SoMa Literary Review - The Metrosexual Game

The Metrosexual Game

By Kemble Scott

Sam hated this game. There were easier ways to get drunk.

He’d played it once before with Josh at another party. Josh insisted it would be perfect his turn hosting “Boys Night In,” their monthly retreat from the bars at one of the guy’s apartments. Typically, they’d play poker and stink up the place with cigars.

Sam wished they were doing that instead. This new game was so demeaning. It reminded him of how the guys voted for the ugliest bride in the Chronicle’s Sunday wedding section. Some of those women were heinous. Yet they sent their pictures to the paper for all to see. Any woman who doesn’t wax her lip hair for her bridal photo deserves to be ridiculed, right?

But this new game? It was like the guys voting on each other. It was too cruel.

The last time was brutal. That poor guy Hank. He was so humiliated he actually pulled down his boxer briefs to prove he didn’t have that problem, no matter what everyone else thought.

“Ready?” Josh said as he reached into the bowl with his eyes shut and moved his hand around until he grabbed a small piece of folded paper.

“Fuck, yeah,” Karl said as he took a swig from his Boone Ale. “Let the games begin!”

Josh unfolded the paper and smiled wide. He raised one eyebrow and dramatically intoned, “Overbite.”

Overbite? Sam scanned the room. Looking at Josh’s toothy grin, it was clear the clue wasn’t about him – his teeth were so perfect they had to be veneers.

“I know who it is,” Big Dave said. Everyone in the room turned to hear his answer. Big Dave took his forefinger, slowly waved it in the air for a moment, and then pointed. “Sam! It’s Sam, boys. Just look at those choppers. It’s Sam.”

Me? Sam tried to keep a straight face. Not letting anyone else gauge your reaction was part of the game. But inside he was dismayed. Overbite? He didn’t have an overbite. His teeth were fine. Weren’t they?

“That true, Sam?” Rob laughed. “Open wide so we can all have a peek.”

Sam kept his lips pursed shut, smiled and scratched his cheek not-so-subtly with his middle finger.

“Yup, it’s Sam,” Karl agreed.

“Sam.” “Sam.” “Sam.” The votes came in from all the other men. It was unanimous, except for Sam. Nine to one.

“Okay, now it’s time to confess,” Josh said as he raised his hand to get the guys to chime down. “Who wrote down overbite?”

Silence. The men all stared at Sam.

Tim spoke up. “Uh, it’s me.”

“You?” Big Dave was incredulous. “You call that an overbite?”

“It’s not much, but yeah,” Tim smirked.

“Well, gentlemen, that means everyone got it wrong. So it’s the first penalty shot of the night,” Josh said as he topped off ten shot glassed with Jack Daniels. The men each grabbed one off the coffee table.

“To hell with overbites!” Tim yelled. The man whose secret was revealed got to do the toast. In union, the men all gulped down their drinks.

“Round two,” Josh said, not waiting a moment before grabbing another piece of paper from the bowl. Once again, he read the clue with all the flair of a game show host. “Small hands.”

“Sam,” Tim said. “Definitely Sam this time.”

Small hands? Sam sat silently mortified. He didn’t have small hands. His were perfectly normal! A men’s size medium in gloves. What the hell was Tim talking about?

“Show us those girlish little fingers, eh Sam?” Big Dave laughed.

“Sam.” “Sam.” “Sam.” The votes came in from all the other men. Again, it was unanimous, except for Sam. Nine to one.

“Once more, the votes are for Sam,” Josh said as he refilled all ten shot glasses on the table. “I hate to say it fellas, but you are all wrong. ‘Cuz this time the guilty party is…me.”

“You? No fuckin’ way,” Big Dave protested. “I want you to hold your palm up to Sam’s and let’s see who has the smallest!”

“Whoa,” Josh put his hand up to calm the room. “Men, you know that’s against the rules. This is a game about revealing what we think are our flaws. Here among friends, we get drunk, have some laughs and come to terms with our imperfections. Hell, most of the time we find out that no one thinks we’re defective except ourselves. Look around. There are no real dogs in this pack.”

It was true, Sam thought. The men in his circle of friends were exceptional. Metrosexuals, people called them. He hated that word, figuring it was inspired by jealousy, but they were all handsome, young and knew how to present themselves. They drove the right cars, wore fashionable clothes, and worked out to maintain perfect bodies. You needed all that to compete in The City. No one here wanted to end up with an ugly bride.

“This is a game about confessing our perceived weaknesses,” Josh said as he stood to continue his speech. “It is not about proving who actually has the fault revealed in the clue. That’s a road no one here wants to travel.”

“Poor Hank,” someone whispered.

“Yes, poor Hank,” Josh went on. “Some of you have heard what happened the last time this game was played. Hank seemed to think it was important to show everyone that he did not have one testicle larger than the other. He didn’t understand. This game is not about proof! It’s about perception! It’s not about who really has a lop-sided sack.”

Josh picked up a shot glass from the coffee table and the men followed. “Screw small hands!”

