Assholes Finish First (36 page)

Tucker “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

I shoot up off of her, sprint into the bathroom, and plop down about a nanosecond before a tsunami of pulpy poop juice comes flooding out of me, like my ass was an upended milk jug. For a second I feel like my very soul will discharge out of the back of me. After five minutes, I take a gander into the toilet—if I didn’t know better, I’d think the shit was staring back at me, like it wanted to fight.

TheVirgin “Is everything OK?”

Tucker “Yeah, sorry. I drank a lot of juice earlier. Let’s get back to it.”

TheVirgin “Oh… OK.”

You know how exhausted you feel after a really long, draining shit? Yeah, well try and get hard after that. I felt like Dirk Diggler in
Boogie Nights
, during the prostitution scene in the car, “I’ll get there, just gimme another second.”

We eventually get things going, and I get close to cumming… when I start to feel it again. This was not as urgent as the last one, but like an Indian with his ear to ground, counting the number of approaching horses, I can sense it coming.

What do I do now? Since I’m close, I start to pump more vigorously, thinking I can get my cum to beat my poop to the finish line. But it seems like the harder I try to cum, the more my poop gains. Have you ever tried to contract your sphincter as you’re having sex? Try it. It’s really fucking hard.

As I move my penis back and forth inside her, I have a brief flash of insight: It wasn’t a good idea to eat exclusively dried meat for a week and
then drink a gallon of freshly squeezed juice. This seems very obvious in retrospect.…

I jump off her and sprint to the toilet again.

TheVirgin “Are you OK?”

Tucker [
in a strained voice
] “Yeah. Be out in a second.”

TheVirgin “Should I go?”

Tucker “No, no problem. Just chill for a second.”

As my ass spends the next five minutes fire-hosing greenish brown juice into the toilet, I silently curse Ron Popeil, Jack LaLanne, Billy Mays, Anthony Sullivan, and every other petty hustler associated with anything sold on TV. Not even OxiClean and a ShamWow! would be able to get this stain off my soul.

Before I was done, it took two more shits to pass every ounce of waste and fluid out of my body. I had read the whole “more people die from the dehydration caused by diarrhea than the actual disease that causes the diarrhea” factoid, but I’d never understood the concept until that night. I was so dehydrated by the time we finished I think I ejaculated sawdust. I collapsed onto her in pure exhaustion, almost overheating because I hardly had enough water in me even to sweat, and so tired from all the shitting I couldn’t even go to the bathroom to get water.

She pushed me off her, quickly put her clothes on, and scrambled out. She may have said good-bye, I don’t know. It took me thirty minutes of recovery before I had enough energy to make it upstairs. I was unable to look at juice without a spasm of revulsion, so I started pounding Gatorade as fast as I could.

Bunny “Tucker, that poor girl had the worst look of shame and disgust on her face when she ran out of here. What did you do to her?”

Tucker “Gave her a magical first time?”

S
TRICT
L
IABILITY

Occurred—July 2006

This virgin had been emailing me for a while, and even though she typed in that annoying teen lol-speak shit (OMG, lulz, how r u, STFU), the pictures she sent were really cute, and she seemed eager and nice, so I agreed to take her virginity.

When the day came, she knocked on my door at about 3pm. I answered it, and I momentarily thought a Girl Scout was at my door to sell me some Thin Mints. She had a hot pink puffy jacket on, edged with frilly lace, a
High School Musical
backpack, barrettes in her hair, and those rosy pink, baby-fat cheeks you see on girls who scream when their town is added to a Jonas Brothers tour.

What the fuck? Most girls don’t look exactly like their internet pictures, and I can adjust for this, but this girl had worked some incredible magic with her pics. It wasn’t that she was bad-looking at all. She was just so young.

Don’t get me wrong, young is a good look for women, but prepubescent is not, and this girl didn’t look old enough to cross state lines. I can deal with a 20 year old girl wearing pigtails; that can even be kinda hot under the right circumstances. But this was not a barely legal girl; she looked too young for
Tiger Beat
. In the meekest, lowest voice possible:

YoungGirl “Hey.”

Standing in the doorway looking at her, for a split second I seriously considered just closing the door. But I didn’t—I mean, she was already here, willing to fuck, and it was still pussy. She might be disturbingly young
looking, but she was not ugly, and I’d definitely fucked worse. Plus she was a virgin, so it was normal that she’d look a bit innocent and young for her age.

