Horrible Consequences Parcheesi
This is officially a blog for assignments I did in college that I never put anywhere. Not really. One day I’ll write new things. This is from a creative writing class. It is based off of the fact that my friend told me he plays horrible consequences parcheesi with his friends. I doubt their games are anything like what I wrote; they are probably more dangerous. Anyway, this is the first draft. The revised, better version is in a hard-to-find folder.
WHEN HORRIBLE CONSEQUENCES GO TERRIBLY AWRY
By Jessica Cabot
No one expected that I would lose an arm in Horrible Consequences Parcheesi. I mean, how could they? It started out innocently enough. He looked at me and winked. It was why I loved him, and also why I knew he was straight. Only straight guys love me. He handed me a beer and smiled. I smiled and accepted, and lifted my can to toast to him. Then I winked. We both know very well that I despise beer. I chugged.
Michael sipped his, sat down on the couch, and predictably put his arm around his girlfriend. I flipped the empty beer can in the air because I had just taken a theater class in which I learned how to toss props (guns, knifes, swords) into the air in a fashionable way. I was addicted to practicing and already tipsy. He nodded at my empty beer can, smiling.
“Ian, take it easy.”
“I’ll take it anyway I can get it,” I retorted.
His girlfriend laughed at my terrible joke. I always knew I hated her.
Michael continued to smile at me in his adoring way. I would do anything he told me to.
“Why don’t you take me later?” My consistent hook-up walked up next to me and put his arm around me drunkenly. I hate him too.
“Shut up, James.”
James kissed me on the cheek, believing this was another of my terrible jokes. It wasn’t.
Luckily at that moment Lauren came into the room dancing, despite the fact that there was no music. I smiled at her. I am a big fan of alcoholics.
“You guuuuuyyyyssss,” she began.
Her inflection implied that she had a ridiculous scheme up her sleeve. She had used it before one night when she suggested we play strip poker. Strip poker ended up taking too long so we all took off our clothes. This was a huge mistake, for the most part.
“Parcheesi? Seriously, Lauren, last time there were some pretty serious consequences…” Michael’s girlfriend was annoying.
She did sort of have a point though considering that was the night she and Lauren finally consummated their drunken friendship. Michael had felt conflicted, since he was simultaneously jealous and turned-on. I wanted to console him, all the way, but thought better of it when he told me he thought of me as his bro first and foremost. It was then a title I wasn’t ready to risk losing.
“Exactly! Horrible consequences Parcheesi. What could go wrong?” Lauren always made bad ideas sound fun.
James lit up at the idea of making poor choices.
I was ready for any situation that had potential to bring Michael and I closer.
“How do we play?” the three of us asked in unison.
If Lauren lost she would have to shave her head bald. She had always contributed her successful love life to her long, luxurious hair.
If James lost he had to go down on Lauren. As much as James loved Lauren, he, more than anyone else, did not want to lose.
If Michael lost he had to try crystal meth. This seemed perhaps a little too horrible to me, but Lauren and James assured me and Michael’s girlfriend that it was “not that big of a deal, really.”
Michael’s girlfriend was also assured that surviving off of only meat for two weeks would not be that big of a deal, even though she had been a vegetarian since the age of three. Despite the fact that I knew Lauren and James were pretty wrong in this case, I didn’t care. I came up with the idea.
My consequence had not been decided. Michael smiled at me. I felt like I had inspired him. I was ready to eagerly accept anything he had to say to me.
“Ian, you know how you have a fascination with the ‘erotic services’ ad section on craigslist?”
“Yeah, who doesn’t?”
“If you lose you have to answer one of the ads and actually go ahead with it.”
Michael was drunk off his ass at this point. He had just agreed to the possibility of trying crystal meth. He giggled at the idea of me having sex with a random man from the Internet for the degrading price of “200 roses.” I giggled too, because Michael was cute.
The next day we gathered around the computer together, perusing the scum of the Internet in the hopes of finding a match I could go home to. This was because we honored all bets we made. One time James bet that he could chug a gallon of milk without vomiting and lost. As a result, he had to go grocery shopping wearing nothing but a bathrobe and facial mask. Since he did not own the materials required for a facial mask and because I would not let him borrow mine, he used green cream cheese on his face instead. Though this technically went against the outlined bet, we accepted it anyway due to its humiliating nature.
Offensive, crude pictures of aroused men populated my vision. I tried not to like them, and eventually succeeded. In the sober light of day this consequence was a little too horrible.
“I’m going to get AIDS.”
James and Michael’s girlfriend laughed at this. I shot them a disgusted look, which caused them to laugh more. It was becoming more than I could take.
“Don’t worry Ian, we’ll find someone nice for you.” Michael ruined it by smiling and patting me on the shoulder. I was once again wrongly convinced that this was a good idea.
“Here, how about this guy.”
I’m a Good Looking Professional searching for a Novice or Non Pro – m4m (Midtown)
Hi, I’m a handsome white man who would love to meet a Non Pro boy. Someone who can use some help or just might enjoy or is curious about this kind of arrangement. You should be new to this or only occasionally have done it before. You should be comfortable with your body and enjoy your erotic side. I enjoy pleasing as much as being pleased. If you would like to connect with a real man then this is for you.
“He’s good looking and likes to please.” Michael smiled and clicked on the e-mail to respond.
I had lost.
The handsome real white man had responded with an address and time after Michael had sent an explicit e-mail with an attached picture of me from our poker night debacle.
