Table-top Gauntlet

            Sammy paced the hardwood floors of her living room in anticipation of Bobby’s arrival. He was her best friend who she’d had the hots for years but did not pursue him sexually because she did not want to ruin their friendship. But tonight was the night she was going to make her move, at least that is what she had been telling herself repetitiously as she paced about, peering through the blinds at her empty drive way. “Repetition is a form of hypnosis, and he’s leaving. I have to do it tonight. He’s leaving. I have to do it tonight. But he’s leaving. I have to do it tonight. ”

                As Sammy checked herself in the mirror she was slightly startled by the sound of knocking on her front door. Alright, it’s now or never, she encouraged herself.

                Bobby walked in from the cold with a black plastic bag in his left hand. He kissed Sammy on the cheek, placed the bag on the floor and took off his jacket. “Hey, Sammy Sam, what’s up, sweetie?”

                “Hey, babe,” She said as she moved the bag onto the table. “What took you so long?”

                “There was a long line at the liquor store,” he responded annoyed by the recollection.

                “Damn, it must have been a long line.”

                “It wasn’t that,” he responded relieved by the opportunity to vent. “There was this kid at the front of the line with a fake ID. He just kept arguing with the guy, but the guy wouldn’t serve him. He just kept yelling, in a thick Indian accent, ‘No old enough! No old enough!’” “He was driving me f*****g nuts,” Bobby continued. It was obvious it was a fake ID. It said for entertainment purposes only on the back. Ohh, whatever I don’t even want to talk about it anymore.”

                “Wow,” Sam responded. “That explains it.” She noticed he was very angry about what had happened and hoped it was because he had been in a rush to see her.

                “So, what’s up with you Sammy? You seem a little tense,” Chris asked as he emptied the contents of the black bag onto the table.

                “You’re here now,” she responded in a nervous flirtatious manner. “It’s just been a long day,” she followed up in hopes of erasing what she had just phrased. “I hope you didn’t but tequila,” she continued.

                “No, mamn. It’s a Captain Morgan night,” Bobby said as e became excited by the sight of the bottle he had just pulled from the bag.

                “Come on, man,” she responded aggressively. “You know I hate captain.”

                He turned his eyes to meet her and a smile came over his face. “You’re full of s**t,” he remarked. “You got ripped last Friday from Captain.”

                She laughed in stubbornly embarrassed fashion and defended, “Yeah, but I don’t drink Captain on Mondays.”

                Bobby laughed at her response while he filled two glasses with ice and continued to fix their drinks. “So what have you done all day?”

                “Well, I would have been drunk a while ago but somebody was late.”

                “Is that some of your crazy female s**t?” He asked. “I just want to know what type of night I’m in for.”

                “Yeah, I’m definitely a woman tonight,” she said shortly as if speaking slightly misplaced from the earshot of her prey.

                Bobby was convinced they had a lot of catching up to do so he poured eight shots. They were going to run a gauntlet of sorts " a race to see who could arrive first at the bottom of the final glass.

                Sammy won but only scarsely as Bobby had taken the last shot into the wrong tube. “It went down my trachea, l” he pleaded in his defense only to be prosecuted by the laughter of a drunk girl who just beat her best friend in a drinking contest.

                “Ha, ha,” she said pointing and laughing.

                “You know you’re cute, Sammy. In a sensitive sort of way. “

                “Ha, ha,” Sammy exclaimed. “And you’re the f*****g king of sensitivity.”

                “I am,” he protested. “Compared to you at least.”

                By this time the two were feeling the effects of the eight ounces of alcohol each had rushed into their body. Sammy began to perspire, and was burning to have Bobby inside of her.

“So you happy about leaving me?” She asked.

“I’m transferring schools. I’m not leaving you. I just want to live somewhere else for a while.”

                Bobby  noticed that Sam had become a little quiet and assumed it was because she had too much to drink. He told her, jokingly, to go wait by the toilet because he did not want to have to clean up her vomit. Sammy was broken from her trance and said, “I’d much rather throw up all over YOU, silly face.”

                “Awe, thanks silly pants. You can marinate me in your waste. That’s attractive.”

                “Shut up,” She responded as she grabbed his face and kissed him just beside his mouth. “You have no idea,” Sammy followed up “how I’d like to marinate you. Then eat you for hours.”

                “You want to feast on me?” Bobby responded.                

                “NO! Alright fine, yeah. I just think you’re really hot sometimes. All of the time, actually.”

                “I think you’re hot too, Sammy,” Bobby whispered in her ear as he guided her to lay on his chest. She turned around and their lips collided, and not would not part. Her lips were like a bee and his kiss pollen. Bobby spent the rest of the night turning Sammy’s wet dreams to reality.