Meanwhile, back at the hotel…

We’re finally back in our room, safe and sound. It’s a standard unit with 2 queen beds, a dresser, a tv and a bathroom. The only upgrade is a little dressing area just outside of the bathroom. Not exactly The Ritz, but not exactly a Motel 6 either. So, Sheila and I are sitting on one bed while Kev and Gayle were sitting on the other. We’d reached that awkward moment when multiple people, who are probably going to have sex, are all stuck in the same room. There’s a lot of talk but no action. Making the first move is one thing. Making the first move in front of other people is an entirely different thing. For one, it puts you on display. The other couple is just sort of staring at you as you get it on and you’re under pressure to perform. Secondly, it puts your buddy in a bad position. He’s now forced make HIS move. If you’re the first guy making the move, it’s as if you mean it. If you’re the second guy, it’s kinda like you just did it cuz the other guy did it. So if you ARE the second guy, you have to do it quickly. Otherwise you end up having that really uncomfortable time where you’re sitting there either staring at the other couple, or having conversation while somebody else gets it on a few feet away. Sucks to be the second guy. Since I’ve been drinking heavily, and have a bladder the size of a thimble, I gotta go pee. Once in the bathroom, I start looking at myself in the mirror. When drunk, I had a habit of talking to myself in the mirror of bathrooms, public or private. All of my talks were along the lines of, “You’re the fucking man. You’re a rockstar. Nobody can beat you.” It was as if, instead of Jekyl and Hyde, I drank myself into Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau in Swingers. My Favreau character lacked any real self confidence but my drunken Vaughn thought I was “money”.

“You don’t even know how money you are baby. Look at your calves. They’re HUGE…”

It worked. I WAS money. So money, in fact, that I decided it was time to make the first move. Far be it from me to be subtle with my move either. Moments later, Kev, Gayle and Sheila witnessed a 215 pound, drunken ball of muscle come barreling out of the bathroom, in his underwear and pull a Hulk Hogan style flex-fest on em. Double biceps, flex the quads, show em the tri’s then boom, hit em with the crab. Shock and awe shit! The first thing to hit them was shock, then, instead of awe, it was more like hysterical laughter. I was not deterred. The next thing to hit Sheila was a 215 pound ball of muscle flying onto the bed a la Superfly Snooka (anyone? anyone?). We were making out in an instant. Boo ya! I’d really screwed Kev cuz now he HAD to make his move, but laughing at my dumb ass made the transition a little rough. Luckily, he was far more skilled in that arena than most and was just moments behind me (figuratively speaking). Now, this is how he describes what happened next….

“Shorty, when you came out of that bathroom I was screamin`. That was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen. But since you pulled the trigger I had to pull mine and start messin` with Gayle. No sooner did I have her in a lip lock, then I glance back, you were full on hittin` Sheila doggy style.”

That’s right folks. In the course of oh, about 2 minutes, I came out of the bathroom, made out, disrobed a girl, and started having sex with her from behind, in a position commonly known as “doggy style”, in a brightly lit room, in front of our 2 companions.

Woof.

Kev, deciding he doesn’t want to be distracted by this visual, kills the light. This doesn’t slow my momentum. Actually, it speeds it up. So much so that I blew my load seconds later. That’s right ladies, don’t get all hot and bothered but I’d lasted a good 4 minutes. I know, I know, if only your man could pull off a marathon lovemaking session of 240 hot and heavy seconds, you’d be in heaven. But not every man can peform at that level. I mean, they’re mortal. And to top that off, I was so drunk and tired that there was a zero percent chance of getting it up again. Hence, Sheila was out of luck. I was already ready to start snoring. Back on the farm or uh, the other bed, Kev wasn’t having the same problem. He was hammering Gayle for what seemed like all of eternity. I know because A) I could not go to sleep from the noise and B) It caused Sheila to stay in heat and start humping my leg. Personally, I felt like everyone was infringing on my nap time but I kept my mouth shut. As Kev continued, the noise got louder and louder. He was pounding her harder, her moaning intensified, and the bed sounded like it might bust through the hotel wall. Moments later, a thundering BOOM, followed by “ow, what the fuck”, and, “shit, get it off” smacked me back into conciousness. For a second I imagined that the bed actually HAD busted through the wall into the next room. I reached over and clicked on the light to find Kevin and Gayle gone. They hadn’t left, nor had they created a fuck-portal to the next guests room. It’s just that you couldn’t see them under the giant headboard that had collapsed on top of them.

Once you go black, you never go…blah blah blah.

Sexcapades always come to an abrupt halt when a giant negro penis dislodges a giant piece of oak that’s bolted firmly to a wall. The story of my life.

