“Are you fucking crazy? I thought he was going to punch you in the face!”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe, my ass. You’re lucky you speak excellent Spanish or you would be picking your teeth up off the floor right now,” Julio said.
“No shit! Where did you learn to speak Spanish so well?” Ricardo asked.
“The CIA, but, honestly, Spanish isn’t one of my better languages.”
“I thought you couldn’t tell us you used to work for the government.”
“I can’t. It’ll be our little secret, and, as long as you don’t tell anyone else…”
“Yeah yeah, we know, you won’t have to kill us.”
“Sí, mis dos amigos.”
We got another round of beers, then I spent the next half hour answering all number of questions about my exciting past, though I of course left out any details that might compromise national security. Ricardo and Julio were spellbound and, truthfully, it sounded a lot more exciting now than it actually seemed back when it all took place. But, it was easy to see the glamour, as all men secretly carried the desire to be James Bond, which is how I ended up becoming a spy. Unfortunately, it hadn’t all been beautiful women, fast cars, and caviar, but it had a few exciting moments.
In a lull in the conversation, I looked over to see Paul standing up and returning for more booze. He took a different route this time and decided to bull his way through an entirely new group of bar patrons. Minutes later he returned to the table with a fresh pitcher but held off on filling any of their glasses. The girls, meanwhile, exchanged a brief conversation then stood up and headed to the bathroom. Generally, it was a really bad idea to leave cocktails unattended in a public setting such as a bar full of college students, as Rohypnol the date rape drug was a lot more common than most people knew and a real danger in this kind of setting. I therefore kept a close eye on our three USC boys, and I watched as Paul glanced towards the bathrooms, and, seeing the girls were well out of view, proceeded to take a small ziplock bag full of pills out of his pocket. He and his fellow frat-apes shared a smile, then Paul carefully dropped a pill into each of the girl’s glasses then filled them from the fresh pitcher. His friends joined in at this point and helped stir up the drinks until the pills completely dissolved.
“Fuck, did you two see that? Paul just dosed the girls’ drinks,” I said.
“Oh shit. What do we do?” Ricardo asked.
“Intervene as quickly as possible. You are officially watching the opening salvo of a typical date rape scenario.”
A large party of people passed in front of us, and I lost visual for a few seconds, but, when the table came back into view, the girls had returned, and they were reaching out to grab their glasses for a toast. Fucking wonderful—we had to move now. I quickly set off with Ricardo and Julio in tow, and the three of us dodged more than a few drunken patrons as we navigated through the crowd before reaching the table just as they were all about to drink.
“Not so fast, ladies,” I said, which brought everyone’s attention to me.
“What’s up, boys?” Stephania asked drunkenly.
The three frat-apes were not happy to be interrupted, and they looked up at us angrily.
“You know these assholes?” Paul asked.
“Of course, Ricardo and Julio are in the same graduate program.”
“And what about Pedro here?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, we know him too, but his name is Finn, and he’s an American like you guys, but he’s here working for UCLA.”
“A fucking Bruin. I should have known,” Paul said.
“Actually, I’m a Cardinal, and, while I’m also American, I’m not anything like you assholes,” I responded.
“Oh, so you were fucking with me earlier. Do you think that’s funny?” Paul asked.
“Honestly—yes, but only because you were really easy to fuck with.”
“Now you’re starting to really piss me off,” Paul said, standing up so abruptly that his chair fell backwards onto the floor and made enough noise to draw the attention of all the nearby people.
Stephania was still holding her drink and about to take a sip.
“Don’t drink that! The friendly neighborhood date raper here dosed your cocktails—probably with Rohypnol.”
“Is that true,” Stephania asked, her anger helping her to sober up enough to see what was happening.
“Yeah, all three of us saw them drop some kind of pills into the drinks,” Ricardo said.
“No fucking way!” Stephania said, as she angrily slammed down her glass and glared at them.
