Shut Up And Listen 259

I know what I'm writing about next week. Next week is the last Shut Up And Listen, so I know what I'm writing. This week, though, I have no fucking idea. So, fuck it, here's a short story I recently wrote. I was writing it for another writing competition, but finished the night of the deadline, so was too late. That doesn't bother me, though, because it's very rough and obvious. I explained my methods a couple of weeks ago, so this week, I'm just giving you the story. So, here it is. Enjoy.

Magic was in the air. Hell, magic was in the air every Saturday night at the Bends.

I was standing by the bar with a beer and talking to Jimmy, while checking out the ass of some chick who was talking up some fucker. The lighting was low and I was half-pissed, but I could tell there was something about her. She looked like any other girl you'd find in a bar on a Saturday night. She was probably in science or English or psychology, it didn't matter. I don't know what made her stand out really, but something did.

Draining my beer, I excused myself from Jimmy and sauntered through the crowd, moving to the music just a bit until I was right near them. Didn't like cockblocking the guy, but that hardly stopped me from moving right between them to order another drink.

He looked pissed and I feigned ignorance, apologising to her, but didn't move. Instead, I introduced myself and asked her her name. She said it was Jen. The guy said his was Ian and I gave him a look. He was gonna be a problem to get rid of, but Jimmy came through for me, spilling his beer on the guy by "accident." Jimmy always was the best wing-man a guy could ask for.

When the fella left, I had her undivided attention and bought her a drink. We chatted for a while. I got the instinct to kiss her and when it broke, I grinned and she asked, "Are you having fun?"

* * *

Daphne Burroughs was a fucking bitch of a cunt and I was thrilled to all hell to be rid of her STD-infected cootch. I was celebrating my freedom and my luck at escaping infection free.

By midnight, I was completely smashed and having the time of my life. Did some pre-drinking at the hockey game before getting to the Bends with Brooks, Phil, Chris, Woods and Osborn, who didn't drink but was there for some fucking reason.

I was having so much fun. I don't remember much except that. I was having a great fucking time.

I think it was after midnight when I ran into Daphne and some fucker. She started screaming at me and I yelled back and he yelled and Chris stepped in and pulled me away. That fucking bitch! Fucked up my night good then, so I had to drink some more and forget her.

Next thing I knew, I was in a cab with some goth-looking chick that was a little chubby but had the tits to go with the rolls. At her place, she gave me a blowjob that I passed out a little during. Cumming woke me up, but I was too drunk to do much else after. She didn't notice and got naked, drunk enough herself not to be self-conscious about being a fat, pale girl who should have been self-conscious about being naked. She had big nipples and a hairy bush.

She crawled on the bed to me, kissed me and then asked, "Are you having fun?"

* * *

I shrug and say, "Yeah, sure, I guess." I'm not that social really, but every once in a while hitting the bar with the guys is nice. Except not really. The good times are killing me.

I finish the rest of my coke and don't really feel like getting up for another. How is it in this age of anti-drunk driving that ordering a coke in a bar is still looked down upon by so many?

Jimmy sits down next to me and points towards Grant who's making out with some girl that I have a class with on Tuesdays and Thursdays. What the hell is her name?

"He better fuck her," Jimmy tells me. "I nearly got my ass kicked to hook him up. And -- and I wasted some beer!"

I smile, "Heaven forbid." He doesn't hear me, which is good. He wouldn't have got it and I don't want to explain it.

This place is full and I just want out. Why did I agree to come out? I've got better things I could be doing. I need to finish that story or talk to Jill online or even just find some internet porn and jerk off. Masturbation would be far more satisfying right now.

I don't listen to the conversation at the table. I can't really hear it and I don't try. Instead, I watch Grant make out with the girl from my Brit lit class. She's attractive, I suppose, but not really my type. Too slutty looking. Too slutty acting. Nice breasts. What do they feel like?

Jimmy slips out of the booth and I shift, so I'm sitting more sideways, resting my arm on the table and my head on my hand. If I look bored maybe a girl will wonder why and talk to me.

Yeah, right.

Brooks stumbles up to the table and looks at me and my empty glass with disgust. I tell him to fuck off, but he doesn't hear me and tells me to move so he can sit down. I stare at him with rage and consider not moving. I'm comfortable and don't really have the patience for this drunk asshole. His fly is open, but I doubt he cares.

I move and he slides in. His drink of choice is beer, of course. I think he says, "Why aren't you drinking?"

I reply, "Don't like to, man. You know that."

Confused, he stands up and as quickly as he arrived, he drifts back into the sea of people.

How utterly unsatisfying. What a goddamn waste of my time. I should leave. I want to leave. But I can't leave. My watch tells me it's 11:34 and you can't leave at 11:34. I don't know why, you just can't. Even I don't want to be a pussy.

Phil smacks my arm from across the table and yells, "Osborn! You look down, man! What, aren't you having fun?"