Suddenly, after an extensive recovery effort where I acted as the jaws of life, Kev and I came to the realization that politicking and not poontang was our mission on this trip. The banquet where we were to be introduced to various national level bodybuilding judges was going to be taking place in a very short time. We needed to sober up, wash our balls, fix our hair and get out the door. The girls wanted to play more but we weren’t having it. “All business, all the time”, was our motto. Or at least, “all business, when we’ve both busted a nut and maybe a headboard” was our motto. Hey, at least we had a motto.

NOTE:

That wasn’t REALLY our motto. For most of our bodybuilding years, Kev and I actually did have a motto. It was wise. It was touching. It was profound. It was…

“Big as fuck, strong as fuck, liver’s fucked, don’t give a fuck.”

END NOTE.

Anyway, I take a shower and prep the do. For many years I wore a flat top that had to be waxed up just right. I could have done this in my sleep. As some of you might be aware, I have a little obsession with my hair. I’ve taken a break from it as of late, but it’s coming back with a vengeance. So be prepared for the glory. But that’s another story, so, back to Roanoke, where I’m ready to rock and rumble. Kev hits the showers as well and then starts to get ready. Now, he also had short hair but it wasn’t bald. It was similar in length to mine. If you’re black, you know that black folks hair is harder to wrangle than a herd of cattle with mad cow disease. This means BK was gonna be a little while. He had a process that rivalled mine in length. Back in the bedroom, Sheila had fallen asleep. Must have been exhausted from listening to me snore moments after she was completely unfulfilled by our sexual encounter. Gayle, on the other hand, was up and energetic. While Kev was getting his hair into order, she was standing in the doorway, dressed only in a bathrobe, watching him. After a while, I walk up behind her and start talking to Kev. Because I’m still buzzed, I don’t stand behind her, I stand against her. Initially I think I was probably joking and figured she’d push me away. But she didn’t. She actually pushed her ass back against me. Not in an obvious enough way that BK would notice. Just enough so I could tell that she was doing it. Perhaps she was still horny after the black anaconda attacked her vagina. Perhaps she wanted some vanilla to go with her chocolate. Who knows. What I do know is that it caught me at just the right moment and my soldier was standing back at attention instantly. Now, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do about this. Should I coerce her back into the bedroom? Kev wouldn’t care. He’d encourage it if he knew what was going on. For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to do that. It was too easy. I had to push my luck, just to see how far it would go. Typical me. To this day I live my life that way. Back then, particularly when I was drunk, it was the ONLY way. Hence, my next move was to lift up the back of her robe and let my fingers do the walking. What I soon discovered is that, instead of walking shoes, my fingers should have been wearing galoshes. She was wetter than Bourbon Street after a levee burst. I use my other hand to unzip my pants.

Now, please understand two things….one, this isn’t about sex. It’s about seeing what kind of dumb shit I can get girls to do and get away with it. Two, it’s absolutely worthless for me to do anything if Big Kev doesn’t KNOW I’m doing it. Gayle, still kinda drunk herself, is obviously into it but is trying NOT to let on to Kev. She is still having conversation with him and playing it as cool as she can. I’m not playing it quite as cool. Actually, what I’m doing is pressing up against her and making faces at Kev in the mirror. She can’t see my face because we’re at an angle but he can see it clearly. He’s blowdrying his nappy hair and chatting back to her. Seconds later he looks me dead in my eye and gives me a little smile that says, “Nigga, I know what’s been going on the entire time. Keep that shit up.” Both of us are trying not to laugh and Gayle is completely unaware of our silent but clear communication. There’s nothing left for me to do now but go for it so I slide up inside her.

She gasps.

Kev stifles a giggle.

I swallow a laugh.

One stroke, two strokes, three strokes…

She moans a little and closes her eyes.

Kev drops his brush, drops the hairdryer and bursts into hysterical laughter.

I follow suit.

Gayle is mortified, horrified, disgustified and pissed-a-fied. Needless to say, she is not amused. We, on the other hand, are wildly amused. Wildly, ridiculously, maniacally amused. It is the greatest moment of our lives. At least at that moment.
Gayle stomps off into the bedroom area to lay down. I zip up and wash my hands. Kev finishes his hair and we are out. There are bigger fish to fry over at the banquet.

The banquet itself is uneventful other than the fact that BK and I are still wasted. I’m not sure who we met or what we said. Afterward Kev offers up
that we probably offended some people with some of our off color remarks and mockery. We agree that we simply don’t give a fuck. With or without them, we’ll do what we always do. Go to their competitions, flex our muscle, and pick up our trophies. Cuz no matter what we do, we’re the kinda guys that come away with trophies.

Unless, of course, we get sidetracked by KFC, Sambuca and some pussy. Guys gotta have priorities in life, right?