Dear Tim, my charismatic, companion,
I generally avoid the bar as a place to seek romance. The immediate, shallow, self-gratifying lust cultivated within is not what I desire. The bar also requires a bit of social finesse, and I am not a proficient conversationalist; I am prone to stuttering, shaking, and sweating when speaking to new people. I have exhausted all other modes of finding true love, however. Thoroughly dissatisfied with my current prospects, I am willing to try anything that might show a hint of promise. So I set out on my own to tread unfamiliar territory.
The night was cool and comfortable as I strolled down the block to a nearby bar that I heard was popular among college seniors and recent graduates. In the otherwise dark, cloudless sky, the moon and stars shone brightly. I hoped it was a fortuitous sign for me. Nervous excitement built as I approached the entrance of the establishment.
After showing the stocky bouncer my ID, I entered and was immersed in a sea of air, muggy with sweat and body heat. Blaring dance music pounded my ear drums. I looked around at the patrons of the packed bar, mostly populated by provocatively dressed women with smatterings of tall, handsome men. What fortune Tim, tonight was ladies night. It appeared I had good odds as the ratio was in my favor, however upon seeing all these people I succumbed to the typical symptoms accompanying my social anxiety. Despite my feelings, I strode on. I would not let this night result in failure.
I slowly and unsteadily made my way towards a group of girls near me. As I approached, my heart raced, and my shaking increased accordingly. Only a foot away I was a sweaty, convulsing epileptic.
“H-H-H-Helllllo,” I stammered barely above a whisper.
Nobody in the group heard me. Disheartened, I sulked away from them. Glancing around, I noticed the bar counter in the center. Individuals were sauntering up to it laying down their cash for cold libation. Of course, Tim! The key ingredient I had been missing: the great social lubricant! Hopeful, I slipped through to the counter. After 30 minutes of trying to get the bartenders attention, I was noticed and ordered a shot. I downed it quickly, suppressing my gagging at the unexpected noxious taste, so that I might get back to the task at hand. I had no time to waste.
My next few attempts went as before, pathetically. So I decided I required more drink. I reordered from the bartender and this time purchased a beer to wash down the bitter, unfamiliar taste. I opted to open a tab since I did not know how much of this elixir I would need, but I could feel my confidence rising.
I turned around and spied a gorgeous golden haired vixen in a tight black top just several feet away from me with her girlfriends. She withdrew from the communal conversation to text on her phone. My window of opportunity had opened. So I walked over to her and tried not to overthink my opening line.
“Hey how’s it going?” Perfect! Nice and simple, the alcohol must be working.
“Oh… Hi. It’s going alright. What’s up with you?” she responded politely enough.
Oh shit. Throwing the ball right back, OK. It is in your court, you’ve got this. “Oh I don’t know, just decided to head here tonight, see what people get up to in here. Just one of those nights.”
“That’s cool. Did you come with friends?”
“Nope just by myself.” Shit, I look like a creep.
“Riding solo. Very brave.”
Oh…She digs it. Hell yea I’m fucking brave. “Oh you know, just one of those nights.” I already said that. Say something else quick. “Are you single?” FUCK
“Sorry no, I have a boyfriend actually…”
A boyfriend? She is clearly lying, why would she be here if she was indeed in a relationship? Are we not all here to find someone to go back home with?
I felt my heart sink into my stomach. This was a terrible loss. I could not bear the shame, I needed to exit the conversation but not before speaking my heavily air-quoted peace.
“Ohhhhh, that’s nice. Since you’re sooo “attractive” I’m sure your “boyfriend” is very fond of you. I’m soooo “jealous”. Have a “great” night.”
I stormed away and ordered three more drinks. It helped numb the awful feeling left from my rejection. This was a serious blow to my confidence, but, for better or worse, I was not ready to give up yet.
After several more failed attempts and many more drinks, I was undeniably drunk. I was growing weary of this endeavor and feeling put down. By now, the feelings of humiliation had increased so that I was becoming sexually aroused. It gave me the motivation for one last try.
Leaning on the the counter, I slid over to the nearest young lady. In my state at the time, I considered her beautiful, but I am uncertain as to whether this was actually the case. My was arm stretched out before me along the countertop, I was slouched forward, my face almost touching its surface, staring at the back of my targets head, breathing heavily and laboriously only inches away. I grinned at her, waiting for her to notice me as I bided my time to muster up courage, and the balance required to stand.
