Whats In A Dry Old Fuck Ch 02

Chapter Two: Ten years later...Mary...Helen...pissing trouble

So that's where I was when I first saw Mary, ten years later. I was still going to Len's Bar occasionally on a Friday evening after work, though less often. The novelty of years gone by had more or less worn off, and I didn't show up so often because of work pressures. But I put in an appearance when it suited me, mostly to keep in close contact with one or two clients who frequented the same den of iniquity, and with some of my useful pals in the financial institutions.

Things had changed a bit in the intervening years. Len had left his wife for the French Algerian bar girl. Len's wife, after sleeping with an inestimable number of bar customers, male and female, had finally gone to live with one of them, a young stud ten years younger than her, poor sod. And the bar had been sold to a rich Greek called Tony Vassilikos. He kept the name 'Len's Bar' and took over where Len left off, banging bar girls and female customers at every opportunity. But he was a single man, and had no complications to think about of the kind Len had.

Some other minor things had changed, but not much, and it was still a place to go, sort of. Michael still was the major predator in the bar. He was older, weren't we all, and less successful in the seduction stakes, but it didn't stop him from trying. Once a lech, always a lech. In the generic sense, everybody and his brother, his secretary and his mistress were still regulars there; and now, with their mobile phones and electronic organisers too. Nobody asked to do the gang bang anymore.

For me, quite a lot had changed in those ten intervening years. My business was flying, I had a bigger office, and staff around me; my old second hand Peugeot 305 had become a sleek Mercedes Benz 230, new. I had money. I had Helen in my life. And I had a prostate problem.

Helen didn't like Len's Bar. It was not her style; she had nothing in common with its clientele, and after a first and only unhappy venture into the bar with me one Friday evening, Helen subsequently did no more than wait at home for my phone call, to meet me outside the bar tightened up too, had begun to frighten us all.

Helen was ten years younger than me and very classy, but not what you'd call highly sexually evolved. Never married, no kids, but in many ways she was quite the ideal public partner for a moderately successful businessman like me: good to look at, intelligent, tall, and attractive, always impeccably dressed, and with a body most men would sell their souls for, young or old. But what Helen made up for in class she lacked in sense of adventure in bed.

This moderately successful but highly sexed businessman was missing out, so to speak, felt sometimes as though he was in danger of passing alongside the ultimate experience, and very occasionally was known to step off the straight and narrow.

The prostate gave me a problem for pissing, not for having sex. But it needed fixing.

One Friday in summer, I noticed Mary for the first time at Len's Bar. I saw her arrive with another girl, and the twosome made an odd, ambiguous couple. Mary was quite small and what I might have called in those days 'dumpy'. She was very pretty with it, though, and very well rounded; her fullest of full breasts and ass were her best features, and simply begged for attention, visual and actual.

But it was when I saw her up close for the first time that I became aware of her pretty grey eyes and soft pale skin. She was much better looking than I first thought. Towering above her as we stood side by side at the bar counter, I was able to see a stunning cleavage bursting at her lightweight black dress.

My masculine interest rose, but reflecting quickly on her age, I decided hers was probably way less than half mine, and therefore this most delightful package was, in all probability, a no-go for me. There comes a time in every man's life when he has to face facts. But Mike and I both had the same problem: we didn't know quite when that fact-facing, life-changing moment would arrive.

Mary's friend was a tall and skinny, scrawny short haired girl of no sexual interest, who never smiled and didn't say much. She seemed at odds with the world.

Curious, I asked Mike about Mary. He didn't know much at all; he'd heard her talking to a group of people a few weeks earlier, said she was an American who had recently come to work in the city, in finance, like us, but he didn't know exactly where. Oh, and she was a lesbian. "That's her regular girlfriend over there, the sad, ugly one lurking behind. You're wasting your time there, Ken. Anyway, lesbian or not, she's far too young for an old chap like you. Stick with Helen, she's a gem." Everybody thought Helen was a gem.

I nodded my agreement, but as the evening wore on, I couldn't help looking Mary's way, taking in her body, her pretty eyes and her sure way of carrying herself. Our eyes met just once, and she gave me what I took to be a peek-a-boo, vacant smile, before looking away again. I knew she'd noticed me, though.

There was a certain confidence in her manner, and I noticed that whenever she was talking to men, they seemed captivated by her eyes, entirely focused on what she was saying. Her lurking, ghoulish friend showed her obvious dislike of all this male attention Mary was getting, but, if it was common knowledge that Mary was a lesbian, then it didn't seem to be putting the men off, I thought.

Once, I managed to manoeuvre myself into an eavesdropping position in the bar, but the conversation told me no more about her; there was a hint of trans-Atlantic accent, and no give-away detail about where she worked.

Then someone told me that Helen was waiting for me at the door. I emptied my beer glass and left. I forgot about Mary. Almost.