My Best Friend's Bucket List: Volume One

by Shane Grey

PARTY

  “What do you know about throwing parties? You hate people and you REALLY hate parties.” Cynthia said. Very interesting fact.

  “Hate is a strong word. Despise is better suited. I can't not do it, it's on Dick's bucket list.” I said.

  “You're going to need help.” Lorrie said.

  “I know it. I have a small idea for a plan. Unfortunately neither of you are involved. So if I may now please drive you all back to your places of living.” I said.

  After I dropped Lorrie and Cynthia off at their cars, ignoring their scowls, I pulled onto the main street and headed toward my Uncle Tommy's place. He was retired as a night hospital janitor. He knew more about the way humans should behave than anyone. The reason was because he spent his retirement watching TV shows on DVD.

  I parked in Tommy's driveway behind his Mustang. I let myself into the house. On his ginormous flat screen HD TV the show Friends played. I sat down on the love seat next to his La-Z-Boy chair. Tommy sipped a can of Miller Lite. His eyes were glued to the giant picture.

  “Tommy, I'm back.” I said.

  “What now?” He asked. On the screen Chandler tried explaining something with a lot of hand gestures.

  “I need to throw an epic pool party. I don't know how.”

  “You want to throw an epic pool party? Or an epic unforgettable Rager?” Tommy asked, enthusiasm creeping into his voice.

  “Which one should I?” I asked.

  “Well,” Tommy looked at me, smiled. “ Your basic pool party is good and fun. But a Rager is epic and unforgettable. Something always goes wrong, but you never regret it. Like in the episode of The O.C. Where they throw a birthday party for Trey, but it turns into a Rager and Holly OD's in the pool and Trey takes the wrap for selling drugs when he really didn't.”

  “O.K. I'll do that one.” I got up to go have a Rager.

  “Whoa, Tuck, slow down. A Rager won't happen over night. This isn't TV. This is reality. If it was TV or a book, it was have to be broken up into two parts. If it were TV it would definitely end with the words: To Be Continued...”

  “So you'll help me?”

  “Only if I can attend?”

  “Of course, the more the angrier or whatever the hell goes on at these things.” I said.

  “Dude, this sounds crazy and not at all very safe.” Dick said. He was waiting for me by the car. He didn't look happy and he bled from his wounds.

  “Relax, it's just going to be a party. Rager is just a word people use to make it sound cooler.” I said. I got in the Zephyr and started it up. We drove to Johnny Basil's Pizza. I was hungry now that the ladies were gone.

  Inside the pizzeria. I ordered a slice and a Jack and Coke Zero. I thought about the notion of raising a child with Cynthia. It was obviously too late to abort that mission. But she wanted to know whether or not I was going to be her baby's daddy.

  The slice was hot and cheesy. The Jack and Coke was cold and perfect. If I had a kid surely it would interrupt moments like this. I had a lot of thinking to do. Cynthia couldn't be dodged forever. Lorrie would eventually give up on me if I continued to give her mixed signals. The party I was planning had to be epic. I knew nothing of epic.

  I finished my slice and had three or five more Jack and Cokes. Nico and Johnny were off so I was stuck with the other staff. The ones I don't think could speak English. The door opened and two guys were having a gossipy and low conversation.

  “I haven't seen him. He just stopped coming to work.”

  “I heard he fucking disappeared into thin air.”

  From the corner of my eye I could make out the uniforms. They were both EMT's. For some reason a silent bell went off in my head, but I ignored it. They sat a few stools down from me at the bar. Their conversation continued.

  “Those guys were asking deep questions, they were fucking pissed. The shift supervisor almost shit himself.”

  “I heard that part. I don't know who they are, but they are into some serious shit, I heard they were like foreign or some shit.”

  “Fucking Russian. They were all suited up and shit. Godfather type of guys. Mafioso's.”

  “Scary shit. This world is fucked up.”

  The two EMT's talked on. Little pieces of their conversation set off bells in my head, but for some reason I had no idea why. Then I remembered why I hated eating in public. Other peoples conversations.

