Few months into my time working at the Mall, we got a new assistant security director. Jeff was a tall guy with a meaty face and a build that was simultaneously chubby (his torso) and skinny (his limbs). He parted his hair down the center, and was a devout catholic.
The altarboy jokes started on day one.
He was a good guy though. Reliable and funny. Smoked. He was closer to my age than the managements, so he ended up being more like another guard who happened to wear slacks and a tie instead of the usual getup. Having him on your side was a godsend - the man had a gift for paperwork. He didn't like dealing with customers, so nine times out of ten we'd be back out in the mall after an incident, rather than sitting back in the office filling out paperwork - Jeff took care of that.
He moved in with TJ and Carnell a few months later. The three of them and their girlfriends rented a dingy little house out in the east county. The carpet was ancient and the wiring smelled like burning if you ran the washing machine and the dryer at the same time, but it had a pool and a hot tub and enough space out back for a barbecue.
I spent a lot of weekends there.
Carnell owned a pair of ferrets - they're usually illegal, but folk in the armed forces can own them (through some loophole that escapes me), and so one corner of the living room was devoted to them. They stank, but they were clever and funny and pretty much the only thing he cared about beyond getting laid.
It was just after the Christmas incident (a story for later, by itself) when they threw a New Years party there. Setting off bottle rockets in the backyard. Roman candle duels from opposite sides of the pool, gripping my cigarette in my teeth and doing my best to set Daves shirt on fire. Floating beer bottles in the pool for launchpads. Firecrackers going off all over town. Drunk on cheap beer and eating Safeway brand hot dogs. Hit it off with TJ's cousin - a sunburnt blonde girl that was impressed that I owned a truck and wanted to know all about the black eye I was nursing. Told her while lighting of bottle rockets with my cigarette, lighting their fuses with the cherry. I can't remember her name (I never saw her again, and I was drunk, but I'll call her Dana.
Liquor came out around nine. Bullshitting by the pool with a glass full of whisky and laughing at Dave - the lone sober guy at the party, arm around his equally sober fiancé. Ended up around 11pm sitting in cheap plastic chairs looking out over the park out behind the house. Dana ended up on my lap, drunk and mumbling. Dave, being the solid guy and all-around asshole, palmed a condom into my hand. Barely got it in my pocket without her noticing.
Right then, I thought, this is going to be a great night. Around the time I finished thinking that, a whole string of firecrackers went off right under my ass. Dana took off like a scalded cat and I ended up flat on my face after flying out of the chair and tripping over my own damn feet. My friends, assholes that they were, laughed til I rolled over and caught my breath and demanded a drink.
Got a kiss for luck from Dana when the countdown hit zero. Carnell singing Auld Lang Syne at the top of his lungs, "May old fuckbuddy never be forgot." Taking shots and watching TJ drink straight from a bottle of Jager, his girlfriend topless and calling for him in the hot tub. Lighting a cigarette and holding his cousin upright, her mumbling something about going out into the park. So me and her slip out the back gate and walk away. Find a picnic table and settle in. She's drunk, stumbling. Drifting off. I light another cigarette. She wakes up a bit, takes a drag. Asks me in a low, husky voice if I have a condom.
I'm just about to say "damn right I do" when that husky tone of hers becomes a gurgle. Her head drops, forehead smacking my chest, and she pukes.
The experience of having hot liquory puke spewed onto ones erection is not something I'd recommend to anyone. Still, I'm sure it's a kink for someone. For myself, the smell alone pretty much killed any thought of amore. I was drunk enough to laugh, at least. Drunk enough that I wasn't sure I could get her back to the house. Called Dave asked him for help and swore him to secrecy.
He found us and laughed. Sound of it was the last thing I remember clearly - ringing in the new year with that mocking tone, while I stumbled after him, crotch damp with vomit and smelling like a distillery.
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