They gulped down the whiskey.

Josh reached into the bowl again. “Receding hairline.”

The shouts came from all over the room.

“Sam!”

“Yes, Sam definitely this time.”

“Ditto – it’s Sam!”

What the fuck? Sam clenched his jaw, refusing to reveal his anger. Was this some type of set up? He had thick, dark hair – the wavy kind. Women always said it reminded them of JFK, Jr. Receding? No way. This had to be some kind of joke.

Again, it was nine to one. Down went another round of shots.

The booze started to go to Sam’s head. The clues and guesses all began to run together in his mind, even though they all brought the same reaction from the room…

Bad Breath.

“Sam!”

Third nipple.

“Sam!”

Hairy shoulders.

“Sam!”

Beginnings of a potbelly.

“Sam!”

The clues, accusations and booze kept coming. Pounded by the alcohol, Sam couldn’t take it any more. None of these faults were his. He summoned the courage to fight back and tell all these jerks to go fuck themselv—

“Gentlemen!” Josh shouted. “I am afraid we are down to our last clue. And since we all played so badly tonight, and guessed wrong on every single turn, that leaves us with only one answer for this final round.”

“Sam?” Big Dave snorted.

“True,” Josh smiled. “We all finally get one correct. By process of elimination, the final clue must pertain to Sam. Congratulations gentlemen! You finally got one right answer!”

A round of drunken cheers broke out around the living room.

“What does it say?” Tim asked.

Sam stood up. He’d taken abuse from the guys all night long. He’d been the butt of their jokes, and, uh, the butt stops here. Sam struggled to form a coherent insult to fling at the guys.

“Fuck you,” Sam yelled weakly. The whiskey had made it difficult for him to put the energy needed behind the rage he felt. “Fuck you all.”

“Oh, Sam,” Big Dave said, “be a sport.”

“I’ve been a sport all night! Third nipple? Receding hairline? And which one of you assholes said I have bad breath!”

“Eh, we kinda all did,” Rob said softly.

“Well, then you can all go screw,” Sam slurred. “None of you deserves to know what I think is my imper..fle..fle..fection.”

“Hell, if I had to admit to my bacne,” Big Dave howled, “then there’s no way you’re escaping this.” He elbowed Sam out of the way and grabbed the last scrap of paper out of the bowl.

Big Dave uncrinkled the clue, read it, and then looked at Sam. “Is this true?”

Sam didn’t know how to answer. He’d defended against false claims all night. Now that they finally got to the one that was truly his, all he wanted was to run away in shame. Every other man had admitted to his faults. Even the guy with herpes. Sam found it impossible to be so good-natured. Who wanted to play this stupid game anyway? God damn that Josh!

“Sam?” Big Dave insisted. “Is this true?”

“What does it say?” Someone whispered from the back of the room.

“I don’t want to…” Big Dave stammered.

The guys started shouting.

“Read it!”

“We had to tell ours!”

“Now it’s Sam’s turn!”

“Okay, okay,” Big Dave relented. “It says Abnormally Large Penis.”

Silence.

Tim looked over to Sam, “Like, uh, what’s abnormal?”

“Is it a foot long?” Karl asked meekly.

Sam still couldn’t speak. He felt overwhelmed by shame. Why couldn’t he just confront and laugh off his affliction like everyone else? That’s what the game was supposed to be about – creating the personal shield of armor needed to survive out there in The City.

“Damn it!” Big Dave crumpled the clue and threw it to the floor. “A big dick is not a flaw. Screw you, Sam! We’re all bearing our souls here, and you’re cheating.”

“Well, he did say abnormally large,” Rob pointed out.

“This is bullshit,” Big Dave ranted. “I’m going home.”

The other men filed behind, many of them also grumbling about Sam. Soon all that remained were Sam, Josh, and ten empty shot glasses on a coffee table sticky with the remnants of spilled booze.

“Shit,” Sam said as he sat back down and rested his head in his hands. “Now they all hate me.”

“I don’t,” said Josh as he reached over and put his hand on Sam’s thigh.

The hand felt comforting to Sam. A bond. The touch of a good friend.

“Look, I think you are too drunk to drive,” Josh said. “You need to stay here tonight.”

“Uh, sure.” Sam knew Josh was right. Eight shots of whiskey – he’d guessed right on Rob’s skidmarks – were too much for him. Sam had always been a lightweight compared to the other guys. “I’ll crash here on the couch.”

Josh clasped Sam’s wrist and pulled him up. “No you don’t. That couch is terrible to sleep on. You’ll bunk with me tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Yup.”

What a great guy, Sam thought. He felt sorry for blaming Josh for the way the game went. It wasn’t his fault. Hell, he and Josh had played the game before and it wasn’t this bad. Sam had told those people too about his deformity, and none of them reacted like Big Dave and the guys. That time, they all seemed genuinely interested and concerned for Sam.

Especially Josh.

Add Bio here.Kemble Scott is an editor at SoMa Literary Review. Kemble’s debut novel SoMa is coming soon from Kensington Books.