Date Raped

I'm going to get all technical and shit, so bear with me for just a moment please...

You can skip reading this part, if you really want to.

Flunitrazepam, also known as Rohypnol, among other names, is an intermediate acting benzodiazepine used as an hypnotic, sedative, anticonvulsant, anxiolytic, and skeletal muscle relaxant drug. In general, the prescription of flunitrazepam as a hypnotic is intended to be for short-term treatment of chronic or severe insomniacs not responsive to other hypnotics. Flunitrazepam has been referred to as a date rape drug even though its incidence is very rare in cases that have been reported.

Flunitrazepam is known to induce anterograde amnesia in sufficient doses; individuals are unable to remember certain events that they experienced while under the influence of the drug. This effect could be particularly dangerous if flunitrazepam is used to aid in the commission of sexual assault; victims may be unable to clearly recall the assault, the assailant, or the events surrounding the assault.

And you can start reading again here, if you went ahead and skipped out on all of that bullshit.

In case you haven't figured it out by now, Flunitrazepam, or Rohypnol, more commonly known as Roofies, are best remembered as a date rape drug. In modern parlance, getting "Roofied" is the term used to denote a drugged drink and a possible sexual assault. This wasn't always so.

As Don McLean sang in American Pie,

"A long, long time ago..."

It was probably around 1985, or so; some years on the timeline are a bit hazier than others. What I really mean to say is that some years are just a fucking blur, fueled by copious amounts of drugs, alcohol, easy money, even easier women and decidedly fast times. All of South Florida was a real life set for Miami Vice back then and the lines between art and reality would often blend together.

While the Earth might revolve around the sun, South Florida in the 80's revolved around two things, money and drugs. Money and drugs are the lifeblood of Florida, they always have been and they always will be; it's just a simple truth. Florida is a smuggler's paradise like no other, a nexus point where cash, cocaine and marijuana fuel a high flying lifestyle.

In those days, I used to get my weed from Val and her husband, Mike. Val was definitely the alpha dog of the pair, while Mike always seemed to be little more than an extra in the background, drunkenly puttering around and occasionally engaging in conversation. I had been scoring weed from them for years and what had originally started as a strictly business relationship had, over time, evolved into a genuine friendship. Occasionally, that friendship would provide access to some special treats. Hey, when I'm a good boy, sometimes people throw me a bone.

One particular day, I was getting low on weed and I gave Val a call. She told me to come on over and I did. I showed up at her house, she rolled a few joints, we got high and we hung out for a bit. There seemed to be an undercurrent of sexual tension between the two of us, there always was, but neither one of us ever acted upon the impulse. Shame. I'd have plowed that field like Mr. Green Jeans on a lawn tractor.

Val mentioned that she and Mike were going out that night with some friends and she asked if I wanted to tag along. I didn't have any plans for the evening, so I accepted her invitation. That was when she told me that she also had a single female friend named Jackie, who was also tagging along and she wanted the two of us to meet, because Val thought that we might like each other. I gave Val a look that could have melted steel and she just smirked. Fuck. The last thing that I wanted was to be fixed up on a blind couples date.

Val also mentioned that she had some special party favors for that evening, something called "Roofinal" that Val described as a South American Quaalude and how many did I want?

Quaaludes? Val certainly had my attention. Quaaludes were a fun drug that made the rounds during the 70's and early 80's. Quaaludes, also known as Ludes, Disco Biscuits, etc., had been illegal for years and I hadn't seen one in a very long time.

Yeah, I was definitely interested.

Never one for half measures, I told Val that I wanted two of the little white pills and she handed them over to me. Val baited her next trap with the offer of free food. That's some seriously unfair fuckery, right there. You can get me to agree to just about anything if you feed me. Need a date for a wedding, bar mitzvah, or funeral? Is there free food? I got your back. Toss in some free booze and I'll even pretend I love you. Oh yes, me love you long time, baby. Val asked me if I wanted to stay for dinner and I told her that I would, but that I wanted to go home to shower and change first, since I had been tricked into meeting someone.