“That’s it—you assholes are fucking dead!” Paul said, as he nodded to his fellow frat-apes before turning his attention to me and my two amigos.
He and his friends stepped around the table to face off with me, and now we had not one but three angry frat-apes bearing down on us. Apparently, cockblocking date rapists made them particularly ornery.
“So, Paul, what sport do you and the other date rapists play at USC?”
“Stop fucking calling us date rapists.”
“I would if I hadn’t seen you dose the girls’ cocktails. Now, what sport?”
“Why do you want to fucking know?”
“Because when I beat a little humility into you fuckers, I’m going to try and keep from ending your athletic careers prematurely. That’s how nice of a guy I truly am.”
“Dude, seriously, you need to wake the fuck up! The only one getting a beat down here will be you and your beaners.”
“Beaners?” Ricardo asked, looking confused.
“It’s a derogatory term for people of hispanic, or, more specifically, Mexican heritage.”
“Seriously? That seems kind of stupid,” he said.
“Agreed, as it’s supposed to make fun of Mexicans for eating a lot of beans—which is kind of like calling an Irish person a potatoer or an Italian a meatballer, but I suppose, ultimately, an insult is only as insulting as it’s perceived by the intended victim. So, in that spirit, I don’t see it as an insult at all, because I love beans, and so now, my gentle beaners, in the interest of keeping you out of harm’s way, I’d like for you to step back and give me some room.”
“No problem,” Ricardo and Julio said at exactly the same time.
“Oh, but I will need you for one little favor,” I said.
“What is it?” they asked, looking a bit uneasy.
“Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal. I just need you to hold this for the time being,” I said, as I pulled out the Glock I’d taken off the gunman in the alley.
There was a united gasp from the entire crowd, and everyone, including the frat-apes, proceeded to back away.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to shoot anyone. I’m just giving it to the beaners for safe keeping to make sure it doesn’t go off while I’m dealing with these three date rapists.”
It was never prudent to wrestle around with a gun on your person, because there was always the chance that it might go off, or your opponent might get ahold of it and turn it against you. This was one of the challenges police lived with every day, and many of their self-defense techniques were designed around keeping their holstered weapon away from perps. I dropped the clip, pulled back the slide, and ejected the bullet from the chamber. It shot up into the air, and I caught it and placed it in the clip, then handed both to Ricardo, who had obviously never handled a lot of sidearms, as he looked at it with childlike fascination.
“Even though I know it’s not loaded, it’s still a good idea to keep it pointed at the sky or the floor just to be safe. OK, now where were we?” I asked the frat-apes.
“You were about to get the shit kicked out of you,” Paul said, as his intimidating demeanor was now restored by the absence of the Glock.
“No, I was asking what sport you three play, in the hope that I could try not to permanently end your athletic careers.”
Stephania saw that things were about to get ugly, so she stepped into the middle.
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“Paul, please just take your friends and walk away. Believe me, you don’t want to mess with this guy,” she said.
“Fuck that! We’re going to fuck this asshole up!” Paul said.
“Wait, why am I the asshole? I didn’t try to roofie any coeds.”
“Neither did we. We were just looking to party until you stuck your nose into our business. Now, it’s time to shut you the fuck up.”
Stephania wouldn’t be deterred and tried yet again to deescalate the situation.
“Paul, please! Just take your friends and walk away. This man used to be a soldier, and I already saw him take out two guys tonight, and one of them even had a gun—the very same gun that he just gave to the beaners.”
“Stephania, you do know that you’re also a beaner, right?” Julio said.
“Technically half, as I’m also half kraut, and like Tag said, it’s only as insulting as you let it be.”
“Well, either way, can everyone please just stop calling us beaners?” he said.
“Enough with the fucking beaner thing! It’s time to teach this fucker a lesson,” Paul said, with his adrenaline pumping and his pupils dilated as he prepared to fight.
“Sorry, Paul, but it’s not technically going to be a fight.”
