Twas a cool, bright February day, and the harsh frost of winter was slowly receding at the warmth of the already emerging spring. This day, the fourteenth of February, was the feast of St. Valentine, the traditional Christian holiday of love. The day also marked the much older pagan celebration of sodomy, which was still secretly observed by the executives of greeting card and flower companies, who annually sodomized men across the land with their overpriced goods, as well as the gimps they kept locked away in their office bathrooms and corporate dungeons, for they were after all, pagans.
While the cool air outside slowly warmed, inside the business school at the university, the air around Christine was pure steam. Christine was a short, supple sorority girl, with flowing blonde hair and an ample bosom. Every Tuesday and Thursday she arrived at her business class, hoping to pay attention to the day’s lesson, but she knew her attempts would be futile as long as the man she admired attended that class. Fortunately for Christine’s education, that man only attended class once every couple of weeks. But when he did, on a day such as this, the condensation on the windows created by the turning seasons was matched by the condensation within Christine’s toiling loins.
Christine sat down the row from her secret crush, in the very back of the classroom. Roused from his usual lecture hall slumber by the word “socialist,” despite the fact that he had taken it completely out of context, having been asleep, the man quickly shot his hand upward, though he began speaking before being called upon. Christine was so hopelessly enamored that she was only able to pick up certain words, like “America,” “capitalism,” “Reagan,” and “bullshit.” The waves of his forceful baritone shook Christine physically and emotionally, like a vibrator that buzzed to the melody of the Star Spangled Banner.
My God, she thought, he reminds me of my own father…but in a hot way.
Christine’s trance was suddenly interrupted by the short, awkward GDI named Cody sitting next to her. Cody was an awkward boy, with few friends, but many pant pockets. Ever since the semester began he had been in love with Christine, who one day was kind enough to say “excuse me” after spilling scalding hot coffee on his lap. Cody had been waiting a month for his genitals to heal, and for the courage to speak to Christine again.
“Psst…Christine,” he whispered. “Psst. Christine.”
“What is it?” Christine asked, attempting to mask her annoyance and substantial arousal with some grace.
“Are you in need of a pen?” Cody asked.
“What makes you think that?” Christine replied.
“I do not mean to observe you candidly, but I did not see you writing down the lecture’s notes and I thought perhaps that you were in need of a pen. I have many.”
Cody reached into the large side pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a handful of pens.
“I have many, of varying color, ink, and make. I can afford many pens, for you see, I run my own business,” Cody began to boast.
Christine was not in the slightest bit interested. In fact, she would have in that moment rather have been occupied with anything else, preferably the thrusts of the imposing man down the aisle, but even a PanHel assembly on binge drinking would have been preferable to the GDI’s ramblings.
“My business is quite lucrative,” the GDI Cody continued, “I am a merchant of toiletry.”
“You’re a janitor then?” Christine asked. “You clean the waste of others from toilets? How…determined you must be.”
“No, of course not! Well, sometimes, yes, but only if need be. I am a bathroom attendant. But it is my own business. Quite lucrative. Handing out mints or condoms or toothpicks, receiving tips in return. It is my own business! I call no man sir, save for the hundreds of people whose urine covered hands I help wash every evening.”
Christine was not impressed, but Cody continued on about the bathroom attendant company he had started out of his dormitory, eventually landing spots in several hotels and bars. Christine feigned interest in what was most assuredly the saddest non-highway side fruit stand business venture she had ever heard of, but returned her attention to the man she desired so dearly.
Meanwhile, across the aisle, the man who Christine had been admiring to the point of dehydration was finished with the torrent of American ideals he lectured to the class and sat back down.
“Awesome argument Darren!” said the small freshman next to him.
“Shut the fuck up, pledge. Just keep taking notes,” replied the man, named Darren. “I brought you here because you have easy to read, girlish handwriting, not because I wanna hear things you say.”
The pledge obediently began scribbling down the professor’s lecture as Darren laid his head back upon his desk. As Darren’s heavy eyelids began to shut once more at the sound of the professor’s droning, the pledge poked Darren.
“Darren, sir. Sorry, I was just…”
Darren gave the pledge a look of pure hate, for in that moment Darren hated the pledge more than anything. In Darren’s mind everything that was wrong in the world was the pledge’s fault, even things Darren did not care about, like world hunger or every endangered species ever to be endangered. Through expression alone, Darren conveyed to the pledge that unless the next words out of his mouth were useful, Darren would spend the semester destroying the pledge’s soul, soiling the very fiber of his being, until the tears ran dry and any promise of hope was as hollow as if it came from Obama himself.
“…I was just going to ask if you knew that girl who’s been staring at you for the last like twenty minutes.”