Val smirked again and then she mentioned that Jackie would also be having dinner with us and then she confessed that it would really only be the four of us going out that night.

I'd just been completely bamboozled. Again. Fuck.

Bitch was still smirking. She was really fucking proud of herself and her Jedi mind tricks.

I headed home and I thought of not coming back, but I really didn't want to risk losing my best weed connection over something so silly. That would have been really fucked up.

When I got back to Mike and Val's, Jackie had already shown up and Val introduced us. Jackie was tall, thin and very cute with a pair of boobs that were outfuckingstanding. That old AT&T commercial jingle played in my head...

I wanted to reach out and touch someone, alright. 

Val disappeared into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner, while Mike broke out the booze and started mixing drinks. I rolled a few joints and we passed those around. I'd say that we were all fairly comfortable by the time that we sat down to eat.

When dinner was finished, we took our drinks into the living room and we smoked a little more pot. Okay, a lot more pot. Val suggested that we should take the Roofies and we did. I tossed mine down with a rum and coke. It was going to be a great fucking night...

It was the early morning sunshine that woke me up. It was streaming in through the window and it was bitch slapping me across my face. I cracked open one bleary eye, winced and wondered just where the fuck I was and if anyone had caught the license number of the truck that had hit me. I tried to think. It fucking hurt. A lot. Slowly, very slowly, I began to piece together the events of the night before. Dinner, drinks, pot, Roofies and ??? I had no fucking clue. I slowly scanned my surroundings and realized that I was still at Mike and Val's house and still in the same position that I last remembered. I must have passed out, but at least I knew where I was. I felt relieved.

I closed my eyes again. I was tired, so tired.

I smelled coffee and something else. Bacon. It smelled like heaven. I slowly realized that  Mike and Val were both awake. Val noticed that I was stirring and she asked me if I wanted some coffee. I declined the coffee and I apologized to both of them for passing out on the couch the night before.

"What the fuck are you talking about"? Val asked me.

I was confused. Well, even more confused than I normally was. What the fuck was Val talking about? I had passed out on the couch and had woken up in the exact same spot, hadn't I?

Hadn't I?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I shot back.

"We went out last night. Don't you remember?" Val asked.

"Remember what?" I asked. "You're full of shit, Val. Quit fucking with me."

"Quit fucking with me," Val said. 

Was there a fucking echo?

"Bullshit," I said, "The fuck we did."

"The fuck we didn't. You might want to take a look at your hands," Val told me.

And so I did...

What the fuck? My hands were covered in stamps from different nightclubs, while several bands from others adorned my wrists.

What the fuck?

"Okay," I said. "Would someone care to fill me in on just what the fuck happened last night?"

Val explained that we had left the house and headed for South Beach, where we started drinking at The Clevelander and then made the rounds of the local bars like horny tomcats on the prowl. We finished up at the Button South in nearby Hallandale, where we were thrown out at closing time, which was five a.m., or was it seven. Who the fuck remembers?

Certainly, I didn't remember a fucking thing.

There was more, a lot more. Fuck. There's always more, isn't there? Evidently, Jackie and I had been very friendly throughout the night, becoming even friendlier as the evening wore on, until we became about as friendly as two people can possibly get, right there in the fucking club.

Sex? I didn't remember any sex. And it was in the fucking club? Get the fuck out! Where the fuck was I? Sex? Like with another person kind of sex? I had all of this sex, in a club, with a real live person and I couldn't remember a fucking thing. Now that, was super fucked up. Was it good? Was I good? Did I give her the best 90 seconds, or less, of her life?

Apparently I must have, because Val had the impression that Jackie had the impression that the two of us were now a couple.

What? A couple? A couple of what? Ohhhhh... Oh, shit.

How the fuck did I get here? My head swam.

I was so fucked. What the fuck did I do and how the fuck did I get a girlfriend out of it?

"I'm going home," I announced. "I'm going home and I'm never leaving again. I think I'm going to crawl under a rock and stay there until I die."

Val smirked and said, "I can't wait to see you try and talk your way out of this one." And then she giggled.

Bitch.

