I didn't like Carl when I met him.
I liked him even less when I realized what he was up to.
The place was an upscale bar in a big city. It doesn't really matter where. It could have been anywhere. It could have been in your hometown.
You know the kind of bar I'm talking about. Lots of wood, a friendly but quiet bartender, maybe a little jazz trio on some nights. It was the sort of watering hole businessmen and vacationers stop in after a day's selling, conferences or touring. A nice place.
I liked staying here when I was in . . . oops, I almost told you where, but, like I said, it doesn't matter. It could've been anywhere.
This time I was in town for a conference with some of my business associates but there were none at the bar this night.
There was only Carl.
He looked friendly enough but there was, I don't know, a kind of harried appearance to him. Haggard. It could have been the look of someone who drank too much. It could have been the look of a man who sleeps but is never refreshed.
Carl was in his mid 60's or so. Paunchy. Wheezy. If he didn't smoke now, he almost certainly did once. And there was that uncomfortable pallor I mentioned earlier. Still, he brightened when he saw me. It was the smile of one of my salesmen who sees a potential customer walk in the door.
But I was feeling pretty good and decided to smile back. Sales were up. The conference was interesting and I didn't feel like sipping my scotch alone. Carl beckoned to the bar stool next to him. He introduced himself and I shook his hand. A puny handshake. He was no salesman.
"Business?" he asked.
I nodded. "I'm here for a conference. I'll be here another couple of days. How about you?"
"Oh, I'm retired," Carl said as if he were a little ashamed of the fact. "Me and the wife are just taking in the sights."
"Staying here?"
Carl chuckled. It was a loser's laugh. It said: 'I'm not worth enough to stay in a fine place like this.' "No," he said, "We're staying at the Holiday Inn."
I nodded, took a sip of my drink. "How come she's not here?"
The little laugh again. "Oh, she's around."
He had lots of questions. Was I married? (Once). How old? (42) Job? (Sales manager). And once he actually had me stand up and get a snack tray from the other end of the bar. Strange because there were pretzels within easy reach but I did it anyway. Something weird was going on. Something funny. And I was curious to find out what it was.
And then Gladys came into the bar. Or, rather, she came from a corner of the bar. I hadn't seen her there before. I started to think I was being "cased." Interesting.
Gladys was also in her mid 60s and looked every year of it. She may have been older. She was only about 5-2 or 3 but must have weighed 160 or so. Hard to tell. Gray hair. Some styling but nothing special. Same for the dress. It was a simple sleeveless, one-piece green-patterned shift that couldn't have been more shapeless.
But the thing that was most striking was Gladys herself. She looked shy. She looked frightened. She looked for all the world like someone who would rather be just about anywhere else. When I shook her hand, it was cold and clammy.
Not unattractive for an older woman, but Gladys was no looker. Carl ordered her a glass of white wine and she drank it slowly. She answered questions with just one or two words. She had two children, four grandchildren. She wouldn't look me in the eye when she talked but I did my best to be polite and make her feel comfortable. I smiled a lot. She seemed to calm down some after a time.
Finally she stood up an excused herself but before she left she looked at Carl with that same fear and uneasiness and nodded slightly, then hurried off to the ladies' room. Carl smiled widely.
"She likes you," he said.
I was going to say 'hard to tell' but instead I said "I like her too."
"Good," he took a long drink, drained the glass actually, and slapped it down on the bar. I could now tell he must have been drinking for some time before I arrived as his words were a little slurred.
He spoke in a stage whisper. "Would you like to sleep with her?" Carl laughed and hiccupped at the same time. "Would you like to fuck her?"
So that was the game. Okay, I suspected something like this from the beginning. It had never happened to me before but one of my salesmen - he was actually here in the hotel - told me of an episode like this once except the players were far younger. Sport fucking, he called it. Hubby, wanting to fire up his sex life, gives his wife away to a stranger for the evening. My friend said it was the best sex he had in his whole life.
I admit the thought excited me when he told the story but I have this thing about fucking older women, about Gladys age, if the truth be told. It was just a fantasy though.
But now I was being offered my fantasy on a silver platter. I didn't know what was sicker: me for wanting to do it or Carl for giving her up. I may have had lots of questions but one thing was clear: this was Carl's idea, not Gladys's. I didn't want to look too eager.
"Don't you think she's a little old for me?"
"Old, schmold," said the drunken Carl, and he pulled me close to him, like drunks do when they want to talk with you. "I haven't had a piece of her in 8 years or so. Can't get it up. It happens! It'll happen to you."
"That so?"
"Lissen, lissen," he said. "Here's the thing. She's probably gonna be a little dry." He slipped me a small box. "That's KY Jelly. Use that." He nodded.
Seems like the bastard thought of everything.
"Have you done this before?"
"Nope, never."
"How's Gladys feel about it?"
Carl waved the suggestion away. "Oh, she'll do it, she'll do it. 'Cause I want her to." He looked at me hard again. "So whaddya say?"
"And this is okay with her?"