It’s pitch black and British George II and I are holding hands, running through a field. We’re trying to find a location to “wrestle.”
It’s July 4th and I’m at my sister’s friend Spencer’s place in Connecticut. We’d been drinking beers, watching beer pong, and waiting for the fireworks to explode.
British George II, who I had to deem the second because there’s already a British George in my life, and I had been chatting about rugby. He’d played a game today. He was showing me all of his cuts and bruises which I was happy to see because it meant that he was more bruised than I was! And as a clumsy person who can’t sit still, that’s big.
And now we’re searching for a “battle ground.” I’m pretty excited because I’ve been hoping to hook up with him since the start of the summer. His shaggy blonde hair and cartoonish blue eyes are exactly my type. And his bruised and banged up muscular body is perfect.
Crash! Man down. Blue coat down.
Wait make that 2. Red coat down too.
My eyes tear up. My hip and knee are gushing onto the ground which has transformed from grass to gravel. Well maybe it didn’t transform as much as I moved from the grass to the gravel but still. George’s knees are pretty scraped up as well.
I look at him trying to figure out what to do. “I’m bleeding. Should we go back?” I ask. I don’t want a ceasefire but it’s better than completely grossing him out.
It doesn’t bother him so we run towards the field. The British mounts an attack from behind. But the wounded soldier can’t bend his knees properly and can’t fire his rifle. We’re both in a lot of pain so this is difficult. George pulls out and fires the last shot, deliberately missing the target. He wants me to be free. The battle was short, probably because he’s in pain and sort of just wants to cum and be done.
We walk out of the field covered in battle wounds.
The fireworks begin and it’s easier to see. There’s a gaping hole in my hip with blood gushing from it. My knees are bruised. George and I are oozing red, white, and blue. America the free.
When I arrive to my mom’s place, my sister and I invite her friend over. He’s a pre-med upcoming sophomore and we’re hoping that he can tell us if I’m going to die. He says that I’m fine. Almost 4 years later I still have a giant scar on my hip.