  Annoying as fuck.

  I stood on the red carpeted floor. The heat from the heater lamps radiated on my face. The smell the in the air was amazing. My stomach growled fiercely. Steam raised off the piping hot food behind the glass. The glass barrier was held by gold poles with faded gold lining.

  The Chinese food place was made up to look like some set up in a Chinese and if the place didn't look like it was constructed in the seventies, I would have believed I was in an actual palace.

  The girl with the pink hair behind the counter, the one that also sported too much black eyeliner, the one that was also covered in scary tattoos...Her. Well she was just fantastic. When I looked at her my penis jumped a bit. She looked the way a girl would look if maybe she kept razor blades in her pussy, in case some unlucky chap wanted to stick it in her.

  If that were the case and if she'd given me an opportunity, my cock would be a bloody stump. Men will do almost anything for a woman if one look makes their dick jump.

  It was my turn to approach the steamy glass as the soccer mom and her million kids had placed their order.

  “Welcome to Ching Chong's Chinese Food.” said the pink haired one. Her tone was that of depression and near suicide. I felt the name of the restaurant could be interpreted as racist or even offensive. But regardless this was where my Uncle Tommy recommended I came to get food if I wanted to get some for the Rager.

  DISCLAIMER: My best friends bucket list would like to let you know that according to Urban Dictionary a Rager is described as:

  A larger gathering usually of high school or college students where massive amounts of alcohol are consumed.Well, in our case, also ridiculous amounts of drugs. But let's not jump ahead of ourselves. I didn't know anybody that was in high school or college but number 8 on my best friend's bucket list was to have an epic pool party, but my Uncle Tommy convinced me to have an epic Rager instead.

  “Hi, I'm throwing an epic Rager, I need food for, I don't know, say twenty people. What do you recommend?” I said to Pinky.

  “I don't fucking care what you're doing. But I recommend the Ching Chong Platter, it's a hundred bucks.”

  “Oh, well-” I tried to say.

  “You don't have a hundred bucks do you? Figures.” Pinky said. Her small breasts rose and fell with a sigh. Her pouty pierced lower lip, her porcelain green eyes.

  “I have money, if you'd stop being a bitch and let me pay you.”

  “Don't fucking talk to me like that, we have to refuse asshole-”

  “Lower your voice, bitch, when was the last time a guy really took his time and sucked on your pussy, that's the problem.”

  “You fucking faggot, I don't know who the fuck who think you're talking too.” Pinky's hair went well with her red face and throat. She was pissed off and I was full of adrenaline. The soccer mom and her kids looked scared.

  There was a dead silence for a few beats. Then Pinky spoke.

  “I have a break in fifteen minutes. My car is out back. A blue Jetta.”

  An hour later I sucked on a mouthful of breath mints, her pussy didn't taste bad by any means and there were no razor blades, but I was on my way to drop off food to Cynthia. And word on the beak is that showing up with food for your pregnant ex girlfriend with the smell of goth pussy on your breathe isn't just wrong, it's also bad karma.

  I also had to deal with the fact that I had been avoiding the “talk” between the two of us. Though she was unclear about what said “talk” was about, I was under the impression that the conversation was in fact about whether or not I was going to be a father to her, and I guess, my child.


  The taste of Pinky lingered and so did my massive erection. That was the problem with just giving, it left you hard with no means of release. I thought of how large Cynthia's tits had become and how her ass had really rounded out. The pregnancy bug was doing wonders to her body. Then a curious thought struck me. Could I count on her for physical release? A BJ? A HJ? Maybe even a TF?

  It was worth a try and after all, was I not bringing her food? I deserved something in return, if even flash of her milk filled mammarie's. I probably should've taken up Pinky's offer on a blow job, but I was in somewhat of a hurry and the Rager was tonight.

  My Uncle Tommy promised to handle the booze and D.J. He even said he would get us a good crowd of people. The Rager was to be thrown at his buddy Murrey's place. Murrey was out of town and Tommy was feeding his fish. He had a key to the place and Murrey had a large swimming pool in the back.

