A Tale Of Twists And Some Glitter

I was very surprised to get a phone call from a long time friend who was calling to invite me over to his house to see his new truck. Having nothing to do in my own life I decided to go check it out for shits and giggles. I pulled into his driveway and only saw the cars that are normally parked in his driveway. I guess he saw me pull up because he hurriedly came our the front door and I was told to just shut up and follow him to his shop. I was just as disappointed at the shop because I still wasn’t looking at a new truck! He had this look on his face, the look I imagine a person would have on their face if they just killed someone and needed help burying the body, which is odd because he can’t even kill a tiny spider, but he had that deranged look nevertheless. He begins to tell me this story that, when he was done I asked if I could tell to a few of my friends, is pretty strange even by my standards. Before I retell his story let me give you a little background on my friend, we’ll call him Rick, and his son who we’ll call Jr. I have known Rick, his ex-wife, and his son since I met them all in the early 90s when I lived in Japan. His son is the same age of my oldest daughter, 25. Ever since 1999 Rick has lived the life of a single father, working and raising his son were his two top priorities in life. He never dated until his son was 19 and in the Air Force out seeing the world. I had introduced him to a few single moms over the years but he seemed to like the ones that were his son’s age instead, they partied better is what he’d say. After six years his son returned home, where he still lives today so he can help his dad out the best he can. So, anyway, let’s start with his story because it gets fucking weird fast.

About six months ago Rick met a woman in her early 20s who works at a strip club I used to bartend at, life was great, the sex was great, and they were even talking wedding bells. They were the perfect couple he thought. This last weekend his son had a big date, he was going to be proposing to his girlfriend after she got off work, but he decided to go early to surprise her. Rick, bored, decided to head to the strip club and drop in on his future wife, have a few drinks, and catch the end of the game he was missing. When he walked in he noticed his son talking with Amanda (Rick’s future bride). She didn’t notice Rick as she headed up on stage behind the bright lights. Rick sat down next to his son and asked why he wasn’t out on his important date. Rick also explained that the young lady he was talking to was who he’d been dating and that he came down to surprise her. Rick laughed a bit, telling his son they have similar tastes in woman. But Jr wasn’t laughing, Jr looked horrified, and Jr was looking a little pissed off.

The short version of the conversation had was the both figured out they were dating and having sex with the same woman, with both having plans of marriage with her, and now the truth was out, kinda. Needing a drink, father and son settled at the bar where another stripper began talking to them, not about herself or the special of the day, but Amanda. She said they were both wasting there time as they both were led to look to the door, where they saw Amanda’s real husband, a huge man, 6’11, 320# easy, and one solid muscle from head to toe. Both father and son were compelled to question Amanda and when they did everything was confirmed. She invited them to tell her husband that they had been fucking her right under his nose but said it may not end well for either of them. They just left, in separate vehicles, meeting up once again at home. Neither one has said another word about Amanda in a few days, Rick thinks it will always be that way.

Luckily for Rick, I know the muscle bound mass and Amanda, who are married, and that he really didn’t want to pick a fight with someone now on parole who almost killed a man because he got a $100 lap dance from his wife but only was going to pay her a single dollar. So telling him that he and his son have been banging his wife probably wouldn’t go over very well. I wish people would talk to me before dating the strippers that work at the same club I worked at, because there are nice strippers and then there is Amanda. Anyway, Rick can’t get over the fact that he used to kiss the same mouth that would have his son’s dick in it. The least of his worries I assured him, just wonder what your son is thinking. Well, after the talk we went out back, lit a big fire, and the four of us (my wife joined us) got shitfaced in the drizzling rain to pass the night away. When it was time to go, we watched father and son hug it out, I think they’re going to be okay. They may need some therapy, but I think they will be just fine in the end.

