somewhere in the middle. One of the roommates took out his key, put it in the door lock, opened the door, and entered.
What happened next was both the most terrifying and amazing experience of my life. Having entered and seen what he saw, he ran back into the entranceway and yelled at the top of his lungs, "holy shit, dude, these two chicks are scissoring!!!!!" I kid you not, a fucking riot ensued. Beers hit the ground. Mouths dropped. Cigs were disregarded. Random neighbors including the drug dealer from the apartment below came out of the woodworks.
People pushed with all of their might to get a view. I, in fact, used the back of one of my brother's taller friends as leverage to get a better view. And I saw it.
Two of the three girls who had left with my buddy earlier were butt-naked, crotch-to-crotch. They had pulled out the couch from the bed and turned it into an arts and crafts sex table.
I'll never forget the look on their face as they grabbed their clothes and pushed through the crowd of mostly men.
Having heard all the commotion, my brother's friend ran into the room (from his bedroom) not wearing boxers mind you but holding his boxers in front of his crotch like a wet dishrag.
"What the fuck's going on in here!"
-- "Dude, you missed it..."
"What?"
-- "Those two girls you were with... were SCISSORING!"
There was a moment of speechlessness amongst the group, including both roommates as we all digested what we had just witnessed. I for one could barely breathe. This was the kind of thing that men only dream about, or perhaps partake via the digital world behind closed doors.
Looking back now, these girls reenforced a great life-lesson. Yes... grinding crotch with someone is truly an awesome act.
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