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4-4-1 Guys at a Bar

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"Guys at a Bar," part 1 of the "It was supposed to be about incest" arc.

Copyright CopperSkink (or Copper's Kink; whatever turns you on), January One, Two Thousand Ten.

All players eighteen and older (even those who don't bring their cards to the party).

Circa 2066 (subject to change depending on how well I organize my notes in the next several months), located in the (fictional) charming town of Rotterdale, North Carolina, halfway up the coast and about ten miles in on foot. Trust me, it's very pretty.

*

"What's up, son?"

"Yeah, boy. You look down."

"Nothin'."

"You're not all fucked up from bein' stuck in Argentina or nothin', are you?"

"That wasn't so bad; it was rough not knowing when we were getting back, but it's not like they beat us down there. We had enough money to eat fresh steak every night."

"So what's eating you?"

"You guys know my sister?"

"Sure. Everyone knows your sister."

"Thanks. I guess I've got the hots for her."

"So do something about it."

"Like what? Fap it off?"

"No, man. Tap that ass."

"You remember I'm talking about my sister, right?"

"Yeah."

"You want me to do what exactly?"

"Fuck her, dude. Only way to roll."

"Would you?"

"Fuck yes, doo. She's fine as fuck."

"Jackass, I mean fuck your own sister."

"Been there, done that."

"Bullshit."

"Strait up, man."

"When?"

"While ago, party. We were both pretty drunk, but we both remembered it in the morning. I ended up getting it again a few days later. 'Twas good."

"Me too, bro. I've done my sister a few times this year."

"You two are so full of shit."

"Psh."

**********

"You told them?"

Oh shit; she looked pissed. Enter a very pissed-off little blond, by the way. It was a few days later, and we was still warming up our usual seats on the patio of the bar.

"How the fuck could you fucking tell them, you fucking prick? Fucking jerk!"

She was beating him with her tiny fists. Rather hard, as it happened. He turned his body and put up his arms, but she was swinging like a little girl possessed. I've seen girl boxers, and this wasn't it. When you're not either of them, it's pretty funny.

Poor girl was such an angel otherwise. You know the "angel" look, right? Never a hair over five-foot-three; short, blond hair with the cutest little ringlets at the bottom; huge, huge baby-blue eyes that looked up at you and made you want to cry; and rather conservative clothing. At least it looked like conservative clothing on her; my sister would've looked like a fucking ho dressed like that.

But my sister cries black tears of mascara, does her hair in this bullshit ensemble, wears leather wherever it gets made to fit, army boots, and tattoos everywhere. She'd look like street trash getting dressed up for church, which is a regular thing for her. She's an avid Catholic, my sister.

Poor Tiffany took off in such a huff. "But you don't understand!" Sam yelled after her. "This idiot was trying to... so I... wait!" And then she was gone.

Man. To see him turn and come back to us, our smiling faces with our freshly-brushed teeth...

"Bad news, man," one of us said. May have been me. The rest of us were holding back our grins and our snickers.

In our experience as a four-man lady-watching team, we couldn't agree on whose sister was the hottest. Sam had twelve or some such ridiculous number, and while Tiffany was definitely in the top point-one percent of the population, so were the rest of her sisters, but not for such "obvious" reasons as Tiffany boasted. Dree was another lucky one, with three fine-ass pieces of potential arm-candy, but no one was brave enough to try, and I mean no one. Legs all the way around, but brains on top of brains. Never even went to high school, they were so smart.

Dree's middle sister Ivy was the tallest and probably the sultriest of the three. Is that the right word, sultry? Where the fuck's my encyclopedia... "Oppressively hot and moist, characterized by arousing passion." Yep, that's Ivy. A bit tall for a girl, with easygoing, long brown hair that would wave over her killer green eyes. She had tits just small enough to let the rest of her body share the spotlight, unlike her flat blond sister or her busty red-head sister.

Ivy was considered to be the dumb one of the three, everyone knew who knew them, but only because she was the one we saw at parties. We all figured the other two were too big of nerds to enjoy a good party, so Ivy, who did, must've been dumber. Didn't drink much, but she knew how to have a good time, only she was known for being more tease and less bite.

