"In Which Reality is a List of Reasons to Stay F*cking Single "

(Pt. 1)

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"People say you can't live without love... I think oxygen is more important."

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Unknown

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(Still) Encontrarse

5:20 PM

"Hi, scussi, my name's Beyoncé, and this is my friend, White Privilege."

https://youtu.be/XplzAs0El2Y

I crack a wide maniacal smile at the muscle-bound guy in front of me. One could even say, I might even be giving Margot Robbie's Harley Quinn a run for her money.

You're probably wondering why I was going along with this in the first place.

Long story short, Tamieke and I agreed on letting the first stranger who approaches the bar to settle the argument in a game I'd like to call, 'Who'd You Rather?'

Joule, meanwhile, immediately volunteered to ref the whole thing. Mostly, for the free grub, we'll keep serving his way so he won't easily get bored.

The guy does have the appetite of a horse — which doesn't make sense since horses generally eat in a calm, relaxed way. Whatever, I'll just go with it.

To make the bet even more serious and 'fair' (coz, betting on whether I get hit based on my outward appearance already counts as serious), Tamieke levels the playing field by having me commit to three horrendous things.

One, I had to take off my bulky vintage plaid coat which was a precious heirloom (fine, it was from Good Will! But, it must have its history from somewhere!) and tie it around my waist to accentuate my 'hourglass' hips and 'perky' ass (their words, not mine!). My shirt was then altered to run a deep V between my boobs and cropped to expose the shallow vortex on my stomach.

Of course, it wouldn't have been possible without Emile's skanky fashion expertise and Jhett's sewing skills.

Two, Tia got to style my hair (she combed my hair) into perfection, while Jhett reapplies my makeup into a full-on girl next door look (Ha! Good luck with that!) with bright shades of pastel and rose blush (clown makeup all over my face.)

Lastly, I wasn't allowed to speak more than five words. Instead, I was expected to stand there and smile like a brainless mannequin-slash-sex doll being pimped to some sad lonely man in dire need of sexual release.

Again, why would I agree to this?

Simple. While I was subjected to three handicaps, I got to give one in return.

So, without hesitation, I chose to have Tamieke chew on some garlic bread covered in extra garlic pesto — a whole saucer-ful to be more accurate.

I know it's not much, considering the hell he's putting me through. But, hear me out. 

Not only will Tamieke be tongue-tied and distracted from the smell throughout our bet, but when I win, he has to ask Sly out for a date — face-to-face with nothing in between them.

Hey, I am nothing if not a good supportive friend.

Now, where were we? Oh, right!

So, that's how we got our weight-lifting fairy man here who reeks of Axe Body Spray and exhibiting a wary look on his face.

A-a-and, he's probably thinking we were a strange mismatched couple about to ask him for a ménage-a-trois.

I quickly swallowed the puke threatening to make its way to the Heaviside Layer (a.k.a. outside my mouth).

To be honest, he wasn't all that bad-looking — though he's not that good-looking, either. Safe to say, he had an average GPA (Guy Point Average), pulled up by those protruding pecs and blazing guns he's carrying underneath a too-tight shirt (looks like I'm not the only one selling their goods, ey?). 

At least, in my opinion.

Tamieke had been sending him come-hither looks throughout our short introduction.

Joule remains stoic, subtly sipping a glass of Sly's Lola Clarita's juice.

"You look like the straight type to go for attractive straight girls," Tamieke comments, cajoling him.

Of course, based on how Muscle Joe is nodding and bobbing his head, he took it as a form of compliment.

Tamieke casts him a megawatt smile, already thinking he's gonna win. In Tia's language: The cheek!

"Just wanted to ask. Would you go out with a face like hers?" He pushes me forward, force centered at the middle of my back and letting inertia stick my boobs out and jiggle a bit.

Muscle Joe's eyes quickly slide unto me – my boobs, to be more précise – the look of doubt in his eyes morphs into a lustful haze.