  The plan was fool proof.

  “I don't know about this, dude.” Dick said. He was suddenly riding shot gun. He bled from his throat and stomach wounds.

  “What's your damage on this plan? It was on your bucket list?” I asked.

  “Something about it, dude, seems shady. I meant an old school type of pool party. With lemonade and beer and mini sandwich appetizers.” Dick said.

  “Well how the hell am I supposed to interpret that with just the words, epic pool party. I can't read that much between the lines.”

  “I know, dude, I just feel like this will end badly.” Dick said. Now I was pissed.

  “You can't feel anything, you are fucking dead! And a figment of my imagination!” I screamed. Then Dick disappeared. And I was at Cynthia's house. She lived three houses down from Uncle Tommy's place.

  It appeared only she was home. The erection I had was wearing thin, pun intended. To my surprise it was not Cynthia that answered the door, but her much more petite sister, Maria. For a petite chick Maria had a firm ass and prominent hips.

  Maria scowled at me.

  “What the FUCK do you want?” She asked with acid in her tone. I was certainly popular with the ladies today, I thought.

  “Hello to you too. Delivery for the pregger in the house.” I said smoothly as possible. In case I would have to try to convince Maria to get me off.

  “She's in her room resting. What the fuck took you so long? She's had dumpling cravings for hours.”

  “Traffic.” I said.

  “Yeah right. You smell like pussy.”

  “That's weird, because so do you! Crazy, right?” I said and walked past her to Cynthia's room. I ignored the fact that even though I wanted to shove my tongue up her asshole that Maria has always hated me. I guess that was part of the reason my mouth longed to explore her rectum.

  Men often wonder the flavor of the rectum of women that they find attractive, that in reality hate them. It's true. Ask around.

  Cynthia was propped up in her bed watching Teen Mom. She looked miserable. Unlike her happy-go-lucky self from yesterday at the park. She saw me and perked up a bit.

  “Hey! You made it. You have my food?” Cynthia asked. Because I held a plastic bag containing a Styrofoam container containing a medley of dumplings, orange chicken, chow mein, fried rice, BBQ pork, etc. Pregnant women could eat.

  “Here ya go.” I said, handing her the bag. She tore it open and dug in. She smiled while she chewed some pork and noodles. My stomach still growled.

  “You can change it.” Cynthia said as she ate. I channel surfed not paying attention. I stopped at the news, then stared off into space.

  I tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up to an infant in a crib, Cynthia cooking breakfast, dressing for work. My space no longer being my space, but our space. I couldn't imagine it.

  The news anchor on screen went on about some random shit:

  “The F.B.I. Has officially stepped in. Though there are no statements being made, the whole Inland Empire is convinced the Russian Mob is here and active. Many believe they are behind these mysterious break in's and the mysterious disappearance of this man, Milton Johnson-”

  I clicked the Off button on the remote. News was really boring and I still needed to ask Cynthia whether or not she would help me with gratification. She put away the food like a garbage disposal. Between one of her bites I asked.

  “We still need to have that talk?”

  “Yeah. It's important.” She said with oil and noodles on her lips. And she was right. It was important. It was time for me to figure out what I wanted to do. In that moment I wanted to ejaculate all over her tits.

  “Well, what do you want me to do?” I said.

  “It's not up to me, Tuck. But I would want you to call him and explain to him the truth, by lying, I guess.” Cynthia confused me.

  “Huh? Call who?”

  “My ex fiancee, Julio. He thinks I cheated on him and made a baby. If you can explain to him that we never had sex, then maybe he'll listen to you.” Cynthia said. And it all made sense in that moment. She never wanted me to be the daddy, just help her get her ex back.

  “How'd he find out?”

  “Our neighbor, Nosy Rosy, saw you leaving that night and spread rumors throughout the neighborhood. He was suspicious and paranoid after that. Then I became pregnant from his seed but he couldn't believe it. He was told by a specialist he was sterile.”

  “So I'm the father?” I asked with a dry mouth.

