Jason, a college fraternity brother of mine, and I play tennis once a week. In general, it's a painful experience. Jason is an uncoordinated klutz on the tennis court. We started playing tennis about a decade after we graduated from college and after Jason secured a position as an analyst at an investment bank in the same city where I worked.
What he didn't have as an athlete he excelled at as a financial analyst. He was assigned to work on information from the energy industry. In his role as an industry analyst, he began to contact and visit various corporate offices of the institutions within his purview. When he visited the corporate offices of my firm, I was invited to the meeting.
At the meeting, we immediately recognized each other and began to exchange our respective experiences since graduation eight years earlier. Our affinity for each other convinced my management to assign me as Jason's primary contact within the company hoping, I believe, that our relationship might temper his opinion of the company.
We went to dinner that evening and developed both business and personal relationships. The personal relationship evolved, including an occasional dinner with our wives and a weekly tennis match. The chemistry between our families wasn't intense and the occasional dinners occurred about twice a year.
The tennis, on the other hand, became a regular competition. Competition is the wrong word. I can't remember Jason ever winning a match. However, he was a determined competitor. He professed to enjoy playing tennis and he did give me a decent workout so I continued to endure his fanaticism. Tennis became his game when he failed at everything else. He tried and gave up both golf and bowling after he realized that he couldn't score low in golf or high in bowling. Tennis, however, allowed him to run around, and randomly hit a yellow ball and the scoring was illogical enough that when he managed to score fifteen or thirty points he felt pretty good and even nothing was love.
Recently, we were sitting at a table overlooking the courts cooling off after a game, drinking Gatorade and watching the other players. For Jason, that meant the women players. As always, he was quick to point out especially attractive and fit young women explaining that he particularly liked the way their short tennis skirts flared up when they served. Repeatedly he explained that the view was better at court level from behind the baseline.
Jason's fascination with women doesn't end with tennis players. At other times, he is prone to point out women both at work and in public venues sometimes suggesting that he wouldn't refuse an interlude with one of them if they made the offer. When asked directly he maintains that he, like a dog that chases a car, wouldn't know what to do with it if he caught it but he likes to fantasize and promote his sexual proficiency. To prove his faithfulness, he extolls the virtues of his wife, Denise, whenever he gets the opportunity. He's not wrong. Denise is a fine example of a desirable woman although I've resisted confirming his opinion when I'm with him.
Recently, at one of our infrequent couple's dinners, Jason was unusually obvious in his appreciation of the other women in the restaurant. After he watched a particularly stunning blonde in an overstuffed little black dress walk by on the way to the restrooms, he excused himself to "take a leak."
"He just want's to get a better look at the blonde," stated Denise as Jason walked away.
"Doesn't that bother you?" asked my wife, Carole.
"That's just who he is," related Denise. "He likes to look at other women. He doesn't mean to offend me and I've learned to live with it."
"Looking and chasing are different things," suggested Carole. "Looks like tonight chasing is prominent."
"He wouldn't know what to do if she let him catch her," opined Denise.
"How do you know he hasn't?" asked Carole.
"To my knowledge he never has," answered Denise.
"He'd never tell you if he had," said Carole. They both turned to look at me.
"Whoa," I spoke up. "You think he'd tell me?"
"Mark," said Carole. "He'd be more likely to tell you than either of us."
"Well, he hasn't," I declared.
"That's not proof that he hasn't," said Denise.
Jason took that moment to return from the restroom.
"How was the view?" Carole asked him.
"What view?" asked Jason innocently.
"The blonde," stated Carole.
"I hadn't noticed," insisted Jason.
"Bullshit," exclaimed Denise.
Caught in the act, Jason decided to remain silent.
"You're constantly looking at other women," challenged his wife.
"I'm a guy," Jason dug in. "Guys look at women." He looked at me for support.
"Hold on," I spoke up. "Don't include me in this."
"Do you look at other women?" Carole asked me.
"I do notice other women," I admitted. "But you're the only one I actually look at."
Carole looked dubious at me. She turned to Jason. "Have you ever really looked at Denise?" she asked.
"Of course I have," insisted Jason. "She's my wife."
"I mean more than just as your wife," clarified Carole. "Denise is a beautiful woman. In my opinion, more beautiful than the blonde you followed across the restaurant. Have you ever really focused on her beauty?"
Jason silently looked at Denise.
"Maybe you need another opinion," offered Carole. "Mark, what do you think about Denise as a woman?"
Not about to become embroiled in the mess Jason was already in, I responded. "I think Denise is a beautiful woman. She has all the attributes any viral male would ever want," I concluded.
"More," suggested Carole.
"More?" I asked confused.
"Yeah. More. Be specific," Carole demanded.
Denise looked uncomfortable but she was smiling. "Okay," I caved. "I think Denise has magnificent hair and incredible facial features with clear, enticing eyes, a pert nose and perfect lips, all without too much makeup."
"More," insisted Carole.
"She has perfect breasts," I continued. "They're large without looking uncomfortable. I could go further if she wasn't sitting down," I added.
Carole looked at Denise. Without being asked Denise stood up.
On a roll, I continued. "Her hips are perfectly sized for her body and her waist is narrower without looking too thin for her figure."
Denise turned around and put her hands on her hips.
I took a deep breath and plunged in. "Her ass is a wonder of the world," I proclaimed. "Round where is should be round and I can only imagine it in its natural state."
Denise stepped back so I could see her in full length. "Her legs are as shapely as any I've ever seen," I concluded.
Denise sat back down, slightly embarrassed but seemingly content.
"Do you agree with Mark?" Carole asked Jason.
Jason could only nod in agreement.
"Enough said," completed Carole.
"Thanks," whispered Denise. I wasn't sure if she was thanking Carole or me.
The rest of dinner was sedate. I think everyone was thinking about how men view women. I know I was.
Driving home, I asked Carole, "What was that all about?"
She knew immediately what I was referring to. "I don't know," she admitted. "I guess I was incensed at how Jason was treating Denise. She is a beautiful woman and the fact that he didn't seem to notice and was spending his time fantasizing about other women instead of focusing on her pissed me off."
"Do you think you changed his perspective?" I asked.
"I hope so," Carole said. "Thanks for your support," she added.
