Wednesday, October 1, 2008

We're Not In Kansas Anymore

**Editors' Note: This guest post came in from "The Scarecrow" aka "Mista Gonads." Thanks for submitting 'Nads :) **

My senior year in high school, I left my hometown of beautiful Bend, Oregon, for a new and exciting life in San Diego, California. What a dream; I was going to a totally new school with people that wouldn’t remember the time I farted in fourth grade music class.

I had a popularity plan. Right away, I started selling cheap weed. Easy.

To round out the number of friends/customers, I got into the dramatic arts program. I was the shining star of their theatre, so when parts for “The Wizard of Oz” were selected, I was chosen to play the Scarecrow. I took the job seriously, I even stopped smoking for the play. We were an ambitions group, and incorporated several dance routines into the play. Naturally, during a rehearsal, while I was dancing with Dorothy, she fell in love with me. I think it was my beautiful eyes.

Dorothy was a very cute junior with light skin and a petite body. She had long, soft brown hair and big brown eyes that would often make me forget my dance steps. I would casually flirt with Dorothy between takes. Making her giggle was the highlight of my day. It was too easy. There was one major disabler though: Dorothy’s boyfriend, Kevin. Kevin was 6’2” and played football, basketball and baseball. He was strapped. I assumed he would be the problem.

After the play was over, we had a “cast party.” After holding off on smoking for so long, I was ready to get high. Really high. I did. I giggled a lot, I got the munchies, but other than that, my memory is fuzzy. I do clearly recall sitting between Dorothy and the Wicked Witch and telling them both stories about Oregon. These stories always make a girl, any girl, love Oregon (and me).

I knew I was going to make out with at least one of them. Of course, I decided to make out with Dorothy. To this day I regret that decision. I should have chosen the Wicked Witch (I recently heard she was modeling for several chic clothing companies in New York. Damn).

The final memory I have of that evening was of Dorothy and me making out on top of a bunk bed during the party. All the other actors and techies were snickering and whispering about how Dorothy hooked up with the Scarecrow after all.

It only took Dorothy’s boyfriend, Kevin, two days to find out about our escapade, and he was not happy. Even the baseball bat he was carrying when he confronted me looked pissed off. I still can’t remember what I said to him that convinced him to give up the idea of killing me. I may have just outrun him. Either way, with Kevin out of the picture and summer drawing near, Dorothy was able to concentrate and turn her crush into an obsession with me.

I had been living in a two bedroom apartment by the beach with three other guys. I had the couch. Dorothy would come over on occasion. Or rather, I would driver over to her house, sneak her out of her window, take her back to the apartment, and fuck her on the couch, praying that no one would walk in on us. These rendezvous continued through summer and after I had finally found a real house to live in.

Dorothy and I had been “dating” on and off for four months when I received a phone call. A male voice said: “You better stop seeing her or you’re going to get messed up!” *Click.*

I called Dorothy immediately and broke up with her. No pussy is worth my safety. I thought Dorothy would understand. However, I had neglected to compensate for Dorothy’s “bi-polar” and “semi-psychotic” behavior. Dorothy was devastated over the break up, but I still planned on never seeing her again.

About a month later when I was riding my bike home from work, I saw Dorothy and her best friend (the good witch, Glinda) walking down the street in alarming proximity to my house. I stopped to see what in the hell they were doing in my neck of the woods. Dorothy and Glinda claimed they were “looking for jobs without any success.” Funny, I had heard that they’d both become part-time strippers soon after I broke up with Dorothy. I blew it off and continued home.

Less than a week later I came home to find that someone had stolen my entire weed supply, my cash and my bong. I was enraged.

I called Dorothy claiming I knew she was the one who had stolen my whole business set up. “I’m FUCKED!” I screamed as she pleaded innocence. I owed $300 for that bag of weed and now I couldn’t even get high to make myself feel better. I started crying in disbelief “I should have made out with the wicked witch.” This time I was seriously done with Dorothy and never wanted to speak to her again.

Later, on a warm spring night after a heavy night of drinking with my roommate, I had an unexpected knock at my door. It was Dorothy and Glinda, and both drama students seemed very drunk, at least to my drunken self. Dorothy and Glinda claimed that they were at a party up the road and wanted to come hang out. I invited them in and gave them each a beer.

