MONTANA BACHELOR

Of all my fond Montana memories, one of the best was my pal Malcolm's bachelor party. College students, we didn't have much money, but we loaded up with groceries and beer and drove up the Blackfoot River and found a nice camp spot under the trees. It was Malcolm, Jim, Clark, and Ben Heinz, who we just called Heinz, and me. We piled in Clark's pickup truck--crazy Jim behind the wheel. Malcolm, Clark, Heinz and me hung on as Jim whipped the truck around the gravel curves. We all smiled like stupid kids, gulping the cold mountain air.

We gathered deadfall wood, and by night, we'd made a good campfire. We passed the whiskey bottle and talked of fly fishing and books we'd read and music we liked, and I was feeling full of life and real glad to have these guys as my buddies. Mostly, we talked about girls. Jim kept saying how sorry he was that they couldn't arrange a stripper, but this was Montana. Whadaya going to do?

We all agreed that five dudes in the woods with whiskey and no women just made us "lonesome, ornery and mean." That's a Waylon Jennings song, and we sung it top of our lungs over the campfire.

We were feeling no pain by the time a set of headlights rolled into camp. Stepping out of the jeep was Jim's girlfriend Amber and her roommate Taylor. "Hells bells," here you guys are," shouted Amber, walking into the circle of firelight.

"We can't have a bachelor party with girls," said Clark.

"We can't have a bachelor party without girls," said Jim. He handed Amber the whiskey bottle and she gulped down a swig. Jim and Amber are like the super good looking couple. Every group of friends seems to have the alpha couple--and for us, that was Jim and Amber. Amber was the girl we all secretly wanted, but understood by the unspoken rank, that she was off limits.

"Let's get this party started," shouted Amber. A cheer went up.

We drank and laughed, and took turns staggering out beyond the circle of firelight to fetch more wood and pee. Heinz was trying to talk Taylor into giving Malcolm a lap dance. "You couldn't pay me enough," Taylor teased.

"Come on," he begged, "I happen to have, in my pocket, at this very moment, if not whole dollars, then at least a handful of change....this could be yours!" He held out his hand of spare change and pocket lint.

Taylor laughed. She was catching up on the whiskey, but unconvinced.

"How could you turn down our pal Malcolm," he said, throwing his arm over Malcolm's shoulder. "Our friend is getting married...married....holy matrimony of wedlock." He was clearly drunk, and on a roll. We were all laughing. "Or pal Malcolm is a good guy...a GOOD guy."

"Yes he is," said Taylor, "but I'm not giving him a lap dance."

"Boobies, Taylor, boobies," said Heinz. "Our pal Malcolm is going to be a faithful husband...faithful, I say. And he's not going to ever see another pair of boobies besides his wife's." Heinz was slurring his words, his arm still around Malcolm.

"This is true," said Malcolm with a completely straight face. It came out so deadpan in its delivery, that we all doubled over in laughter.

"Boobies, hun?" said Taylor.

"And all this will be yours," said Hienz, holding out his hand.

"No lap dance," said Taylor.

Malcolm looked forlorn, like a kid told that he might not get a birthday present.

Taylor glanced at Malcolm and then at Amber. Amber raised the whiskey bottle in salute.

In a split second, Taylor peeled off her shirt, bra, and shorts. She ran a complete lap, buck naked, around the fire. We all cheered. Amber laughed and held her head, as if even she couldn't believe Taylor's bold move.


When Taylor completed her campfire streak, she whipped her clothes back on, took the bottle from Amber and took a stiff warming lip-smacking belt of whisky.

"There ya go, Mr. Bachelor," she said to Malcolm. "Boobies and my bare ass...that good enough for ya?"

Malcolm nodded, blushing, but clearly stoked. Everyone cheered.

Taylor turned to Heinz. "Keep the change," she said.