I invited her in and talked to her for a little while. But the more we talked, the more uncomfortable I felt. Red flags and warning bells were going off all over the place, like a disaster slot machine just hit the megajackpot. Nothing was right about this girl.

Over the course of our emailing, she had told me she was a freshman in college, and I told her to bring her ID with her because I was going to card her. I was half joking—it didn’t occur to me that a college girl might not only be under drinking age, but under fucking age—but at this point I decided I needed to follow through on it:

Tucker “You brought your ID, like I told you, right? Let’s see it.”

She pulled it out sheepishly. I wish I had scanned it so I could show you; you’d crack up laughing. It was a fucking joke. The picture was of a girl with different hair, different-color eyes, and BRACES! It was so obviously someone else’s ID, I wasn’t even sure it would work on Bourbon Street. It also said she was 19. If this girl was a 19 year old college freshman, I was an 80 year old D-day veteran.

Tucker “OK, come on. This is the most ridiculous fake I’ve ever seen. You couldn’t fool a blind person with this.”

She tried to sell me for about a minute, but I was having none of it.

Tucker “Come on, just stop lying. You’re getting nowhere. Seriously, how old are you?”

I expected her to say 17. Even though the age of consent in that state was 17, I don’t hook up with girls under 18 on principle, so her being young was actually turning out to be good thing—I wasn’t into her at all,
physically or as person, and now I had a nice, nonpersonal excuse when I broke the news that I wouldn’t be firing it in her.

YoungGirl “I’m 14.”

You know that feeling you get when you know you’re fucked, you can see it coming, but it hasn’t quite hit yet? Like when you’re sitting at a stoplight, and you see a car speeding toward you in the rearview mirror and the driver is looking down texting instead of at the road. That moment when you realize he’s not going to look up in time to stop, that split second before the disaster happens, when everything slows down and you know for a fact you’re completely fucked and there’s nothing you can do about it? I had that feeling.

Tucker “OH MY GOD!! OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!! 14??? 14!??!?!!? PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE KIDDING?!??!”

She shook her head. My whole body went weak. I had a huge adrenaline dump, my knees buckled, and I had to catch myself on the table. My heart was beating so rapidly I thought it was going to come right out of my chest. I tore into her purse to find her real ID. It wasn’t a state ID, not even a learner’s permit. You need to be 15 to get one of those.

It was a
high school
ID.

And she was a
freshman
.

Tucker “HOLY FUCKING CHRIST!!!!! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME??”

This was the closest I’d ever come to a legit panic attack in my life. I ran to my window and looked outside for Chris Hansen. Even though this girl had sought me out, lied to me about her age, and arrived at my house under false pretenses, I still fully expected a SWAT team to be outside waiting for me. There was no one there, but if cops had been outside, I can say with certainty I would’ve collapsed into a puddle and cried like a little bitch.

The worst part was that even though this girl lied to me in every way, there was nothing I could do. It’s not like I could call the cops on her—how the fuck would I explain this situation to the police? “So you see Officer, I wrote a book about getting drunk and fucking lots of girls, and because of this, girls come to me to lose their virginity.” I would not make it through that sentence before the nightstick came crashing down on my skull.

And God forbid, what if this girl lied to them, about anything? I’d be fucked. The taint of just an accusation, even if you are completely innocent and are eventually cleared, never really leaves you.

All these thoughts coalesced inside my head as I tried to collect myself, making me angier and more freaked out with each passing second. And this was happening in June 2006. You remember what happened in March 2006? The Duke lacrosse case. The fates of Reade Seligmann, Collin Finnerty, and David Evans were fresh in my mind. I couldn’t stand the lacrosse players I knew when I was at Duke (I didn’t know those three), but no one deserves to be falsely accused of anything, especially not a sex crime. It’s wrong and it’s bullshit—and here I was in a position to have exactly that happen to me.

Tucker “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH TROUBLE I COULD GET INTO FOR THIS?!??!?! IF WE HAD HOOKED UP, I COULD GO TO FEDERAL POUND-ME-IN-THE-ASS PRISON!!!”

YoungGirl “I’m sorry.”

