Sneeze Alley

The car reeked of cigarettes. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes from their last group smoke break, but it never fails. One of them will light one up, and then the others won’t give it a moment’s hesitation. Courtesy is never a gatekeeper, but I don’t piss too much of a fit. We’re on the way to our Friday customary Mexican lunch outing.

Mike’s driving like a prick. We all drive like pricks. “Why do I always have to drive? Man, somebody better be buying my fucking lunch.”

He puts on a big stink about it, but he really doesn’t mind. And I’m sure as fuck not buying him lunch over it either.

We’re going to El Rodeo, a common-scene Mexican restaurant that is mildly authentic and equally appetizing. The appeal is in the prices and proximity to our college. I say “our college”, but the truth is we’ve been graduates for a couple months now.

We don’t feel it yet. Life that is. It’s just around the corner. Jobs, cars, bills, deadlines, plasma TV’s, subscriptions, prescriptions, returned inhibitions, and matching furniture.
But for now, its just three burritos, a quesadilla, six beef tacos, four baskets of chips, an enchilada, and something called a chile relleno. I didn’t want to think too much about anything beyond the food. We sit Mike, Chris, and I on one side; the Jims on the other. The usual banter:

“Oh fuck I’m stuffed. I’m gonna have to shit so bad later.”

“Yah. Like a doo-doo play-doh factory. Haha”

Their lunch conversations are always a cultural experience, but I’m no better. “Whoa, hey guys. Look at the two by the door.”

Two younger girls, probably freshmen, had just walked in as Jim paused his ‘food and poo’ correlation conversation. “Damnit Sam. How do you always see them first?”

“I know right. He’s got like a puss radar…or a T&A-Dar.” No, it wasn’t radar. I don’t know what it is with me though. I’m single now, and it seems like a primal instinct has kicked in. I could judge whether a potential mate was sexually acceptable from fifty yards. I can see if her outfit screams, “I went through six outfits before choosing this purposefully casual little cotton pajama number, not because it makes me look hurried, but because I know you’ll like the slogan printed on my ass.” or “My shirt may be excentuating my ta-tas, but don’t forget to take notice of the necklace my boyfriend got me.” A combination of good sight and better observational skills. Puss radar? No. Sexual sniper? Maybe, but it’s not like I don’t maintain a level of sensitivity in the matter.

Take the freshmen girls for example, who are now seated two tables over, one blonde and one curly-haired redhead. After guiltlessly assessing their assets, I immediately put myself in their shoes. Is it pleasurable or revolting having a table of guys, in their twenty-somethings, visually grading every aspect of your persons visible to the naked eye? Judging your hair color, facial geometry, shoulder muscularity, evidence of hanging skin at the elbows, the faint existence of peach fuzz at the base of your upper lip.

I’m sure the answer to that is a matter of the reversal. They, of course, will notice our cleverly candid glances, and in turn will decide if they approve or not based on how they grade our observables. They play the same “who would I fuck in this room if it was the end of the world” game as all guys. Females do differ slightly, in that while they will approach most situations with a more qualitatively emotional value than males, they are always more calculating and formulaic in this mating game.

These two will first notice they are outnumbered and that alone can make the stare-down a discerning event. After quickly assessing our appearance, they’ll get straight to business – guessing age, occupation, financial status, personalities, the way we handle ourselves publicly vs. privately, and even make a quick assumption on whether we’re the type of guys looking for something complicated or not…and they’ll do all that while staring at the fucking menu. It’s amazing on how many parallel levels a woman’s mind is working. Hell, even the dumbest Barbie-doll blonde carrying her little shit stain of a dog in her Doonie & Burke can process a whole season of reality TV while battling the ‘magical voo-doo’ of calculating a twenty percent tip for a $6.79 burrito combo, and she’ll even have the left over mental capacity to remember she is out of apple cinnamon cereal bars for tomorrow.

I’m so damn sensitive.

After spending a few seconds to stare at the girls again, we take last sips of our sodas, get up, and pay at the register. “What’s everyone doing today?” Chris gets four “I don’t know” replies. We still weren’t thinking beyond our noses, except for Jim, who I knew damn well is still excited about the big turd he is going to pass as soon as his ass hits porcelain.

I really just wanted to go home and wash my car, but sure enough, “We could go bowling, or go to Chris’ house and get drunk?”, is what I blurt out.

“Hmm. I’d do bowling. There’s beer there right?”

“I’m fine with that.” “Me too.”

“Fine, but I’m hitting the shitter as soon as we get there!”

Damn it. Now I’d have to wash the car on Sunday, because I already promised to help Tim with his ‘mystery’ video project tomorrow. I should have let them think of nothing for an hour and then made Mike take me back to my apartment.

The bowling alley is only a block down the street from the Mexican restaurant, and by default only another block away from the college; so I was hoping I’d at least get to stare at some college girls that happened to be taking a bowling class. Sure enough, at least ten girls in goofy pajama outfits were bowling in a class, lazily getting their required PE credit.

“Five bucks, Sam.” “Hey! Five bucks man!”

I wasn’t even paying attention. The guys had already paid up for their bowling shoes, and I was still eye-balling the group of young co-ed’s that were laughing, giggling, and bouncing every time they knocked over a pin. I snapped out of it, and paid the guy behind the counter his five dollars, grabbed the shoes, and headed to our lane.