I smile, shake my head and answer, "Of course I am, man."

* * *

It was, like, our favourite song, so Julie and I hit the dance floor with a fury not seen since our last favourite song. We didn't care that we were the only people dancing and that people had to walk around us with care for their drinks. It was our favourite song! Ohmygod!

What ruined it was this dorky guy who tried to join us. Who does that? Couldn't he see that it was our favourite song and thus a sacred experience for Kendra and Julie only? What a fucking dork! God!

We went to the bar and waited for some guys to buy us drinks. It took a few minutes before our thirsts were quenched. We did the obligatory talking with the guys who paid, but that got boring, so we ditched them by going to the bathroom for forty minutes.

When we made our glorious return, the Bends was crammed full of cute girls and even cuter guys. Somehow, Julie and I got separated and I ended up talking to this gorgeous guy about something really interesting that I don't remember anymore. But he had these incredibly blue eyes and seemed to look right into my soul.

We made out a little and drank a little more before and then made out some more. When our favourite song came on again, I did a very sexy dance for him. He clapped, grinning in a lopsided kind of way and after I finished my drink, asked "Are you having fun?"

* * *

I nod, answering, "Yeah!" with an enthusiasm I didn't think I could muster while in a bar.

Somehow, the looking bored attracted a cute girl over who made a semi-witty remark about every party needing a pooper and that's why they invited me. I recognised her from around campus as one of those people who I just saw a lot around campus through random chance. She sat down and we talked for around twenty minutes before she asked if I had a good time, which is where I find myself somehow enthusiastic.

Her name is Holly and she's in chemistry, which intrigues me because I'm used to dealing with English or psych or philosophy or some other program that's almost completely essay-based. Her hair is shoulder-length, brown and kind of fluffy. She's got a little too much make-up on, but that's to distract from her paleness -- but I like the pale skin. Okay, she's a little overweight, but that's cool. I'm not shallow. I'm not. I like this better than some skeleton.

And she says interesting things. I think. I only half hear what she says. I think she asks what I'm drinking and I tell her coke. She gives me an odd look and I launch into the spiel about why I don't drink. She nods, but doesn't seem to be listening.

A little annoyed, I get up and use the bathroom, only to find her talking to Tim, who gives me a smug sort of look. Fuck her. Let her talk to that fucking prick. Like I give a fuck. Like I give a fuck.

I push my way through the people to the bar and get another coke that I have to pay two fucking fifty for. I thought they didn't charge for the non-alcohol to encourage designated drivers, but whatever.

Phil and Chris are talking near a pool table, so I go and stand with them. I don't listen to what they have to say, instead choosing to watch the pool game. A guy in his fifties is playing against two girls who don't even look nineteen. And he's losing. I don't think he minds, because both are wearing shirts meant to highlight their cleavage and are bending across the table quite a bit. Oh god, he's going to have sex with them!

Why did I come here? I never have any fun. I meet one interesting girl and that douchebag Tim steals her and the shitty music is so loud I can't even think and everyone is going to go home and have sex except me and this coke tastes like shit. I can assume there's at least some coke in my water, can't I?

Looking around, all I see are people having a good time. Drunken, hedonistic fun that I'm incapable of enjoying. Why?

Phil walks away and Chris says something I don't hear, so he smacks me. I give him a dirty look and he asks, "Dude, you okay? You having fun?"

I lie and say, "Yeah, I've just gotta piss."

* * *

"I am so drunk!"

"I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Are you having fun?"

"You having a good time?"

"Hey you!"

"I am so drunk!"

"I am so wasted!"

"This is the best!"

"Are you having fun?"

"What's going on?"

"How's it going?"

"What's up?"

"I've gotta piss."

"I need another beer."

"Fuck yeah!"

"I love your hair!"

"Cheers!"

"Cheers!"

"Having fun?"

"Hey!"

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

"Oh my god!"

"I am having so much -- whoops! I'm sorry! HAHAHAHA!"

"You okay?"

"What's wrong?"

"What a fucking asshole!"

"What a slut!"

"Do you want to go back to my place?"

"I'm so drunk!"

"I love beer!"

"I love this song!"

"Wanna dance?"

"HAHAHA! Check out Will! What an idiot!"

"What's going on?"

"Come on!"

"Have you met Ted?"

"What time is it?"

"HAHAHAHA!"

"You're such an asshole!"

"Are you having fun?"

"Happiness is a cold beer."

"Fuck that bitch."

"My boyfriend isn't here."

"I fucked her in second year."

"What's up?"

"Who's buying the next pitcher?"

"What?"

"So much fun!"

"I saw them last March! They rock!"

"Where did Marie go?"

"That table's free!"

"Hey, you got the time?"

"Excuse me."

"Can I get a Blue?"

"This beer tastes like shit!"

"I've gotta get home."

"It's so great to see you guys again?"

"I'm not drunk, I'm just happy!"

"You are so drunk!"

"Are you having fun?"

