At the top of the stairs, there was a long walkway with speakers hung chest level for my ‘fright victims.’ Now, you realize I’m really wanting to scare them. I mean for real. The more terrified the ladies will be, the better our chance of them awarding Lisa and I that golden Christmas trip to Vegas. So I was going to pull out the big guns. My friend at the radio station got hold of some very realistic gun sounds. I swear, with the high quality speakers I had, plus the smells of the gunpowder tray I’d light up on the ground beneath the plank (safely engineered by another friend who blows up buildings for a living around the state), blindfolded, you’d think you were walking through a live firearms battle. I fully expected some of them to wet themselves. (Hey, I had my pride and a trip to Vegas on the line, ya know.)
Coming down off the walkway, the ladies would file into a wood-railed ‘holding pen,’ which was back behind a tall black curtain near the entry door leading back into the house. (I’ll explain this more in detail later.) This would be the ‘big finish.’ If the shooting gallery didn’t finish them, this would.
I gave everything one final inspection, set all the camera’s to record ready, and went back into the house, locking the door behind me. Everything was all set. And imagining the fun to come, my legs were rubbery, my stomach was in knots, and I felt so light-headed I could pass out. And no doubt, before the night was over, I would pass out. If not here, then possibly in the Emergency Room. Only time would tell.
At 7:46pm Lisa came in to find me perched on the side of the bed sweating. (Nerves.) I couldn’t stop. She saw my face, saw my expression, and burst out laughing.
“C’mon, Billyboo, this isn’t going to kill you, ya know?“ …Dramatic pause. Then “Or is it?” Raucous laughter. Then she grew serious again. “Hey, really, if you don’t want to go through with this, I’m fine with that. We’ll just go to Vegas next year.”
Oooh, this was serious psychological warfare. She knows me. She knows I don’t back down from challenges. And she knows how much I’ve been looking forward to this. I’ve been obsessed with this. Back out now? Right. I’d never hear the end of it. And I’d regret it the rest of my life.
I looked her square in the eye and said with a smirk I didn’t feel, “Bring it on.”
She left the room, humming, and left me to consider what lay ahead.
At 7:55pm the doorbell rang. Jaaaaysus, my time had come. I raced to the window and peeked through the curtains down at the front yard. What I saw made me so nauseas I ran to the bathroom, fell to my knees, hugged the toilet, and began to-- Okay, I’ll fast-forward through that part.- What I saw on the front lawn was terrifying. Convertibles, sports cars, SUVs, minivans were parked all up and down the street, in the driveway, in the edge of the yard. And women in their 50s, some in their 40s, and a few in the 20s and 30s were laughing, talking, walking leisurely across the lawn toward our front door. There weren’t just the 5 or 6 I’d planned on. There were maybe 50 to 60 women down there. At least! Tan women, tall women, petite women, curvy women, skinny women. And, to the last woman, they were all very, very attractive. I saw evening dresses and open-toed high heels, sundresses and flip flops (our Octobers are rather mild in this part of the country), business suits and pumps, jeans and open-toed wedges. I’m dead, I thought. Friggin’ dead! Can you imagine how permanently screwed up your wee-wee would be were it trod upon by 50 women in high heels with deadly, flesh-tearing, vein-puncturing heel spikes… wedges that could crush broken blood vessels literally into pulp… all made worse, damaged beyond repair, by the constant crush of all those ladies? My baby-making days would be over. I’d be a eunuch. Castrated. But just think how damned amazing that would be, the thrill of danger, the horrific, intense arousal of watching all those gorgeous women trampling innocently across your vulnerable flesh, tearing it, bruising it, grinding it until it was bleeding and unrecognizable from what it once was, laughing in playful innocence as your body parts are crushed and shredded mercilessly under their feet. No safe words this time, pal. And my fingers…I could forget ever using a computer keyboard again. Or picking up a fork, or using the television remote. (Scary!) I suck at math, but somewhere inside my head the voice of reason was screaming his tiny little lungs out about the slim to none chances of ever being able to stand up to take a leak ever again. About ever experiencing an erection. And an orgasm? No way! No, his sage advice was to RUN!!!! Run, before it’s too late!!!! I madly began devising an escape plan. Through the guest bedroom window, across the roof of the screened in porch, down the lattice, through the hedge, through the neighbors yard-- wait! Damn, they’d just put up an 8-foot privacy fence.
From the corner of my twitching eye I noticed that all those pretty heads had began turning toward the front door. I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but I recognized Lisa’s voice shouting above the din, calling the group to order. She was waving a clipboard and explaining something. The women, as a group, listened attentively. Then the clipboard was passed around. After each woman wrote on it, some flipping to the next page, bid goodbye to my wife and a few others, and left. Some left quickly, some milled about, some look disappointed, some laughing and shaking their heads. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Maybe Lisa was having them sign a petition? (She did a lot of volunteer/political work.) As my anxiety lessened, that loud heartbeat pounding in my ears began to subside, and I began to breathe more normally.
Finally, all that remained were a small group of 10 women (I counted from my perch behind the window.) I didn’t recognize any of them, but they all seemed quite attractive. There were two that really caught my eye. One was a tall blonde in a miniskirt and yellow flip flops. Dark toenail polish (biiiig, long feet, and wide), dark blouse to match her toenails. Silver toe rings, anklets, bracelets, and necklace. The other was more mature, tan, silver-white hair, and she was curvy (in a good way), and wore a form-flattering aqua-blue dress and stacked wedges to match. Red nail polish. Red neck scarf to match her toenails. Tan. Both her and the tall blonde were tan and riveting. They began moving into the house with the others.
Not sure what to do, not sure what was going on, I sat there on the bed wondering if I was still physically fit enough to scale an 8-foot privacy fence. Just then Lisa burst through the bedroom door grinning ear to ear. (Gawwd, what a dazzling smile she has. She lit up the whole room!) She collapsed on the bed beside me, beginning to laugh. It took her nearly a full minute to catch her breath.
“Now …don’t be upset with me, okay?” she began. Not a good start.
I’m wondering at this point if Lisa might really be Satan.
“Now, Billyboo, you know I love you. And you know what I said about making this a memorable event for you. Well… honey.… sweetie pie. …The ladies and I.. well… we kinda invited more ladies than we’d originally intended.”
I’m now convinced Lisa IS the Devil.
“You know how word gets out. A friend tells a friend, who tells a friend, who…. Well… you still wanna do it?” She reached over and patted my head. I must’ve looked like I needed it. “The ladies have signed up to come through in groups of 10, starting in…. oh…6 minutes. You’ll have a 10 minute break to rest and reset your house of horror, change camera cassettes, go pee-pee-- if you CAN!" More laughter. She's laughing so hard she's crying. This woman is truly evil. Note to self: Start sleeping with a crucifix. "And then the next group comes through. We’ve got 6 groups. Most of them said they were going to go have a drink somewhere and come back. Hope they don’t get too drunk. Can you imagine what a drunk lady in heels could do to your--“ More raucous laughter. “Omigod! If you could only see your face right now! God, it‘s hysterical!!!“
I curled myself into a fetal position and grabbed Jim and the twins, tuning out my wife‘s demonic laughter. I wanted to remember how they felt before this night began.
“So… for the next two hours, Billy, you’re going to get the trampling of a lifetime! Are you ready?
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