The Last Pint - Chapter 1 (Please Help Me Upvote If Liked) (Based Off A Real Story)

The Last Pint

“It’s the realization that It is sometimes the people who touch our lives for the shortest time that are the hardest to forget.” -Unknown

Written by: Bryan Matthew Dungan
©copyright and all rights reserved for The Blaze Team

Chapter 1
“I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

Let’s breeze right through the intro, shall we? …

To quote an old goat I once knew, “Nuair a bhíonn an cat amuigh, bíonn an luch ag rince,” (When the cat's away, the mice will come out dancing). It wasn’t until many years later that I could even relate to this fecking saying because I refuted and debated everything like a stubborn jackass. Hell, even my most cherished childhood nickname, awarded by my very own grand-dad, was “Little Shit!”. I loved captivating my grandparents’ attention with my shenanigans. I mean, apparently grabbing a chicken by its neck and twirling it around in circles, till its body flew off was bad, but pissing on a blarney stone, that we would tell tourists to kiss for good luck, was good. Talk about confusing, I mean at least the chicken was going to get eaten… Well, over the years of insightful wisdom bestowed upon me, I think it’s fair to say that life, in itself, can be worse, at times, than a stubborn “little shit” from Ireland. I think it’s also fair to say that life’s ever growing penis can be one fucked up teacher too, leaving you unsure if you were raped or if you actually enjoyed the dam thrust forward. My upbringing was well placed in County Cork, Ireland and a little after Dublin’s fair city where the girls are so pretty.

I was raised by my grandparents who could barely take care of me. So, around the start of my teenage years, I moved with my father, who re-married a Hispanic woman, in El Paso, TX. This is where my charming American life began. My first understanding of where I stood in a caste system called high school was brilliant. I found myself as “the shiny new toy”. I think that comparison fit fairly well, since I was clearly a rare breed of blue eyes, not to mention the only white boy in a 50-mile radius. With gleaming skin in the sun and wits on my side, I was determined that I was destined for greatness. Having very little family support, I quickly realized that “Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough.” ― T.S. Eliot. I learned to shape shift and mold my surroundings to benefit me. I was a young entrepreneur, making shit up as I went along.

I loved ripping apart concepts others deemed as the standard and testing my second language of sarcasm. I knew I was good with words and I further knew that my looks and accent would be my ice breaker and backing. In my mind, I was a force not to be reckoned with. I suppose the majority of this clear ambition came from the building blocks of my past. The past that I failed to mention, in the homelessness I experienced, shortly after arriving to the U.S. See, fact of the matter was that I did not get along with my father and found myself getting kicked out of a Cinderella style tale. I barely managed to graduate high school on my own accord, which lead me to the only choice of street life, where I quickly learned the true meaning of sink or swim. I had a hunger to prove everyone, who doubted me, wrong. I convinced myself I was worth the fight, and utilized my anger towards fuel, to change my history influenced status quo.

I’ve come quite a long way from that eager little shit to become the man I am today. I now sit here in this lovely Irish pub with the smell of hickory and beer in the air. While drinking a pint of the black stuff, I cannot help but start thinking back in great awe. The pub holds memories over the walls almost as if it were a memorial for fallen soldiers back in our time. It’s been years since I’ve sat back and actually relived my past, partially, because I’ve been happily drunk in ignorant bliss like a pig in shit. As my pint’s crown brushes against my bearded face, I can feel the philosophical side draw out of me slowly. With every drink hitting an imaginative wind mill in my stomach, gears begin turning to create a power surge that gives way to my indulged reminiscence.

My story truly begins the moment I got through high school and jumped straight into the United States ARMY. Now, you want to talk about rape, just talk to a veteran. They say jump, you say how high. They say spread them, you say how--- well you get the picture. Now, I can’t be completely distasteful of the military because at the end of the day… “Veni, vidi, vici” ― Julius Caesar. (I came, I saw, I conquered). It was sure as hell where I can place some of my fondest and disturbing memories all at the same time. I started basic in Fort Jackson, SC. Moved for AIT in Fort Lee, VA. Attended airborne school in Fort Benning, GA and upon completion, got stationed in Fort Bragg, NC. I was the original brotherhood of the traveling pants. I was a devil in baggy pants that fell from the skies in an 82nd Airborne fire from hell. In the skies and on the ground, I brought destruction wherever I saw fit. A very destruction that presented itself in the party version of myself.

My first real party of destruction- that lasted multiple days -was right after AIT training (Fort Lee). It was this fiesta that set the standards of what a party meant to me. I can still remember the feeling of liberty and independence that overwhelmed me so much so that it started a snowball effect, which led me to the very battle buddies that will join me in combat later. Let me start by adding that in basic training, you and other soldiers alike are practically on lockdown with no relations, no alcohol, no fun. This goes on for about eight weeks until upon completion, you get instantly transported to your AIT training, which can also last about another eight-plus weeks. So now, take a bunch of sexually frustrated, and alcohol deprived monsters raging with testosterone through the roof. Now, add in a window of freedom with unspent money, accumulated while on lockdown, and you’ve got a recipe where morals and values are thrown aside in a shameless montage of human pleasures. I remember we all got hotel rooms in the same hotel and dam did we let the alcohol and money flow. The walls, by the end of it all, carried stains of recklessness and tribulation. Oh man, if the walls could talk, the shit they would say. It was like unsupervised children in a candy store with a credit card that had no limit. Remember the little quote that old goat told me once, now? Yeah, me either… Life held no boundaries it seemed and we were definitely the little mice running rampant. You had married women taking their latest crush into both open and disclosed locations finding a temporary utopia. You had guys telling their girlfriends it was another training day, just so they wouldn’t get bothered with their hidden agendas. I was very single at this time and remember getting my own spot of heaven on the top of the hotels stairwell with a girl named Alex.

It began with my battle-buddy, Tate, calling all our other battle buddies into action with a drinking game. Tate was my best friend throughout AIT and had each other's backs in some of the worst hardships we had ever faced. I loved that man, and vice versa. In short, it was me and him against the world, and he knew it. He was a slender type of build and had little to no hair at all. He derived from a long line of fighters in the Samoan culture, and took family seriously. I was honored to call Tate my brother in arms.

We continued on and pushed through that night. It was grape Smirnoff’s and Hennessy that fueled the following of even more ignorant fluid. I could smell the alcohol coming from the pores of the others, until I too hit a limit where even my sense of smell became hindered. Thank God for that because there was something awry about the battle of odors throughout the night. We began playing kings cup (A drinking game with playing cards around a cup in the middle. The object was you had to do the rule that was superimposed by whatever card you pulled from the pile. The last king to be pulled, drinks the cup in the middle that contained an elixir of nastiness). The room was quite large, considering it had two beds. There was a large open area after both beds by the balcony, where we all sat down to play these assortment of drinking games. This was until another two battle buddies came bombarding in, each with a beautiful woman wrapped in their arms. Their visit was short lived, but that was no problem to me. Being the savage I was, I played my ONLY card that 70% of the time worked ALL the time. I just spoke louder with my lovely, seductive Irish accent. Polluting the air with my voice around the women’s ears, I had them hooked. “Oh My Gawd, Where Are You From?!” one of them exclaimed. With a charisma that could charm a snake, I gazed passed the other non-existent guys that had the girls enchained in their arms and responded, “Oh, just a little island called Ireland.” As both of their eyes lit up to my forward manner, I quickly realized I went in a little too hot, because the guys later noticed their loosening grasp on the women and attempted to lead their little pack away from me. Before those guys even knew what hit them, I had already written down my number on two sheets of folded paper, which resided now in both of the girls’ hands, tucked away. I knew it was only a matter of time till I got The Text Message. I quickly told Tate of my deeds and further promised him a delivery in getting the other girl I did not.

With enthusiasm, we proceeded to get a wee bit more drunk, awaiting the results of my current mischievous efforts to steal away another man's woman. It wasn’t long till I got a random text saying, “So me and my girlfriend got the dudes drunk, their asleep now. Me and my girlfriend are in the restroom wondering if we can hang out with you and your friends.” It was just as I plotted in my head. I looked at Tate and said, “Bro, Game On!” and proceeded to text back “Of Course, What room you girls at, we’ll walk by to guide you back.” We got the room number and proceeded to navigate through the halls acting like little kids jumping in stupid excitement over each other drunkenly to our success. To my success! I’m not going to lie, I LOVED the attention I got as “THE MAN OF THE NIGHT!” It was the feeling of success and being a leader to my friends that shot my self-esteem way up, even if it was just landing us a pair of girls to demolish our loneliness for the night. We cruised by their rooms, through the narrow corridors of the hotel like giddy little girls.

Once we arrived in front of their rooms, we decided to hide behind a corner, just beyond their room just in case it was a potential trap. Not to say we were afraid of a little brawl, but we just wanted to party and not entertain a midnight fight that would only lead us to getting kicked out of this hysterical night. Stumbling and falling over each other behind the corner, I texted our arrival and awaited their return, until we saw them both sneak out the room attempting to be as quiet as possible like mice trying not to wake up the cat. Lucky for these little mice, we were dogs and loved our new, little companions we had rescued. We then proceeded to walk out of our hiding corner with air in our chests in order to seem larger than we were. With our shoulders squared up, we made a very compelling and masculine walk towards them. At least, I think we did… We were wasted. Short chatting, we made it all the way back to our rooms HQ and let the fireworks fly.

I remember one of the girls, whose name was unknown at the time, taking my hand and guiding me all the way up the hotel stairwell. The adrenaline of possibly getting caught was invigorating. She grabbed me and pushed me up against the exit door, taking full control of the mood and showing no fucks or concern who might be potentially looking or coming. With more force than I had imagined, she ordered me to pull down my pants. Staring into my eyes, I could see her mischievous nature fermenting into an equation where she was fucking me whether I wanted it or not. Some may call it rape, but since there is no raping the willing, I’d much rather call it submissive molestation. She dropped to her knees and dam did she please. It seemed every time I attempted to dismount her in any way possible, she would switch the moves on me, until I finally had to force myself to finish. I owned the moment and finished hard as she moaned the words, "Yes, Daddy!" out loud. I knew she had a man, and hearing these words that should be directed towards the alpha, led me to my overpowering finale. That was, of course, in between drinking games, beer pong, freestyle rap battles, and gossiping about the couple that had sex in the hotel treadmill area in front of kids. It was a night that I'd never forget.

Now, I know what you may be thinking. “You’re a disgrace, Bryan. You're part of the problem.” And to be honest, I’d say you’re dam right. In fact, I’d further tell you to reach up in the air and try to catch all the fucks I gave that night, because the truth is I had NONE. I mean shit… everybody has to lose their virginity at one point in their life…
I woke up the next morning to Wiz Khalifa – No Sleep, which fit perfectly to my still drunken state. I had a pep in my step, and an ego the size of the world. Tate awoke in a random room. We met each other in the halls with instant hugs and laughter to our drunken night we successfully survived. Still hungover, we decided to do a bit of justified day drinking, to avoid worsening symptoms from our prior drunken stupor.

Just about 5-klicks from the hotel was an Irish pub I desperately wanted to explore. The pubs name was Fado, which means 'Long Ago' in Gaelic. It was to my surprise that the pub was decorated in old Irish shit. It had a traditional Irish wooden bar with the smell of booze and oak that polluted the air. Flags hung from the ceiling that read 'cead mile failte', which means Ireland Forever. It was a nice change from our hotel rooms we left in ruin. Without even thinking about it, I walked up to the bar and demanded two large European sized pints of Guinness. Tate, still checking out the bar in order to conjure up typical questions about Ireland, smiled at my decision for his drink. "What if I had wanted something else?" he said smiling with a smirk on his face, almost expecting me to give a shit. I looked forward at the bar with a chuckle and raised my finger. "You ask me this question as if I give a shit because fact of the matter is, you're in an Irish pub..with an Irish man.. ..did I mention that I just bought you a drink? Now, shut your hole and come drink this pint with me as if it where our last." Surprised at my compelling answer, he agreed, shrugged and secured his pint. "Cheers, brother!" I glanced at that man and then picked up my ignorant fluid with my response, "Slainte! Don't be confused, it's cheers in Ireland, which means good health." We both smiled, raised our drinks, and wet our beaks with the black stuff bad decisions are made of. I mean, after all, it was me and him against the world.