"Having a good time?"

"I love this place!"

"You okay, man?"

"Aren't you drinking?"

"Having a good time?"

"Are you having fun?"

* * *

No. No, I'm not. No I am fucking not. I am not having fun. Who could have fun in this godforsaken place? It's hot and crowded and noisy and full of drunken idiots and girls who don't want anything to do with me. Am I having fun? What a stupid question. What a goddamn fucking retarded question.

I want to leave. How I want to leave.

Somehow, I've managed to get my spot in the booth back. Tim and Holly left half an hour ago. Together. Oh god. I don't want to picture it, but I can't help it.

I need a drink.

Ah, fuck it. I should just leave. But I can't because I promised Phil I'd split a cab with him and Phil doesn't look ready to leave.

"Let me buy you a beer, man," he says. "Just have some from the pitcher. We can get you a glass. Hey! Get Osborn a glass!"

"No!" I shout. "I'm not drinking, Phil. Ignore Phil, he's drunk!"

Phil just shakes his head and mumbles something I can't hear.

I sit back and resume my position of watcher, of observer, of the pussy who won't drink and it anti-social. It's getting towards the end of the night and the crowd is thinning out gradually. It's becoming nothing but wing-men and ugly girl friends left. The ugly girl friends think the wing-men are interested but really they're just looking for a tactful way to escape fat sex. Their job is done, their buddy has hit that shit and now they must all fight to get the few attractive women left.

I smile as I watch one such wing-man break away and make a run at one of the desirable girls left only to be shot down quickly. Now he's faced with the choice between leaving with dignity or the ugly friend he kept busy. In less than two seconds, I can see the wheels turning and maybe if he weren't so drunk he would just go home alone and sleep it off. But he's drunk and the hot girl's friend doesn't look quite so fat or quite so ugly. And she's so drunk and desperate that his blatant attempt to trade up doesn't faze her.

God, I just want to leave and never come back to this shithole. How is this fun? I keep coming back out thinking this time will be better than the last. More fun, most fulfilling, less lonely, less disappointing. But it never is. It feels like the same thing over and over again. Every goddamn time.

I nurse my coke, because I don't feel like getting up to piss again. I don't feel like doing much besides sitting here and waiting to leave.

I figured Phil had resigned himself to a night of solitude, but he's talking to one of the ugly girl friends who got ditched. She's actually not that bad. A little chubby, a little plain, a little drunk. If he actually leaves with her, I am going to be fucking pissed. I will kill the motherfucker.

He's pointing at me. Why is he pointing at me? She's waving at me. Why is she waving at me? I wave back at her. What the fuck is going on?

He motions for me to go over there, so I sigh and force myself over. I study her and realise that Phil is trying to be nice and hook me up. She's wearing tight jeans and a tight pink top, neither leaves much to the imagination. She's obviously drunk and I can't.

"Osborn, man, this is Bridget," Phil says slapping me on the back.

"Hi," I shake her hand and she giggles. Oh god. "Having a good time?"

She nods.

Phil laughs, "I've gotta pee! Have fun, man!" He heads for the bathrooms and I watch him the entire way to make sure he doesn't go for the door. I don't want to be responsible for some drunk girl.

"So, uh, do you go to--"

She cuts me off, saying, "You're cute! Did you know that, cutie? Cutie's cute!"

I'm not sure exactly what the look on my face is, but I imagine it looks very much like a deer in the headlights. Se is obviously so drunk that if I were to even kiss her I would feel like a date rapist. Fuck you, Phil, you fucking bastard. And there's no way out. No way out that won't leave me feeling like a total asshole for weeks, months and even years.

"Are you having fun?" she asks, smiling and pushing her chest out. I can't help but look and -- no! No! Bad, Osborn!

I look away and mumble, "Yeah, sure, I guess. Where's Phil?"

I look back and she looks hurt. I was too obvious. She excuses herself to the bathroom and I feel like a total dick.

Phil comes back and asks, "Where's Barbara?"

I try not to laugh. "She went off with her boyfriend."

"Her what?"

"Her boyfriend."

"She had a boyfriend?"

I laugh, "I guess so. Ready to leave, man?"

"Yeah, sure. Shit, man, I'm sorry." He looks genuinely apologetic. "I figured she was an easy one for you, y'know?"

I nod. "No problem. Rock and roll. Let's go."

It's chilly out, made almost cold by the contrast between outside and inside. Phil's pretty drunk, but is walking steady. The street is kind of empty, so we walk up to Middlesex St. because that's where all the cabs usually are.

We don't talk much. Phil mumbles something or other every forty seconds or so and as we wait for a cab to come by, he asks, "Hey, man, you have fun tonight?"

I don't answer, because I fucking did not.

"Hey, did you have fun?" Ignore him. "Osborn?"

I sigh and turn to face him. "What?"

"This was fun, wasn't it?" He looks kind of sad. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, man. Of course I did."