  “No, Julio is the father, and he always will be. You're just an ex that stopped by for lemonade.” Cynthia said. Even though she said it with obvious ominous intentions, the conclusion was clear. I was no father. Just a sperm donor. And that was fine with me.

  “I'll come by tomorrow evening and get Julio on the horn. I'll clear everything up, trust me. Enjoy your food.” I said. Then I turned the TV back on, put it back to Teen Mom, then left the room with the intention of leaving.

  Maria stood blocking the front door, obviously to prevent me from leaving. She glared at me, then licked her lips.

  “I heard that you're not on the hook anymore for being my sisters baby daddy.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Why did you have a hard dick when you came in?”

  “I was thinking about things, it was a natural trigger, nothing personal.” I said, scared of law suits.

  “You're gonna stick your hard on on my wet cunt.” Maria said. Then she pulled up her skirt to reveal that she was ready.

  “Uh?” Was what I managed to say.

  As Maria rubbed her moist crotch, she spoke, “Did the bitches pussy taste good? Tell me about it.”

  Maria, Cynthia's sister, was four years younger than me at the time. Her pussy was a light mocha color, her lips and gash a light pink. And she was WET. I told her the tale of Pinky the Chinese food clerk and she brought herself to orgasm right there, in front of the door, then she took me to the room she was staying in.

  Maria blasted some Morrissey song on her iPod that was attached to a dock with speakers. Then she put her lips to my ear and whispered the following phrase repeatedly as she masturbated yet again:

  “You gonna fuck my pussy, you gonna fuck me deep like a fuckin' lesbian slut?”

  I didn't reply, but I had enough pre-cum to fill a medium pickle jar, it was starting to seep through my jeans. I feared that my cock might physically explode or spontaneously cum-bust(get it? Lol). Then what seemed like a hundred minutes later she freed the beast through the zipper and straddled it.

  Maria rode me for nine minutes and sixteen seconds. I was counting, because I had blown my load in sixteen seconds, the nine minutes were hell.

  On the drive home I knew I was going to have to shower before this Rager. I reeked of pussy and my cock was drained. The day couldn't get any weirder. Things weren't going great, though they weren't going bad.

  I saw the blue and red gumballs in my peripherals. It took at least thirty seconds to realize I was being pulled over. In most cases I would be nervous. But with the day I was having I felt a P-I-M-P. Leave it to the cops to fu
ck that shit up in a matter of minutes.

  “What did I do officer?” I asked.

  “License. Is your middle name Eugene?” The beefed up white cop with the crew cut asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you know you were on suspension?” He asked with authority(insert Cartman voice). I immediately thought of school and the times I was suspended from it. They were much happier times than this.

  “No.” Was all I said.

  “Hang tight.” Cop guy said. He disappeared behind the spinning gumballs. The sirens reminded me of the blue ice cream from the donut shop when I was a kid. It tasted like bubble gum and even had gumballs in it.

  Then I had another thought, jail. No, not again, I thought. Nothing more boring than jail. I was lucky enough to have a interesting cell the mate the time I spent there. Would I really get arrested over some dumb shit like this? No way, I thought. I wasn't a criminal. Driving with a suspended license shouldn't even be considered criminal activity.

  The cop guy returned.

  “Step out of the vehicle, sir. Remove any belongings you may need in the next thirty days.”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Now!” Cop guy said.

  The tow truck driver drove away with my Zephyr. I was standing on a sidewalk with a hundred dollars worth of Chinese food. My BlackBerry rang. It was Uncle Tommy.

  “Hey.” I said.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “On the sidewalk with a hundred bucks worth of Chinese food. Got pulled over, license was on suspension for some unpaid ticket from a million years ago, they impounded my Zephyr.”

  “What the fuck?” My Uncle Tommy said. I had a suggestion though.

  “Why don't you come pick me up and we can finish planning this shit?”

  We were at Murrey's house. The backyard was decorated in Hawaiian Luau fashion. Outside of the six kegs it seemed like a typical backyard pool party. There was a D.J. Set up on a small stage. Behind the D.J. There was a drum kit and amplifiers.

