The week after I heard Cindy calling out my name as Buddy fucked her brains out was totally crazy. I was of course a total wreck, consumed by the thought that this goddess I worshiped might actually fantasize about ME, but work was out of control. The deadline for a big project was pushed forward, and I started the week pulling three 16-hour days in a row. Thursday I dragged myself up the stoop at 11PM, dead to the world. My brain refused to work. So when Buddy pounded on my door I almost didn't answer. But even in my stupor I knew pissing Buddy off wasn't a healthy habit to start, so I opened up.
"Christ, you look like shit," he said. "You gotta quit that job and come work for me."
"Buddy, you wouldn't let me within 10 feet of an acetylene torch."
"True. You're too soft and pretty. You'd get hurt, bad too."
"Thanks. And you're here...why again?"
"Do you have plans for tomorrow night?"
"I hope not. My project should be done before tomorrow night. And I sure as hell don't want to go out with anyone I work with. Sick of all of them right now."
"Good. Me and Cindy will stop by around 7 and we'll go to the Cutter. Be thirsty."
"OK, but what's the occasion? I usually end up there anyway."
He took a menacing step toward me and did his best to loom over me. He loomed large. "Just be there. Or I'll come looking for you. And when I find you, you'll wish you'd just shut your mouth and done what I said."
"Seven. The Cutter. I'll be there. Thirsty."
He patted me on the head and said, "Attaboy," and was gone.
As miserable as the first four days had been, Friday was great. I finished my project around noon, and when I turned it in to my boss he looked it over and surprised me by saying, "Nick, I didn't think anybody could work that fast. Great job!" We went over the report for an hour, I walked him through a few sections, and he made noises about "bonuses" and "promotions" and "stock options" and I felt a week's worth of misery float away on a cloud of jubilation.
"Go home," he told me. "Start on your weekend."
I didn't make it home. I was too wiped out. I crawled in a spare conference room and crashed, setting my watch alarm for 3:30. I gathered strength in those few hours, and when I woke it was with an appetite, for food, beer, and...a woman. I suddenly felt an overwhelming need for sex, for a good fuck with a good woman. I hadn't gotten laid in eight months. Too much work. The Cutter was as good a place as any to find a lady ready for trysting. The crowd there was perhaps split 50-50 between folks in their 30s and 40s and 20-somethings like me. There was a cute blonde girl who tended bar every Friday who smiled at me when I tipped her. There was a nice woman in her fifties who had nice big titties and asked me once if I liked her perfume. I stood up and arched my back and felt my cock strain against my pants, and I promised I would give my little pal some work tonight.
I showered at work and changed into the jeans and black sweater I'd brought along. I didn't want to risk Buddy's wrath by showing up late. By the time I was ready to go it was 5PM and I didn't feel like going home. I wanted beer, so I called Buddy on my cell phone, expecting to get Cindy and tell her I'd meet them there. I got the machine instead and left a message saying I would meet them there. And off I went.
It felt good going to the Cutter and having Joe the bartender call out, "Slick Nick, what say you?" He set a Rolling Rock in front of me before I settled on the stool at the corner of the bar and we started shooting about the day's news. I ordered a burger and fries and I wolfed it down with another Rock. Seats at the bar were filling up when I checked my watch and saw that it was 6:30. I looked around for a likely target for my lusty desires. No obvious candidate came to mind, so I ordered another beer and figured I would either wait for a better choice, or wait for the beers to lower the bar.
No need to wait. When she walked in I turned my head on a swivel, and 20 other heads turned with mine. We had someone nice to look at. Short, tousled black hair, and pale blue eyes that shone against her tanned skin. Must use a tanning bed, I guessed, since it was February. She wore a tight, white, ribbed sweater, and a black miniskirt. She was wearing flats but you could still see the muscles in her dancer's legs through the black hose. Not the typical outfit for a lady at the Cutter, but you don't knock a knockout who is trying to dazzle. About Cindy's age. A real showstopper.
She sat down at the end of the bar, a seat that gave me a perfect view of her from my stool a few feet away. Joe walked over and asked what she wanted, and in a deep, husky voice she asked for a Cranberry and vodka. Joe brought it and she took a twenty out of her wallet and laid it on the bar.
"Do you know Buddy and Cindy?" she asked. "They say they come here pretty often. I was hoping to meet them here."
"Oh, I know those two," Joe said, laughing. "They'll be here eventually."
"They'll be here in a half-hour or so," I said.
She smiled at me, and my little pal shivered. "Thanks." She handed Joe the twenty.
"I got it, Joe," I said, and I handed him a five across the bar.
"I can buy my own drink, thanks," she said, her voice with that chill a woman learns when she fights off aggressive guys all night long.
"Not that one. You know Buddy and Cindy?"
"Yes."
"If Buddy knew that I let a friend of theirs buy a drink, and I just sat there, Buddy would unscrew my head from my shoulders. I like my head where it is, pointing to the front."
She laughed, and it was a nice laugh. "Yes, you know Buddy for sure."
I was about to make another witty remark when some smoothie sauntered past and parked himself next to her. She turned her cool gaze on him and he made his pitch. I heard him say he'd never seen her before, was she new around here, did she like the place, this music, his necklace, and she politely and blandly answered his questions. She did allow him to light her cigarette, which she held with long fingers tipped with clear-painted nails. It felt like I had a horn in my pants.
I drank another beer. And then the door opened and Cindy walked in, followed by Buddy. It was thrilling when Cindy's searching eyes met mine and she smiled and waved to me. It felt so good that in this crowded room this gorgeous woman wanted to find me, and me alone. That good feeling vanished when I saw Buddy. He looked like he was in a head-unscrewing mood.
Cindy walked over to me, gave me a squeeze, and said, "Order me something refreshing, honey," and then she was gone. Replaced by Buddy, who said, "Motherfucker, thank your lucky stars you're here. 'Cause if you hadn't been, you never would be. You get me?"
I really liked Buddy, and I knew he liked me, but I still nearly shit that milkshake you always hear about. I kept my voice level and I said, "Hey, I called you guys and left a message that I'd be here. I got out of work early and I came here to get a running start. You said be thirsty, and man, was I thirsty."
He calmed down a bit, like a rhino who decides that charging at that hyena over there just isn't worth bloodying his horn over. "You left a message? I forgot to check."
"Check when you get home." I handed him a beer. "Salud." He took the beer and swigged, and my sphincter returned to it's normal tightness.
I drank beer. I looked around for Cindy, and there she was, chatting with that delicious brunette. The smoothie was still there with his oily smile, but Cindy was doing a pretty good job of freezing him out. "Who's Cindy talking to?" I asked.
"Friend of ours," he said. "Sylvia. She and Cindy go way back."
"Yeah, she asked Joe when you guys would show."
