Sandbagged: a true story from the life of Al Bruno III

Sandbagged

A true story from the life of Al Bruno III

by

Al Bruno III

In the year 1993 I enjoyed parties, I enjoyed strippers and I enjoyed the company of my brother. In October my bachelor party changed all that.

About ten days before my wedding I got a phone call from my brother, he was my best man. I was at work and he told me to leave early because my bachelor party was happening in two hours.

Two hours?

As you can imagine that went over like gangbusters with my boss.

I got cleaned up and got my ass to the apartment shared by my brother and his girlfriend. She wasn’t there of course but you know who else wasn’t there. Not a single one of my other groomsmen or any of my friends. All my brother’s drinking buddies were there though; most of them were guys I didn’t know or ones I did know that were shocked I had found a bride without resorting to mail order.

That should have been a warning sign but I decided to just roll with it. After all I had been the best man for my father’s third wedding and he hadn’t invited me to his bachelor party.

For an hour I socialized and pretended to drink the many, many cups of beer that were slapped into my hand.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, signaling that the evenings entertainment had arrived and that I would never ever turn down the chance to use a cliche.

Did I mention this all happened on a dark and stormy night?

The entertainment was a bleached blond middle aged woman. She had a killer figure but I didn’t like the way she surveyed the room. It was the kind of expression a substitute teacher who finds herself in a room full of 18 year old high school Freshmen would have. I didn’t begrudge her that, after all at least one of my brother’s friends was an 18 year old High School Freshman. A tall man followed her inside, obviously he was her bodyguard and when he scanned the room it was obvious he was trying to decide whose neck he would have to snap first if need be.

“Hey Al!” My brother brought me over to the stripper, “this is Eva.”

She looked up from setting up the portable CD player she had brought in with her. “Hi.”

I flashed her a smile and pointed to her bodyguard, “So if you’re the Eva he must be the brawn. Get it? Am I...”

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence Eva fired up her CD player and sat me down in the center of the room. She began her routine. Like I said she had a killer bod and she was wearing thigh high stockings which are always a plus in my book but her boobs were obviously and poorly augmented. They made her look like a claymation sex doll.

Then she made a grab for my groin and she didn’t find what she expected. I wasn’t even slightly aroused, I just wasn’t. Eva glared at me and redoubled her efforts to make my little autobot transform and roll out.

No luck.

“What are you gay or somethin’?” she huffed at me.

“That’s not helping.” I said back.

She grabbed hold of my head and pulled my face towards her torso. She shook and shimmied her breasts.

And broke my glasses.

No seriously. It was like being beaten by two leather purses filled with wet sand. The loss of my glasses signaled the next phase of my ‘entertainment’. She dropped her panties, stood me up and danced around me rubbing her bare ass against the front of my pants.

The only thing she felt rubbing back was my car keys.

Now she started to strip me, taking me down to my tighty whities. Eva pushed me down on my back and my brother slapped a dollar bill down over my mouth.

And she picked it up with her vagina. This went on for several bills of increasing value but still nothing happened for me below the waistline. She kept snatching bills from my face until I felt like I was being given mouth to mouth by a a toothless Jerry Garcia.

And the final humiliation came when Eva removed my underwear to reveal my Mr. Itsy Bitsy to this gang of mostly strangers. She laughed at my flaccidness, as did everyone else in the room that wasn’t drunk.

“What kind of a man are you?” She demanded to know as the show wound down.

Once Eva was dressed and gone, I dressed and got gone as well, even though my brother kept insisting I stay and get high with his buddies.

My brother said one last thing to me as I left his apartment, “Don’t tell anyone about this or I’ll tell your wife you fucked the stripper.”

Why did he say that? I think he realized he had crafted a disaster of a party and didn’t want anyone else to know. Either that or he was an asshole. I doubt I will ever know but even now almost twenty years later I can’t feel like I can ever fully trust or forgive him for saying that.

When I got back to the apartment I shared with my fiancee I took a long, hot shower, when I got out of the tub my fiancee Joanna was there.

“How was it?” she asked with a smirk. She was wearing a flannel nightgown.

“I’m just glad to be home,” I toweled myself off.

She gave me a peck on the cheek, “I love you.”

And not half a second later my little Rock of Gibraltar was standing firm.

I hurried after my fiancee.

That night Eva had asked me what kind of a man I was. Well I was Joanna’s man and things have been that way for twenty years.