"Not sure about the name, but, hell yeah. Indian girls are hot. I wouldn't mind sticking it to her, too," he wags his brows at me — kidding! They're still on my boobs! — licking his lips with a lecherous grin.

The smile once frigidly set on my face slightly cracks into a downward curve. 

"Ew" — Tamieke aims a stink-eye at him — "I only asked if you would go out with her, not shove your micro dick in her. And, what part of her even strikes you as Navajo, Sioux, or Cherokee?* Have you looked at her? She white as they come!"

Perplexed, Muscle Joe stares at him, slowly re-evaluating the reason why we approached him.

Tamieke shoves him away before he can even get a word in.

Now, you're probably wondering again, how could a strapping man in the onset of his middle 20s like Muscle Joe let Tamieke, who was around six years his junior, push him away?

One could only assume that, unlike any man who had built his physical peak on steroids, my bitch grew them naturally. Plus, the fact that Tamieke has at least five inches in height and thirty pounds of pure muscle advantage over him could be an additional factor.

Coach Furst sure knows how to raise 'em big, thick, and strong!

Too bad, it put a damper on my friend's love life and his search for a man who can carry him in a princess-hold.

"Get outta here, you tall glass of white almond milk!" — Tamieke hollers after his retreating figure — "don't think I didn't see that thing on your head. Be like your hairline and recede!"

"Settle down, Violet Chachki,"* Joule drawls, sniffing a cube of cottage cheese on a toothpick from his gourmet platter before eating it. 

Tamieke pretends to dust his hands. "Messy, but it proves my point," he says smugly to us.

I stick out my tongue. "Nuh-uh, more like you're asking the wrong question."

"She has a point," Joule concurs, accepting another cube of cottage cheese from me with his mouth.

I jiggle my head, smirking at Tamieke when someone, a few feet behind him, captures my attention.

https://youtu.be/PUoO4T_23pA

This time, he was someone in the slim-build category, barely reaching my height. His shapely supple limbs remind me of Emile's, but his sharply-carved jaw just screamed 'Jhett!'

Dressed in boujee couture* with his phone in hand, he glances around the room near the podium, establishing a clearer and easier access for a possible quarry.

Or a Grindr hookup, I think again, eyeing the distinctive color scheme and logo flashing brightly on his phone.

Now, this might sound a bit like I'm cheating — but you gotta do what you have to do. 

And, he, was gonna give it to me.

"Hey, you!"

Twinkie* finally looks up in our direction and lazily points at himself, seeing no surprise as to why a girl like me tries to grab his attention.

I ignore it, my focus set on winning.

I nod and grab Tamieke by the shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Tamieke murmurs with a hard knee-jerk smile plastered on his face.

"Making things interesting," I reply, sending a querying look to Joule.

"I'll allow it," Joule says distractedly, his eyes too busy on a plate of sriracha honey-glazed chicken popcorn I slid in front of him.

Twinkie closes in, and I take that time to introduce ourselves. "I'm Patti Smith, and this is my friend Patty Tolan — no relation." 

"Obviously"— he sneers, staring at our outfits from head-to-toe — more particularly, at Tamieke's — "I would never mistake your cashmere woolen plaid coat for his kashmere-with-a-k sweater."

How could one so short have the ability to look down at us with just the upward tilt of his nose and still haven't kissed one of our fists?

"Aw, hell naw!"

I spoke too soon.

Tamieke makes a move towards him, hands curling into fists. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that when one messes with someone's outfit (an outfit hand-picked by their beloved mama), shit's about to happen.

I clamp a hand on one of his meaty shoulders with a silent warning.

Tamieke grudgingly breaks from his murderous intent to look at me.

I motion my head to an out-of-duty pig* giving Sly a hard time at the far corner of the room.

Tamieke sucks his teeth, making a sharp squeaky sound. "Get the fuck outta here. Scram, bottom!* I eat boys like you for breakfast!"

