The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

  Fuck. They weren’t going to give up, so I needed to say something—anything, just to get them to leave me alone. I mustered my best female voice and spoke.

  “Oh, I’m fine, thank you. My tummy is just a little upset from the poi.”

  A familiar voice came from over by the sink.

  “Wait a minute. I know that voice. Excuse me. What is your name?” the woman asked as she walked closer.

  “Um, Natalie,” I said, now fully recognizing the woman’s voice.

  The woman in question was Lux Vonde, a close friend, former lover, and the woman I recently rescued from a place called Soft Taco Island.

  “Oh my God, Finn! What in the hell are you doing in the ladies room?” Lux asked.

  “I’m Natalie.”

  “No you’re not. I know damn well who you are. Now, what the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake. What the hell are you doing in here?” I asked in my normal voice, only to receive a round of gasps from the other ladies.

  “It’s the women’s room, jackass.”

  “No it’s not. I looked very carefully at the outside sign before coming in here.”

  “The one on the actual door or the one on the outer wall?”

  “The one on the outer wall.”

  “There’s your problem. The outer one is wrong. I know because I almost walked into the men’s room by mistake.”

  Lux was obviously fucking with me, though it was odd that there were so many women in here. Either way, I was mortified beyond belief and would very likely go take a flyer off the nearest cliff when this was over. That would have to wait, however, as I had one final salvo to deliver unto the bowl, and this one might actually take me airborne. I waited until I could hold it no longer, then released what felt like the mother lode. It was probably ten percent solid, ten percent liquid, and eighty percent pure rocket fuel, and it came out so quickly that it actually hurt. When it finally came to an end, my butthole slammed closed the way an angry woman slammed a door after a particularly heated argument, and now I was sitting in the stillness of the moment, with the room utterly quiet and everyone waiting to see if I had somehow survived.

  “Finn? Are you OK?”

  I stayed quiet, as I was still in shock at the violence of my anus.

  “Finn, speak to me goddammit!”

  “I’m OK,” I said, somberly.

  “Oh, thank God. I thought that last one might have killed you,” Lux said.

  “Only my self-esteem.”

  My body was completely empty, and I was suddenly feeling a lot better, though I desperately craved a shower. I reached down and grabbed the end of the toilet paper, and the roller clattered as I unfurled an adequate amount then wiped my ass. I repeated the procedure, and, after four good passes, stood and pulled up my pants. The last step was to remove the small piece of toilet paper from the sensor and watch as the toilet drained the muddy mess, which thankfully left the bowl without a clog. I made sure my fly was up, then I exited the stall, only to have the women around me erupt with applause. I walked to the sinks, pumped out four dollops of soap, then placed my hands under the faucet and washed them vigorously—all the while trying my best to remain stoic in the face of such adversity. The applause died down, and I dried my hands and moved towards the door but paused and turned back around to face the curious group of onlookers, as I felt that I should deliver some parting words.

  “Ladies, it’s at times like this that you really reflect and feel thankful for everything and everyone in your life, and if there’s one thing we all learned this evening, it’s that shit happens, and, more importantly, diarrhea happens even faster, so to that end, I have two simple parting words—moist towelettes,” I said, as I exited the bathroom and felt the beginning of tears forming in my eyes.

  I checked the sign directly outside the door and saw that Lux had been correct, and I was indeed in the wrong bathroom. I continued farther and discovered that the outer sign was reversed—probably just a minor oversight from when they built the hotel. Fuck, I really needed to be a lot more careful in the future. Of course, I wasn’t exactly bringing my A game after all the fucking rum drinks at the luau. Lux appeared a minute later and smiled and tried to hold back her laughter.

  “No need to say it. I see now that you were correct about the signs,” I said.

  Lux leaned forward and looked closely at my face.

  “Are you crying?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “You are! Oh, my God—I’m sorry. I forget how sensitive you are about going potty,” she said, reaching out and hugging me, which pressed her large breasts against me and almost made me forget the last, and perhaps worst, ten minutes of my life.

  “I’m going to go kill myself now.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a pussy. That was actually pretty funny.”

  “Yeah, to everyone else.”

  “Relax, no one gives a shit that you just took a shit.”

  “That shit was biblical.”

  “True, but you have to come to terms with the fact that everyone and everything on earth shits. It’s perfectly natural.”

  Several women exited the bathroom, and all of them giggled as they passed by me. The tall, pretty brunette at the back of the pack paused and reached over and patted me on the back.

  “Epic shit, my friend. I’ll never forget you,” she said.

  When they were gone, I turned back to Lux.

  “You were saying,” I said.

  “Just forget about it. What’s done is done. Let’s get back to the party—and, I think it’s a good idea to abstain from any more poi.”

  “Very funny. I take it that you didn’t have any?”

  “Hell no, too starchy, and it has the consistency of semen.”

  “You don’t like semen?”

  She smiled.

  “Oh, I like it well enough—just not on my plate at a luau.”

