Fierce D.C.

Justin Foster is guest blogging today.  I coerced him into sharing this heartwarming tail. 
 
So my brother’s best friend Aaron from High School got married last week in D.C. He invited me to the wedding even though I always knew him back in high school but we weren’t really what you’d call friends. More like Friendsters. He’s a very competitive guy who always exceeded any goal he ever set for himself and that always impressed me. But it did bother me some when he would ask me things like how many periodicals the library at my college had. Then with delight he would tell me how many periodicals Duke had. And the average class size for Sophomores at Duke. And how many basketball titles Duke has won. And the number of Fulbright scholars from Duke. Now, I may not have learned a lot at my college but whenever Aaron was back from Duke, I sure learned a lot about Duke. Did you know Duke students can actually walk on the lawn at the white house if they’re in town and call ahead at least a day in advance? Swear to God. 
So when I was invited I thought I gotta go see Aaron get married. It’s sure to be one hell a Duke-a-fied affair. Plus, I’ve always wanted to fuck a Fulbright scholar. Maybe one would be there. I flew out on Thursday because my job is casual this time of year and my best friend from Elementary School lives in DC too so we were gonna hang out for a few days before the wedding. Unbeknownst to me it turned out there was a bachelor party that night! All right. Good times. I cancelled dinner plans with my life-long friend and said I was gonna have to go check out some boobies. I’m single and broke and I live in LA, I haven’t seen a boobie going on two weeks. I’m desperate. And yes, I do get laid that much in LA. This place is full of morally flexible girls. But the most important thing is I’m two weeks into a boobie-drought. I have to go to this bachelor party. 
I met my brother Jesse and our other friend Eric at the hotel and then we hooked up with Aaron and his older brother Travis to go over to the bachelor party which is at “someone’s apartment.” Aaron now runs a very big fund in DC, while his brother Travis works for the Secret Service and has quite possibly the coolest job of anyone in the world. He’s the man. I mean, really, the man. Six foot four two hundred and five pounds of walkin’ talkin’ Jesus. With a badge and a gun. Bad ass dude.  
Which made me feel a lot better that we were rolling with him when we pulled in to an apartment complex near RFK stadium. Not really scary so much as not a white person for a hundred miles and hmm isn’t that interesting. Aaron and Travis are African-American but they’re Tucson–Arizonan-African-American. I guessed there’s a difference and it turns out I wasn’t wrong. “Where the hell are we?” I asked. 
Aaron, “What? You nervous, Foster?” 
Me, “No, not at all. We’re safe though right? Travis? You’re strapped?” 
Everyone but Travis laughs. 
Travis, “Man, shut the fuck up. This is a party. (TO AARON) Did he have to come?” 
Travis never really liked me in High School. 
Aaron, “Justin, just wanna say, thanks for making it out. I sent you that invitation I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”  
Justin, “Totally. Congratulations. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Very happy for you. Listen, are we gonna be the only white guys in there? Just curious.” 
Aaron and Travis started laughing. Aaron, “This’ll be great. Now you’ll know what it was like for us going to a party back in ‘Zona.” 
Aaron and Travis start laughing again and we get out of the truck and go inside. Up the stairs and into the living room where there are 30 guys drinking and talking and listening to Lil’ John. Very normal bachelor party. Except me and my brother are the only white guys there. I’m socially adaptable so I start making my rounds, mingling. We were introduced to Aaron’s brother-in-law and a few other guys who’s names I was too scared to remember. My brother and I got a beer and I went out to the deck to have a smoke. Where I met a young Jamaican guy about five foot four. Very nice guy. Introduced himself. I felt relieved to be talking to someone who wasn’t six foot nine. His name was Benny. I tell him I’m from LA. “You ever been to Jamaica?” He asked right off the bat. 
“Um, no. But… my sister went there on her honeymoon. She said it was quite beautiful.” 
He took a drag of his smoke and nodded affirmatively. Indeed, Jamaica is God’s country. 
“Ya wanna fuck a Jamaican girl?” He said in a slow thick accent. 
“Uh… I mean, yeah, I guess. They’re very pretty. Someday perhap--” 
“One second.” He said and pulled out his cell phone.  