“Um… Can I help you?”
Can I help you? “Can I help you?” she asks!? I’m just here trying to start a nice conversation, maybe meet a nice girl. You don’t need to condescend to me bitch!
“F-f-f-f-f-f-f-f FUCK YOU!” I screamed as I grabbed my beer bottle and stumbled off towards the bathroom.
At the urinal, I was losing it. This had been the last straw. As I slammed my head against the tile wall, I asked myself, was it me or them? Am I no good, destined to live and die alone? Or are woman a terrible gender of people, who enjoy ignoring nice guys like me? I continued slamming my head as blood blotched the tile, and I heard my skull crack as I realized the latter must be case.
As my abject dejection transformed into enthusiastic rage, I was inspired. I quit brutally mutilating my forehead and slipped my dick into my pants, ignoring the realization that I was not quite finished urinating. I exited the bathroom and walked back into the bar.
In the middle of the room I noticed a billiards table that would make for an excellent podium. I climbed up on it and proceeded to make my address.
“I-I have something I’d like to s-s-s-say,” I said.
Some people nearby heard me or at least noticed a drunk, sweaty, bleeding man standing on the pool table in the middle of a crowded bar, but for most, my voice was drowned in the general clamor of the bar and they kept going about their night.
I reversed my grip on the bottle I was holding and flung it at the wall. It shattered piercingly.
“H-Hey, listen up f-f-f-f-f-f-fuckers, I said I have something to say!” This certainly got their attention. The bartender picked up the phone to call the police. Although unable to stand or look quite straight I began my teary-eyed speech.
“T-tonight I came out to this bar to meet a nice womun. She didn’t haf to come home with me. I didn’t wan sex. But you allusumed I did! I just wanted to meet someone new ‘cause I’m s’lonely. And you treated me like shit… you…. you b-b-b-b-bitches! An I couldn take anymore without…”
“Hey, who is this drunk stuttering asshole?!” a fraternity brother interrupted, his arm slung around a buxom blonde.
“Is that pee on your pants, faggot?” someone else shouted
The crowd erupted into booing, laughing, and jeering, throwing half-finished bottles and glasses at me. I had never been so humiliated. The shame was so great that even through my inebriation, I found it uncomfortably arousing. I basked in it. I closed my eyes, raised my arms at my sides and let the booze rain down upon me.
“Ew what the FUCK?!”
“Oh my God, what a fucking perv!”
People stopped pelting me with their unfinished beverages. I was curious as to why their ridicule had turned to disgust. I looked down and saw the culprit. After leaving the bathroom I had forgotten to zip up my fly! A critical error. Due to the humiliation and shame amounting throughout the night, a massive, throbbing erection had presented itself to my audience.
At first, I experienced more embarrassment, but this only turned me on further. A crooked smile graced my face, and a burning desire glowed in my crossed eyes. Never had I been more humiliated, but never had I been more turned on either, Tim! At least, I could try to get some gratification out of the night! I gripped my red, veiny penis and started energetically stroking it right then and there, standing atop the table.
The bar resonated with frightened shouts and screams. Some ran out of the bar, while others looked on in horror as I furiously continued.
Soon the door burst open, and in stormed several policemen. Upon realizing what I was doing, they aimed their firearms at me.
“Freeze! Stop what you are doing and put your hands in the air!”
Continuing to masturbate, I raised my free hand.
“Both hands where we can see them!” one commanded.
“One… second!” I replied, not changing my course of action.
“I said put your hands up!”
But I was so close, Tim! I was struggling desperately to reach orgasm. If not for all my imbibing, I would have released my ejaculate long ago. I would not end this night unsatisfied.
“I said hands up!”
I could not stop now. I just needed a little more time.
“Open fire!”
The boys in blue each fired multiple shots at me; bullets ripping holes open in my torso, intestines, and throat and tearing gruesome exit wounds. The force of the blasts took me airborne and knocked me off my podium. I landed hard on the floor, gasping and gurgling as I strained for breath. I could feel the intense pain as my collapsed lungs tried to suck in air through the holes in my chest. My mouth rapidly filled up with blood which streamed down my cheeks. A cough sprayed it over my face as I choked on it. A red pool spread about me.
Artwork by basper01
Originally published at deartimtheblog.tumblr.com.