Vagina. A relevant topic. The pledge was safe, for now.
“Maybe, I’m not great with names and faces,” Darren replied, his curiosity piqued. “But she’s pretty hot.”
“Don’t you still need a date to our Valentine’s Day formal tonight?” the pledge asked.
“Yeah, I was gonna take this chick from Zeta or something…I forget. Her name was…I forget. But anyway, I INCINERATED that bridge. I’m talking scorched Earth. Life lesson pledge, ladies do not take kindly to you putting a laptop on their back while you have them bent over. Anyway I was gonna probably just bang one of your pledge brother’s dates, but she’ll do.”
Christine suddenly noticed Darren looking over at her and panicked. Her mind raced, and she wondered what he could be thinking. Was he intrigued by her keen interest in him? Aroused even? She desperately looked for any sort of bulge in Darren’s pants to try and confirm her suspicion, but she saw none. For a moment she wondered if perhaps Darren was not as endowed as he seemed, but quickly dismissed such nonsense. Surely an impressive man like Darren was not aroused because he was a composed gentleman, but oh how she now longed to catch even a glimpse of bulge, it was her only wish, like a old woman clinging to her last threads of life in the night, in the hopes of seeing one last sunrise. That was how desperately Christine longed to see bulge.
When class ended Darren approached Christine with his usual confidence. He had an air about him that seemed to say, “You intrigue, but if you died in a plane crash I wouldn’t really care.” Christine was beyond nervous. Her knees were weak, her palms were moist, and her loins were like a morning flower glistening with dew, all in anticipation of speaking to Darren.
“Hey, what’s up, I’m Darren,” he said to her.
Christine was barely able to compose herself. Her eyelids fluttered at Darren’s overpowering eye contact.
“Hello good sir,” Christine replied. “I am Christine, of Chi O.”
While Christine was resisting her body’s attempts to orgasm itself into an Alex Mack-esque puddle of platinum, Cody watched with wide eyes as Darren swooped in and stole Christine away from him.
“Pardon, sir. But the lady was speaking with me,” Cody interrupted.
“Sure she was chief,” Darren chuckled. “Why don’t you go load those cargos with Nerf darts and hunt some zombies.”
Darren turned to Christine, who laughed at his quip. Cody, meanwhile, fumed.
“I am not to be trifled with! I am a business owner! A merchant! An entrepreneur to be respected!”
“Yeah, dude, no one cares if you DJ random house parties. I’m sure mixing some of your beats into a Passion Pit track doesn’t at all sound like a cat being fisted by Captain Hook,” Darren scoffed.
“I own the top bathroom attendant service in the town!” Cody roared.
Darren laughed and asked Cody if he enjoyed slaving over a urine filled mop bucket. Cody explained his actual occupation but Darren laughed harder still, telling Christine that bathroom attendants are the people who somehow have the most degrading jobs at strip clubs. Darren asked Christine to his Valentine’s Day formal, and instructed her to meet him at his fraternity house a few hours prior, for pre-party festivities such as drinking, and other stuff.
“Oh, and the party is a theme party. It’s famous couples or some shit, so, uh, just pick something and I’ll figure out my costume,” Darren said.
Christine skipped away merrily, wishing it were already evening and that her dream night with Darren would begin. Cody, however, stormed off back to his dorm, vowing revenge. What Darren and Christine were not aware of is that Cody was working that very Valentine’s Day formal, as a bathroom attendant.
As Christine got herself ready for the formal she dreamed of what a relationship with Darren, which she was sure would be the result of this date, would be like. She imagined romantic day trips to wineries where she and Darren would drink until they were unapologetically blackout, then be asked to leave by the staff for being disruptive, and then have sex in the parking lot, on someone else’s car, to spite them. Oh how she dreamed of being the object of Darren’s affection, though unbeknownst to her the operative word in that wish was “object.”
Several hours later Christine, dressed as Jackie Kennedy, she approached Darren’s fraternity house. The inside already sounded raucous. She was greeted at the door by a pledge wearing a Depends diaper, with a bow and arrow slung over his shoulder, dressed as Cupid. Christine asked where she could find Darren, and the pledge, with a sudden look of fear in his eyes, told her that Darren was upstairs, and begged her not to bring him back down near him.
Christine climbed the stairs, navigating an already drunken crowd. In the corner a sophomore was sloppily making out with a date who had clearly been dumped on him by a pledge brother’s more attractive girlfriend. The sophomore, however, seemed too drunk to care that right there on the second floor landing his date’s breasts were exposed, and that they had about as much business being exposed as Lena Dunham’s. But, being a true wingman, the sophomore soldiered on, so he took a swig of cheap whiskey and took a sad heifer for the team.