“We’ll see,” he said, as he stepped forward and grabbed my shirt with both hands and glared menacingly.
Men always postured before a fight, and it was generally a lot of pushing, yelling, or grabbing, but grabbing, especially with both hands, was a very typical and extremely stupid way to open up a confrontation, because it took two of your thirteen primary weapon delivery systems out of the fight. Paul still had eleven remaining, namely his feet, knees, legs, hips, elbows, shoulders, and head, but I doubt he would use them for fighting or really anything useful.
“Last chance to walk away, Paul,” I said.
“Fuck you!”
It was useless, as he was too far into his adrenal rage, and that meant it was time to deliver a harsh life lesson. There were many ways to break a two handed grab, and in this instance, I decided to deliver simultaneous strikes to his wrists—one traveling up and the other down. This tricked the brain, because it had a hard time dealing with two concurrent yet opposing motions, and it made it easy to break the grip of the attacker. Pauls’s hands flew off, and now that I had the centerline I threw simultaneous chops to each side of his neck. This would invoke the barrow receptor response that I’d inflicted upon my Latin menace in our airplane brawl, and, in a perfect world, it would make my current opponent go night-night. In a less perfect world, he would feel faint and light headed. Tonight, I was in the less perfect world, but it was still good enough to leave young Paul dazed and confused, and, as he wobbled on his feet, I pushed his head down with my left hand then used my right hand to lift his left arm and rotate him in a counter clockwise motion that sent him spiraling head over heels and onto the floor. He sat there for a moment but recovered surprisingly quickly and managed to get up onto his knees and go for a clinch, thereby revealing his true sport: wrestling. This wasn’t a good sign, as wrestlers were generally good on their feet and trained for physical confrontation. Still, they had a major weakness—namely rules, and that was something I never had to live by in the real world.
He tried his best to maneuver in close enough to attempt a takedown, but I kept my stance wide and my legs back and out of reach. He was quick and strong, however, and managed to dive forward and grab my left leg, so I employed a little psychological warfare. As he pulled on my leg and hoped to lift me off my feet and take me down, I resisted in order to make him pull even harder. He did exactly as I had hoped, and I immediately reversed tactics and went with his efforts and drove my knee right up into his balls. He let out a pained groan then collapsed down onto the floor. This was too much for the esprit de corps of team Trojan, and one of his fellow frat-apes decided to make a run at me. He came in fast and angry, but I stopped him cold with a quick low front kick to his groin. He hunched over and fell forward into my arms, and I dropped him onto the ground beside Paul, where both of them were now writhing in agony and holding their beleaguered balls.
“Game-set-match. Alrighty then, frat-ape number three—what’s your move?”
“I’m—um—gonna kick your ass,” he said, though it sounded more like a question than a threat.
“Well, honestly, this is just a little kitten play in my book, but if you jackasses don’t walk the fuck away right now, then at least one, if not all, of you is going to require sex change surgery to turn back into a man, because I’m going to slam your reproductive organs completely up into your Trojan undercarriages. Comprendes?”
Number three stared for a long time until his survival instinct kicked in, and practicality won out over ego.
“It’s cool, man. We’re out of here,” he said.
He gathered up his frat brothers then nodded as he turned to leave.
“Well, have a nice night. Go Trojans!” I said, as they sauntered out.
The intruders were officially gone, and peace was restored to the kingdom, so me and my dos amigos sat down and joined the ladies, who were still looking a little shell shocked by all the excitement.
“Let’s get this party restarted. I’ll go get some glasses and be right back,” I said, heading for the bar.
I got six empty glasses and returned to the table and filled them with the remainder of the untouched pitcher.
“No sense wasting the rest,” I said.
“What about the Rohypnol?” Carina asked.
“I only saw them put it in your individual glasses, which makes sense, as they wouldn’t want to dose themselves.”
“Very well, what the hell do we toast to?” Stephania asked.
“To Tag Finn, protector of women’s virtue,” Carina said.