“I look forward to meeting you,” the e-mail had promised.
Our group walked to the designated apartment and arrived a half-hour before the designated time.
Everyone laughed and was in good spirits.
Lauren patted me on the back.
“Ian don’t take it so seriously, it’s just a horrible consequence.”
“Yeah, no big deal,” Michael offered.
“You can say that because you aren’t fucked up on crystal meth right now.”
James gave me a hug and a kiss on the lips to show he cared.
“I don’t exactly want you to get AIDS either. We’ll be here waiting for you. Yell if there’s trouble.”
I made a mental note to break things off with James soon after this escapade was over. I was beginning to realize that my high standards were of a higher priority than my desperateness. It was always a difficult balance to reconcile.
I patted my pocket where a bottle of mace Lauren gave me resided. She had told me the key to safe random Internet sex was to carry a weapon that could not be turned against me.
I adjusted my sock.
I knocked on the door. An attractive voice answered. I am a sucker for deep, confident, attractive voices. My hopes went up drastically.
“Just a second. I’ve been waiting for you.”
The second passed. The door opened. My heart jumped; the moment of truth. I half expected to be disappointed with a gross old man. It was the sort of horrible thing that was bound to happen in this ongoing game of horrible consequences Parcheesi. The voice was probably too good to be true.
And yet, it wasn’t. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the face matched the voice. He was strong and masculine. His eyes were droopy in an endearing way. His stubble defined his already well-defined cheekbones.
“Make yourself at home.”
I walked in hesitantly. He closed the door behind me. I heard it lock.
The handsome real white male let his pants drop to the floor.
My heart raced. Things were happening quickly.
I looked for a way out. The window was open, yards away, beckoning me to escape from this aggressive situation.
“Do you do this often?” I asked. My mind searched for successful ways to distract him. I thought perhaps we should get to know each other a little beforehand, because I am old-fashioned.
The man didn’t answer. He grabbed my belt firmly.
“I can help you with that.”
I grabbed his hand and pushed it away.
“This isn’t right. We’re classy men, right? Why don’t you offer me a drink?” I felt my voice shaking but did my best to persuade.
“Where are my manners. Of course, I’ll be right back.”
He left for the kitchen. I left for the window.
I heard him scuffle around in the kitchen for drinks. I looked down through the window, one leg and arm dangling out. A nearby tree branch seemed as though it might be just one risky jump away. I thought the situation was already risky as it was, and so I may as well go for it.
At that moment he came back with drinks. He noticed me sitting halfway out the window. He was still attractive. His droopy eyes seemed saddened by my escape attempt. I was endeared. He was still not wearing pants, but his overt disappointment coupled with the two nice glasses of wine made him seem classier and non-threatening, somewhat adorable.
“I was just… getting some air.” I said.
“I’m sorry if I came on too strong. I find you really attractive.”
I looked back at the tree, my last chance for an escape. He noticed my contemplation.
“I’m not… that creepy. I work a lot. It’s hard to meet people when you work a lot. I make a lot of money. I like paying people.” His words were awkward but his deep, assertive voice made me feel otherwise.
I decided the risk of jumping to the other tree was no longer worth taking. I stepped out of the window, walked over to him, and took a glass of wine.
I reached into my sock, pulled out a condom, and handed it to him.
I was a common whore now, but it felt good. If smoking had been allowed in his building I probably would have had a cigarette or two. I got up to leave and headed for the door, knowing that my friends were likely still waiting for me downstairs.
“I have to go.”
He scuffled over towards the dresser. My heart jumped a little again and I instinctually grasped the mace inside my pocket. I still felt nervous about the possibility of death. It wasn’t over yet. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. I opened it hesitantly, the chance of anthrax still on my mind. Though he was a gentleman in some departments of his life, true to his ad, I still did not know much about him. However, inside I found no powder at all, but a card wishing me a Happy Birthday featuring a dog dressed in a party hat. I gave him a skeptical look. He smiled and urged me to look inside. I did. 400 dollars. I smiled and pocketed it. This hadn’t been such a horrible consequence after all.
“I like you, will I see you again?”
“I don’t know, maybe” I’m pretty good at playing hard to get. I did want to see him again though. This was indeed a promising arrangement.
“Um, wait, before you go, let me show you something.”
He walked to his closet and pulled out what looked like a sheathed sword. My heart jumped again. I wanted to walk towards the door and grab the mace again, but I was frozen in fear. He smiled sheepishly. I stared at him, waiting for the inevitable, terrible pain that would signal the end of our game of Parcheesi.
“My ex-boyfriend gave me this. But, I obviously can’t use it; it’s not a proper fencing sword. And I can’t even stand to look at it anymore because it reminds me of him. Why don’t you have it?”
He handed me the sword. I grasped it in my dead hands. I was shocked. Relief flooded me. The sword felt good in my hand. I felt empowered again. It was well made. It reminded me of the sort of sword we were using in our production of Hamlet, except this one was real.
“Do you mind if I…” I began to unsheathe it.
“Not at all, just be careful.”
I took out the sword and brandished it in the air. The urge came over me to practice my theater techniques, and so I tossed it in the air, hoping to impress. The sword floated above, swirling several times before slamming down to the floor. My arm followed a second later. The man and I screamed in unison. My friends did not come. The handsome real white man rushed around his apartment, looking for his cell phone to call for help.
“This is the last time I ever play chess or dare with those assholes,” he said.
I felt the same way.