Retired Resort Employee Explains

I can personally relate to the information that, if you so choose to do so, you’ll read in a few moments. I have traveled a bit in my life, either professionally or personally, and I have always had questions about how “friendly” the resort staff really is and why it is that way. I will use our last vacation to Florida to visit Disney World where we stayed in a Disney resort. Lets just say the behavior of certain staff member was a little strange, although appreciated. I’ll tell y’all what, I will make my next post about that vacation adventure. I wrote allot about it in the past, but never explored this aspect of it all. It was happening all around us as well as to us, read the next post and you’ll understand better.

Anyway, this email comes in to me to explain the sexual side of everyday resorts. It was mentioned that he worked at the same resort for 20 years, starting out at 16, and has since retired from the tourist industry. I won’t ruin it for him, I’ll let him tell it as it was emailed to me. All I ask is that you think long and hard about all your past resort vacations and probably what to look for on your next resort vacation.

—————— Begin Email Message ————–

Greeting Mr. Scorpion~

I would like to share things about resorts and the people who work there as well as the people who stay at them. I worked at the same one since I was 16 and now 20 years later I have fully retired. Resort guests are the absolute reason I retired, the tips, other money, and the sex made my tenure there very appreciated. So, let’s explain why shall we.

Your daughters, your girlfriends, your fiancées, your wives, and other members of staff ALL tend to pay with sex. Resort workers put up serious weekly numbers. Exotic beaches trigger single women from around the globe slut’s instincts. If she arrives alone its almost too easy. If she arrives with a partner it takes shockingly little effort to get her separated, naked, and on her back. Not to worry, the men have the same opportunities as the women, but most men are usually looking for it anyway, resort workers just make it easy.

Resort pay typically ranges from poor to abysmal so access to a continual stream of cute guests is seen as a crucial benefit if indeed not the main one. This arrangement is fully condoned by management; resorts know they can get away with lower salaries if workers are “wifey-ing up” and happy about their overall working conditions.

All guests, male or female, are for our benefit. During activities and excursions I have guests introduce themselves to each other with names and backgrounds. Innocent questions like hometown and favorite Disney movie are interspersed with more ulterior ones like stop light color (relationship status), celebrity crush (mate preference) and tattoo ownership (slut indicator). We use this information to more efficiently select targets. Kickball, volleyball, red rover and something called “the beach game” turn X-rated quickly. We’ll make up rules that may seem spontaneous but rest assured they aren’t—they’re designed to get women naked and fucking in the shortest time possible.

I know one particularly well-endowed co-worker who had an effective tactic with couples and large groups. First, he would take them out on the boat to play a few drinking games. After the women were sufficiently inebriated he would institute a clothing-off policy in order to continue playing. Since the men were out on a boat with nowhere to go they had little choice but to play along or be deemed pussies by the rest of the boat. They would stand around timidly with their comparatively small penises while the women swooned over his massive member. One or more women would always come find him later that night.

As mentioned previously the financial component of our compensation is rarely much above poverty wages thus rendering us childishly appreciative for laughably meager sums. I still remember my first tip: two friendly Canadian guys handed me the equivalent of 5 dollars after a guest activity. I proceeded to introduce them to every cute girl in the hotel until they clicked with some hotties. I had the bartender send them free bottom shelf shots at the first lull in conversation. They didn’t sleep alone for the rest of their stay.

Bartenders write ad nauseam about the wisdom of taking care of servers; I would argue resort staff are a better allocation of resources because it takes a much smaller sum to impress and our ability to enable a bang is better (we have a more fun and intimate relationship with guests and we’re free to wander the resort to introduce people and take groups up to rooms, secluded balconies, staff quarters, etc.).

We can ruin your vacation in any number of ways. This is sound advice for all customer-employee interactions but nowhere else have I experienced such a profound influence over customer experience. If you are a dickhead I can make sure you won’t get laid. If you are an entitled little princess I will go out of my way to make you feel unwanted and humiliated. This can range from the morally neutral (unfavorable seating/pairings during meals and activities) to the morally wrong (subtly letting it be known to the other guests that you are a creep) to the technically illegal (fighting you when I am drunk enough to not be held responsible).

