Butch is a long-time friend of mine. My ex-wife wonders why. Even I can't answer that question. Butch and I couldn't be more different. I'm a PhD research chemist at a huge Pharmaceutical Corporation and Butch is a contract plumber, working on new housing developments and hi-rise office buildings.
There is no explanation for our friendship except that we've known each other since kindergarten, a friendship that's lasted for almost twenty-eight years. I tend toward the conservative, I read a lot and I'm fairly well versed on vintage wines, while Butch is wildly progressive, hasn't read anything more consequential than Cliffs Notes or Classic Comics that he needed to graduate from high school and swills lite beer by the six pack. I'm confident my friendship with Butch was a factor in my divorce.
Butch is always on the hunt for women even though he's married to Maryann. He tells me he's happily married but he needs additional sexual encounters so he doesn't lose his "mojo." In other words, he needs to get laid frequently so he doesn't fall victim to what he calls "penile atrophy," a use it or lose it philosophy.
I like Maryann. She's authentic, without artifice of any kind. She's also all woman, beautiful in a girl next-door kind of way, long hair, full lips and a body begging for attention. She's head and shoulders better than any of the heels up broads Butch is constantly chatting up in the bar.
Speaking of bars, I've been meeting Butch in his favorite pub twice a week since my divorce. Butch gets there shortly after three thirty in the afternoon and generally leaves alone sometime after I leave around nine. At least I think he leaves alone. When I leave, he's usually struck out with three or four of his target women and his prospects usually don't seem promising.
Based on my observations about Butch, I've assumed his constant descriptions of his conquests are mostly macho fantasies, without substance. A couple of month's ago, I tired of his bragging about his scores with the women and I challenged him directly.
"Butch," You're full of shit," I told him.
He seemed shocked by my assertion although it wasn't the first time I'd called him on one of his boasts. "What is it this time?" he asked.
"That you're getting laid as often as you claim," I informed him.
"You don't think I'm actually fucking the women I pick up?" he asked.
"More than that," I expanded. "I've watched them blow you off and I've never seen you leave with a single one of them, let alone looking like they can't wait to spread their legs for you."
"You're wrong, Tony," he replied. "Just because you leave early, before I settle on a woman, doesn't mean I leave alone later," He said.
"Prove it," I challenged.
"What do you have in mind?" he asked.
"Leave with one of them before I leave," I suggested.
"Not so easily done, ass hole," he said. "You leave so early they're not done drinking. I wait until they have a full load on before I make my move," he explained.
"Okay. I've got it," I said. "I'll hang around until you leave but if she's the last broad in the bar and you're the last guy, it doesn't count. She has to go with you based on your skill and appeal, not that you're her only choice."
"You've got a deal," Butch said. "Watch and learn," he added.
I watched for the next ninety minutes without learning much. I watched as Butch approached a number of women, alone or in small groups, and I watched as they brushed him off with a wave of their hands or by turning their backs on him.
Back on his stool next to mine, I watched as he identified a lone woman in a booth near the rear of the bar. He signaled the bartender and waited while she mixed and brought him a drink. Butch slid off the bar stool, picked up the drink and headed for the woman in the rear booth.
"Is he any good at this?" I asked the bartender as Butch walked away.
"He's not perfect but he's better than most," she told me. "She's one of his regulars. Guaranteed. You know, last choice but she'll do. If she's not here, he's even hit on me."
"You ever take him up on it?" I asked.
"Not on your life. Too crude for me but some of the others like it rough. You, on the other hand, might actually have a chance," she added.
"Nothing personal. You're very appealing. I just don't work that way," I told her.
"Offer stands, if you change your mind," she confirmed.
We watched for a while as Butch chatted up the woman in the booth. Eventually, they got up together.
"And you're okay with this?" I asked.
"I'm not his mother or his wife," she said.
"He is married, though," I stated.
"I'm also not his priest," she stated flatly as she moved away to attend to another patron.
I watched as Butch walked slowly by me on the way out of the pub with the woman from the booth on his arm. He smiled knowingly at me and I saluted him with the remainder of my pint of nut brown ale. The woman never noticed me. She was hanging on his arm with one hand and playing with the buttons on her blouse with the other hand.
Two evenings later, I arrived at the pub at my usual six pm and saw the woman Butch had left with sitting alone in the same booth in the rear. Butch was nowhere to be seen. I asked the bartender to make another of the drink the woman was having.
"Gonna give it the old college try?" she asked.
"Not on your life. Just confirming an assumption I have."
I took the drink to the booth with me.
"Do you mind?" I asked the woman before I sat down.
"It's a free country," she said.
I sat across from her and offered her the drink.
"For me? How considerate," she said as she accepted the drink after finishing the one she had in front of her.
"Could I ask you a personal question?" I asked.
"That depends on the question," she replied.
"Okay," I started. "I was wondering about the guy you left with two days ago."
"You mean Jim?" she asked.
"That's him," I confirmed. "I don't want to be too intrusive or too personal but why did you leave with him?"
"You want to know if I fucked him, right?" she said.
"I was trying not to be crude but that's about it," I said.
"And if I did, now you want to fuck me," she asserted. "With another one of these," she said, pointing to the drink I brought her, "it would be possible."
"That wasn't my goal," I said. "It's just that he's my best friend and I don't want to see him have a problem."
"Oh, he doesn't have a problem. He's probably the best fuck in the place. I'm always happy to spend an hour or two with him."
"Thank you," I said. "You've answered my question."
"You're welcome," she said. "Are you sure you don't want to fuck me?" she added.
"Maybe next time," I said.
"Deal," she said. "I'm wet just thinking about it."
I went back to my barstool. Butch came in about ten minutes later.
"Where have you been?" I asked.
"Fixing a drain some amateur couldn't get right," he told me. "Good overtime," he said.
He ordered his usual piss colored lite beer. While he was waiting, he noticed the woman in the booth waving in his direction. When his beer came, he took a sip and slid off his stool. "Excuse me," he said and headed for the rear booth.
He was back in five minutes. "What did she want?" I asked.
"She wanted to know if you were gay," he replied.
