where the writers are

The Bachelor Auction - Roasting a Friend

The Bachelor Auction - Roasting a Friend

(The other night I attended a roast for a friend.  I was asked to write something for the roast and below is the finished project.  The roast was all in fun, though Doc does like Scotsmen! :))

I suppose I have to take part of the blame myself.  Just her name should have kept me away.  Doctor Deviance.  What kind of woman calls herself Doctor Deviance?  Imagine my horror when I found Doctor Deviance wasn't just a nickname, given in jest, but her real name.  I knew we were in for trouble from day one, but I couldn't help myself.  Being with Doc was like a drug - and a highly addicting one at that.  We were Thelma and Louise come to life, but better.  Much better, and without the excess baggage.

At first the fun was relatively harmless, but never, of course, without its element of danger.  And truth be told, Doc and I did spend our share of nights locked in one county jail or another.  Oh, our crimes were minor ones, in the grand scheme of things.  Nothing truly serious.  Things like public indecency, lewdness, petty theft, a drunken brawl here and there.

I can't remember when our crimes began to escalate, but I do know I have no regrets.  Despite the consequences, which for me have been many, I like to remember us and our time together fondly.  I think of us as some sort of female Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid as we made our way across the USA.  And our crimes, of course, were directed only against the most helpless and hapless segment of humanity God ever created - men.

Men.  I liked mine pretty and Doc like hers rough.  "No man," she often told me, as we cruised down I-95 in her canary yellow Camaro with the to down, "can even call himself a man until he gives as good as he gets."  Doc gave.  Believe me.  Doc gave.  And then, she gave again.

The bachelor auction was a departure for us.  Doc and I usually descended on our prey in small town bars with peanut hulls carpeting the floor or cruising the streets of some dusty southern hamlet where all our victims had names like Billy Bob or Ed Earl.  And God love ‘em, I can't forget the twins, Enos and Cletus.  Enos, I heard, never did walk again, not to mention the fact that he's now impotent, and Cletus, well, Cletus finally took refuge in some fancy-assed sanitarium in New England where he'll no doubt live out the little time remaining to him.

What can I say?  A night with Doc can do that to a man, and every day I was becoming more and more like her.

We were in a Dallas Motel 6, just off I-20 when I saw the ad for the bachelor action.  It was lying on the nightstand with the Bible, right in plain sight, printed in extra large letters on that neon green paper people like to use when they want you to think they're shouting at you.

Even before I saw it, I'd wanted to get out of Dallas fast.  Just spend the night and go.  I'd heard bad things about the Dallas cops, and I knew they wouldn't go easy on Doc or me.  But now I knew I had to hide that announcement before Doc saw it.  There was no way she was going to pass up all that manflesh.

I saw my chance, what I still believe was my only chance, when Doc was in the bathroom.  I carefully slid the announcement off the nightstand, folded it into a tidy square, and slipped it inside my new Victoria's Secret bra.  I'd shred it later, when I went in the bathroom, and flush it down the john.

Doc came gliding out of the bathroom in a granny gown that covered her from neck to toe.  Pick rosebuds against a background of creamy flannel.  For such a wild and wooly gal, Doc always chose the most demure sleeping attire.  It was something that puzzled me at first.  Then Doc told me that without a man or two to share her bed, she got cold.  Okay, I thought.  I could buy that.  I could identify.  Heck, I felt the same way myself.

I got up and headed for the bathroom, but Doc grabbed my elbow.  "I wouldn't go in there yet, Ducks," she said with a knowing wink.  "Give it ten or twenty minutes to air out."

I smiled wanly.  There was no use arguing with Doc.  "Oh, okay," I answered, as I sat back down on the bed.  I began tracing the pattern of the paper-thin bedspread with my index finger, willing my heart to stop pounding so hard.

"Well, get ready for bed," Doc bellowed.  "Or do I have to cover my eyes?"  She cackled.  "It's not like you've got anything special, you know, anything I haven't seen before."

Doc had a point.  We'd shared too many motel rooms and too many men for me to start getting modest now.  I stood up, slipped off my blouse, and struggled out of my Calvin's, then slid my nightshirt over my bra.

"What the hell," Doc yelled, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.  "Aren't you even gonna air those puppies out?"  She reached over and gave my right breast a playful squeeze.  Paper crackled.  I leaned away.

Doc was on me in seconds, flinging me down to the bed.  I didn't even have time to fight back.  "Har!" she yelled, pulling the neon green announcement from my bra and unfolding it.  "What's this?"

I could see the gleam in Doc's eyes as she scanned the announcement.  I could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind.

Doc was getting a little tired of men named Billy Bob and Ed Earl.  She was hankering for a taste of something with a little class and sophistication and frankly, so was I.  We were doomed.