Because pay is so low, management has little weight to reprimand its workers so more often than not complaints will fall on deaf ears. By accepting the unusual payment arrangement management has acquiesced a degree of authority over worker-guest interactions. Unless what I do is blatant, unambiguous and against the rules, management will most likely turn a blind eye to my behavior. They’d rather keep me hidden until you leave and let me continue unhindered then find and train a new employee. Because 99% of customers leave satisfied this is a deal they are more than happy to accept.

I can only speak for employees typically in positions like hotel reception, surf instructors, tour guides, and housekeepers. The guests are the reason we’re here. People at beach resorts are unsurprisingly a congenial lot and it’s impossible to dislike such a pleasant demographic. I’ve helped many hundreds of cool guests get laid, both guys and girls. In my estimate 90% of guests are great, 9% are neutral and maybe 1% are assholes. It’s only that 1% that would ever get detrimental treatment.

Sharks. Dolphins. Boppers. Cherries. Obviously many professions use code to describe customers: car salesmen have “tire-kickers” (non-serious buyers) and flight attendants have “spinners” (people who can’t find their seats), but due to close customer proximity and our relative youthfulness it’s more prevalent in this profession than others. It would be useless to explain actual terms because they vary from place to place but if you happen to overhear a worker speaking cryptically pay attention. It’s really not hard to decipher and you will benefit from their seasoned assessment. Also useful for locations: “nowhere,” “the dungeon,” “the bat cave.” If you know where we’re talking about then you will know where the party will be.

We get to meet large numbers of women from all over the world and develop fairly accurate mosaics of slutiness based on where she’s from and where she chooses to travel. There are a few combinations that consistently produce rates at  the high end of the bell curve:

American women studying abroad (bonus points for those who choose South America) Southeast Asian girls who choose tourist hotspots (Bangkok, Phuket, Bali, Boracay) American women who frequent the Caribbean.

It should come as no surprise that America is ground zero for whores and sluts who vacation with a constant wetspot in their g-string, and it becomes easy to see why Caribbean guys are so laid back—they have a never-ending supply of rich white girls flying down for sex. Side note: I only know one girl who studied abroad in Africa and she was almost a school-wide joke for the amount of dick she took. With such a small sample I can’t draw conclusions but if you have wider experience with this demographic please get in touch, I’m curious if my suspicions are true.

Planeloads of cute little jaw-dropping sluts from all over the world arrive weekly during the season and if you only speak English you are at a major disadvantage. Being American is not impressive in any way to many foreigners and is in fact often detrimental. Europeans, Asians and South Americans have seen too many of our drunken frat boys and whoring, slutty co-eds to have any respect for us just off the bat. That is until you tell them about the drink specials and ask them how their flight was in their own language. Then suddenly the table of pouty, teenage dreamboats straight off the plane from Madrid is at your full attention. Your value has just increased tenfold and eight eager little smiles greet you whenever you walk up to them. Virginities will be taken before the trip home.

The model quality Prada-toting 18-year-olds from Paris open up her legs pretty wide after you drop some French and wine knowledge on her. And by open up I mean they open it all for the taking. You now are in control of every orifice she claimed to own. If I could do college all over again I would opt for the highest-level language courses available and switch out my electives for a second language.

Not every resort is like this but the crazier ones certainly are. If you haven’t worked in one I would recommend you give it a try for a season. Also, I wouldn’t advise guys to allow their girlfriends to go to these places alone. If you do accompany her, don’t go to bed early if she’s staying up because odds are she is having her cage rattled a few times.

—- Rolando

————— End Of Email Message ———–

Next time you go to a resort somewhere in the world pay attention to the people around you, especially the employees of the resort. They just might be trying to tell you something and you might even like it. This is a fun game for me no matter where I’m at, people watching gets better the older I get. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this tiny inside peek from one of thousands of resort employees. Having a few friends in the cruise ship industry I need to get ahold of them and ask them if the same things are going on, which I can be very positive it is. So, that’s it for now, get busy and plan your next resort vacation, remember me because you know we want to hear about your adventures and see all your great pictures.