  “Good to know.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dante's Eleventh Ring of Hell: The Luau

  LUX AND I returned to the luau just as John was just wrapping up his speech, and I segued to the bar in hopes of grabbing a cocktail to dull the mental anguish left over from my nightmarish bathroom experience. Just ahead, and standing between two barstools, I spied Jessica, the bride to be. She was facing away from me, but there was no mistaking her red dress and fine figure, and I was guessing she had been driven to drink by her soon to be husband’s smug speech. As I arrived, I reached out and gently slapped her backside. This would have been a gross social faux pas and a veritable assault in the age of the Me Too movement, but for us it had become a wacky way to scare the shit out of each other—especially in her case, as she tended to deliver her blows with a lot more force and surprise. I kept it fun and light, and, as my hand met her butt cheek through the thin fabric, she abruptly turned around and looked rather shocked, which made perfect sense—as it wasn’t Jessica. Instead it was a complete stranger, and now I was the one looking shocked.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry! I thought you were someone else.”

  “Really? And who might that be?” she asked, smiling.

  The woman before me, like Jessica, was very beautiful and in truth, very similar in appearance. Both had green eyes, brown hair, lovely smooth skin, and annoyingly were both wearing body hugging red dresses this evening.

  “The bride. You look identical from behind.”

  “I take that as a compliment. She has a nice ass.”

  “Indeed, and so too do you.”

  “Well thank you. I suppose that since you’ve already had your hand on my ass, we should properly introduce ourselves. I’m Melissa Williams—and you are?”

  “Tag Finn,” I said, holding out my hand.

  “Ah, of course, the best man. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s very nice to finally meet you.”

  “So, do you know the bride or the groom?”

  “The groom. My father is Frank Williams.”

  “Oh shit
. Please don’t tell him I smacked your ass.”

  Now, I recognized Melissa, although I was pretty sure she used to have blond, rather than light brown, hair. We’d never met in person, but I’d seen her in pictures with her famous father Frank Williams. He was a big time power player in Washington as well as a close friend of the Matheson family, and it was a commonly held belief that no one became president of the United States unless he personally approved them.

  “Oh, my dad is actually a big teddy bear,” Melissa said.

  “Well, I can’t help but imagine he’s the kind of teddy bear that would use his claws to remove the testicles of the idiot who accidentally smacked his daughter’s ass.”

  “Don’t worry, this exchange will be our little secret.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate keeping my testicles firmly attached to my body. Well, it was nice meeting you, but I had better get back to John, as he can be very needy at major social events,” I said.

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “I take it you two are good friends.”

  “Hello! Our parents have been best friends since before we were born, so we pretty much grew up together.”

  “Oh yeah—duh—sorry, I’m just a little slow at the moment—probably from all the booze,” I said, leaving out the fact that my diminished capacity was actually due to my bathroom nightmare.

  “Hey, no need to be sorry, as you’re the guy who saved John’s ass in Afghanistan.”

  “As well as the rest of his body.”

  “No doubt, so thanks for doing that. We were all very grateful to get him back.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “Well, it was nice meeting you, Tag. Perhaps we could get a drink later, and if all goes well, you could grab my ass on purpose.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, slightly shocked, but definitely interested.

  I reached the main table at the exact same time as John, though he was welcomed with a kiss from Jessica as he took a seat beside his lovely bride to be. I too took a seat then found myself inadvertently having a look around the party. Weddings were a fascinating affair, and, as a social psychology major, I found the whole seating arrangement to be an interesting phenomena—one which told a very accurate tale of the guest’s importance to the bride and groom. The closer you were to the main table, the more important you were. Get an outer fringe table and it was likely that you were probably there to help pad the gift registry or were a semi-forgotten relative that the parents included out of guilt. Such wasn’t the case for me, however, as I was sitting at ground zero directly beside his majesty the vice president while around me sat his father Senator Matheson, Daniel Vandenberg, and of course the infamous Frank Williams. His daughter Melissa was obviously at another table, where her ass was currently safe from any more unwarranted assaults from me. Also at our table were some more friends—namely, Lux and her husband Cornelius Wallace, or, as I called him, Corn. Corn also happened to be the Deputy Director of the CIA and a man capable of consuming vast amounts of alcohol and food. John, who had just finished speaking with Jessica, looked over at me and scowled.

  “Goddammit, Finn! You missed my speech!”

  “Was it any good?”

  “Yeah, it was fucking good! In fact, it was a fucking tear jerker, and I even mentioned how you saved my life in Afghanistan.”

  “Sorry, but I had a little poi predicament.”

  “Dude, you seriously ate the poi? Nobody eats the poi! It tastes like semen.”

  “And how would you know what semen tastes like?”

  “Blowback.”

  “The force is obviously strong in your balls.”

  A voice came through the PA system and brought everyone’s attention back to the stage, where our luau hostess was standing. She was a lovely Asian woman wearing the obligatory flower print dress, and she was informing us that it was finally time for the show. First on the stage were a number of scantily dressed men who performed with flaming spears and did a number of cool tricks that involved spinning and tossing them into the air. Next, were the beautiful female hula dancers, and they performed an exquisite synchronized dance that entailed rapidly shaking their hips, though, unfortunately, any residual shaking of their breasts was covered up by their coconut bikini tops. The war drums eventually came to an end, and all but two of the dancers exited the stage. They were soon joined by two of the male fire dancers as well as the hostess, who stepped up to her microphone and smiled at the crowd as she spoke.