Twinkie was only too pleased to be chased away by — in what could be his perception — a bear and a fag hag* who's being pimped by said bear in a supposedly classy family-friendly bistro.

Well, there went my sure-fire win! Oh, how I pity his sad date.

If there was any consolation, the pig bothering Sly began to watch us after Tamieke's sudden outburst, giving Sly enough time to slip away. 

When all hope looks to be lost, Joule makes a shushing sound. "There's another one."

He gestures to a guy who had just arrived at the other end of the bar, two men — who I figured, with my Sherlock senses, to be his friends — tagging alongside him.

He glances in our direction, stiffens, and shakes his head at his friends.

Hmm, average height and build and a couple of years older. Brown hair and doe eyes, clean features, and a goofy half-smile but nothing too spectacular. He had the boy-next-door look and the 'charm' that goes with it — by that, I mean charming enough to pay for his friends' drinks.

Aw, ain't he a keeper?

I crane my neck upward, my head slanting to meet Tamieke's gaze. "This time, let me finish. You!"

He turns around and shortly looks behind him before answering.

"Me?" he points to himself, seemingly dumbstruck.

With my direct approach and the resting bitch-glare on my face, I don't blame him.

Of course, it might just have been me who mistook his reaction.

I sharply jut my chin. " Yeah, you!"

His friends elbow him, cheering him on. "You heard her."

He glances at them one last time before gathering up the courage to cross the threshold of the unknown — otherwise known as me and Tamieke. 

He visibly gulps. 

Oh, shit! The lost-in-the-woods looks in his eyes made me realize who he looked like Bambi!

At the same time, his friends behind him raise their drinks at his back in salute to his masculine prowess — and maybe possible demise.

I raise a brow at them, yelling at them to drop dead with my eyes.

When the amount of misplaced brotherly cheer ebbs down, I introduce ourselves to their friend. "I'm Hennessy Walker, and this is my friend, She'nita Djhak'ov."*

Tamieke smiles at him before lowering his head next to me and whispers, "What the hell was that?"

"A great drag name for you," I answer, my gaze never leaving Bambi. 

Bambi scratches the nape of his neck, looking sheepish. "We actually met before."

I frown, brow skeptically raised. "We did?"

His hand pauses. "I took your order yesterday, and gave you that cup of coffee on the house, remember?"

I slowly tilt my head, scanning through my memories. I found none.

I shake my head. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell. Must be someone else. Anyways, my friend and I are wondering if you can help us with something."

He scratches the back of his neck again, ears flushing red. "Look, um, my friends and I don't want any trouble. Not that I'm not flattered at all, I mean, you're" — he breathes in — "gorgeous, but I don't do what you and your friend are into. I'm just showing my friends across town."

I chuckle, finding his shy demeanor cute. He thought we wanted a threesome! Aww!

"It's fine, I'm not in a murderous mood — yet," I wiggle my fingers at his friends, smiling with cold menacing eyes.

In my periphery, Joule lifts his glass in a silent toast. They visibly gulp and toast in return, wordlessly chugging their iced-cold drinks like the good little boys their mama had taught them to be.

I continue with my mission, twirling my finger in an imaginary circle. "But, I do have a question for you" — my finger stops dead-center in his direction— "If we were in a club, who would you rather hang out with — me or him?" I motion my head to my hulking friend.

Tamieke snaps his head towards me with accusatory eyes, not liking my deviation to his original approach.

"I" — he sputters, carefully deliberating the next choice of words to leave his tongue. He gulps — "think it's obvious who I'm gonna pick."

Tamieke makes a loud snorting sound, already expecting this reaction.

Bambi gawks at him, almost quaking in his shoes. "Because I'm straight — please, don't hurt me!"

Tamieke rolls his eyes, flipping his hair off his shoulder. "Told you."