The Journey That Changed A life

As a bartender in a full nude strip bar I was witness to many amazing sites, I got to meet many amazing people, and best of all I got to listen to the stories of many people. The incredible challenge I always had was knowing what to do with all of the information that had been offered to me. What do I do? Write a book? Write a movie? Neither, but I did write it all down. I took notes and wrote down triggers so that the stories would come back to me easy. Why do all that? Why bother? Good question, which the story I will tell today will hopefully relay and answer some of those questions. In time gone by I had a separate blog dedicated solely to telling stories from my perspective from behind the bar based on my conversations and observations. And, unfortunately I fell victim to some culling of blogs and it became a deleted statistic I chalked up as a great loss. However, as y’all can see here, I have been trying to maintain the tradition of telling my stories. from this point forward I will warn you that the content will become adult oriented and the language as well as the descriptive picture will become a bit more colorful. I’m not the best story-teller, but I try to be a fair story re-teller. Without further ado I will begin with a story about a 17 y/o runaway that set out on a journey that changed her perspective and changed her life forever. These are her experiences as she told them to me.

On the day after she turned 17 she decided that life in Schuyler Nebraska wasn’t what she wanted any longer. She had been thinking about leaving for a while but never had the guts to just up and walk away. Her home life was not anything she can admit to be glamorous by any means. Her mother had died a few years before which she took real hard. She was an only child and now she was still living with her mom’s boyfriend. He, in all reality, was all she had. He is decent to her. He has allowed her to continue to live with him as long as she stayed in school. It has become really weird because he has a new girlfriend who also lives with them. She is only 3 years older and that is hard enough to deal with. All remembrance of her mother is of her own accounts as the boyfriend rarely if ever talks about her. She started feeling out-of-place and in the way of the new life he was starting for himself. So, she decided that she needed to get away, far away, far enough that she didn’t have to worry about the life she wanted to leave behind. She celebrated her birthday with her friends and her part-time on and off boyfriend. It wasn’t a party or anything, just went out to a friends property to drink and get a little wild. The next morning she left the house she grew up in for the last 8 years with nothing but the clothes on her back and the cash she had been saving. As far as she was concerned she only took what she needed and would get more as she moved on and when it was needed. She just started walking south, following the back country roads, following railroads at times, and sleeping where she could when she could. She would bath in restrooms of fast food places and gas stations which was already getting old after a few days. She would get picked up on occasion but it rarely lasted very long because she would feel uncomfortable and unsafe. The only way she felt she could pay was with some kind of sexual favor and she didn’t want to go there.

Unfortunately as she traveled she found herself in need of money, food, and a warm place to stay the night. She learned that her body was something that she could use and get what she wanted in return. She would blow into different hole in the wall towns and waitress at the local bars mostly. She learned that the less she wore to work and the more she teased the men that this equaled more money. She recalled the time she wore the shortest shorts she could find to the bar one night. She remembers these shorts because they have become her lucky shorts over time. She thinks its funny because she got them at a thrift shop for twenty-five cents. While at the bar that night she was convinced to enter into a wet t-shirt contest because the 1st place prize was $1500.00 and a trip to Las Vegas. She remembers thinking Vegas was going the wrong direction for her but if she got the trip she would go and check it out. She spent allot of time telling little white lies about her age in order to work in the bars. Lucky for her they never asked for any identification because she didn’t even have any. So, she entered the contest with all the local girls from the bar and the area around. She knew she would have to make it dirty to have a chance. She wanted the guys to remember her when they went home drunk to their wives and girlfriends. She has began to find the power of showing a little skin here and there. She didn’t win the wet t-shirt contest, but she did place 3rd out of some 40 other women, which in her opinion wasn’t too damn bad. As well, it had a $400.00 prize to go with the title. She knew she would have to try just a little harder the next time. As it turns out her journey to wherever she was going was taking quite some time. It’s been close to a year now and she still finds herself moving. She spent a few months over the winter in San Antonio Texas where she made some good friends and had a decent job working at a hole in the wall strip club as a waitress and a bar-back. She was thinking that this is where it’s at, she just might have found her knew home.