I vaguely remember the drive home and when I finally fumbled my way into my apartment, I dragged myself into the bathroom and pretty much fell into the shower. I turned on the hot water and I emptied the tank, staying under the water until it was so cold that my teeth were chattering and my balls were blue, their natural color. The ringing of the phone pulled me out of the shower and I wrapped a towel around myself as I went to answer it. I face planted getting out of the tub, taking the shower curtain and the curtain rod down with me. It's okay, my face cushioned my fall.

I made it to the phone just as it stopped ringing.

Son of a bitch.

The answering machine picked up the call. It was Jackie. Apparently I had given her my number. Even worse, I had made plans with her for that night. What the fuck had I been thinking? I was so incredibly fucked. I picked up the phone and I tried to talk my way out of it, but everything that I said sailed right over Jackie's head. Yeah, I was fucked alright.

Jackie and I went out that night and it was like we came from two different planets. I talked about how wonderful it was to be single and I swear that crazy bitch didn't hear a word I said. She kept talking about our future. What future? Us? She was out of her fucking mind. We had a date and a sport fuck that I couldn't even remember and I wasn't even sure if I liked her or not and here she was, planning our wedding and picking out the names for our kids and shit.

After dinner, Jackie asked if I wanted to go back to my place. Okay. Who am I to say no? Why would I want to? As all men know, crazy bitch sex means crazy great sex, but it comes with a steep price; you have to pay for the crazy. It's okay, though, you can pay on the installment plan, they call it a relationship.

And I was curious to see what I had missed. Well, I hadn't missed it, I just couldn't fucking remember it.

Judging by the great sex to completely fucking bonkers scale, Jackie was a twelve out of ten. Shit, I still have scars on my back from that girl.

She left a note on my pillow before leaving in the morning. I found the notepad that she wrote it on. She had doodled all over it, variations of my name, such as Mrs. Steve M., or Mrs. Jackie M.

What the fuck? She was even crazier than I had previously thought, but the sex was incredible. I knew that I had to get rid of her and I had to do it soon, but damn, that woman could do things that, just fucking wow. I tried and I tried to get rid of her; I even broke up with her three fucking times and she just kept coming back and I kept having sex with her. She was into the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing and I felt trapped. Jackie started talking about marriage and she was serious, so I did the only thing that I could do and I tried my best to make her hate me.

Shit, I just had to be myself.

It worked. Our relationship unraveled in less than a month and she gave me the whole, "It's not you, it's me" talk.

Now that night, I remember. It was the best fucking night ever... 

The Fugly Duckling

Before I start, I'd like to thank Lisa and Kristina, who proofread for me and catch most of my typos and grammatical errors. Ladies, I'm way too lazy to do it without you. If there ever is a book and I become rich and famous, I'll buy you each a doughnut. Fame and fortune won't change me. I promise not to forget the little people.

“You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.” 

― Cormac McCarthy, No Country For Old Men

I've finally started writing my second book. I haven't actually written a first book yet, but I've been writing it and it will include quite a few of these stories. Anyway, I've actually put that first book on hold, in order to write the second book, which really isn't my second book, because there's already a second book that I haven't been writing either, so maybe this one would really count as my first book if I finished it first? Or my second? Or third? Whatever. Fuck math.

I've been writing these insane stories about my dating life, post-divorce. I'd been trying to decide which dating story to tell first and I was drinking the crazy Kool-Aid of memory, when this story popped into my mind. I haven't thought about this night in many years, in fact, I'd almost completely forgotten it, but it's a tale that's ready to be told. This story isn't really about dating, per se, it's more the tale of a hookup or a one night stand.