I sigh, raising my hands. "I'm not done, like I said, let me finish" — I turn back to Bambi — "But, what if you were in a parking lot late at night. Four strange men in ski-masks are about to whoop your ass, now who are you gonna pick?"

He momentarily ponders over this and aims a wobbly finger at Tamieke, eyeing me tentatively. "I'd say him — because I have a feeling you might kill me, too?"

Unorthodox and not quite as I expected, but I guess he was quite perceptive of people, too. I nod in approval.

Tamieke scowls at him, his jaw slack in raw disgust at Bambi's lack of strength and conviction. "As if I'd waste my mani-pedi on you!"

"Now's the best time to run," Joule murmurs, loud enough to be within hearing distance for him and his friends.

He didn't have to say it, though.

"Well, too much for passing through town," I mutter under my breath as Bambi slides a few notes on the bar top and scurries away with his friends.

"Get outta here, you hot baked potato! A real man doesn't let his lady fight for him!" Tamieke unnecessarily barks after them.

"They already left, didn't they?" I mutter through the corner of my mouth, my elbows propped and my back leaning against the table with Bambi's untouched Iced Americano in one hand. 

Joule inhales the last of his chicken popcorns. "Beasty loves a fight."

I take a huge gulp, guzzling down the cold amber liquid. "Ahh."

My mouth curves downward, stifling a yawn. "Right now, all I'm seeing is a 'Run, Forrest, run!'* moment here, with Tamieke acting like a burly slasher film villain. Thus" — I release a short unladylike burp — "proves my point that not everything is about looks."

Joule claps after me, already making it clear who was the victor. "Well-played."

"If it is" — I continue — "then the guy is a shallow dick and relationships are redundant. But, hey"— I elbow Tamieke — "if you're still up for another test"— I wave enthusiastically at some nearby stranger — "Hey, there. I'm Right-All-The-Time, and this is my friend Wrong-About-Guys"—

"Yeah, we get it," Tamieke lifts me by the waist and carts me away before the guy could say something in return.

"You're hopeless," Joule chuckles, slinging his arm around my shoulders as we make our way back to our booth. 

Tamieke follows after us, stomping his feet in silent shame. 

I stare at him in mock horror. "Don't you think I already know that?"

"Hopeless, but not doomed!" Tia announces once we reach them. "While those two were acting as the 'diversion'', Keke and I just came up with the list." 

(To Be Cont.)

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Hmm, who could be on that list?

Write down your guesses in the comments section - and also, what you thought about the chapter! 

Don't forget to press that vote button and share this story with your friends!

See you next Tuesday/Wednesday!

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PLAYLIST

(in order)

Boys — Lizzo

YMCA — The Village People

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*[F/N]*

Navajo, Sioux, or Cherokee — different Native American tribes

Violet Chachki— an American drag queen, burlesque/aerial performer, content creator, model, and recording artist best known for winning the seventh season of RuPaul's Drag Race. She delivered the read, "Be like your hairline and recede!".

Boujee Couture — (Hip-Hop slang) defines someone as enjoying a (well-earned) lifestyle in luxury, but who still knows their more humble roots and possibly still lives in their old neighborhood.

Twinkie — based on the LGBTQ+ slang, "Twink", a homosexual male with attractive, boyish qualities.

Fag-Hag— (LGBTQ+ Slang)  a heterosexual woman who seeks out or particularly enjoys the company of gay men.

Pig— (US Slang) a derogatory term for "police".

Bottom — (LGBTQ+ Slang) the submissive partner in a sexual relationship or encounter, especially the person who is penetrated in anal intercourse (opposed to top).

She'nita Djhak'ov — (PUN) a phrasal play on "she needs to jack-off". 

Run, Forrest, Run — a meme that originated from the movie, Forrest Gump. When the bullies were chasing Forrest, Jenny started yelling, "run, forrest, run!" and this helped Forrest run faster away from the bullies.

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Copyright © 2017 Lei André