Then, one day out of the blue her roommate decided she wanted to go to Houston to visit family and asked if she wanted to tag along for the weekend. She figured why not, let’s go. Just so happens that when they got into town they saw an advertisement for, as it was billed, the largest wet t-shirt contest on the planet. They joked about going, then the joking became serious, then the joking turned into a dare, the dare turned into a bet. They showed up at Club X in the early evening that Saturday to see if they could check out the competition. They realized real fast that the club was actually a full need strip club and they might be in over their heads. Since she was 18 now she actually had the required identification to prove her age to participate in the wet t-shirt contest. They were given t-shirts with the club logo all over it. As she finds out later, I had a contest of my own to design those t-shirts, she found that funny for some reason I found out later. After getting ready and so forth they had a few drinks when it was announced that there will be over 700 participants in the wet t-shirt contest. Seems that many people want the prizes and don’t care that they will have to show their tits to get it. She had learned over the last year that it’s just a wet t-shirt contest but what it turns out to be is a totally different animal. The men don’t want to see the girls in their t-shirt, they want to see everything but that. She also found that she needed to learn how to move like a stripper if she ever wanted to win, an edge that she thinks she mastered. Then, the parade of tatas began and she remembers how nervous she really was because there were 700 plus girls who all wanted the same prize. She made it thru the initial cut, she made it thru the semi-final cut, and ended up in the top 10 by the time the night progressed. It was time to turn up the heat, game fucking on! She put her game face on and showed Houston what she was made of. She ended up not winning however, she didn’t win the $10,000.00 cash prize for 1st, she didn’t win the $7,500.00 cash prize for 2nd place. She did secure 3rd place and that $5,000.00 purse. She was also approached by the club’s dancer recruiter and asked to attend the boot camp if she would like to have a job. Oh, her friend? Her friend got put out in the semi-finals, receiving a zero dollar prize.  She thought about the offer quite a bit the rest of the night and on into Sunday. She spoke to her friends mom and asked if she could stay with them for a while and she was told yes, of course. Her friend went back to San Antonio that night and she went back down to the strip club to talk to the recruiter about her offer. Since she had already answered the question if she wanted the job or not by staying she got geared up and fired up about going to boot camp to see if she gets the job.

She had to go shopping, she needed some clothes to do the boot camp, and some more street clothes because what she had wasn’t much anymore. During the two weeks of the boot camp she kept wondering if stripping was what she wanted to do. She kept weighing her options, and decided she would give it her best shot. At the end of the 2 weeks she was offered the job and she accepted the job. She remembers thinking that she can’t believe she has got herself into this. She realized that her journey was not important because she didn’t have a destination in mind at the time. Her first couple weeks were a little rough, getting into the routine, dealing with being on probation, and getting used to dancing in the nude in front of such large crowds. It was very overwhelming for her. Once she had been there for about a month she explained that she had stages she liked and disliked, her favorite stage was my bar because it was an opportunity to really let loose. My bar was extended out in all directions to serve as a decent sized stage, this stage even had it’s own pole. She began to meet people and open up and talk to people like myself when she had the time. She did pretty good money-wise and that made her pretty happy. Then, those dreams came crashing down around her, she ended up tearing her knee up real bad one night doing some very enlightening moves. I actually saw it because it happened on my bar. She considered her stripper career to now be ended. She ended up with a real wicked scar down the outside of her leg as a souvenir. She actually kept her job but moved to the front door checking i.d.s and taking admissions. While she was doing that she was going to school to get her TABC license. Once she got that she moved into the bars as a bar-back. She missed the money of stripping but didn’t really miss having to get naked to get paid. She did okay behind the bar, about $50,000 a year plus about $15,000.00 in tips annually. So, bartending wasn’t a bad gig either. Now, she reminded me, that it didn’t stop her from filling in on occasion or the random striptease while she was tending bar. She had fun with it.

