Ever had an idea for something so outrageous, so far away from reality, that you actually decided to go with it?
Once, I had scheduled a trip to go down to Mexico for business and pleasure. Two weeks in Guadalajara, and one down in the beautiful Puerto Vallarta to relax. I had told my coworkers and some of my buddies I was going. It was set to be an awesome time.
If you’re not a guy, you won’t understand what shootin’ the shit is. Basically, it consists of exchanging anecdotes, stories, and jokes while continually trying to one-up each other. In essence, anyway.
So we’re shitting bulls, Deez and my man LB and I, and somehow the subject goes off-course. I get this crazy idea and blurt out: I’ll bet you guys $100 bucks I can piss on a Mexican bitch’s face and take a picture of it.
…
Yeah, like that. Silence.
And then they started bustin’ up laughing like there was no dawn tomorrow. Brilliant! he said. Stupendous! they exclaimed.
You’re on, I said.
We set the rules, such as I couldn’t offer more than $20 bucks to the woman, no hookers, and I had to take the picture including my cock and the twenty bill as proof. Midstream.
I understand it’s kind of fucked up, and really sick and twisted in its own malevolently smug kind of way. In no way do I endorse or participate any form of urination on anybody (on a car, maybe). I just don’t get off that way, and I can’t understand anybody that could, either. This was going to be purely for show.
The next morning at work, word had arrived before I had. I had three other sharks placing bets with me, totaling another hun or so. If any of the higher-ups had any idea what was gonna go down, they kept their traps nice and shut about it. And it was on.
The plane landed, and business went as usual. Boring meetings, long conferences, and a clutch of reports to complete. I had asked around on my trips into town where the ghetto parts of Guadalajara were, but they advised against it, as the crime rates are pretty fucked up in those areas. Little did they know what sort of crime I would be committing on an unsuspecting mother trying to feed six children…
Please, stay with me here. I understand it’s fucked up. But I know you’re laughing. Let’s continue.
I bought a Kodak disposable (Fuji film can eat a dick), and headed downtown. After a few passes on a few streets here and there, my balls left me and I lost heart. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, on a poor woman on her knees in front of me. With sad, puppy eyes. Oh, the conflict! I’d have to do it in Puerto Vallarta.
The next week I arrived in an all-inclusive resort whose name I will conceal as to protect their identity and business. We’ll refer to it as “Piss Palace Two Thousand K". So my bags are in my room, and I’m all ready, and I head to the beach to hit up the waves and sand. Sometimes it’s hard not living next to the ocean. Just the smell of it ushers in a head-rush of feelings, memories, and emotions. It happens to everybody, and it happened to me. Ah, the ocean. I got a margarita with the expected tropical sunbrella and settled down on the beach scoping out some hotties.
Wait. There are no hotties in Mexico.
All the hot ones moved up to the States. How could I be so forgetful? So I sit back and relax, formulating my plan for one of the following evenings.
Three days later, I had it down to a tee (whatever that means). After spending a few days watching the room service ladies through their runs, and speaking to a few of them and their supervisors, I was sure I was getting a pretty good idea of how things worked. All I had to do was find one desperate enough…
A knock came on the door. Twelve minutes behind schedj. Servicio de quartos! came the quaint little voice.
Pase, por favor. Necessito mas toallas limpias. We’d need the towels for something entirely different… MUHAHAHAH!
Please stay with me folks. She entered, and I in essence told her to go about her business while I worked on some papers out on the balcony overlooking the bay. She started to say something, but I put up my finger to her lips and said Shhhh. It’s ok. She gave me a stern look, shrugged her shoulders, and went to work.
Out on the balcony I prepped everything in a last-minute check. Camera? Rewound. Twenty dollar bill? American-style. Balls of steel? Check. (I hope). Spanish phrases memorized? Down pat. We’re go for piss-off, control.
While she was in the bathroom restocking toilet paper and soaps, I slid in there with her. I kept the door open. I easily towered over her by a foot and a half. And she was uuuuugly. Enough to scare the butterflies out of my stomach and straight out my ass. I farted before I had a chance to say something.
You know, one of those nervous farts. I kid you not here, folks.
She stammered to say something polite, like they’re trained to, but I smiled and acted like I just gave her a flower. We both just kinda stood there in the bathroom, while the burnt lentil smell wafted itself from my ass through the bathroom. Both our eyes started watering, I think.
So I repeated the phrases I had looked up (not an easy task, given the context), and I put my twenty in front of her nose. I made sure to sound as professional and reassuring as possible. I looked her right in the eyes while I said it. I meant business.
And then the unimaginable happened.
The following week at work, everybody and their janitor came over to my desk to see if I had failed or succeeded. I got a couple of collect calls from “Goldie Chowers” and “Cara Mojada“. Undoubtedly Deez and my man LB. Everyone was anxious to see if I had done the impossible. To see if I had truly pissed on a bitches face for twenty bucks. And captured it on film.
The picture was proof enough. I walked away with over two hun that day. All it took was a bottle of Tecate poured into one of her disinfectant spray bottles, hidden under my cock while she sprayed herself open-mouthed (the guys loved that little touch) with her favorite beer. And a twenty dollar bill.
And a smile worth a thousand dollars.
Well, two hundred. Suckas.
Virtuosity | Anti | Big Cliché
By Robert Shagwell | Jul 11, 2004 | Permalink |