The 80's were young, but in full swing. It was a Halloween night in Greenville, North Carolina, a raucous college town and home of Eastern Carolina University. At the time, ECU was considered to be the number one party school in the nation, which I assure you had absolutely nothing to do with my choosing to go there. It was purely coincidental. I swear. Cross my evil little heart. My roommate and friend Mike (whom I knew from summers in Atlantic City) and I were getting ready to hit the bars along with our friend Dean and we were prepared to do some serious drinking. For us, drinking was more than just a recreational sport, it was a professional pursuit. However, we still had a bit of pre-party partying to do before we could go out. Once the three of us were well past wasted, we headed for town, walking (stumbling, staggering; whatever), because we knew that we were too impaired to drive. Once in town, we joined the line to get into Rafters, our favorite bar. I should mention that we were all wearing costumes, although I can't seem to remember what any of them were, although I do recall wearing an army cap or hat of some sort. Shit, it could have been a fucking yarmulke, for all I know.

As we were waiting in line to get into the bar, the three of us were bullshitting and passing a flask of Evan Williams back and forth. It slowly started to dawn on me that I was shitfaced drunk, so I double hit the flask and passed it on. Out of nowhere, this flash of hideous electric orange appeared between us and accosted Dean.

Dean was the pretty boy out of the three of us; blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skinned - a typical WASP dreamboat. I was the opposite; tall, dark and muscular, a typical Italian guy and I got by on bullshit and charm, ringing many a Southern Belle during my tenure at ECU. Mike was a Jewish boy from North Jersey and he looked the part. Short, stocky, pale and hairy. Mike got by on fast talk and by being a novelty item. Honestly, what spoiled, rebellious, Southern Baptist debutante doesn't want to impress her daddy with the news that his precious baby girl is fucking a Jew? Maybe her sister that's fucking the black guy? I dunno...

Anyway, let's get back to the Electric Orange. The Electric Orange was apparently a female. Surprise, surprise. I thought it might have been an invasion of the fucking pixies. The Orange was short, thin, and she had a shock of almost iridescent orange hair. My eyes traveled downward, scanning her body; decent tits, nice ass. I looked up at her face and I blanched. That face. Holy fucking shit, Batman! That fucking face. The Orange was horrifically ugly. No, she was beyond ugly, she was fugly; freckled, speckled and looking like some sort of demented, drunken pixie. She said something to Dean and he said something back to her. Dean laughed, put his hands on the Orange's shoulders and spun her around to face me.

She wasn't as ugly as I'd originally thought. No, it was much worse than that. She was so fucking ugly that she had to sneak up on a mirror. So fucking ugly that if she went to the beach, cats would try to bury her. Seriously, this girl was so fucking ugly, she could have made blind kids cry.

Dean looked at me, winked, smiled, and said, "Steve, this is Jamie Lynn."

Of course she is. There's nothing like a good ol' Southern trailer trash name to help perpetuate a stereotype.

Dean pushed Jamie Lynn towards me.

"Jamie Lynn likes you," Dean continued. "You should take her back to the dorm and fuck her,"

Gee, thanks for the intro, bro. Dean didn't really think that I was going to fuck this girl, did he? Seriously, if I was that fucking drunk and she was still that fucking ugly, how bad would she look in the harsh light of morning and the brutal truth of sobriety? My eyes scanned Jamie Lynn again. Well, she did have a decent body. Fuck it, I'm in. I quickly pushed all logic aside, as all of the blood in my brain drained into my dick, leaving my mind incapable of cohesive thought.

I laughed and said, "Hi," to Jamie Lynn.

Jamie Lynn responded by pulling down the brim of my hat.

Nothing promises hot sex like a drunken dipshit. Fuck it. I'm a guy; even bad sex is better than no sex and she met the majority of my requirements. She was female, breathing and willing. That pretty much dots all of the i's and crosses all of the t's, doesn't it?

I grabbed the flask from Dean's hand and took a deep pull. I was going to need some serious liquid courage for this shit. I hit it again. I felt the warm liquid burn down my throat. I have the power!

The four of us wandered into the bar. We had a few drinks and Jamie Lynn and I got a little friendlier, making out in a darkened corner of the bar and away from any witnesses. I'm not a whore, but my dick used to be and my dick didn't care how ugly Jamie Lynn was; he was all like, "Feed me! Feed me!" Poor Dick, he's in recovery now, it's a twelve stroke program.

Jamie Lynn and I were were starting to get a little frisky, when she whispered in my ear, "Let's go back to your room."