She doesn’t think her journey is over because she doesn’t see herself staying in one place for too long. I think she will always do well in life because she chases what she wants and when she catches it she rides it like she stole it. Her story isn’t unlike many. People generally think poorly of strippers and often consider them to be no better than drug addict prostitutes. Not everyone that ends up stripping is running away from something, in fact, many aren’t running at all, they found that the income is great. Sadly, our society shuns nudity and makes it very taboo which tends to lend to be why when a person says strip bar or stripper it is usually done in a whisper. Yes, I know, being a nude stripper isn’t a game that everyone can or even wants to play, but it seems that more and more women are exploring it as an option. Everyday woman, like the ones you work with, go to school with, see at the grocery store, your neighbor, woman everywhere are trying new things for new reasons. Not every story always has a happy ending, as in life, sometimes there are tragedies as well.  Keep that in mind the next time you judge someone before knowing them. I hope you have enjoyed this latest installment to the Bartender Stories. Until next time, remember to eat it every day!

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Published by Scorpion Sting using my Droid.

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That’s A Great Smell

A Moment In Time Became A Memory

Originally Posted 28 January 2013

Remembering yester-year seems to happen to me more often than not in my life lately. I don’t think I am trying to figure anything out; I don’t think I wish to re-live any specific event, but something seems to trigger a lot of reminiscent memories for me. Perhaps, as suggested by my wife, I have too much “down time” and my mind begins to wander. Maybe she is right; of course I will never admit that she might be right, that would be marital suicide. Just so happens that this story I will be telling shortly has it’s memory sparked quite a bit from different sources and for different reasons. It happens when the subject is brought up directly, mostly brought up by my father, it happens when someone asks or talks about my dayglo orange Volkswagen Thing, or about when my ex and I were inseparable while dating. It is all true, I did drive a VW Thing and we did date 3 years of high school, dated 2 years of me being in college, and we did get married, stayed married for 12 years, divorced finally, and she is now my ex. We were together for a long time I suppose, some might say, myself included, that we were never really meant to spend our entire life together, some might say we should have never been together in the first place. But, those are not the answers I seek to share here today. I have made some promises to some friends, one who is even a doctor, that I would share my own personal story of a bizarre trip to the emergency room way back in the summer of 1984. Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of any sort to share. Even if I did it might be just a wee bit too graphic. So, anyway, here we go.

 

Back when my ex was my girlfriend it wasn’t exactly a match made in heaven. I knew of her, but one could say she wasn’t my type. My freshman year in high school I “dated” a few different girls on a regular basis. Part of this was because I had a car and a driver’s license. Both of which were unheard of for a freshman at that time. How I got both is altogether a different story. We will leave it at the fact that I had both and they were my ticket to having more fun than the average freshman. In fact, not to sidetrack from the story, I lost my own virginity on the hood of that VW Thing. Anyway, I met my ex while I dated her younger sister, younger by a year in case you are interested. She used to give me hell because she knew we were out drinking and doing things to each other that are better left unspoken at the dinner table or in church for that matter. Soon enough my sophomore year started and I was talking with one of my friends who happened to also be one of my ex’s friends as well, they have been lifelong friends, I was the new person to the “group”. My ex wouldn’t give me the time of day as girlfriends tend to talk about things and I have done most of those things with most of her friends. What can I say, I was addicted to sex, not love, not romance, just raw emotionless sex. No commitment, no flowers, no cards, and no bullshit strings attached. I always had two things at my ready disposal, alcohol and my car. From my gathering, I never thought any of them ever had a problem with my “arrangement”. Well, not until they started dating for real, then the things I got to do were their dirty little secrets. As I write this I remember always waiting for the “I am pregnant scenario” to unfold, but it never did. Then one day, out of the blue, I was trying to con my way into a date with my ex. I not only got the cold shoulder but I also was on the receiving end of some real choice words. Such a mouth she had! I never pursued anyone like I did her. It was way beyond lust, it was way beyond being told no, it was deep and I started developing feelings for her the more we talked. We actually became friends, in private of course, because in public and in front of her friends she was a complete bitch to me without warning. But when we were away from them, she was nice to me and I was nice to her. It was all but a very confusing game we played. To this day I still don’t completely understand it.

