It was a Friday afternoon. It was my day off, so I stopped by my favorite poolside bar to meet a couple of friends. They were crowded around a table on the patio, sopping wet, rowdy and surrounded by empty cups.
They were making new friends, challenging one another to dares. Some of them were covered in the type of hand-drawn tattoos that, with enough shots, can lead to real tattoos given in someone's living room. Two of them were halfway through a "SPRING BREAK 09" back piece when I noticed a freshly drawn Korn tat across someone's ribs. The "R" was (carelessly) written correctly.
It was clear that they'd already had enough drinks to inebriate a small army.
I needed to catch up. Fast.
When I came back from getting my fill at the bar, a guy in our group (let's call him Jesse) was embarking on a dare with a new pal, Debbie. If Jesse won, Debbie would have to strip down to her underwear and swim a couple laps across the pool.
"Deal!" she said with confidence.
"I'm going to go talk to that guy. Mr. Muscular," Jesse said pointing at the not-so-muscular 20-something lounging a few yards away. Jesse had to lick his torso, and if he succeeded, Debbie was going to have to live up to her end of the bargain. And suddenly, he was off.
"I just need to lick your stomach from here to here," Jesse said as he ran his finger across Mr. Muscular's stomach, from one hip to the other. "Then this chick will get in her bra and underwear and hang out."
"Oh, I'm into that!" Mr. Muscular said, nearly jumping at the opportunity.
Debbie was already trying to back out. Suddenly, she was too shy to make the dive, but the guys weren't having it.
"Man up," Jesse yelled across the pool. "A deal is a deal!" he screamed. "I lick his stomach. You take off your clothes. It's simple."
People started paying attention as Mr. Muscular got up to join Jesse. He removed his ear buds and stared at Debbie. The anticipation was building.
Suddenly, Mr. Muscular channeled his inner R. Kelly: "Come on Deeeeb-bee. Cooome on Deeeeb-bee," he crooned. "I'm gonna let him lick my belly, so get in your underwear pleaaaaaaase. Deeeeeeb-beeee. I said, cooome on Deeeeeb-bee. It's time to get in this pooooooool toooooday."
He soon realized she wasn't putting out. So he paused, put his buds back in his ears and shot Debbie a dirty look. He returned to his chair without another word.
As we tried to control our laughter, a man probably 25 years our senior walked up to the pool. With a stern, dad-like anger, he pointed a finger at Mr. Muscular, then at the parking lot. To Mr. Muscular, then back to the parking lot again. You could see in his face that he meant business. He meant NOW.
Mr. Muscular hurried to his feet and followed the man out of the pool area. He wasn't able to get in even the quickest of goodbyes before he was rushed away from us.
A couple minutes later the bartender came outside. "Did one of you try to lick a minor's stomach so their girlfriend would get naked?" he demanded.
Needless to say, we were cut off.
Lindsay Gigler is a bartender and blogger. You can check out her blog, Cocktails From the Darkside, at cocktailsfromthedarkside.com.
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