You didn't need to tell me twice. I made the "I'm getting laid, now fuck off and find somewhere else to sleep" secret sign to Mike, grabbed Jamie Lynn by the hand and headed out into the night with my new study buddy. It was a long walk back to campus and time, along with the cooler, late night air, was starting to have a sobering effect upon me and that was something that I didn't want to happen. Oh, hell to the no. I knew that I didn't want to be anywhere in the vicinity of sobriety for this. Thankfully, there was more booze in my room. I hoped it would be enough. Jamie Lynn and I continued the walk of shame back to my room. Usually a walk of shame is what happens when you leave in the morning, wearing the same clothes from the night before, but in my bizarro world, everything happens in reverse.

We made it back to my room and things really started to heat up. I had a few more drinks to cure my anxious feelings of sobriety and Jamie Lynn and I did the dirty deed. I gave her the batter dipped corn dog, buttered the biscuit and then cleaned the cobwebs with the womb broom. At one point, she was complaining that her face was hitting the wall and I remember thinking that it couldn't possibly do any more damage than there already was and that if anything, it might actually be an improvement, so I made sure her face hit the wall a few more times, before I eased off. When we finished opening the gates of Mordor, I chased her off, telling her that I had an early class the next day and that I needed to get some rest, which was complete and utter bullshit. The truth was that she was so damn ugly, I was afraid that I might gnaw my own arm off in the morning, trying to escape from my own bed. I planned on sleeping in, going to class and then I was scheduled to work after school was done. I figured that I'd never see her again and no one need know my secret shame. Mike and Dean might know, but the threat of their bodies being found in the river would ensure their silence. Or not.

After Jamie Lynn left, I went back downtown and found Mike and Dean. We drank and tried to talk to girls until the bar closed and then we wandered back to the dorm, where we all passed out.

I woke up the next morning and it was a beautiful and warm Fall day. Unfortunately, I was horribly hungover and couldn't appreciate it. I kissed my bong good morning, hoping for a little relief, threw on some clothes, and I ran out the door, perpetually late for class.

After I was finished with classes for the day, I headed off to my job, as a delivery driver at a local pizzeria. I worked for a a couple of brothers, Greeks, who pretended to be Italian. I had one of the most popular jobs around and people were always happy to see me. Seriously, who doesn't love the pizza guy? I met a lot of girls, got a lot of phone numbers, made mega tips (although a lot of it was in coin). and I could always count on copping some free beer or some bong hits. At eighteen, I thought I owned the world and was living the life.

My shift started off slowly, with just a few random deliveries, I only made a few bucks, but I smoked a mind boggling amount of weed. Apparently, all of the stoners had spent their money on pot and only had enough change left to cover the pizza. No worries and thanks for the buzz, bro.

I was on my third delivery of the shift and I was headed over to one of the girls' dorms, which I loved delivering to, because it always provided an excellent opportunity for me to get shot down, or not. Even a blind man can find the right

I parked at the dorm, jumped out of my car and started to walk in the door when I heard a voice yelling my name. I looked around and didn't see anyone that I knew, but then the voice called to me again.

"Hey, Steve," the voice called. "Up here."

I looked up and to my absolute horror, she was much uglier than I remembered. I stood there speechless, my mouth hanging open, as I questioned the depths of my depravity the previous evening. I shrugged. It's not like this was my first rodeo. I ducked into the building.

I don't know how it is now, but back then, if you went into the women's dorms, you had to be signed in and escorted upstairs. This usually meant that the girl(s) that ordered the food would either meet you downstairs or come down once the RA called up. I approached the counter, put the pizza down and told the RA whom she needed to call downstairs.

Jamie Lynn beat the customer downstairs. She took one look at me, yelled my name, ran over, threw her arms around me and tried to shove her tongue down my throat. I felt like I was being kissed by an iguana. I was able to escape from her flying lip lock, but she came at me again. I took a step back and put up my hands. Jamie Lynn kept coming. I was trapped against the counter.

People were staring. That happens to me a lot. Entirely too fucking much, if I'm going to be honest about it.