  “What's with that?” I asked.

  “I couldn't book the D.J. For the whole night so a band will be filling in after he splits.” Tommy said.

  “I trust you.” I said. Then I sent Lorrie Lovitt a text message about the Rager. It had been hours since I had thought about her. I hoped I wasn't losing interest. I was aware that I had hooked up with some chicks and such, but that was just pussy, my heart belonged to Lorrie Lovitt.

  Lorrie was what I thought of when I woke up. What I thought of while drinking. I thought of her in the shower. She was my best friends girlfriend at some point before he was killed and left behind the bucket list. She was my angel, her chestnut brown eyes and smooth face topped with soft brown hair.

  I missed her. That was the thing that I felt my mind and body was missing. It was Her. I needed my fix. Hopefully she would come to the Rager. I had showered and changed in to fresh clothes, brushed and mouth washed, but I felt the taste of Pinky lingered. I chewed copious amounts of gum to over compensate.

  The sun was setting down to sleep and the moon and darkness rushed the skies. The darkness soon took over and the streetlights turned on to shed light for the humans. I sat on a beach chair, poolside, sulking. Uncle Tommy appeared to refresh my Heineken and shot of Jack.

  “What's the deal?” Tommy asked and it sounded odd coming from him. I looked up and Tommy was dressed in an American Eagle polo shirt(tight)it hugged his beer gut, tight jeans, neon looking tennis shoes, and a trucker hat that read: “Hug Me.”

  Uncle Tommy also wore one of those black rubber bracelets that are supposed to prevent from falling over. He looked ridiculous.

  “What the fuck are you wearing?” I asked.

  “Gotta fit in, Tuck. There are going to be college kids here. They can smell age.” He said. I pulled off his trucker hat.

  “Did you frost your tips?”

  “A little. Not much. It takes a few years off.”

  “Good. Now you should look Forty-seven.” I said.

  “Don't hate the player, hate the game.” Tommy said. Then as if on the cue the D.J. Started playing robotic sounding noise with heavy bass. I did my shot and chased it with my beer.

  The back wooden gate door flew open and a large stampede of college kids rushed in and made themselves at home. Some hit the kegs. Others just jumped straight on the pool. Some rushed my Chinese buffet and ate. All in all it was a Girls Gone Wild infomercial.

  I saw plenty of tits and asses. I saw plenty of vomiting. A few small fights broke out.

  “Hey.” I heard a soft voice say below the loud robotic crescendo. I looked up from the beach chair, it was Lorrie Lovitt. I sucked my gut in the best I could, I was not wearing a shirt. The moonlight radiated her pale skin.

  “Hey.” I said back and sat up like a soldier in the presence of an officer.

  “I circled the block a few times, I didn't see your car.”

  “It got impounded.” I said and locked eyes with the love of my life.

  “WHAT? I'm so sorry.” Lorrie said. Sat down in the empty chair next to me and took my hand in hers.

  “It's, uh, it's O.K.” I said through cotton mouth.

  “No, it's not. I want to be here for you Tuck, no matter what.” Lorrie squeezed my hand. The sensations sent electric shocks from my spine to my cock.

  “Uh, yeah.” I said. Lorrie moved her lips toward mine. The two pairs of lips in mid-air. Our lips touched so gently. Her's were wet. Mine dry. In that moment I heard sad music, I figured I was drunk. The song went:

  “Laurie don't break me apart again. The love you spread is a sin. OHHH...Laurie don't break me apart again. The love you plan to spread will drive me insane.

  And OHHH...OHHH...I can't push myself to leave. I will always stay to give...

  Me and Lorrie's kiss continued and the intensity made me want to be sick. My stomach nervous. The song continued:

  “This knife in my back, will never match the stab, and this knife in my back will never match the stab. OHHH...LAURIE. OHHH...LAURIE.

  The crazy kiss ended and so did the crazy sad blues song, I realized it was our live band. The D.J. Was gone and I could relax and end the party.

  “I missed you.” Lorrie Lovitt said.

  “Me too.” Was all I said.

