Joe signed up at the Community College to take electrical classes. To pay his way he found a job unloading trucks at a warehouse. I didn't charge him rent at first, so he saved his pay and bought a motor-cycle. Once he had transportation, he started contributing to the rent. It was a relief to have someone to help with the bills.
Joe was a healthy kid, he didn't drink or smoke or do drugs. He ran early in the morning and he bought a collection of free weights and a pull-up bar that he installed in his door frame. After six weeks of him working out daily, I noticed a difference, especially in his arms and shoulders. I always hugged him when I left for work and when I came home. I liked to feel his strong arms around me. I have lived in apartment complexes for years as a single woman. It felt good to have a man in my home.
I found out what a good protector Joe was when one Friday night I wanted to go out for a beer. Joe agreed to escort me even though he doesn't drink. It was a warm night so we took his motorcycle and rode over to Kennedy's Pub. All the tables were taken, so Joe and I sat on stools, propping up the bar. Joe drank Ginger Ale while I had two Coors Lites. There were some guys at the pool table that kept eyeing me. I ignored them, but when Joe went to the bathroom one guy came up to the bar and stood a little too close while he ordered his drink.
"You need a refill?" he asked me, "Looks like boyfriend ain't old enough to buy a real drink."
"I'm good thanks," I said, without smiling.
He put his face closer and I could see the hairs in his nose and smell his whiskey breath. His eyes were trying to hold mine, but I turned my head.
"You're kind of up in my space," I said. "Could you step back?"
"I thought we might get a little closer," he said, looking down my shirt. He put his arm around me, winking at his pool-table buddies.
I was about to tell him to take a hike when Joe appeared. He walked right up and asked,
"Is this a friend of yours?
"No," I said, "I never met him before in my life."
"Ok sir," Joe said quietly, "We were having a private conversation, do you mind?"
"Do I mind? Hell no. What I mind is some junior mint getting in my business. You kiss my ass son."
Without another word, Joe unhooked the guy's arm from my neck, put the flat of his hand in the middle of his chest and shoved him hard across the room. The dude lost his balance and sprawled across the pool table, scattering balls. A beer smashed on the floor and then a biker-looking dude grabbed the guy off the table and dragged him across the room to the door.
"You're drunk, asshole," he said, "You spilled my drink. Get out of here before I give you a Friday Night Special Free Ass Whooping."
The guy looked back at Joe with angry bloodshot eyes and pointed his finger.
"I know who you are motherfucker!" he yelled as he was shoved out the door.
"Yeah, yeah," the biker said, turning to Joe and spreading his hands in a "what can you do?" gesture. "You done it now buddy," he said to Joe, gesturing with his thumb to the departing drunk. Then he laughed. "Fuck it man, what a dick."
I slid off the bar stool and put my arms around Joe's neck. Now the drama was over, I felt the adrenaline rush in my belly. My nipples were hard and my panties were damp. I can't help it, fights always have that effect on me. Maybe it's all the testosterone. Joe's dad once beat up a guy who knocked me over at a dance. He was a big guy, out of his mind on coke, running round the dance-floor. He knocked me flying and just kept going. Frank tackled him from behind, put him on the floor and kicked the crap out of him.
On the drive home, Frank had a busted lip and a bruise on his face and that put me over the edge. There's just something about a guy who has been in a fight, especially when he's fighting for you. Frank was so pumped that he ripped my dress right off me and we fucked for hours all over the house.
The scene at Kennedy's bar felt like déjà vu all over again. Here's Frank's son, protecting me just like his daddy did. I pressed my body against Joe and looked in his eyes. "You took care of business," I told him. "It feels good to have a real man by my side."
Joe smiled and tried to make out like it was nothing, but I could tell by the bulge in his pants that he was feeling what I was feeling.
"Let's get out of here," I whispered. "Take me home."
Joe had parked his bike in back and he told me to wait at the front door. I waited for a few minutes, all excited to get on the bike. Then I heard raised voices. Had the guy waited for Joe? I ran around back. Sure enough, he and another asshole had Joe backed up against a wall.
"You think I was going to leave it at that? Shit, son I eat fuckers like you and spit 'em out." The guy who fell on the pool table was talking big. His dimwit friend stood there with his hands on his hips trying to look tough.
"You leave him alone," I yelled at them, "leave us be you fucking losers!"
"Yeah bitch? I'll show you who's a fucking loser," he said and he kicked Joe in the balls.
The other guy hit Joe on the side of the face and right then, Joe seemed to come alive.
He grabbed blood-shot-eyes by the shoulders and head-butted him so hard that the guy sank to his knees with blood pouring from his nose. Joe pivoted and punched the sidekick in his fat gut. Joe looked relaxed, like he was taking out the trash. He hit the guy three times and threw him back against the wall.
"Get your friend and get out of here before you really get hurt," Joe said.
The two guys dragged themselves over to a green Dodge truck and peeled rubber out of the parking lot, cussing us out the whole time.
Joe looked at me, "Jeez," he said, "Do you always have that effect on guys?"
I laughed. "Get your bike wise-ass," I said, "We are out of here."