 

We did begin dating, very traditional dating. I would pick her up from her house, I would sit and talk with her parents, we would go to eat or to see a movie or go to the mall, always making sure she was home by 11 p.m. on Friday and Saturday nights, the only two days I was allowed to take her anywhere by her parents. Whereas I didn’t have a curfew, not even on weekdays. My parents had an unspoken rule about my curfew which was I continued to keep my straight A average in all classes and stay out of jail. I did both with little effort. We dated for a few months, 3 or 4, and our relationship really developed, she would even hold my hand in school and in public, she would kiss me no matter who was able to see it, and she was nice to me always. She alienated most of her friends because all of her spare time was spent only with me. Her sister had a softball game one night during the week, a late game, didn’t even start until 8:30 p.m. or so. Her mom said we could go see her since it was a play-off game and also because it was 4 blocks from their house. That night was misty with light rain on occasion but not enough to stop any of the games or delay them. I went to pick up my ex at her house. I had to wait for her to finish getting ready so I sat and talked with her mom for a bit. When my ex walked out I was knocked out with how she looked. She normally had a real “preppy” look, always slacks and a blouse of sorts or a long skirt with a blouse. I had never seen her in anything else, ever, never before did she dress it down. But on this night she chose to surprise me, she was wearing some skin tight Levis 501 jeans and a t-shirt with her sister’s team on it. Want to talk about impressed, that doesn’t even begin to describe it. So we get in the car to go to the ball park and she looked at me and asked if I liked her new look. She explained that it was because of me and a few comments I made about her dressing like an old lady all the time. It was never said to be mean or to actually be taken seriously, it was always me just joking around. She told me why we were driving that her jeans were so tight that she was unable to wear any panties. Yea, they were that damn tight. We parked, walked to the field her sister was to be playing at, got a couple soft drinks, and went to the top of the bleachers to sit. We sat there to watch her sister’s team wipe the field with the other team sealing the deal for their place in the championship coming up. Her sister came to where we were and told us that she was going to get a ride home from a team mate’s mom and for us not to worry about it. After a short conversation she went back down and left.

 

My ex and I sat up there on what had become cold and wet bleachers for a little while after everybody left. We watched the entire cleanup and the shutting down of everything as we just sat there and talked. We were making plans for the summer coming up since she knew I was going to be home this summer because my dad had died in his accident the summer before. It was a touchy subject with me so she didn’t bring it up much. Our plans included trips to the beach and the local lakes and such. She had mentioned that she wanted me to help her pick out a new bathing suit and how she was looking forward to me being there. She was talking about a few things that night, it was different, she was opening up to me and at the same time re-assuring me that our relationship was indeed sincere. By now they had turned the field lights off and almost everyone that was there is now gone. It’s time to go; I don’t need to get either of us into any trouble for being too late. We stood up and began to make our way down the bleachers. About three quarters of the way down she lost her footing and slipped. I was right beside her, had ahold of her hand, and when she fell her hand was yanked out of my own. When she fell, she landed in a fashion which she ended up straddling the bench seat portion of the aluminum bleachers. She let out an instant scream; she was in pain, serious pain. We both got her back on her feet so we could get off the bleachers all the way. She was bleeding real bad, the crotch of her pants quickly became dark with blood. It was hard to see, she sat on the last bleacher bench and guided my hand to where she was injured, when I pulled my hand back it was covered in warm blood. We still didn’t know exactly what got cut so we walked to the restrooms so we could assess what happened. By now the blood was very visible and it was coming on strong. Once we got her jeans unbuttoned it was still unclear where she was bleeding from. I imagined sliding her pants down one day, wondering what I would see then, but had no idea that the first time I slid her pants down that it was going to be to see where she was injured. It was very severe, she didn’t have a cut or slice, she had a “rip” in her skin, more specifically, she had ripped one entire labia majora and it was bleeding profusely to say the least. I pinched her bloody labia between my thumb and forefinger to try to stop the bleeding, she looked as if she was going to black out. I wadded up some paper towers to hold on it, gave her instructions to hold decent pressure on it, and I left to go get the car. Due to the nature and arrangement of the ball parks I could only get back so close to the restrooms. When I went back in to get her she was standing in a giant puddle of her own blood. I wadded up more paper towels, held them in place, and we tried to get her pants back up, buttoning them was impossible. When we got into the car it seemed like she was beginning to bleed heavier, so I took a towel I had rolled up in the back seat and we stuffed that down into her pants. The command decision was made to take her to the emergency room and go from there. It was a rough ride for her, every motion the car made caused her extreme pain.