We had to score our own games on paper at this alley, so naturally Chris was pissed that he didn’t get to put a clever nickname for himself up on a computer screen. He was saying something to that effect, and I fell into my girl staring trance again. I don’t know whether it was the fact that I was single for the first time in 2 years, but all I could think of was wanting to wear one of those girls like a ski mask. I wanted to hop on the Magic School Bus, be shrunken down, and go bus driving through a tiny college aged vagina. I don’t think I really ever snapped out of that trance, but I still found time to down eight beers and finish most of two games of bowling without the guys noticing too much.

We were going to play at least two more games, but the bowling class was finishing up and I was bummed that my mind would have to get off the magic bus and return to the, now drunken, sausage party. Most of the girls seemed glad to get the fuck out of the bowling alley and get on with their day, but two of the girls in the class hadn’t taken off their bowling shoes yet. In fact, they were heading up to the bar to order beers, or maybe a pretzel or something.

“Anybody need a beer?” – I figured I should make a strategic trip to the bar. Each of the guys yelled something about beers as I made it up the stairs to the back bar. I stopped half way up and stretched my left leg wide to the left; briefly. My balls were stuck to my thigh. After reorganizing myself, I finished climbing the stairs and got my first close up glance of the girls.

Just looking at the first girl was like walking through the grocery store when you are starving. Everything looked good. She must have been wearing space pants, because her butt was out of this world. She also must have been wearing space boots, because she was one giant step for ‘Sam-kind’. She was also wearing a space sweater, because she had big tits. I think she had space hair, space legs, and space camel toe too. I didn’t really pay attention to her face, but I bet it was nice. Oh… and her friend was alright.

“Hey, can you girls help my friends, and I, out? See, we have an odd number of players and need to make fair teams for our next games.”

Space girl was all like, “But there’s two of us and that would still make odd teams right?”
Damn. I forgot about the crutch of a girl she was with. “Well, I figured you and I could take a break from bowling and chat a bit over some beers.” My math skills suck, but thank God, ‘space girl’ was just as lost.

“Ok. I’m Sarah, and I’ll have a Corona.”

“Hello Sarah, I’m Sam, and you’ll have three or four.”

Thank god her friend had pouted and stomped off to go bowl some more, or I would have had to buy her a beer too. Sarah and I sat at the bar for an hour exchanging pleasantries and getting sloshed. She talked a bunch about her classes and her life plans or something, and I made sure to stay focused on her nose and nod every few seconds to affirm her. I’d make a few jokes, and she’d laugh.

She had a great laugh, and every time she finished a laugh, she’d lick her upper lip and take another swig of Corona. I must have been getting turned on to notice something like that. At the end of an hour, she must have been getting turned on too, because she was now touching my knee every time she agreed with whatever point I was making; and each touch was lasting just a bit longer than the last. This ebb and flow continued just enough longer for us to reach that point where we were drunk and horny and knew the other person was too. But, what to do? We were in a bowling alley and neither one of us could drive us anywhere.

Sarah was braver than I. She grabbed my wrist and said, “Come on. We need a bathroom break.” We stood up, and instantly I realized just how piss drunk I had gotten. I must have blacked out the walk to the bathroom, as well as whatever event occurred in the bathroom that caused us to end up in some sort of storage closet for bowling shoes, but there we were. We were like two giant squids, trying to swallow each other. We violently and squirmingly kissed each other as our bodies collided with each other’s and the shelf of shoes on each of the narrow walls in the closet. I continued to black in and out due to drunkenness, but at each return to consciousness, I saw Sarah with one less piece of clothing. I was beginning to miss a few pieces of my own too.

Time was flying, or at least it felt so. It was a whirlwind until her bra came off and then BAM! Slow motion set in as two of the most wonderful and perky bosoms fell from their supported positions to their natural pedestals of glory. There was only one problem that continued to grow more eminent as she then removed her bottoms. I was piss drunk and an erection was going to take a miracle of sobriety. I knew what she wanted, but if I was going to deliver, I’d need to keep my mind off the whiskey dick situation and buy some time. I figured I’d go down on her for a bit, and she was very responsive.

It was wonderful, and she thought so too as she keeled back against one of the shelves and knocked down three levels of shoes to the floor. I had my eyes closed as a general rule for muff diving, but I can only assume it was the disheveled shoes that caused this next part. Dust had been stirred up, and now I felt a sneeze coming on very quickly. I needed to pull back, but just as I started to, Sarah moaned and shoved me back in position. It was like a parallel climax. She began to moan deeper, and my sneeze tickle had moved all the way from the back of my sinus to the tip of my nostrils. We both took deep breaths. She began to rattle her hips and I, still forced against her crotch, let out the messiest sneeze I’ve ever had. It was like blowing fake mouth farts against a pile of warm deli meats, and while I thought it was a very strange sensation against my face, I can only imagine what it felt like to Sarah to have a guy inflate her cervix with a sneeze just before having an orgasm.

If there was any hope in my soul that she was kinky enough to have enjoyed that, it was quickly squashed as she simultaneously shrieked and queefed out the sneeze air from her cervix. It was the funniest fucking thing to ever witness. My drunkenness immediately switched to a humor induced sobriety, and I mildly dressed myself as I cackled feverishly in that shoe closet. I don’t even fucking remember what she did as I was laughing so hard. I put most of my clothes on and left the room.

I walked down the hallway that led back to the alley, walked over to the lane where my buddies and Sarah’s friend were angrily waiting for some sign as to where we were. I grabbed my shoes and keys and said, “Guys, I’m leaving. I’ll meet you at the car.”