When Christine finally found Darren his eyes were as empty as a ginger’s. He was clearly blackout drunk. Regardless, Christine cheerily greeted him.
“Darren! How are you good sir!” she exclaimed.
“Who…who’re ya?” Darren slurred.
Christine was dejected for a moment, but continued.
“I am the lady you asked to escort to your formal. Do you not remember?” Christine asked politely.
Darren was at a complete loss. Christine, though, would be damned if she were going to lose Darren, the man she had been pining for for all those weeks, so easily.
“If you do not remember me, sir, then allow me reintroduce myself,” Christine said with a wry smile.
She grabbed Darren and dragged him into the nearest room. Before Darren could regain his sense of sight, which was temporarily inhibited by the combination of grain alcohol coursing through his veins and the speed at which the couple moved, Christine was removing Darren’s pants.
The two mauled each other, Christine with passionate precision, Darren with the elegance of drunk, retarded bear. She removed Darren’s underwear and was overwhelmingly pleased to find that none of her earlier concerns were founded. Excited by the two powerful figures standing before her, Christine ripped off her blouse, and at the sight of her glorious breasts, Darren’s vision straightened.
Suddenly there was a voice from across the room.
“Uh…guys?” a pledge said nervously.
“THE FUCK DID YOU GET IN HERE!?!” Darren shouted, furious that his attention was taken away from heaving chest cannons in front of him.
“This…this is my room. I can go,” the pledge nervously offered.
“NO! STAY! LEARN!” Darren commanded. “Watch us bang and gain the wisdom you need to please a woman.”
“What about me? Can I go? Please?” asked another voice, it being the pledge’s formal date.
“NO! TITLE NINE!” Darren shouted, drunkenly justifying the fact that he was too lazy to open the door and let her out.
Darren and Christine spent the next twenty minutes making spectacular love. Christine’s bosoms bounced like soft rolling hills being shaken by the thunderous earthquake that was Darren’s “me first, hard and fast” style lovemaking. The pledge and his date attempted to look away, but their eyes were drawn to the terrifying, yet intricately choreographed obscenity occurring in front of them. It was as if a deadly car wreck were happening on a Broadway stage.
By the time Darren and Christine had finished, and the applause from the two other occupants of the room had ceased, Darren was nearly sober from the intensity of the love making as well as Christine’s uncontrollable, she-wolf howls.
For whatever reason, perhaps the holiday, perhaps because Christine had just milked him like the last cow on a dairy farm, Darren found himself infatuated with Christine. The entire bus ride to formal was filled with laughter and OTPHJs, there was even a kiss. Once the couple arrived at the formal, which was being thrown in the ballroom of a local hotel and was already thirty minutes from being over, they decided they couldn’t wait any longer, and retreated to the bathroom, though on the way Darren decided he could wait a few moments longer and grabbed a couple drinks.
Once inside the bathroom the couple was greeted by none other than Cody, who was dressed in full bathroom attendant attire, replete with a fedora, and handing out mints.
“YOU!” Cody growled at Darren.
“I don’t know you,” Darren replied nonchalantly.
“This is the men’s room, you must leave at once Christine,” Cody ordered.
Darren handed Cody his drink, put a five dollar bill in a tip bowl that had to that point been filled only with used condoms, and decided to put Cody in his place once and for all.
“Listen, champ. I’m gonna take my lady friend here, have some weird bathroom sex, and then go rage. As long as I’m in this bathroom, you work for me,” Darren explained.
Cody began to reply angrily but Darren paid no attention, instead kissing Christine. Cody suddenly saw his chance, and opened the top of an ornate ring he was wearing, which he thought looked super cool, and poured a bit of powder into Darren’s drink. It was a mix of depressants Cody was sure would inhibit Darren from becoming aroused, as this concoction did with himself every time those weird, tingly feelings cropped up when he watched the show Fatal Attractions.
When Darren finally turned back to Cody he took his drink, chugged it, and whisked Christine away into the bathroom stall, to give her a Valentine’s Day she’d never forget. Cody laughed maniacally to himself, envisioning Darren’s flaccid penis with satisfaction.
In the stall, Darren felt woozy. Christine did not notice at first, and went about pleasuring him. She quickly noticed that there was no reaction from Darren’s member whatsoever. Christine tried exposing her breasts, but nothing. Darren became concerned. He had never suffered through an alcohol impairment such as this before. Even the time Darren legally died for twelve minutes during spring break after drinking two gallons of margaritas, he maintained erection while the nursing student he was fucking revived him. To this day she still claims that giving CPR while riding Darren cowgirl was the most invigorating sex of her life.