 

When I pulled into the emergency room I helped her out of the car and we went inside. She was immediately taken to the back for assessment. I, on the other hand, got to stand out front where I got the 3rd degree. My story, for some reason, was beyond belief and I was all but called a liar and a rapist. Her parents arrived soon enough, as well as my own parents, and the deputy sheriff. Everyone had questions; both of us were talked too multiple times by multiple people. I was liar and she was covering for me somehow or another. That’s neither here nor there, but it made me feel very “low” as if somehow this entire situation was my fault. Her family asked me to leave because they didn’t want to deal with me at that point in time, I would be dealt with later and I wouldn’t like it. Meanwhile, the drama was happening at the front entrance. Seems the blood that had been dripping out the floorboard drain holes had begun to puddle up and became very visible, enough that cops were called to check it all out. My car was seized as evidence and towed off. I was taken into police custody for questioning. After all the paperwork was done I was released into the custody of my parents, who still didn’t believe what happened. The following morning, as I was being taken to school by my dad, we drove by the park, which at that point had police and crime scene investigators doing their thing. (Did I mention she lost a whole hell of a lot of blood?) Later in the day the story was in the local paper, which in the article asked the public to step forward with information on what had to be a homicide. My called the crime stoppers number, police came to the house, went to my ex’s house, and finally sorted it all out as being one long connected event that took place the night before. I was not allowed to speak with my ex by her parents for an entire week; my own parents were forbidding it as well, but for different reasons. The only reason I got to speak to her was because she had returned to school. We were able to talk then. She told me while she was in the emergency room that investigators ordered the rape test to be completed. When they figured out she was still an intact virgin then that too passed. She got 17 stiches total starting from the lower (anus side) all the way to the top of the labia majora ending inside at that point. (Sorry, it’s kind of hard to describe.) The stitches were done “neatly” by the surgeon yet she was told that one day she might have to have plastic surgery for cosmetic purposes as he did not know how it would heal or how it would scar in the end. She went thru a hell of an ordeal but she remained with me because we both knew that the rest of them were full of shit. What was told was what happened, nothing more, nothing less. Later that day, she offered to show me her stitches. Between the stitches and the bruising I was hard pressed to even think what I was seeing looked like any vagina I had ever seen. In due time the stitches came out, the swelling went away, and the bruising went away, but the scar was staying for life. After 30 days I got my car back. About the same time both sets of parents eased up and agreed to let us continue dating. From that point forward one of my favorite things to do was to simply trace her scar with my finger tip, she never seemed to mind, dressed or undressed.

 

Years went by and we were married and soon after along came my now oldest daughter. When she was born it was hilarious because the mid-wife had a lot of questions about the scar, still visible as an indention in the skin. For fun, I will share what I consider a “funny ha ha” about my ex-wife. When we were in the process of getting our divorce, she had moved in with her boyfriend, and I was packing up all of our personal belongings so I could give her hers. I came across a card, on the envelope was the word “Scar” and the paragraph written inside started with “Scar, blah blah blah……” and was signed by the jackhole she was now shacked up with. I thought to myself, wondering, as I have done on some other occasions since, with a simple question. Does she think of me each time someone sees her scar, does she think of me when someone inquires about the scar, does she think of me when another man touches her scar, does it still tickle, does she tell the story? Of course, I will never know, but I have always wondered. Anyway, that’s the story. Sorry I was unable to present y’all with a visual representation; if I had a picture I would sure share it.