  “Let’s have a round of applause for our dancers!” she said, excitedly.

  Everyone in the crowd clapped enthusiastically, and the hostess had to wait few seconds for the noise to die down.

  “All right, everyone. It’s officially time for a little audience participation. Do we have any volunteers out there who would like to come up and learn how to do the Hula?” she asked, as she looked out at the audience.

  I was starting to get a bad feeling, as I always seemed to get singled out during events like this, and as I’d already had more than enough public shaming tonight, I decided it might be a good time to make a run for the bar. The four dancers left the stage and started moving through the audience to find their victims, so I stood up and started moving quickly through the tables. Only a few steps into my swift retreat, a spot light shined on me, and I froze in terror. Survival came down to action, so I set off at a brisk walking pace, though the fucking spot light stayed right on me. Still, I kept moving in the hopes they’d give up, but those hopes were dashed when I heard the hostess. Fuck.

  “Excuse me, sir, but you can’t leave now. We’re just getting started!”

  I smiled, waved, then decided to try and keep moving, but, before I could get out of range, one of the dancers was on me. She was a lovely young twentysomething island girl, and she had quite a pair of coconuts on her chest. She wrapped her arm through mine and, despite my protestations, started dragging me towards the stage. Sweet mother of God—let this just be a bad dream. A second later we were passing the main table, and John smiled smugly at me.

  “Oh, look who was lucky enough to get picked,” he said.

  “Yeah, and guess who else is coming with me,” I responded, as I grabbed hold of his arm.

  John tried to resist, but I made enough of a scene that the other hula dancer was on him! Ha! Fuck that fucker! If I had to do it then so did he! It was his party after all. She managed to drag him out of his chair, then all four of us climbed onto the stage to join the two other victims. There were now four of us, and we were all staring out into the audience, and not a single one of us looked too happy. These kinds of public events were always humiliating—kind of like when your friends sang happy birthday at a restaurant. Nobody enjoyed it, but we continued to do it to each other year after year, thereby perpetuating an endless cycle of misery. I looked over at John and saw that he was putting on a pretty good fake smile, though I suppose it wasn’t too grand a feat when you took into account that he was a politician and made that kind of face for a living.

  “All right now, everyone, our dancers are going to show you what to do, so just follow along and give it your best shot!” the hostess said.

  The music started, and the four dancers began showing us the moves, but, just as I was starting to get into the swing of things, a woman sitting at a nearby table called out to me.

  “You go, shitter! Shake those hips!”

  Oh my God. It was the tall pretty brunette from my bathroom escapade, and, annoyingly, her entire table full of women started clapping and cheering me on. I looked more closely at the group and realized that I recognized pretty much all of them as having been witnesses to my embarrassing little incident. Lovely. When it rained, it poured. Had fate been merciful, I would have never seen any of them again, but now I had been offered up to them like a sacrificial lamb.

  “What’s with that table full of fans?” John asked.

  “Oh, they’re just my bathroom buddies.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “
Long story.”

  “I bet it has a funny ending.”

  “Yeah, like the Titanic.”

  The hostess was speaking again, and all attention turned to her, which also included my dance partner, and I thought about using the moment to make a bold break for freedom. Before I could act, however, the hostess pointed towards us, and my opportunity was gone. I therefore soldiered on and continued to move my hips and hands in sync with my lovely partner. The music eventually changed, and our partners turned to face us in what appeared to be the beginning a Hawaiian hula version of dirty dancing. I was all for a little grinding but not on a stage for all to see, least of all in front of my bathroom buddies, who were still yelling and cheering. My attractive dance partner was directly in front of me, and her coconuts were dancing before my eyes. She could certainly move her body and especially her hips, which were now rubbing up against my man parts and causing an unwanted stirring. The girl smiled and winked as she brought her hands up over my shoulders then down my sides where she reached around and took firm hold of my backside. At that point, she increased the intensity of her grinding, and sure enough I was in the opening stages of a boner. What the hell did I do wrong in life to reach this moment of karmic backlash? The music thankfully came to an end, and my partner leaned in and kissed me on the lips, before glancing down at my groin and smiling as she moved beside me. Everyone formed into a line facing the audience, except for John, who was staring at me with a stupid smile on his face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Strange—my dance partner didn’t kiss me.”

  “Yeah, because your filthy lips have been on every ass in Washington.”

  “Oh that’s an exaggeration. It’s no more than ninety-eight percent at best.”

  “Well, that’s still plenty of ass.”

  The hostess led us in a group bow, then everyone was thankfully free to return to their seats. I adjusted my man parts to conceal my budding erection as best as possible then departed the stage and unfortunately had to pass my table full of fans.

  “Nice boner, shitter. Why don’t you swing by my room after you take a shower,” the tall pretty brunette from earlier said.