Page 395 of S is for SEX

Immediately, they all began putting on their helmets. Asian midget number one put on his helmet, pushed his pistol back into the rear of his pants, and mounted his crotch-rocket. In unison, they all started their bikes. In a single file formation, they left – one after another.

Shaking, I turned and glanced at Beth. With a look of surprise, she shrugged her shoulders. I reached over the top of the car and got the bottle of vodka. I unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. As I pulled my lips from the bottle, I shivered.

Fucking vodka.

I put the bottle back on the roof and turned to the parking lot.

Dough!

Dough stood by the hood of his multi-colored Honda and smoked a cigarette.

“Dough! Come here, it’s Christy from the coffee shop!” I screamed across the darkened vacant lot.

I turned and walked to the passenger side and got in. I slipped on Heather’s pants, bra, and shirt. I slipped on the flats, and turned to Beth, who was already dressed.

“I can’t believe you got out naked. And I couldn’t tell. It looked like you rubbed one out when he was asking you your name,” she giggled.

I nodded my head and shrugged, “Yup. It was like a combat jack.”

“Combat jack?” Beth asked, her face smeared with wonder.

“Yeah, guys in combat do it all the time. With bullets flying and bombs going off, they just whip it out and jack off. Right there while at war. I heard it was an intense orgasm, so I thought I’d try it. Combat jack,” I laughed.

I turned, opened the door to the car, and got out as Dough approached.

“Who the fuck was that little bastard, and what the fuck was it about?” I demanded.

“Vee-ehht Read-ahh gang. You talk to Vee ehht Cha-Lee,” he responded as he bowed.

I, for some retarded reason, bowed back.

“Viet reader? Like they read books,” I asked, confused.

“No. Vee-ehht Read-ahh. Rike boss man. Read-ahh,” he responded.

I thought for a moment. Like a boss man. Holy fucking no speaky engrish. Read-ahh is ‘Leader’.

Fucking Asians.

“Viet Leader?” I asked placing emphasis on the “L”.

He bowed.

“That’s the gang? Viet Leaders? And that little pasty faced midget was Charley?” I asked, pointing to the street.

He bowed.

I got the vodka from the roof and took a long drink, looking over the top of the bottle at Dough. I pulled it from my lips and wiped my mouth with my forearm. I extended my arm and held the bottle in front of me.

“Drink?” I asked.

He bowed and took the bottle. As he brought the bottle to his lips, he jerked it upward and drank. And drank. And drank. Fuckin damn, dude.

Fucking Asians.

He lowered the almost empty bottle and handed it back to me.

“Listen, you owe me. I have no idea why that dude got spooked and left when he heard my name. I have a few ideas, but who knows. You owe me. And we were supposed to hang out. I’m just going to spill the beans, so to speak. That’s an American term. It means put it all out there. Well, so…uhhmm, here we go,” I said, and tipped the bottle draining the remaining vodka.

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