Tucker “YOU’RE SORRY? YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH FUCKING TROUBLE I COULD GET IN???”

YoungGirl “I don’t understand, why are you so mad?”

Really, she said this. Those were her words. I started stuttering, I was so flabbergasted.

Tucker “WHY AM I MAD?? DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT STATUTORY RAPE IS, YOU FUCKING MORON????”

And that’s when the crying started.

I guess that reaction should be expected when you scream curses at a 14 year old girl at the top of your lungs… though I’m not really sure, since I haven’t hung out with girls that age since I was in middle school.

Though I felt pretty justified in losing my mind, it wasn’t helping anything. I took a few deep breaths to calm down.

Tucker “OK, stop crying. I’m sorry I yelled, but this is fucking serious. Statutory rape is no joke.”

YoungGirl “But… I want to sleep with you. That’s not rape.”

Tucker “Let me explain something to you. Statutory rape has nothing to do with consent. I can get notarized, filmed consent from you, and it wouldn’t matter. If you are under the age of legal consent—and you are, by a wide WIDE margin—I’m fucked. End of story, I go to prison, no discussion or argument, and I’m labeled as a sex offender the rest of my life, all because you lied to me.”

YoungGirl “But if I’m the one who lied, how can you get in trouble?”

It’s funny. At Duke Law School, I never went to class, I never studied, I never did anything but drink with my friends and fuck UNC sorority girls. My friends call me all the time asking for legal advice, and most of the time, I have no idea what the answer is, so I just quote a scene from
Law & Order
that seems to be on point. Yet, there is ONE thing I did learn…

Tucker “Statutory rape is what’s called a ‘strict liability’ crime. Unlike most crimes, that means that the intent of either party to the crime is irrelevant; all that matters is the act. Your mother and father could come in here and swear on a Bible in front of a judge that you were 18, and if I fuck you, and you’re actually 14, it doesn’t matter what they said, I STILL GO TO JAIL. That’s why it’s called STRICT liability.”

YoungGirl “But that’s not fair.”

Tucker “NOT FAIR?!? SORT OF LIKE YOU FUCKING LYING TO ME ABOUT YOUR FUCKING AGE AND PUTTING ME AT RISK FOR PRISON???”

She started crying again. Bawling hysterically.

As I stood there watching her body heave with sobs, I briefly disassociated from my immediate emotions and began to reevaluate my life. I already knew this situation would take me months to recover from emotionally. In the meantime, there would be no more meeting girls off the internet. I was not gonna talk to girls without first carding them, even at bars, and I didn’t care how much of a fucking weirdo people thought I was being. The next roommate I got would be a bouncer or work for the DMV. I’d have him card every girl I brought home, even if she was so old she looked like a catcher’s mitt with lipstick.

These thoughts calmed me down, and I eventually got her to stop crying and listen to reason.

Tucker “We can debate the fairness of the law later. I can’t have a 14 year old girl in my apartment. I think even this is breaking the law, I’m not sure, and I have no desire to find out. You have to go home right now.”

She had taken a Greyhound bus to come see me, so I walked her down to the bus station to go back home (being as she was 14, she couldn’t even drive a Vespa). We ran into one problem: It was two hours until the next bus was set to depart, and she was scared.

YoungGirl “Can you stay with me until the bus comes? These people creep me out.”

It was like a scene straight out of
Adventures in Babysitting
. Whatever it took to get this girl safely away from me—other than having sex with her—I’d do. I was petrified that other people would notice the 30 year old guy with the 14 year old girl, but I guess they were just as fooled as I was, because no one gave us a second look. Though, if you’ve ever been to a bus station, you know it takes a LOT to stand out.

As we sat amid the bums and assorted other vagrants who ride Greyhound buses, something dawned on me.

Tucker “Wait a minute—your ID said you were 19. You can’t even buy alcohol with that. Why did you get it?”

YoungGirl “Uhhh… I… uhhh…”

Tucker “You went out and got a fake ID for the SOLE purpose of fucking me?”

She didn’t say anything.

Tucker “Oh. My. God.”

I got up to walk around, as walking usually helps me think. I couldn’t process all the traumas that were happening to me at once. A 14 year old girl… got a fake ID… to lose her virginity to me… and rode for an hour on a bus to do it.