We clinked glasses, sipped our drinks, and spent the next half hour reflecting on our exciting evening before eventually deciding it was time to leave. At some point during the journey back to the University, the idea came up that we should all go to my lovely faculty apartment and continue the party. Oddly, I was feeling a little out of it, but acquiesced so as not to get branded a party pooper. Ten incident free minutes later, we were in my unit enjoying beer, music, and the end of my first night in Costa Rica. About an hour later, I realized the long day and eventful evening were starting to get to me, so I said goodnight to the others and made my way to my room, where I brushed my teeth, lay down on the bed, and fell into a kind of euphoric sleep.
Some time later, I realized I was having the most vivid lucid dream that I’d had in recent memory, and, in it, someone or something was removing my clothes. Soon thereafter I could feel the soft warm flesh of other bodies around me, and, even better, I felt hands upon Tag Junior, who was starting to swell and grow into a great flesh monolith. At that point, I took a look around my dreamscape and saw Stephania and Carina hovering beside me like ghosts, and they were both wonderfully naked as they stroked my member and brought it to its full potential. Feeling a bit selfish, I reached my hands over and placed one on each of their thighs then gently slid them up their bodies until I was cradling one of their breasts in each hand. Sweet Lord, is this what heaven was like?
I began running my thumbs over their nipples until both sets were hard, and I leaned up and tickled them with my tongue—first Stephania’s and then Carina’s, and both girls let out a playful moan of pleasure. It was strange to think I was actually dreaming about being engaged in a three-way, as in real life I always imagined that they were kind of a logistical nightmare that would eventually leave one of its members feeling left out of the festivities. That was not the case in my dream, however, for all of us seemed to be equally engaged in delivering and receiving pleasure.
As I pulled back from Carina’s breasts, Stephania leaned in and kissed me, and we entangled our tongues in a torrid and twisting tornado of oral action. Not to be left out, Carina moved down to my manhood and ran her tongue around its hard tip as she
gently worked the shaft. The pleasure was so intense that I feared release would come too soon, but something, perhaps my superhuman dream staying power, was allowing me to hold back the inevitable. Suddenly, the girls switched places with the efficiency of a college drill team, and now I was kissing Carina and receiving oral pleasure from Stephania. Stephania was ever so slightly more aggressive with Tag Junior, but it was a lateral move in terms of pleasure—neither better nor worse—just different. The same went for the way they kissed, for Carina was a bit softer and less aggressive, but I found it equally enjoyable. This, interestingly, made me wonder if it was my own interpretation of their personalities being manifested via their respective kissing styles.
Fuck, it was time to stop being an analytical psych major and get back in the moment, and that was achieved when I reached around Carina’s body and squeezed her firm, round buttocks. I’d admired its fine lines earlier in the night, and now I could truly feel its dream state magnificence. Still, I was feeling as though I should be putting a bit more effort into this three-way, and so I initiated a position change that put me up on my knees hovering above Stephania. She was gazing up at me with lustful hunger, and so I leaned down and ran my fingers through her hair as I kissed her neck and breasts. I then leaned down and brought my tongue to her essence and mercilessly circled her clitoris. Carina, not wanting to be left out, teased Stephania’s nipples with her tongue, and Stephania started calling out and fell into the sweet throws of climax. After recovering, we once again switched positions, except that I was now between Carina’s thighs. She smiled up at me as she opened her legs ever wider and beckoned me unto her reaches. It was hard to believe this was the bookish girl I’d experienced in real life, for the dream version was a hellcat. I leaned down and gave her thighs a playful nibble then made my way to her center and set upon her clitoris. She immediately reached down and took hold of my head as she cradled it between her thighs and chided me on as though I were her steed. Stephania, in order to do her part, leaned down and kissed Carina’s nipples, and it wasn’t long before Carina was calling out as she climaxed, and it was starting to feel like musical orgasms.
The Chalupa Conundrum Page 12