Darren, beside himself, quickly pulled up his pants and burst out of the stall. He sprinted past Cody, covering his face, unable to look at his own reflection in the mirror.
“My love! It is nothing! We shall postpone it until later! Please! Come back!” Christine shouted after him.
She ran past Cody, whom she knew must have been responsible by the smile on his face, the type of smile only knowing that his enemy’s penis was as soft as a chinchilla could bring to Cody’s face.
In the ballroom Darren, panicked with shame and humiliation, began chugging everything in sight until he couldn’t feel anymore. Christine ran after him, but he retreated from her sight. Sitting in the corner, downing a row of gin and tonics, and depressed for the first time in his life, Darren was all of the sudden grabbed by a brother.
“Darren, man, give a speech!” the brother insisted.
Others nearby heard.
“SPEEEEEEECCCHHHH!” the crowd demanded.
Darren, although inconsolable, was not one to turn down mob mentality. He took the stage and grabbed a microphone.
“D’y’all wanna speech about Valentine’s Day?” Darren asked, sad and drunk.
The crowd roared with approval.
“Okay…okay…I got one for you. FUCK LOVE. Thas right. Love is dead, if it ever even existed. You can’t have it. Right when you think you can YOUR DICK DIES! MY DICK IS DEAD! So saddle up and remember that we’re all gonna be dead one day because fuck you this shit is stupid I’m outta here.”
Darren leapt off the stage, the audience was awkwardly quiet. He grabbed as many drinks as he could carry and went outside. While he chugged whatever liquor he got his hands on, a brother approached Darren.
“Dude, do you have any idea what you said in there?” the brother asked.
“I don’t really give a shit. I’m busy throwing a funeral for my cock over here,” Darren said.
“What? Whatever, dude, you just made all those girls feel so lonely and desperate. You’re an evil genius. This place is clearing out. There are already more handjobs going on on that bus than if it were a mobile Asian massage parlor. You’re fuckin’ sick man. I love you. I’m gonna go fuck my newly desperate date.”
Darren took small comfort in knowing that his brothers were all getting laid. He went back inside to find Christine. He found her on the other side of the ballroom, crying in the corner. She saw Darren and ran to him.
“MY LOVE!” she exclaimed. “I don’t care what happened to you, I’m getting you through this dammit!”
Right there, in the middle of the empty ballroom, Christine ripped off Darren’s pants and began to fellate him furiously. She didn’t care that his member, though still large in its own right, was as responsive and powerful as a dead eel. She didn’t stop, even when the janitor came in to vacuum, said “I ain’t cleanin’ this shit up!” and left. Christine was determined, but it seemed her efforts were to no avail, and Darren drank a glass of bourbon was he felt the last of his pride slipping away.
LIVE GODDAMN YOU! LIVE! Christine thought to herself as she bobbed and sucked away.
As Christine bravely fellated on, Cody walked into the ballroom, still satisfied with his earlier sabotage. But when he saw the couple he once again became enraged, believing he had failed. With haste Cody sprinted to the bathroom and found the first weapon he could, a wet plunger. Cody returned to the ballroom and charged Darren, who, upon seeing the plunger wielding maniac GDI, was curious and amused.
“What the fuck?” Darren laughed.
Cody swung the wet plunger wildly at Darren, the instrument missed its mark, but water from the rubber flew into Darren’s open, laughing mouth. Immediately he knew what had happened. Darren broke away from Christine and began vomiting profusely.
Cody grabbed the screaming Christine and began to drag her away.
“Our life will be a good life!” Cody shouted. “Humble, but proud! You can work the lady’s restrooms.”
“NEVER!” Christine shouted. “Darren, help!”
Darren finished vomiting, chugged the rest of his bourbon, and felt revitalized. Unbeknownst to him, the vomiting had expelled the drug from his system. With a sudden sense of urgency, both to beat the shit out of Cody and finish that blowjob, Darren attacked.
Cody swung with the plunger again, but was quickly subdued. Darren then took the plunger and plunged Cody’s face repeatedly, until he played possum…or died, Darren didn’t really check.
With that, Darren swept Christine up off her feet and took her back the fraternity house, whose halls, thanks to Darren’s depressing speech, echoed with the orgasms of girls suddenly desperate to feel alive and needed. Darren took Christine up to his room and bedded her, five times, each more thoroughly and selfishly than the last.
“MY COCK IS BACK MOTHERFUCKER!” he shouted at no one in particular, or perhaps God.
And with that, Darren gave Christine a pack of Valentine themed M&Ms his mother had sent him in a care package, and out of respect for their night, politely asked her to leave.