Still, she was no one's fool. Rumor got around that she actually had a PHD, so some fresh guy bet her body against his ride that he could outwit her in some knowledge contest. Ivy showed up at the poor idiot's father's house the next day, demanding why her prize that she won square hadn't been handed over, then she told the dad all about the bet. Poor guy never knew what hit him.

And then there's Sadie. Man, how bad I want a bite of her. As bad as Ivy is, Sadie was known to bite at the bait at a party once in a while, so a few lucky guys knew her name, and I mean personally. To put it in perspective, there are a few pussies out there who want one of those girls who stays a virgin until she gets married. A few less weird ones wait until they graduate, but me? I just want one who graduated puberty. My sister was no different, but being in her own crowd, what could I do?

Back to Sadie. Not legs like Ivy, nor boobs like Tiffany, or oozing corrupt sensuality like my sister, but still, there was something. What's the word? Pom-poms. The cheerleaders at our high school were seriously wicked. For those of us that didn't chill with her brother Bill, everyone knew Sadie as "Honey-Bee," her special cheerleader name. Honey-blond hair, yellow-and-black striped clothes, and a bumblebee backpack. Bubblegum all the time, skirts, sneakers, whatever; she was sexy. She didn't have to work on it because she had sexy cheerleader friends and a reputation, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have it. Girl had it in spades, as they say.

My sister, on the other hand, didn't want attention, but it got her a reputation, and her scorning of geeks and jocks alike made her either a collectable or a taboo depending on who you talked to, which only raised her H-rating even higher to all parties who sang the sorrow of the sickness.

I keep missing my point. Sadie, she puts out, but not for everyone. See, thing is, no one can figure out what her thing is. She fucked the captain of the baseball team but not the quarterback of the football team. She fucked one of her closest friend's boyfriend, but not the other friend's. She fucked a guy on the physics team, but not one from the math team. Just when the jocks started giving up on her, she fucked a boxer. And then another. No one can figure out her game, which means that technically anyone has a shot. There are girls that crave jocks like Roxanne or girls that put out for a cheap compliment like Tiffany, so they're easy targets. But Sadie, she's available, but she's mysterious. That's H-rating right there.

Four sisters, each with their own personal appeal. Sam claims to have trodden the water, as does Bill, but Sam's been there and back, so we all know he knows something about taking a woman to bed. Bill, he's my boy, but he's more for using his eyes than his tongue if you know what I mean.

This is a serious town where serious business goes on, so there aren't a hundred bars around campus like there should be, but there's still Julie's. If you behave yourself you can get a drink there, but you can't get drunk. There's the industrial section out west for bar and club scenes or the city about ten minutes north by train, but we the boys just want to chill on the patio with a few pitchers of beer and watch the trim walk by.

Julie's is located a few miles away from Downtown with some of the larger stores and restaurants. A lot of people liked Downtown for the fact that it was quaint and comfortable and there was no extra-foot traffic except for horses. But if you wanted to watch a piece of ass go by, Julie's was the place to be. Located in the heart of commercial Rotterdale, you had a perfect view of the public transit going hither and yon along with the young hotties that frequented larger, more anonymous shopping locations. Very difficult flirting with the cashier when everyone on the street knows your name and would find out about it half an hour later.

"I'd pee in her butt," Bill noticed after an exceptional heifer walked by. We all agreed with varying interest at the pair of heeled legs and revealing blouse. Probably a chick from out west coming in for a delicious sammich and some shopping for her boss. Also probably not an ounce of brains.

See, there's a problem in this sweet little cove we call "home": The women don't amount to much. Sure, back in the day I wanted a nice cute thing to bed for the rest of my life to call mother of my children, but that died out as my mother divorced and remarried some jerk from Kansas or Montana or something. I tried dating a few times, but the heartless bitches left me wanting nothing more than a quick fifteen minutes alone with the lights out so I could do nothing but feel the body I had lusted after that particular week. After I got my cookies off, all respect for her would be lost to the point that I wouldn't want to look at it anymore. Therefore I could look at someone else for the next week, hopefully bedding her that Friday. Any more than that, and you were in for a world of hurt. Gossip, betrayal, and an empty wallet. Three things I gave up on upon entering college.