Jamie Lynn smiled and announced to the room, "I want y'all to meet my boyfriend, Steve. We're in love."

Boyfriend? Love? What kind of bullshit was this? What the fuck was happening? Did I miss something here?

The room actually erupted in applause. White people are so fucked up sometimes.

Some of the girls came over and said hello to me and hugged Jamie Lynn, congratulating her as if she'd won a prize or something. Was I the prize? What was the prize for? Girl most likely to never have a boyfriend, or girl most likely to never get laid? Even worse, I had just been branded, pissed on,and  marked as fucking property in front of an entire room full of coeds. Word would spread and I was never going to get laid again. I would need to change my name, transfer schools, and go into hiding.

Karma. It's a motherfucking bitch.

After all of the excitement died down, the girl that ordered the food arrived and paid for her pizza. I tried to use that as a chance to escape, but Jamie Lynn blocked my way. She put her hands on her hips.

"Don't you have anything you want to say to me, Steve?" Jamie Lynn asked.

Throughout all of this, I hadn't had a chance to say a single word.

"I'm not who you think I am," I lied through my teeth.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

I quickly explained as sincerely as I could pretend to be, "I'm not Steve, I'm his brother Tony. We're twins. We both go to school here."

A look of pure embarrassment came over Jamie Lynn's face. Either she was so fucking stupid that my lie sounded plausible or she had never had someone drop such epic bullshit upon her before. Personally, I thought it was a combination of both.

"I'm... I'm so sorry...," Jamie Lynn spluttered. "I... I thought..."

"It's okay, it happens a lot. People get us mixed up all of the time."

Might as well lie some more. I couldn't believe that she was buying my bullshit.

"Would you do me a favor?" she asked me.

"Sure, Jamie Lynn, no problem."

"Would you ask your brother to call me?"

I told her that it wouldn't be a problem.

Jamie Lynn took a pen from the counter and wrote her name and phone number on the back of my hand. Fucking classic. There was even a little fucking heart over the 'i'.

I'd just been branded a second time and this time I wasn't even me.

Jamie Lynn thanked me and apologized again.

I told her not to worry about it and I turned to leave. Just as I reached my car, I heard Jamie Lynn call out, "Wait! How did you know my name was Jamie Lynn? I never told you my name."

Shit. I was busted. I pretended that I didn't hear her and I opened the door, jumped in and started the engine.

Jamie Lynn's voice called from behind me, "Steven! You stop right there you son of a bitch! You stop right there, right now, you lying bastard!"

Jamie Lynn started running.

I threw the car into gear, backed up and peeled out, narrowly missing a few stray students. Lucky motherfuckers.

I looked in my rear view mirror and that crazy bitch was chasing my car like a fucking cheetah running down a wounded wildebeest. I kept my eyes on her in the rear view mirror; Jamie Lynn seemed to be gaining on me. What the fuck? What was she, bionic? I gunned the accelerator. I was so focused on watching her chase after me that I didn't notice the curb, which I jumped, scraping metal all the way. Jamie Lynn kept coming. I turned the corner and floored it, laying down rubber and leaving Jamie Lynn in the dust.

I had escaped, but was I safe? I finished the night at work and when I got back to the dorm, I told Mike what happened. He laughed at my plight, but worried that we might be attacked by some crazy southern bitches. Southerners are not known for being reasonable people and you definitely don't want some crazy redneck bitch hunting your ass down; it's not going to end well for you. Mike thought it might be best if I left the state and possibly, the country. I feared for my life. If that girl found me, I was dead meat. Southern girls are a country mile past fucking crazy.

For the next few weeks, I lived the life of a paranoid lunatic. I refused to answer the door and whenever I had to leave my room, I checked to see if the coast was clear. I checked behind every bush and tree, inspected every nook and cranny, and pretty much grew eyes in the back of my fucking head.

It was all for naught. Thankfully, I lead a charmed life and I never saw Jamie Lynn again.

Fuck you, karma.

If you enjoyed this story, please give this one a chance:

They Call It Mellow Yellow

Thanks for stopping by!