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.
Marshall stepped to the curb and looked for a taxi. Midnight on a Friday in Fells Point, Baltimore is a lively hour, and it was only a couple minutes before an empty cab responded to his wave and pulled up in front of him. As he pulled open the door and slid into the backseat, he saw two young women doing the same thing from the other side. They all stared drunkenly at each other until Marshall, as unsure of himself as ever, stammered an apology and starting retreating from the taxi that was rightfully his.
"Wait a second," slurred the closet of the two. 'Where are you going, we can share."
Marshall leaned back into the car, supporting himself on the roof. He fiercely willed his double-vision to abate long enough to get a good look at his erstwhile cabmates. Both seemed to be in their early to mid twenties. The one who had spoken long, lusturous blonde hair and ice blue eyes. As his eyes moved lower, they, almost, visibly popped out of his head. The girl's plain white tank top looked near to exploding with the strain of holding in her incredible bosom. His eyes flashed for a second to the other girl, short, brunette hair done in a page boy, athletic body in a short, pink dress, before locking back at the mesmerizing cleavage of the first.
"Um... Share?"
The blonde giggled and leaned out the door, reaching for his hand. She pulled him down onto the seat next to her as her companion spoke to the driver.
"We're going to the Iguana Cantina at The Market."
Marshall had been planning on going straight home to play some Madden '06 on his Playstation, but another, closer, look at the girls had him nodding in agreement. The brunette, who was turning and introducing herself as Sam, had small breasts; but the long, muscular legs emerging from below the short hem of her dress more than made up for that deficiency. The blonde, Marshall noticed when he was finally able to tear his eyes from her chest, had deeply tanned skin with a taut belly, and pierced naval revealed by her cut-off, and almost transparent, top. A jean mini skirt completed her ensemble and revealed short, toned legs.
As the cab took a left on Eastern Avenue, the girls slid across the seat, the blonde pressing up tight against Marshall. He gulped as her breasts seemed to burn his upper arm with the contact. Her warm, alcohol-flavored breath tickled his cheek as she whispered to him.
