"You suck, Paul!"
"Oh, shut up," Paul retorted. Paul and three of his friends were playing a game of pool in a pool hall that happened to be located in a real fuckin' nice town. Paul and his friend Steve were getting their asses kicked by their momentary mortal foes Chris and Albert. "Wanna just forfeit now?" Chris asked smugly. "I'd sooner take a dick in my mouth!" Steve roared triumphantly. Paul stepped away from Steve and quietly declared, "What he said."
As the night aged, the four friends got drunker and drunker. Eventually, Chris and Albert decided to walk home, and not long after that Steve's girlfriend paged. "Damn," he exclaimed. "It's Ashley."
Paul laughed. "I can't believe she's got you on a pager, man! You are so fucking whipped!"
Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm such a pussy, watch me go get laid," he called back on his way out. Paul was about to head out himself when he saw a woman sitting by herself with a few empty beer bottles. She was fairly attractive in his eyes. She had an older look to her, not like she looked eighty, but that good looking experienced older woman every other nineteen year old wants. Her body had a very nice frame from what he could see. He saw she had on a silky looking spaghetti strap top, but that was all his field of vision covered. In addition to that, she had a rather pretty visage despite the obvious setbacks time can provide. He wanted her, and this would be a fair challenge for his talents. Paul was the type of guy who would brag about how he could fuck any girl he wanted, and when doubted he would prove it. However, he'd grown weary of the silly girls that followed him everywhere and wanted a real woman. Here he had a perfect opportunity right in his face.
"Hi," Paul greeted the woman. "You look like you could use some company."
The woman sighed. She pushed her jet black hair out of her face and observed Paul. "Oh, great," she muttered. "I'm getting sympathy from kids."
Paul shrugged. "You just looked like you could use someone to talk to, that's all," he told her quietly. Paul stood until the woman gestured for him to have a seat. He graciously sat. "So," Paul began, "why are you getting plastered all alone tonight?"
She laughed. "I have a very high tolerance for booze, so I'm not anywhere near plastered."
She revealed the tiniest whit of a smile and Paul knew he was cracking her. His strategy was to open with something out in left field, and gradually get into good old fashioned flattery. "You didn't answer my question," Paul continued. "Well," she started, "my husband's an unsatisfying dork." Paul realized he hadn't properly introduced himself yet.
"I'm sorry," he said. "We don't even know each other's names! Where the hell are my fucking manners?"
He was rewarded with a hearty laugh. Paul extended his hand. "I'm Paul," he told her. "Lisa," she replied, shaking his hand. She held on a bit tightly, something that alerted Paul that he may have himself something here. "Well, enough about me, Paul said, "let's hear more about your dork husband who can't satisfy you."
Lisa guffawed. "You're quite a character," she chuckled. Paul listened intently for more about the shitty husband. "Well," she started, "he's never around. He's always at some bullshit business meeting. That's what he calls boffing his secretary." Paul continued to look straight into Lisa's baby blue eyes. "He wouldn't rather boff you?" he asked brazenly. Lisa arched an eyebrow. "How old are you, Paul?"
