As a PI, I've dealt with a lot of people over the years, and I've learned a lot. Most of what I've learned about men has been pretty logical. Most of what I've learned about women is they're really fucking confusing.
Guys are pretty easy to read. If you see a guy in a bar drinking a normal American beer like Miller or Coors, you know he's probably going to like sports and will talk your ass off about how this pitcher isn't worth a shit or who's going to win the Super Bowl this year. He's probably not into tennis or figure skating or gymnastics, but he might like to play golf.
If you live in the South, like I do, it's likely if he's not watching sports and sucking down a beer, he's out on a lake sucking down a beer while fishing for bass or crappie. Either that or he's hunkered down around a campfire sipping straight Jack from a red Solo cup and talking about that big buck he saw but couldn't get a clean shot at.
If the guy asks the bartender what craft beers he has of he if can recommend a really good imported pilsner, you can bet he's gonna be an asshole and probably a wimp. He's the one who will watch tennis and figure skating and gymnastics on TV and will know all about all the rules and top players. He's probably a fucking tree-hugger who wants to show women he has a feminine side. The bastard also thinks he's smarter than everybody else so he's always right about everything.
The gay guys are a little harder to spot, but I'm OK with the gay guys. Most of them are pretty normal, well, except for liking pink and purple shirts and fucking other men.
Women are a lot harder to read, especially lesbians. I'm OK with the lesbians too. I just wish they had some sort of official lesbian necklace or bracelet to wear or something to let us guys know.
I mean, they have what they call "lipstick lesbians", which means they're gorgeous and any guy who isn't blind or gay would give his left nut to have some sack time with one of them. You'll see one and start to go say hi when another woman walks up and gives her a hug. It isn't that friendly, bent over so their tits don't touch hug, either. It's a, "this is as close to fucking you like I want as I can get in public", kind of hug.
You can't read a straight woman worth a shit either, or at least, I can't. I mean, you'll see some really hot-looking gal wearing a tight tank top with no bra and little shorts so short her ass cheeks show a little. You just know she wants to fuck some guy until he can't see straight and you hope that guy is gonna be you, so you go up and ask her if you can buy her a drink. She'll let you buy that drink and let you sit at her table and talk to her, but as soon as you say something about getting to know each other a lot better, she'll smile and say, "Oh, I can't do that. Last New Years, I took a vow of celibacy and I feel so empowered now I don't want to stop". That's false advertising in my book and it should be illegal.
Then there are the mousey type women who look like they're afraid of their own shadows. They usually walk around with their shoulders hunched forward so you can't really see if they have any tits or not, and their clothes don't fit well enough you can see how big their asses are. Usually, they're not ugly. They're just average women who don't do much to make themselves look sexy.
I can tell you that at least some of those timid looking women, once they get to know you - like for maybe an hour -- they'll be the ones who'll fuck you cross-eyed and then still want more. She'll never look like she'd be that way, but when she gets done fucking you, you're going to wonder if your cock will ever stand up again.
The woman sitting across from me that afternoon wasn't a lesbian, and she wasn't chunky - well, she was a little - but she wasn't wearing yoga pants that looked ready to split down the ass and leg seams, and she was definitely taking my mind off listening to what she said. She was about fifty, I'd guess, and while the years had added a few pounds here and there, she was a woman I'd have liked waking up next to any day of the week. She had shoulder length blonde hair, a soft, pretty face, and where the pounds had accumulated was mostly her big tits and sexy, wide ass.
Andrea Wilson was her name, and she wanted me to find out what her husband had been doing at his dance classes.
"He joined this dance class almost a year ago. They meet two nights a week for dance lessons and then twice a month they have a dance. I went with him for the first two weeks, but I don't move as fast as I used to, and Warren, that's my husband's name, he kept complaining and telling me I just wasn't trying hard enough. I finally told him he could go learn to dance if he wanted, but I was staying home and watching TV.
"About six months ago, I wanted to...well, you know...and Warren told me he was too tired. He'd never been too tired before, but I just thought he had a hard day at work. Since then, he's been too tired a lot, and I think he might be...well, he might be doing something with another woman. I don't want to think he is, but I have to know. Can you find out for me?"
I said I could do that, and after she paid me in cash for the first two days, I asked her my standard questions.
"Do you have a picture of Warren? I need to know what he looks like so I'll know I'm watching the right man."
Andrea sorted through a purse big enough to hold a couple bowling balls and finally pulled out a wallet. She flipped through half a dozen of those clear photo holders and then pulled out one picture and handed it to me.
"This one is a couple of years old. A guy took it for us when we were at the beach in Miami on vacation."
I laid the picture on my desk without really looking at it.
"OK, now, where is this dance club and what nights does it meet?"
"It's called "Dancing With Divine", and the woman who teaches it has a dance studio over on Elmwood Drive. The classes are on Tuesday and Thursday nights from seven until nine."
That was all I really needed to get started except her phone number and address. Once she gave them to me, I smiled.
"Mrs. Wilson, I'll see what I can find out in the next couple of days and then give you a call and tell you what I know so far. We can talk about what you want to do then."
As I watched Andrea walk out my door, I had to shake my head. She seemed a little shy, but if she wanted her husband to fuck her like she'd said and he told her he was too tired, he was either dumb as a pile of dog shit or he was fucking some other broad.
I found it hard to believe there were many women who'd be better. I'd have loved seeing her blue eyes looking up at me when she said, "Fuck me Harry, right now". Well, that's what I imagined her saying. She probably wouldn't have been quite so direct, but the thought did give my cock a little twinge.
I'd only glanced at the picture she'd handed me, but when I picked it up to get a better look at Warren, I figured that pile of dog shit probably had at least a few IQ points advantage over Warren. The picture was of them both on the beach. Andrea was wearing a bikini, something you couldn't get most fifty year old women to ever wear in public, and she was hot. It wasn't a tiny little bikini because if it had been, it would never have been able to keep her big heavy tits covered. The bottoms weren't tiny either, but they didn't have to be to show me her ass would have been fantastic when naked. Yeah, she did have a little tummy, but if she was naked, I wouldn't have been looking at that. She had pretty nice legs too.
Warren was wearing trunks that looked more like shorts, and he was not hot by any stretch of the imagination. I'd figured Andrea for about five feet two. Warren had to be at least six-six, and if he had any muscle on that lanky frame, he was hiding it very well. I'd have guessed him at maybe one-eighty if he'd just had a big meal. He had dark brown hair, what there was left of it on his head, and I'd had more chest hair when I was sixteen.
Well, that put this case in a different light. I couldn't imagine any woman hard up enough to spread her legs for Warren.
Well, there was Emily, a woman I'd helped by finding out it was her next door neighbor who'd been taking her panties off the clothes line in her back yard. She said she liked the fresh air smell when she dried them in the sun, so she never put her underwear in her dryer. She had one of those square, fold-up clothesline things in her backyard and she clipped her bras and panties to the cords and let them dry in the sun. She'd always hang them out before she went grocery shopping and when she came back home, a couple pairs of panties would be missing. That had been happening for almost a month.
She was willing to pay me to find out how that was happening, so I was willing to find out. She said it wasn't the cost of the panties. It was that she felt violated. Well, I could kind of understand why she thought that. I mean, underwear is pretty personal stuff.
I just couldn't understand why anybody would want her panties. Emily was a pretty big girl, and the panties she liked weren't thongs or boy shorts. They were what my ex used to call "granny panties", and hanging there on her clothesline thing, they looked more like satin pillow cases with leg holes.