Great, I thought. He got a phone call and now I’m out of this very short but very weird conversation. Whew. I was about to make my way inside when I heard him say, “Oy, girl. Me got this boy here from LA, him look real good. Reeeaaal good.” Pause. “Nah, him look real good. Here. Talk to him.” He hands me the phone. “Go, bra.” 
Me, (INTO PHONE) “Hi, how’s it going? I’m Justin. I just met this guy and he told me we should talk. (NOTHING) So, how’s it going?”
She says, “Good.”
I say, “Whatcha up to tonight?”
“Watching a movie.”
“What movie are you watching?”
“Kung Fu.”
“Which one? Is Bruce Lee in it?”
“I don’t know. Is he Chinese?”
“Yeah.” “Could be.”
“Is it Enter the Dragon?”
“I don’t know.”
Jamaican guy rolls his eyes at me. “Alright, well, it was nice talking to you.” I hand the phone back. He says a few things to her, mostly one word answers, then hangs up. “She say she want to meet you at your hotel. When you leave?” “Sunday, but—“ He hands me a card. “Call me. I’ma get a beer.” And with that, he walked off. I tried to follow him inside but just then I noticed the strippers were already dancing. I was outside for all of five minutes and not only had I gotten a prostitute but the stripper was already naked and toying herself with a green dildo. Which was very shiny. Man, this party was moving fast. I joined the huddle of guys around her as she’s dancing for the bachelor. Everyone’s totally into it, staring, not saying a word and watching this girl. The stereo’s blastin’. She’s in the middle of doing her thing when she suddenly stops and addresses the crowd- 
“Yo, I know he’s the man of the hour. Like I’m here for his entertainment and all. But I’m about to stick an eight inch raspberry flavored dildo in my pussy. And maybe my ass if the tips get good enough. So don’t the rest of ya’ll be afraid to start tippin’!”  
And with that everyone started pulling out wads of cash and saying, “Oh, damn! Here you go! Shit! She serious.” 
Then she goes on with the show. And after a while I notice that, in addition to the very fragrant raspberry coating on the vessel, there is the undeniable smell of someone who’s in a not-so-fresh way. Now, I’m a guy and there’s something intoxicating about the smell of a woman who’s about on FOUR on the Aromameter. This girl was on YEAST INFECTION. I tried breathing through my shirt but I was getting light headed. I wasn’t sure if it was the lack of oxygen in the room, which was built to comfortably accommodate nine and was now serving thirty plus two strippers, but I was pretty sure it could’ve also been the smell of rank pussy. I had to get a smoke. And then put it out in my nostrils.
I left the door open on purpose. “Close that shit, yo!” I heard from inside. I reluctantly closed the door and stayed out there as long as I could but when my brother came out after thirty minutes and told me I “had to see something” you better believe I marched back in there. And I wasn’t disappointed. The strippers were now eating each other out while dildoing each other. Wow. One of those girls surely must’ve been born without olfactory nerves and a gag reflex. 
The show finally slowed down around 1 am and you could tell everyone was ready to call it a night. The girls had given many lap dances after the floor show and were exhausted.  
Or so I thought before Sally Smellyvag said, quite loudly, “Oh, I ain’t done yet! Ya’ll got some condoms I’ll start suckin’ some dick up in this motherfucker!” You had to hand it to Sal. She didn’t let her little gynecological ailment slow her down. I thought of all the times I didn’t have a breath mint after dinner on a date and then didn’t kiss the girl when I dropped her off because I was scared my breath stank. I had much to learn from Sally. But certainly no one would take her up on such an offer so brazenly deliv-- 
“Yo, you got any condoms up in this motherfucker?!” A few guys yelled. 
“I ain’t got none!” I heard next. 
Then, “You got like, any baggies with some twist ties or somethin’?! Cuz I’ll wrap that muhfuckah like a muhfuckah!” High fives all around. Then, “Here you go!” A condom was passed to the gentleman caller. And with that Sally began to give her first blowjob of the night. Right there in the middle of the room with fifteen to seventeen people watching. Truly astounding.  
After we said our goodbyes, I was the last in the car and very surprised to find my Jamaican friend riding in the last row in back of the truck. He had his face propped up on the back seat. “Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked. 
Jamaican Guy, “You guys a droppin’ me off at da’ store. My wife is pickin me up.” 
If that is what it was like going to a party back in ‘Zona, those guys sure had a better time in High School than I did.