  “I can't believe you ate sushi without me.” Lorrie said. “You know I love sushi, you should bring me next time.”

  “Yeah, for sure.” I said. Lorrie's reaction to the sushi meant that I wasn't crazy, the taste of Pinky had lingered. I felt embarrassed. But we still held hands, it felt like a cloud had melted in my heart.

  “TUCK SAWYER?! IS THAT YOU?!” Said a loud voice. I looked up and realized it was the singer of the band. The guy had a guitar strapped on and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. But, through all that, I could see that it was none other than Savvy Clarkson. The blues man I had been locked up with.

  He had spoken in to a microphone. That's why it sounded loud and scary.

  “It's me, man.” I yelled and the crowd cheered.

  “This next song goes to my man, Tuck Sawyer. Tuff as nails mother trucker.” Savvy said. The crowd screamed and he started playing a mesmerizing blues tune. Lorrie and I cried as the song played. The sound and music stopped suddenly and I was pulled from my trance.

  The crowd scattered, I heard a scream, the scream said:

  “SHE'S DEAD!”

  I stared at the body that floated face down in the pool. She was slender and had really long dark hair. The back yard was now empty. Lorrie and I held hands still. Savvy and the band had gone.

  Uncle Tommy stood in the corner sweating. I told Lorrie to sit and wait. I approached Tommy as sirens scraped the air. He looked freaked.

  “It's the Russian bitch, Elsa. She was selling this new Russian drug, called Cloud Nine. I let her sell it.” Tommy said.

  “Hey, relax. We can handle this.”

  “No. I told her she could sell it here. It was a Rager. A real Rager!” Uncle Tommy lau
ghed like a sweaty overweight maniac. “I'm SO TREY ATWOOD! I AM TREY ATWOOD, TUCK, YOU'RE RYAN! I GOT YOU'RE BACK!”

  My Uncle Tommy was arrested. He took the fall for selling Cloud Nine. Lorrie and me were questioned on the unknown Russian. I hadn't seen her and Lorrie had only been there for thirty minutes. The police seemed satisfied.

  Then the FBI showed up.

  They conducted an interview with me that went like this:

  FBI: You know any Russians?

  Me: I don't, sir.

  FBI: You ever heard of a Elsa Spotnik?

  Me: Never.

  FBI: Before tonight, have you ever heard of a drug called “Cloud Nine”?

  Me: No, sir.

  FBI: Before tonight have you ever heard or spoken with a Boris Spotnik?

  Me: No, sir.

  FBI: Before tonight have you had any ties with a man named Salvatore Clarkson?

  ME: Not of recent memory.

  FBI: Did you eat sushi today?

  Me: No, sir. It was vagina.

  FBI: Try rinsing with vinegar.

  Me: Thanks.

  FBI: Do you know Murrey Weinstein?

  Me: No, sir.

  Lorrie and me were released and we went back to my place. For some reason now it was awkward. She tried to hold my hand and I pretended to have to use the restroom. Lorrie sat on the couch and I puked into the toilet.

  Something wasn't right. Something was awry. I had driven Lorrie and me home in my Uncle's Mustang. Dead Russian girl in pool. Weird new Russian drug. Lorrie kissing me. It all did not add up.

  When I returned to the couch nothing had changed. Lorrie leaned over, I kissed her hard on the lips, we groped each other. My cock would not move. We kissed harder and I rubbed harder on her body.

  My cock did not move. It had been drained. Shit. What the hell was going on?

  “I should be going.” Lorrie said. She sounded hurt.

  “Wait, it's not you. My penis was drained earlier in the day. Maria and the goth girl Pinky, it was a long day.”

  “WHAT?” Lorrie's eyes filled with tears and she ran out of the apartment.

  “WAIT!” I screamed at a closed door and an empty apartment. I cried hard and held my head in my hands.

  The door to the apartment burst opened. A large man in a black coat stood there. Four larger men behind him.

  “Hey,” Said the man with the Russian accent, “Where is are the Cloud Nine tablets?”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “And where the FUCK is my DAUGHTER, Elsa?!”