We're a small football town, Rotterdale. It's not to say that we all know each other, but there isn't much moving out or moving in going on. Mostly everyone here has lived here most of their lives, so whomever you date is someone you're liable to see for the rest of your life. So it was with Roxanne. Bitch. Calling me twice daily to tell me she loved me within a week of dating, and after two months come to find out she'd been fucking some other guy for a few times a week, more than I was getting. I could've thrown a fit about it like a little kid, and hell, I was a little kid at the time, but there was my sister Becky to help me fume about her and convince me to just start fucking someone else because there were way too many dolphins in the tank to worry about getting yours eaten by another shark that can't help but smell blood in the water.

Come to find out it was more of the same thing with the rest of my posse. We all knew each other in school (besides Dree, of course), but going to school and going to college or a job is two different things. We became fast friends as we were all frequenters of Julie's bar, constantly nursing a frothy mug along with the loss of some dolphin or another that swam away before we could enjoy their rare taste for recreational copulation. Bill, he'd dated one girl all through high school just for her to break up with him because she didn't want to miss out on "life after high school," whatever the fuck that meant. More important than love, obviously.

Sampson, he... well, Sampson was Sampson. He was a bit of a dog back in his high school years, everyone knew, but he came back from the Army different. Not, "I've got through a life change," different, more like, "I can't be bothered trying to impress every piece of well-dressed tail I see," different. Actually, he picked up right where he left off, nailing his two ex-girlfriends as well as his sister in one night. That was another sister.

Sam never gave a girl the chance to get close, he simply picked one from the masses and used her for as long as it pleased him before moving on. He was only at the bar as much as the rest of us because he needed some healthy masculine company to balance all the pussy he'd been getting. We allowed him in because he was something of a lord amongst men, having nailed two of his own sisters besides a long list of women, none of whom got to him like they'd got to us.

But that wasn't to say he never had bad experiences, which is my topic at the moment. Sam's father is the rather well-known Samson Campbell, whose divorce to his high-powered wife left him with a child and one of the largest houses in town. Rather than reconcile or find a new bride, Samson Campbell proceeded to nail every piece of tail in sight, which was why he had so many children in the same age range, the older Samson discluded. The end of that story is that Sam's the eldest in a house with a large handful of children and no real mother figure. We wonder whether he took it personally, or if he believes he's adopted his dad's method of how to treat women.

Dree was just hopeless. He actually cared too much. No wicked bitch could grind him under-foot so badly that he didn't pick up and try again. Stupid bastard didn't go to high school, is the problem. Billy and I, we're immune to it by now, and Sampson seemed to know at birth, but Dree was always playing catch-up with the way the world worked. Still, he was the nicest out of us by a long shot. I'm glad my boys are good guys, but it's a bit sickening, watching his eyes bore longingly after yet another female he won't even bother to get.

"'Sup for tonight?" he asked.

"Brewer's doing something," Sam said. "Should be bumpin'." I don't know where the hell that man gets his information from since he doesn't go to college or work Downtown, but he's always spot-on. Possibly because he's also brother to the Gossip Twins.

That's just one of their names. Another is "the Trash Twins," or "the Gritty Pair," for those that have ever seen them from a mile away. Yet another reason we revered Sam: He was related to twin sisters, both of whom were considered the sluttiest virgins in the history of Mankind. A bit of a "Bender Free" complex surrounding those two. There was this concert once with the hottest home-grown honey to ever come out of Rotterdale, but tickets were impossible to get. Those that went came back like they had been in the Holy Presence.

And so it was with Cindy and Sara. Easygoing girls, but no matter how close you got to them, you never stopped wanting to fuck them, and you knew you were never going to. Yet another sickness in our town: Worse than girls who put out and switched after leading a guy on were girls that didn't put out at all despite wearing the uniform and playing the part. But we couldn't scorn them; they were Sam's sisters. They were also to fucking hot to scorn; you'd never risk word getting to them that you'd said a foul syllable on them and risk your chance of ever getting one into bed (which would be enough to last a lifetime, but we all openly admitted we wanted both, hopefully at the same time).

