Friday Night: Act II

Written By: Dan “The Man” Sklut

When we last left off, our horny hero, Trey Mendez, was well on his way to losing his virginity. He had gathered his gear, snuck past his parents, and began driving Tracy’s apartment. Oh, how he was looking forward to arriving at that lair of lovemaking, that sanctuary of sex, that nest of nookie. But it wouldn’t be all smooth sailing for Trey. As soon as he pulled out of his driveway and sped off down the road, that familiar Pac-Man ringtone sang out from his pants pocket. Tracy was calling.

“Hey babe, I’m driving to your place as we speak.”

“Okay, great,” said Tracy. “You brought some weed with you, right?”

“What?” asked Trey. That question caught him way off guard.

“Marijuana, Trey. Cannabis. Grass. Reefer.”

“Why would we need that? I thought we were going to… you know… do it.”

“Pot helps me get in the mood.”

“I thought you were already in the mood! That’s why I’m driving through this shitty neighborhood at eleven at night!” whined Trey.

“Geez, calm down. I want to do it with you, and I want it to be great. So the weed will act like an… experience enhancer, let’s call it,” Tracy explained.

“Are you saying I won’t be good enough?” Trey felt rather emasculated asking that question.

“No, it’s nothing like that! Just think of it like chocolate syrup on ice cream. By itself, the ice cream’s delicious. But that syrup’s there to make the whole dish better.”

“Okay, alright, fine. But I’ll have to make a quick detour to get some chocolate syrup. Don’t melt just yet, ice cream. Buh-bye.”

Christ, that was corny. Why did I call her ice cream? Was that supposed to be sexy? Great. Now I have to meet up with Fred, and he’s like thirty minutes out of the way. It’s gotta be done, though. I just have to get laid. My intense biological urges tell me so.

With that, Trey drove all the way to the other side of town, and went to an old friend he knew could help him out. Without going into excruciating detail, after a half hour of driving and waiting, he bought a little baggie, and continued on the path to Tracy. Just then, the dreaded Pac-Man song started playing.

“Hey Tracy, I just got the weed, and I’ll be there in like five minutes.”

“Oh, that’s good. I was just starting to think you had forgotten about me. I’m so looking forward to this. You got condoms, right?”

At this point, Trey wasn’t even bewildered. He was dewildered. That’s two steps beyond bewildered. “What? How could you invite me over to your place to have sex and not even have condoms?” asked an audibly distraught Trey.

“What is your damage, Trey? I just assumed that all guys just carried condoms around with them in case they got laid.”

“Did you put any thought into this little rendezvous of ours at all before you called me tonight?”

“Are you saying I should have thought twice before inviting you into one of the most exclusive clubs in town? The Pink Velvet Lounge doesn’t open its doors to just anyone, you know.”

Oh shit, I’m losing her. Time to do some damage control. Sweet talk, engage!

“No, no, no! It’s not that! Tracy, baby, sweetie, T-Dawg, I like your decision just fine. I love it! I want to get into the club! Hell, I want VIP access! But when you just come out of left field asking me to get all this stuff, it’s a tiny bit inconvenient, that’s all.”

“Well, I guess I should have at least given you some warning. Sorry,” said a sympathetic Tracy.

That’s some first-class pandering right there. Damn, I’m smooth.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Just let me get some rubbers, and I’ll be at your place before you can say ‘prophylactic.’”

Trey spotted a drugstore down the road, and quickly pulled into it. He went in, and easily spotted the “family planning” section. It had a sign of a stork dropping a scared-looking baby into a furnace, with a caption reading “is this what you want for your unborn children?”

Damn Catholic-owned drugstores!

Trey grabbed a pack of condoms, and went to the checkout counter.

“That’ll be $6.66, sinner,” accused the stern-looking clerk.

“If your store is so opposed to birth control, why do you still sell it?”

“It’s not up to me. Corporate headquarters makes me stock it, but they can’t tell me how to display it. Are you going to pay or not?”

“Oh yeah,” answered Trey.

He took out his wallet, and remembered something pretty important.

Oh shit, I’m broke! I spent my last twenty on that baggie!

Now normally, in situations like this, people usually do something like explain that they have no money, return the merchandise, and walk away. But rarely has the prospect of sex produced a clear and rational mind. Trey’s thought process went something like this:

I need to get laid. I need condoms in order to get laid. I need money in order to get condoms in order to get laid. Therefore, I need to pay money for sex? No, that’s not it.

Ah, fuck it, I’ll shoplift.

“Oh my god, some woman looks pregnant and doesn’t have a wedding ring on!” exclaimed Trey, pointing to an overweight woman looking at greeting cards.

“Don’t you dare use the lord’s name in vain!” yelled the clerk, slapping Trey in the face, “And where!?”

The enraged shopkeeper took out a Bible and some pepper spray, and ran towards the fat lady, who, coincidentally enough, let out a loud A-flat note as she was tackled.

Well, she sang. My time here is over.

He grabbed the condoms, and some gum (in for a penny, in for a pound, he thought), and ran to his car. He fired up the engine, and hauled ass out of there!

Yes! Home free! Sweet Tracy, I am ready to be greeted with open arms and open legs!

About four blocks away from Tracy’s apartment, he heard a siren. A police siren. And it was right behind Trey.

“This is the police! Pull over immediately!”

Uh-oh.

End of Act II. Act III to be continued next week.