Ken nudged me in the ribs. We were sitting side by side in the booth, facing the door of the diner. A pair of attractive college-age girls had just entered. One wore raggedy jean shorts and a yellow bikini top, the other a mostly see-through coverup that more than hinted at a bright blue bikini beneath. This being a beach town, that was hardly surprising, but these two wore their brief clothing in a particularly attractive way. The one in the shorts had dark hair most of the way down her back and a lean, hard body, evidence of either excellent genetics or some time in the gym. Her friend in the coverup was taller, with dyed pink hair cut shoulder-length. Her breasts were big and appeared natural, swinging seductively as she had stumbled in the door, laughing hysterically at something. Our buddies didn't have our unobstructed view, but Rob noticed Ken's nudge and turned to see what we were looking at.
He needn't have. The two girls trooped past us in their flip-flops, still giggling and shoving each other playfully, to the counter near us. By now, Adam and Virgil were focused on those pert butts, though Virgil pretended he wasn't looking. He's the oldest of our group, and the most religious. Hell, he's the ONLY religious person among us! That didn't stop him from enjoying the charms of the young girls that crossed our path, however. We all saw him looking.
"Dayumm!" Rob said loudly. Rob is the redneck of the group that we call The Breakfast Club. Okay. It's lame, I know, but we're all old; or retired, at least. Ken and I are the same age, at 71. Adam is 4 years younger and Rob is 2 years older than the two of us. Virgil is 12 years older than the oldest of us; he's our anchor. Everything gets bounced off Virgil, even the dirty jokes. He indulges us, and seems to get a kick out of our bragging and off-color remarks. Then he goes to church twice a week and prays for us, I'm sure.
"I knew this one would have something to say about that," Ken said, indicating Rob.
"Why, hell yeah," Rob enthused, loudly. "Hell, I'd eat these eggs off of them big ol' ..."
"Hey, easy," Virgil told him softly, before he could embarrass us further. The girls had already noticed the table of geriatric admirers. They giggled again, making faces and smiling encouragingly at us. They could tell we were harmless. The smaller one batted her eyes at Rob, then slapped her friend's shoulder as she turned to give her order to the waitress, who seemed unimpressed with either of them.
"You know," Adam said, "if I got hold of something like that..." He hesitated theatrically, then continued. "...I'd...I'd... Well, I don't know what I'd do. I'd probably have a damn heart attack!"
We all laughed, thinking that might indeed be true. In spite of all our horny comments, I don't think any of us had been near a girl that age, other than grandkids, in a long time. We might have acted like a bunch of horndogs, but we were pretty much all talk and no walk.
Virgil took the opportunity to chide us. "You guys better watch out, or your mouths are gonna over-ride your butts. Especially if your wives find out." He leaned back, but I saw his eyes go to the girls again, seated behind Ken and me. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw two pairs of perfect butt-cheeks perched on the red padded stools. It was a sight to make even an old heart soar. Such perfect tanned flesh!
Rob took the ensuing quiet moments to brag on his powers of romanticism. He regarded himself as the resident Lothario in our group. He attended weekly dances at the Elks Club every Friday night with his wife, and often bragged to us on Monday mornings about how he danced with "every hot woman in the place." His wife, he said, sat back and let him. We all knew she was probably grateful for the opportunity to talk to someone else for a change!
I should describe our little group. Rob, Ken and Adam are all very tall guys - 6'-4" or 6'-5", on average. They tower over Virgil and me. I'm 5'-9" and Virgil is so bent over it's hard to say how tall he really is, or used to be. Adam is a retired ex-CIA agent, he says. Ken was a business owner in Newark, and Rob has done odd jobs most of his life. He claims to be a master of all of them. I'm a retired construction worker, Virgil quit being a salesman long ago. We meet every weekday morning for breakfast at this same diner. The waitresses know our preferences in food, and only make an occasional appearance to get us coffee, and to endure Adam's jokes. He's a naturally funny guy, and has a non-threatening manner they all seem to enjoy.
Virgil spoke again. "I would imagine," he declared, "if any one of you even had the opportunity, those girls would still be safe as kittens."
We all considered that. Then Adam spoke. "Hey, we should at least try," he said. "I'd be willing to get slapped once or twice. It might be worth it."
An sudden flash of brilliance came to me.
"Tell you what," I said slowly, thinking as I spoke. "Let's set up a little competition." I looked at Rob, specifically. "If any of us actually scores in the next few weeks, he wins." I glanced back at the two girls. "Not with them, though. On our own, and nobody cheating. First one to bring in a pair of panties wins."
Though the diner was a hive of activity, you could have heard a pin drop at our table. Rob, of course, was the one to break it.
"Hell, anybody can bring in a pair of his wife's old undies. I might just do that," he cackled.
No one laughed with him. Each of us was considering the dare, except for Virgil, of course. He just waited, eager as always to live vicariously, but not willing to give up his core religious values for something as sketchy as all this.
Adam snorted at Rob. "First of all, if you're gonna cheat, you don't tell us! And second, please don't bring in YOUR wife's dirty undies! Hell, they'd clear the place out!
About that time our waitress for the day, Wanda, came over to fill our coffee mugs. Laughter and conversation stopped abruptly, so she knew we were talking about 'guy stuff.'
"Y'all don't get yourselves all worked up," she drawled, "I seen 'em, and I don't need no premature eradications on my chairs!" She laughed hilariously at her own joke, along with Rob. He laughs at pretty much anything.
When she left Ken spoke up. "Well, I'd be willing to tr
And so the gauntlet had been picked up.
* * * * *
It was exactly about three weeks later. I was ready. I'd been ready for a couple of days, in fact, but biding my time. The diner was full, but nobody was paying much attention to us. Even Wanda had left the coffee pot on the table, unwilling to put any more miles on her tired feet than she had to. Ken finally brought it up.
"Well, I guess you guys forgot about that contest we talked about," he ventured. He was the only single man among us, so I immediately suspected he'd scored, though I couldn't imagine with whom.
"So, did you manage to make love to something other than your hand?" I asked. The table erupted in taunting laughter.