The traffic was dying, so we quit our usual chairs at our usual table and bid Jess goodbye. Jess was people with Dree's mom and Sam's dad, so we never had to pay as long as we took it easy with a few pitchers of beer. I think Dree and Sam are fourth cousins or something; they both went to that private school down south that you can only get to by horse. We parted ways, still some of us having a last bite at Sam for getting found out by hot-hot Tiffany, and headed in our own directions.

*****************

I was home in about twenty minutes with the aid of the town-provided streetcars that would take anyone on foot from neighborhood to neighborhood. My mom and Captain Asshole were still at work, which was a reason I took it easy on classes at Laurel in mornings and heavy on the weekends: More time in the house alone during working hours, though it was murder trying to cure a hangover from Friday or Saturday right before getting into six hours of classes the following morning.

My sister was home, thank God in Heaven and the angels above. She and I argued all through childhood, but things never got really bad with us. We went to high school together and everything without embarrassing each other; she's a senior now to my sophomore year in university. Being around her was much cooler once I got into college for some reason, either because I was more relaxed about life or because she was finally maturing, I didn't care. All I saw was that I had my boys at my side, an easy bunch of classes at school, and a cool sister I could chill with at home for a few hours before hitting this party. Speaking of which...

"Hey Beck, you hear of that gig going on tonight?" I asked into her closed room.

"I'm not going to some fruity live music thing with you and your asshole boyfriends!" she snarled immediately. I'm not much for the cheesy musicians that play at the coffee joint either, but it's something to do. But Becky, she has none of it. I swear, she hates both our parents for the simple fact that because of them she was forced to grow up in this little town instead of a huge city where she could have more alternative-lifestyle mates to read shitty poetry about death and kittens to.

"Then why are you all dressed up?" I asked before I even barged in. She was always dressed; at some point I got the feeling that her being in her underwear would simply be too cute, which would have been unacceptable to her. She was painting her toes black (yet again), dressed in a black frill skirt with a black... let's just say there was lots of black.

She didn't seem to notice me barging in, much less mind. "Might go do something; I donno," was her pathetic answer.

"Any which way, it's not fruity live music, it's a party over at Brewer's place, whoever the fuck that is. Thought your asshole boyfriends might be there, so I figured I could give you a lift if you were headed there anyway."

"What the fuck could you lift, you skinny idiot?"

Like I said, we're pretty good pals for the most part, but we're still siblings. I went to get changed so she could dry her toes or whatever in peace.

While I was in the shower, my good old buddy rose to attention. Watching all the ass graze mid-town was nice and Tiffany looked cute as a button as she ran in tears from her unfaithful brother, but damn, Becky's feet are a sight. She's got these ugly black things crawling on them since she got enough money to get inked and she's always doing the black nail polish, but underneath it all is a very cute girl with very cute parts.

I reached around myself rather than get busy with the showering as old habits took over my mind. Living in a house with three other people makes it tough to get your stroke on, so the privacy of the loud shower is always a welcome haven for hidden zen time. First it was Tiffany, blue eyes and all, in my mind as I worked my magic. Then there was the server at Julie's, always a welcome sight. Then came Sadie and Sally, both of whom I'd seen in high school, but I didn't know either of them very well while I was in lack-of-attendance. Ivy was possibly the most agonizing for me, since I didn't know her from high school at all. No, she was a sophisticated college student at the tender age of thirteen, and as such she developed quite a bit of mystique.

It was the pictures of them that really did it for me. Bill carried a picture of Sadie and Sampson had all his hot sisters represented behind his billfold, but the first time I saw them was when the proud guys revealed that they had screwed the little teases, their own sisters.

Their own sisters. That had implications: that a brother could nail the ultimate hottie. I had wanted Becky since I started glimpsing her around high school; for all her protests about rejecting society, she really started working on the way she dressed for public.

I almost asked her for a picture for my wallet once, but I could just imagine it being like, "Hey, I wondered if you wanted to come chill out for a while, just you and me? Maybe get a few pictures taken together..." Yeah, maybe after we both graduated college. She was still a high-schooler, and any interaction with her own flesh-and-blood was still forbidden for that duration. I'd have to get one from Mom instead.

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