Descriptions of bar brawls. And there's parts that make you wince in sympathy for poor Vice...
The fic itself isn't humorous, but the ravings of a sexually frustrated young man make for amusing reading if you aren't him.
Callisto sez: This is an entry in this chara's journal. Don't laugh too loudly, the poor boy has feelings.
Tonight has been the most humiliating night of my goddamn life. Flat out.
See, today was -supposed- to be my day off from work, so Andre & I had the night to ourselves. There are worse things, y'know? But see, my life is never that simple. HELL no. I just wouldn't be me if things started going right.
So Andre & I are lying on my bed, & he proceeds with foreplay. Now normally, I -like- Andre's foreplay. For one thing, he's good at it. For another thing, he's never very long about it, because we're both hornballs. But tonight, for some reason, he takes it into his head to go into a foreplay binge three hours long.
-Three fucking hours-. Jesus, by the time we hit the second one my dick was screaming. Either Andre has a -lot- more willpower that I pinned him for, or I'm a lot less sexy than he tells me I am. I didn't tell him, though, because for one thing it's kinda rude to interrupt somebody when they're doing something that does, in fact, feel good. For another, it sounds so goddamn cliche & stupid to say 'take me now!' Like something out of a damn romance novel. (And also, I was thinking along the lines of "damn, if this is what the -foreplay- is like..." Yeah, so I'm sex-crazed.)
And it wouldn't've been a bad thing, except that suddenly I get a call from work. The guy on call tonight didn't show up, & they needed me -right then-. Just fucking lovely. I might actually have explained to my boss that I was kind of in the middle of dealing with a raging erection & my boyfriend--because hey, he runs a gay bar, he understands these things--but he hung up the minute I made a sound that vaguely resembled 'yes'.
Needless to say, I was -not- happy about this. Even if the thought of nursing a rampaging hard-on throughout a five hour shift wouldn't have been enough to piss me off--which would've probably qualified me for sainthood--I work in a -gay bar-. I'm already hit on by half the patrons. I could just picture what it was gonna be like to try & work while being visibly aroused, & it wasn't a pretty picture.
So yeah, I bitched at Andre. I mean, I'd already been uncomfortable, which I could've put up with, but because of him being such a goddamn tease I was gonna be -stuck- that way for the rest of the night. Miserable prospect for anyone. And maybe I would've just left it at being pissed & frustrated, except that he had the nerve to blame ME for not just telling him to fuck me. (I'm sorry, I thought all the moaning, pointed euphemisms, & physical encouragements were enough, but apparently I have to -spell it out-....) He even had the goddamn gall to bitch about him doing most of the work! Since when does three hours of foreplay that produce JACK count as work?!
I stomped out at about the time he said something about me using my mouth for something other than cocksucking. I was honestly afraid I'd punch him. (Not that the sonuvabitch wouldn't've deserved it, but Morgan & Cricket would have my ass on a platter. Besides, I had work.) Punched a wall on the way out of the building, though--& managed to burst a knuckle in the process. Goddamn, but that hurts like a BITCH. I've done it a couple times before, but--shit. And I didn't even have time to bandage it, so I walked to the club sucking on my bleeding knuckle & eventually had to wrap my hand in a napkin. It's still bleeding a little.
So I get to the bar, & it's just as bad as I thought it was gonna be. Every guy in the goddamn PLACE must've noticed I was horny within five minutes. I swear, they can smell arousal. I spend the next three hours grinding my teeth while being hit on by every boozer in the place. And, of course, -he- was there tonight. Assmonkey. He -had- to be there, because it made my life that much more inconvenient, & the powers that be just LIVE to make my life inconvenient. He spent most of the five hours leering at me across the room; I swear, if it's possible to be visually raped, he did it.
I was surprised he waited so long to come over, but he finally made his way over to me & started the whole drunken stint. Come-ons, corny pick-up lines, blatant euphemisms, the works. And felt me up, too, of course. Just subtly enough that it'd be my word against his if I tried to kill him for it, & he's got friends in this bar to back up his word. So I just had to stand there & let him grope me. At least he was subtle enough about it that I didn't have to be embarrassed about anybody -realizing- what he was doing; bad enough I know.
But then he tried a new trick, probably inspired by the fact that the front of my pants had been doing a passable imitation of a tent for most of the night(you'd think it've gone away, but no; anger keeps me horny, for some reason, & isn't -that- a treat)--he tries to feel me up -there-. No way was I going to put up with -that- shit. I've got my pride. I managed not to deck him flat out, though; I just gave him a slug to the stomach. (There aren't even words for the level of temptation I endured to hit him further down, but I'd always been taught that if I have to fight at all, fight fair.) Then I stepped back; I was gonna give him time enough to recover so I could escort him--with a boot to the ass--out the door. He's a big guy, or I would've just dragged him over there, & forget the recovery time.
Bad idea. The guy recovered faster than I thought he would. And he had -none- of my compunctions about hitting below the belt.
I had no idea that much pain even existed in the world. Or had the potential to be gathered all in one spot so suddenly.
Lesson of the day: Being kicked in the crotch while horny is as close as a man can come to experiencing the pain of a woman during childbirth.
I literally greyed out, & I don't do fainting. (And I'm damned glad I'm not interested in having kids, because I've probably lost the potential to.) When I became consciously aware of my surroundings again, I'd been dragged into the boss' office & was being cleaned up--apparently my body's philosophy upon being kicked in the balls is something like 'open mouth, scream on a frequency for dog whistles, void stomach', because I'm told that's what I did. My only satisfaction is that I managed to nail the guy with vomit...of course, neither he or my boss is exactly thrilled about that fact, but I enjoy it. Projectile vomit. If I weren't in such pain right now even I'd be laughing.
Then, once I'd fully come round, my boss gave me a fifteen-minute lecture, the gist of which was this: 'If this were a regular work day & you weren't here helping me out, I'd fire you. And for the love of God don't ever come to work horny again. You tempt the customers.'
I swear, if 75% of the blood in my body weren't trying to clot the internal bleeding in my crotch, my face probably would've caught fire. As it was, it was all I could do to mutter some sort of agreement--my voice wasn't high & squeaky, but it was kinda hoarse; still is--& stagger out of there. And gods, the laughing. I may actually have to quit my job at the West, just by virtue of being too horrifically embarrassed to show my face in there again.
Dammit, this was supposed to be a GOOD night. Instead I'm spending it alone & in severe pain, trying to figure out how to get a band-aid to stay in place on my knuckle.
And I'm -never- going to be able to tell Andre all this, because he'd laugh, & then I'd have to flat out kill him, so he's going to think I'm just being petty when I claw his eyes out next time I see him.
At least we're arguing. This way I don't have to explain to him why it is my cock seems to be damaged & malfunctioning.
Christ. Someday I'll look back on this & laugh. Maybe after my dick transplant.