This story follows the events in "A Random Encounter." I decided to expand on the Marshall's adventures. Feedback would be greatly appreciated.
Chapter Two: Marshall's Big Night
Marshall staggered through the happy hour crowd at Butch's Bar and Grill. His mind still reeled from the miracle he had just been a part of. A gorgeous, sultry, twenty-something had picked him, average guy personified, out of the crowd, dragged him to the bathroom and given him the best blow job of his life. Of course it was only the fourth blow job of his life, so he didn't have a lot to go by; but he felt pretty certain that she knew what she was doing.
The mystery of why she would have chosen him still lingered, but he pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on enjoying the moment. He squirmed past knots of young professionals, at 35 he and his friends were definitely among the older people there, and made it back to his table. His friends were exactly where he had left them twenty minutes earlier. Paul, Dave and Matt were all pretty much like him; 35 and reluctantly coasting downhill toward middle age. The only real difference was that the three of them were all married and he was single. Once a month, they got together for happy hour and spent four or five hours drinking heavily and recounting the same stories of their glory years in high school and college. The married men believed their best days were behind them and seemed resigned to that fact. Still single, though, Marshall couldn't let himself fall into that trap. He held onto a tiny spark of hope that his life would change. And so, he kept going on blind dates set up by well-meaning co-workers. He tried a dating service from time to time. And, on the rare occasions he went out on an evening, he would wander through the crowds, trying to be noticed. This time, it had happened; and he couldn't wait to tell the guys about.
"Oh, my God," he exclaimed as he slid into the booth next to Paul. "You are not going to believe what just happened to me!"
They turned towards him, glassy eyes struggling to focus.
"I was standing over by the bar, scoping out the crowd, when this smoking hot redhead comes up to me and tells me she wants blow me in the bathroom!"
Marshall's friends' looks of interest quickly turned into smirks of disbelief. Matt was the first to speak.
"Yeah right! Did you fall asleep right before this happened?
"No, I'm totally serious! She fucking pulled me into the women's room and blew me in one of the stalls!"
Dave and Paul perked up a little and refocused their attention on him. It was one thing to bullshit about women you'd talked to and what you'd said; but it would definitely be out of character for Marshall to totally fabricate something like this.
"Are you serious," asked Dave?
"Oh, give me a break!" Matt wasn't buying it for a second. Stuff like that only happened in pornos. Nothing even remotely similar had ever happened to him, that was for sure. The fact that he'd married the first woman he ever slept with had nothing to do with it. Bathroom blowjobs were for pornos and Penthouse Letters, not middle-age schmucks in suburban bars.
Marshall looked from one of his friends to the other, sincerity and excitement written all over his face as he told the story of his encounter. When he finished, his friends sat in stunned silence. Dave and Paul were completely convinced. Matt still harbored doubts, but he was impressed by the amount of detail Marshall had been able to provide. Paul raised his glass in a toast.
"Well damn! We gotta drink to that! To Marshall and to slutty redheads in bathrooms!"
They all raised their glasses and quickly emptied them. Matt waived to their waitress for another round while the others turned the conversation to their past sexual exploits, both real and imagined. Each trying to outdo the other with stories they had all heard a hundred times and that were embellished with every telling. Marshall usually felt inadequate during this part of the evening, Paul and Dave had been much more successful with women than their other two friends; but tonight was different. As usual, he didn't get to contribute much to the sex talk; but he was buoyed by the knowledge that their escapades were ten years in the past. His had happened just minutes earlier.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Beers gave way to mixed drinks, which were then augmented with shooters. More toasts were made. More memories were shared. Again. By midnight, the friends were all well and truly drunk and they propped each other up as they made their way out of the bar. The warm, humid July air did nothing to clear their heads as they huddled outside on the sidewalk. As always, they lingered longer than necessary over their lives; three of them delaying their return to family life, the fourth to an empty apartment. Finally, the sultry conditions put an early end to the conversation and they called it a night. They exchanged man-hugs, right hands clasped, left arms around shoulders for a firm but brief embrace, and the group split up. Paul, Dave and Matt staggered to the parking lot and poured themselves into Dave's car for the journey to the suburbs. Dave had no business driving, but twenty years of experience told them that he had the best chance of getting them home alive.
