There were two sides to many stories. Sometimes more than two.
This particular yarn only had the two. Two coworkers, one romantic mishap.
Point of view - - recollections - - Memories skewed. Worse ... shared.
This was after the party. Or the show. Or the club.
The rest of the gang had split. These two were alone. Bored. Drunk. Stoned. Blotto.
Horny.
Afterward, one version was mentioned to the guys.
The other one gossiped to the girls.
They should have known better. Camp Bowie was not the harbor for secrets.
"So, we're hammered. Started fooling around on her couch."
"I didn't know what I was doing. I was drunk. I knew I shouldn't. But I wasn't responsible ... "
"I started old reliable, you know?"
"This was about to happen, but I wanted to fix the mood a little."
"She got up all of a sudden and started tidying."
"The room looked like the inside of a trash can."
"She was cleaning. I told her to forget it and hop back on the couch."
"Maybe if I adjusted the lights, the room wouldn't look so bad."
"She switched off the lights, which was fine. Then started digging around, searching for damn candles."
"Candles would make the room look better. Make me more attractive. Only I couldn't find them."
"Then she asked me if I wanted any tea. Hell, no. She went and poured two glasses anyway."
"I didn't have anything else in the fridge. Not even beer."
"She staggered back, still drunk. The room is dark, then she tripped, damnit."
"I spilled tea all over him. So then I started searching for a towel."
"Fuck the towel. I took off all my wet clothes."
"I didn't have any clean towels. I was supposed to do laundry, but ... I don't know."
"I'm down to briefs."
"He was way ahead of me. Only I wanted, oh, I didn't know what I wanted."
"She started fucking with the stereo system."
"I was in the mood for Luther. Sometimes George is the man, other times Rod. I wanted Luther."
"Fuck Luther. Fuck music, fuck beverages, fuck candles. I just wanted to -- "
"Then I decided I wanted Prince."
"Fucking hour of my life gone already."
"Finally. I went into the bedroom to change into something else."
"Another fucking hour."
"I eased next to him."
"Spur of the moment - dead."
"He couldn't get it up."
"Sitting on that couch for two hours. Wet. Tired."
"He couldn't get it up."
"Two hours earlier, it was a beast."
"Whiskey duuu ... I can't say it."
"Swear to God."
"Was like, you know, water weenie."
"If she hadn't been wasting all that time, she'd need fucking crutches by now."
"I didn't want to remind him this happens to guys. They go all weird and get ultra defensive."
"Got up and left again. Now what? She's going to make a meat loaf?"
"I went to the bedroom and got a little ... gadget."
"Darth Vader's fucking light saber handle!"
"For other guys this is like their favorite part."
"What's she going to surprise me with next? Mayonnaise jar and a watermelon?"
"Only the batteries were dead."
"Or a gerbil?"
"All of a sudden I felt nauseous."
"She left again! Bathroom or something. I got dressed and walked."
"I must have passed out. I don't think we did anything."
"Swear to God, it was as big -- "
" ... water weenie."
About a week later, a rubber Daffy Duck toy appeared on the Cassette area register. Arms stretched as wide as they could reach. Slip of paper stuck between the arms read, "Swear to God, it's this big."
Elsewhere, in Video, inside drawers or cash registers, there often lurked a surprise. Water weenie toy. Preferably pink.
Coworkers were ever considerate.
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