A group of us went into the back yard to smoke when Dorothy and Glinda started to grope me all over, not being shy with other people around. They managed to make everyone feel uncomfortable to the point where it was just the three of us remaining in the back yard. With two very cute girls sucking on my body, I started to plan my next move, but they had me out numbered and out positioned. Dorothy whispered in my ear, “Let’s go into your bedroom,” as Glinda started to tug on my left arm like the horny 18-year-old she was. Dorothy, Glinda and I landed on my bed with a thud as they started to rip off my shirt. Dorothy and Glinda bit my nipples, licked my body, and kissed each other. I really started to get into the mood when their clothing went flying across my room.

Glinda rode me in her thong while Dorothy wanted to kick it up by tying my hands to the bed. I started to get nervous. I saw this situation going bad quickly, especially when Dorothy and Glinda blindfolded me. I pulled up my eye protection up just enough so I could see what Dorothy was doing as Glinda played cowgirl on my throbbing apparatus. Then I saw Dorothy lunge into my closet where my stash of weed and money had been before I was ripped off. I sat up, hands still tied, and yelled “HEY! What are you doing in my closet?” Dorothy darted back to my bed and told me it was time to get out some condoms. Glinda removed my blindfold as Dorothy reached into her purse. I should have known there were no condoms. She swung her hand in my face and unloaded half a can of pepper spray, point blank, into my eyes.

Now I’ve had broken bones, bugs bite, and the shit kicked out of me, but there is no pain like being maced. The excruciating pain hit my nerves as I screamed. Dorothy and Glinda grabbed as many of my personal items as they could before running out of my house in nothing but their thongs.

My roommate, freaked out by two half-naked girls fleeing our house like it was on fire, heard me scream in pain and ran to my room. Of course, he turned on the light to reveal me: his drunk, naked roommate, tied to the bed with watering red eyes. I screamed “THOSE BITCHES MACED ME, AHHHHHHHHH!” I thought I was going to die.

I decided to wash my face with water; this only caused the infectious spray to flush down my chest and onto my stomach and genitals. My penis was officially on fire. I felt like my dick was going to fall off and after it fell off I was going to die. I didn’t sleep that night, I felt like I was sunburned, had rubbed sandpaper on my skin, taking off a layer or two of skin, and topped it off by taking a bath in lemon juice.

The only redeeming quality I can find of that night is this story. Also the fact that in Dorothy’s and Glinda’s panic to leave, the dumb bitches left their purses with IDs, credit cards and cash. It was apparent when I found wads of cash that they were indeed strippers. Early the next day my phone would not stop ringing. Dorothy and Glinda felt guilty and knew they’d better come up with a deal or I was going to the police. I told Dorothy and Glinda that I wanted an apology for not only assaulting me, but for my stolen property, $1000 in cash, and my bong back. In return I would give Dorothy and Glinda all their personal items. They agreed and I went to their place to finish the deal. I brought a knife just in case Dorothy and Glinda were planning to fuck with me again. On my way over to their apartment I told myself I would claim self-defense if I had to kill one or both of them.

When I got to their place they apologized, gave me the money, packed weed in my bong, and shared the story of that unbelievable night. Shortly after, we all fucked in the living room of their dank apartment. It still wasn’t worth my time though. Hot sex with two girls can’t make the memories go away. They only bring them back. I smacked Dorothy and Glinda several times during the hate fuck I released upon them.
I have not been maced since, but I’m still scared of women who carry mace. I won’t date them. At least now if a woman asks me “Why won’t you date me because I carry mace?” I won’t have to tell her this embarrassing story. This would have never happened in Kansas.

7 comments:

Jane said...

haha. fantastic story. you guys all sound like assholes. :D

itinerantwoman said...

obviously you've never been to kansas.

Anonymous said...

I think I hate you.

busta_gonads said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anonymous said...

You should treat women the way you would want your mother to be treated. Not like a mentally retarded coward.

Serial Monogamist said...

Are you calling his mother a mentally retarded coward, Anonymous?

busta_gonads said...
This comment has been removed by the author.