(sobs between whimpers)(sobs between whimpers)

It's no secret Yours Truly, a.k.a. CockySuit, is known as one of The City's most eligible bachelors. In fact, I was listed as #7 out of 10 in CITY MAGAZINE'S most recent feature story, with the promise of AN EXCLUSIVE(!) after the event. I'm handsome, dress well, and am connected to all of the movers and shakers in town.

All of which is to say it came as no surprise when I was asked to participate in The City's upcoming Bachelor Auction. It was for some sort of charity or another, but I didn't bother asking. I was far more focused on putting my best foot, face, and exquisitely appointed, impeccably dressed self forward.

For suiting, I went with a navy, double-breasted pinstriped suit. I LOVED its shine, and the way it showed off my swimmer's body. Golden silk lining and braced suspenders underneath were only known to me. I particularly loved the way the latter, um, held my well-endowed privates in a semi-erect position, and how the side vents of the bespoke jacket framed my tight, finely woven trousers, which showcased my tight, finely muscled, pinstriped ass.

A crisp, tidy, and snug, pale blue designer dress shirt with contrasting white collar and french cuffs, and gold links to match the ring, watch, lapel-pin and tie-clip complemented the silk striped tie. Garters held up my OTCS and I could see my reflection (yay! me!) in the shine of my oxford black lace-ups. A stealthy but charming designer cologne accompanied me wherever I went. Simply put, I was at the top of my game, as I spent the meet-and-greet cocktail hour presenting as a pinnacle Titan of Industry, prestigious, glad-handing all who had hands, and networking the room with subtle perfection.

So, again, it came as no surprise that they held off the bidding FOR ME until the very end of the auction, the other lesser-than bachelors going for a mere $500 at best. I gave each one of them a smug look of sly derision for his poor performance, but it was a look that only they saw. I know how to be charming on the surface. I've been told I positively "ooze" charm in fact, and who am I to argue?

I was a bit insulted when the organizers got to me (finally!) and started the bidding there, at ONLY a measly $500...but then a bid came from a darkened corner in the back of the room, "$5,000! Cash up front now! But we ALL, all of us here, get to have some fun with this 'CockySuit' here and now."

Suddenly I felt my body temperature start to rise, my shirt collar feeling just a smidge too tight and in need of loosening...someone in the crowd murmured "Look at CockySuit; he's blushing."

The fundraiser organizers, speechless themselves, turned their heads in my direction, clearly leaving it up to me to decide my own fate...but muscular stage hands blocked my progress as I tried to leave the stage, and as the bidder slowly parted the crowd approaching the podium himself.

Of course he turned out to be one of those jealous worker-bees I went to college with, one of those sad-sacks who always held a grudge against me because I'd made good on my promise of shooting up the corporate ladder in the white collar world of advertising while they never or only barely advanced, languishing in menial work. I think at one point I knew this one's name. Not sure. And not now. Definitely not now. Just remember him as "Bubba." They were all Bubbas to me. This one had gotten fat over the years (no surprise there) so I barely recognized him in his bad dad-jeans. BUT HE STANK TO THE HIGH HEAVEN, of rotten fish. I'd heard he'd ended up running a seafood warehouse somewhere near the wharf for a living.

His problem not mine...

...until he paid the $5,000 and the crowd insisted he'd be allowed to do whatever he wanted with me (why they turned on me I'll never know - I'd thought I'd charmed them all!)

"FOR THE CHARITY," a couple of them shouted, though still I can't remember what that charity was...and then a few of their hands were on my tailored shoulders and arms, escorting me from the dais.

...He led us all outside, where with a trailer he'd brought along a dunk tank...and had filled it ...with fish guts.

Hence that foul odor he had on him. I tried to get away again but was yet again stopped by two large ruffians. Bubba said, "We can do this the hard way if you want," his callous-strewn hands placed firmly on my shoulders as he looked me straight in the eye, his breath smelling of bourbon and cigars.

So reluctantly, I climbed onto the seat, perched above what looked to be dozens of gallons of slimy fish guts. Purple, pink and putrid looking and UGH! the SMELL! TO THE HIGH HEAVENS!

"Don't worry. We had them all deboned," Bubba said, before taking his first throw, mercifully a miss.

But who was I kidding? We all knew how this was going to end. And with his third throw, expectations were met. He hit his target and I was dropped in, the loud clapping noise of the bench's DROP giving way to a wet and MOIST, SUCKING splooshing sound.

Instantly, I could feel myself going under, into the disgusting MUCK, my arms and legs flailing, failing to find solid ground. When I finally managed to come up for air, the crowd was still cheering and laughing. And as my hard-soled lace-ups slipped off of the stepladder as I tried to ascend it, I went ASS-BACKWARD again into the muck, setting them off into another round of riotous laughter.

Head again above the GUNGE now, out of the corner of my eye, I could see my also-rans, the other bachelors auctioned, giving each other HI-FIVES.

For a good full hour this went on, my climbing out, sitting back on the hot seat, waiting for another thrower to take his aim, if I wasn't falling back in on my own, that is. Some in the crowd had their camera phones out, so I imagine I'll be seeing THOSE VIDS online soon. Oh shit and at the next reunion! UGH!

HUMILIATING!

Dunked. Dunked. Dunked. Dunked. Somebody counted 17 times in all. At first I tried to laugh it all off but this whole thing grew VERY tired very quickly. In the end I look like nothing recognizable...just a repugnant, fetid, REPULSIVE blob of slime.

You might think the suit offered a layer of protection between the fish debris and my skin, but you'd be wrong, as fish guts had made their way into my every suit pocket and worse into every possible crevice on my physical person.

And THAT"S why I LOOK AND SMELL AS NASTYAS I DO! UGH! STINKING TO THE HIGH HEAVENS!

And THAT'S how my braced suspenders BROKE!!!

And oh, great, here comes CITY MAGAZINE to do its follow-up story (AN EXCLUSIVE! UGH!!) on the auction's "SUCCESS."

UGH!!!


(sobs between whimpers)(sobs between whimpers)