*

Doc and I were the first to arrive at the bachelor auction.  Doc had reserved a table right up front so she wouldn't miss a thing.  To say that we were drunk by the time the auction began would be an understatement.  We were both halfway to oblivion and loving every minute of it.  We hooted.  We hollered.  We whistled.  We flashed those poor suckers everything we had.

Except for a few obnoxious stares from dry society matrons who probably hadn't, well, hadn't, things were going a lot more smoothly than I'd anticipated.  Until, that is, they announced the segment called "Bachelors from Around the World."

Now I know Doc.  I know her likes and dislikes.  I should.  I've probably shared more men, more jail time, and more rooms in Motel 6s with Doc than even I care to remember. 

I began to pray.  "Please, God," I begged, "no man in a kilt."  Pretty or rough, the one thing Doc could never resist was a man in a kilt.

When "Mr. Wales" and "Mr. Ireland" appeared and were "purchased," followed immediately by a longhaired blond Italian stallion vaguely resembling Fabio, I thought I was home free.  Lady Luck, however, has never been on my side.

The last man on the runway was a Scottish kilted wonder that raised my heart rate and my body temperature.  I could only imagine what he was doing to Doc.

"Two thousand dollars," Doc yelled, jumping up from her chair.  The Scotsman flinched.  I felt my mouth drop open.  Doc and I hadn't had two thousand dollars between us since that time in Georgia when we'd gotten six months in the county jail.

"Sit down," I hissed, tugging on Doc's elbow, all to no avail.

"Three thousand," yelled one of the society matrons.  (Doc learned later this was the Scotsman's mother.)

"Five thousand," Doc yelled, knocking over my bourbon and water as she left the table and hurled herself onto the runway.

"Twelve thousand," I screamed, running after her.  I didn't want to bid as much as I wanted to shut Doc up, but I had to admit, the Scotsman was pretty.  Wavy blond locks and china blue eyes.  A little effeminate, but in a good way.  At least to me.

I suppose the sight of me lying on my stomach, pulling Doc's head from under the Scotsman's kilt is what shut everyone else up.  At any rate, next thing I knew, I was the owner of a date with a hunk o' kilted love.

Doc scrambled off the runway and looked at me, narrowing her eyes.  "The joke's on you, Missy," she said, in a tone as cold as a virgin on her wedding night.  "You haven't had twelve thousand in that account since we robbed that Stuckey's in Georgia."

"No," I countered, defiant now.  "The joke's on them.  By the time the check bounces, the date'll be over."

Doc's breathing was getting heavy.  I could see murder in her eyes.  "Hussy!" she yelled, grabbing my shoulders, "you steal every man I buy!"

Now that, of course, was totally untrue.  Doc had paid for several men she adamantly refused to share with anyone.  I began backing away, desperately trying to put as much distance between Doc and me as possible.  We began circling a table, Doc on one side, me on the other.  "Admit it," Doc bellowed.

"No," I bellowed back, angry now as well, and determined to do something I'd never dared to do before - keep this man for myself.  All for myself.  "You're the one who never likes to share.  And don't think I don't know you're the one who stole my Kangaroo!"

Doc threw her head back and her cackle filled the room.  "Your Kangaroo!"  She began laughing in a way I'd never heard her laugh before.  I could feel the ice forming around my heart.  "Why in the hell would I steal your Kangaroo?  I've got what it takes to get a real man in my bed, batteries included."

Once again, Doc had a point.  A valid one.  Men gravitated to her faster than hormonally challenged boys to porn sites on the Internet.

"Give me that Scotsman!" Doc yelled, reaching across the table for my auction ticket.  I backed away just as she lunged.  We were both rolling on the floor.  Onlookers who had been stunned into rapt silence only moments before now began to cheer, urging us on.

"No," I said, with more determination than I really felt.  "This one's mine and I'm keeping him."  Doc had me pinned to the floor, straddling me, my arms above my head.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Scotsman run toward his mother.  I frowned, waiting on my moment to exact revenge on Doc.

It came when Doc shifted her weight...just a little.  I brought my knee up between her legs.  Hard.  With no "nuts and bolts" to damage, I knew I hadn't really hurt her, but it did surprise her long enough for me to make my getaway, ticket still in hand.  I ran through the ballroom, never looking back, though I knew Doc was right behind me.

When I reached the main doors, I ran blindly out into the hot Dallas night.  I never even saw that little Honda Accord.

Like a true friend, Doc held my hand until the paramedics arrived.  But it was too late.  I'd spent too much time with Doc.  Dangerous time.  In the end, I'd sacrificed my life for a man in a kilt who didn't even have the guts to stick around to find out how it all worked out.

Doc's cackle was the last earthly thing I heard, but not the last earthly thing I felt.  Just before I slipped into sweet oblivion, I felt that winning auction ticket being pulled from my grasp.

Keywords: