“So, you think this drug will work for Sassy’s party on Friday?” “Yeah!”

I stepped out of my house. The crisp, clean night air promised a night of adventure. The street light highlighted a black sedan with three silhouettes inside. Strange, since I expected four. My front door slammed on my messy apartment, and I sprinted to the idling car.

“Sas, you ready?” my best friend, Amber, asked from the passenger seat. The bitch took my seat again. White teeth shone, her canines more pronounced than anyone else’s. She claimed they made her half wolf and she often howled on moonlit nights like this one. My first friend, and the first married, and divorced, in our group of five, now four. Her ex-husband tried to tame her, but nobody could change Amber.

“Always,” I said. Cassie sat beside me, married last month. She had cut her hair since she last came out with us. Her black hair used to flow down to her lower back, but now she styled it in a bob that stopped at her shoulders, like Uma Thurman’s Mia Wallace character in Pulp Fiction, her husband’s favorite movie and the wrong haircut for her oval face.

“Your hair looks nice,” I said to Cassie. Kill me now if I ever cut my hair for a guy.

Cassie squeezed my hand.

Con, Constantina, only to her mother, didn’t say anything. Her white knuckles gripped the steering wheel, she scowled and stared down the road. Con had a thing for punctuality, but I didn’t care. Tomorrow, I marry, tonight, I party, and a girl needs time to get ready.

“Thanks for driving,” I said and rubbed my fingers on her BMW’s black leather seats. The wide-spaced street lights created a strobe effect as she sped down the street to my bachelorette party, a last fun night, before I shackled myself to the love of my life, Brian.

“Where’s Yara?” I asked. I knew why Yara didn’t make it, even though she promised via text an hour ago.

“Husband,” Amber said and turned in the seat towards me.

Yara used to know how to have fun, let loose, and party with the girls, but since marriage, she’s stayed at home and watched movies. If you had told me a year ago that Yara would like ‘When Harry Met Sally’, much less skip a party with us to snuggle on the couch with a guy, well, shit, I’d have smacked you upside the head. Hell, her with only one guy, fuck me. The girl once stated three holes filled made for an okay night.

“I got something for you,” Amber held four glass vials with yellow liquid and silver specks suspended in it. The specks glowed as we sped through a dark band.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked and grabbed a vial from her. Warm to the touch, the specks didn’t move like gold flakes in Jägermeister, rather, they swam like minuscule bugs. I held the liquid in the glass vial the size of my pinky with a glass stem to break.

“Is this safe?” I asked.

“Fuck, no!” Amber said and laughed. She broke her vial and swallowed the liquid. She offered vials to Cassie and Con, but both declined. Con, no surprise, she never put anything into her body that she hadn’t analyzed, whereas Cassie used to drink anything and everything. She once threw up a used condom that Yara dared her to eat, although, the multiple shots of vodka and cum did the real work.

I broke my vial, careful not to cut anything on the glass edge. The liquid had no smell, so I drank it, tasteless, rolled down the window, tossed the glass, and screamed as Amber howled.

“Fuck, you’ll blow my ear drums!” Con said. She grinned, only one hand on the wheel. Cassie giggled. We all howled—four girls on the prowl for fresh meat.

We chose an out-of-the-way western pub to begin our journey into debauchery.

“We have arrived,” Con said.

The building backed onto empty fields and half of the outside lights didn’t work. The neon sign of a yellow cowboy hat that used to spell ‘Cowboy Rock’s Watering Hole’, had lights broken and spelled ‘C**o*ck******* Hole’. Excellent. A red neon girl shone from the window beside the door.

“A strip club? Fuck yeah!” Amber said and howled. She sounded louder outside, more emotion, more purpose, more alive. Ever since her divorce, she has embraced life. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her mouth strained wide, and her face grew red. Heat radiated from her and I overheated with her.

We exited the car like movie stars. Con, her afro puffed up, her oversized breasts crammed into a black leather vest over black leather pants. She wore three-inch, black heels that made her tower over the rest of us, and her deep red lips made an evil grin. I knew that look, she wanted to get drunk and laid.

Steps with no rhythm, fingers fluttered, waved strands of webs, beacons, blackness, and ** and ** or, my mind returned.

“Fuck, I’m burning for Cowboy cock!” Amber said and howled. Her wavy, brunt, blonde hair hung down as she faced the sky. Her back arched and thrust out her breasts, encased in a black bra top. Her hands spread wide to encompass the night. We hadn’t done this in months and this might turn out to be my last night to let loose and enjoy a night with the girls. Our gaze met, and our minds connected on cock, the need for cock, the need for connection.

“Do you think it’s ok to go in?” Cassie asked, plain and lost. She wore her silver mid-riff top that displayed her breasts and showed off her stomach. A stomach that she used to keep trim and tight, but now had a slight bulge. Kill me if I ever change like her.

“Let’s go, Bitch’s!” I said and howled with Amber. Our voices intertwined, merged, and sent shivers of desire between us.

We strutted to the building, and even Cassie joined the line, as the crunch of our heels on the gravel played the perfect rhythm to our swaying hips. My short skirt flipped and swung to expose, and cover, my white thong split ass, my best feature. White and black do not mix, however, white in the neon will glow, and the black will accent it. I wanted the guys to drool over me and my assets. My last free night to fly high and wild, to have guys need, want, and devour me with their eyes and minds. The moon watched us, envied us, down on earth, alive, while it remained trapped in orbit.

I glanced down at Cassie’s ring, gold, with a large diamond. I picked out one just like it, except mine had white gold with three diamonds, so nothing like it. I hope my ring doesn’t shackle like her’s did, or worse, like Yara’s. We arrived at the door and I vowed that my ring wouldn’t change me, I would remain a free spirit, just with a significant other. How that will work, I had no idea, but it has to.

Music leaked through the door as Amber glanced at us, “Last night, you ready, Sas?”

I howled in response. Amber joined me and we laughed as we strutted into the bar. We stepped inside and my skin erupted in sweat. The warm, smoky, sweat-filled, air rushed over me. Guys stared at us, some tall, some short, most fat, but a few skinny, none even close in looks to my future husband, and yet, my groin moistened, my nipples hardened, and my mind screamed, ‘COCK!’. My gaze snapped to a fake cowboy at the bar. The nearest cattle roamed hundreds of miles away, so his white cowboy hat, denim jacket with blue jeans, and his stupid cowboy boots, all screamed poser. The fucker drank a cocktail. He had dainty hands, a well-kept beard, a fat belly, and a big ass. Walking to get a manicure might be the hardest exercise he gets. Forget wrestling a steer or even riding a horse. And yet, my crotch, my mind, burned with desire for him and his small bulge.

“Hey, ya poser, you want to show me the little boys’ room?” I asked. Where did those words come from? Why did I have a hand on his weak, scrawny shoulder? Shit, his eyes held fear and his mouth hung open. My version of a cowboy hunk picks me up and carries me to the washroom to drain his seed inside me. Fuck, he couldn’t lift a beer, hence the stupid blue drink. While I waited for his mind to process, I glanced around for my friends.

Con and Cass ordered drinks at the other end of the bar. Amber had walked to a guy in the corner closest to the door. Her hand strobbed red while it rested on his hand. The skinny guy grinned.

Deep shadowed walls, nude posters of dancers, a polished stage, silver and gold trim, and lights flashed. A thin girl with a slight belly gyrated on the stage. She stood in high heels on the slippery surface. Breasts, a green celery sandwich, purple fingers high-fived, and water rushed. I snapped back to the moment.

The dude took too long to respond, so I grabbed his hand and dragged him to the washroom. I wanted to taste him, my last taste of freedom. Who knew freedom tasted like sour cum. The black and red hallway led to two doors, male and female. I hadn’t been in a male washroom since high school. I pushed into the urine-soaked room. Two stalls, two sinks, and a silver metal scratched-up sheet for a mirror. What guy draws a dick on the wall? A stupid one. Breasts, sure, pussy, understood, but a dick? How many guys are gay?