Thanks to jo for an amazing editing job.
The elderly gentleman stood behind the SUV peering around the corner while trying his best to be invisible. He blended fairly well into the surroundings because the mixture of shadow and light made it impossible to see him, unless he moved or you were looking directly at him. The parking lot behind Chubby's was a dark place anyway but at eleven PM a single overhead light made his concealment easier.
He was staring into the car next to the SUV at Charlie and his girlfriend of the moment. All he actually saw of Charlie was his big hairy ass bobbing up and down in the back seat. He couldn't see Charlie's girlfriend either, except for the bottoms of her bare feet, one on the glass of the rear window and the other on the glass of the back door. They looked like big feet but the fog on the glass could have distorted their size. As he stood and watched he noted the subtle movement of the car as Charlie's ass appeared in the rear window and disappeared below. He also heard a quiet moan, getting louder and louder with each downward thrust. The theatrics playing out in the back seat of the old sedan were the only activity in the parking lot and once satisfied by what he saw he looked around for a quiet and quick retreat back to the bar.
As the gentlemen rounded the dumpster and reached for the back door he could hear the sound of a woman's voice screaming "Yes, God, Yes!" behind him.
He smiled a somewhat knowing smile.
"I think I've found my man," he whispered to himself as he gently closed the rickety screen door behind him.
He sidled up to his drink at the bar as quietly as he had been in the parking lot, the smile still on his face.
Ten minutes later a woman walked into the bar from the rest room area, coincidently next to the back door, with a silly little grin across her face. She was smoothing out her short red dress and primping her hair as she walked across the bar to a table with three other women. She was not what you would call an overly attractive woman, but still not that bad looking. She was a bit on the large size with most of her extra pounds held in by panty hose and a wide black belt. Her red dress was a bit dated, her shoes a bit beat-up, and her collar-length brown hair nothing to write home about. Oh, and the shoes were kind of large so the gentleman's image of two large feet on the windows of the car was not distorted.
In short, she was an over-weight, fairly unattractive, brunette that looked like she just got fucked.
Two of the women at the table were like the one that just sat down, not beauties but someone to keep you warm in bed, or the back seat of a car, for a time. But the fourth woman, WOW, was an absolutely gorgeous blond. Why is it that beautiful women surround themselves with unattractive women? Does it make them look more attractive? Do they feel the uglies are no competition when a good looking man approaches? Or is it some sort of a natural attraction of ugly women to beauty, like moths to a flame. At the moment the theory of natural attraction didn't seem relevant because all four women had their heads together at the table whispering and giggling and looking around the mostly empty bar room. When the brunette in the red dress held up her flat open hands spread about 10-inches apart the group broke out in loud, raucous laughter.
A minute later a man came from the same rest room hallway. It was Charlie. The ladies peeked over their shoulders, looking and gesturing at him as he sashayed over to the bar and sat down on a stool near the middle. Their smiles were ear-to-ear.
To describe Charlie was to describe every man. He was about thirty, about six feet tall, average weight, and average looks. The black little soul patch under his bottom lip matched the hair on the top of his head except it wasn't long enough to be tied in a little pony tail in the back. Charlie was unremarkable, yet he had something that attracted women to him. Maybe it had something to do with the hand gesture that caused such laughter at the women's table.
Charlie didn't notice anyone, least of all a table full of women looking like a bunch of Cheshire cats.
Charlie leaned sideways on his stool and fumbled around in his pocket looking for something. Not finding anything to his liking he sat up straight and reached for the pretzel basket and started looking over his dinner. As he ate the first handful the waiter startled him by setting a drink on the bar next to the basket he was eating from. "Complements of that guy over there," he said as he pointed at the other end of the bar where the elderly gentlemen sat. Charlie looked over and saw his benefactor toasting him with his own glass. He returned the toast and took a long drink.
After his second gulp his curiosity was starting to get the better of him. He got up, moved around the bar, and sat down on the stool next to the old guy and said, "Thanks, for the drink. To what do I owe the honor?"
The elderly man smiled and simply said, "Admiration, my dear boy; simply admiration."
That got Charlie's curiosity piqued even more. "Uh, thanks? But for what?"
Elderly doesn't always mean old. Sometimes it means experience and wisdom. The elderly gentleman sitting at the bar may have had white hair but there was a youthful sparkle in his eye when he spoke. And when he did speak it was with a deep rolling baritone reminiscent of Bing Crosby. And, nothing about his clothes said old either. The dark pinstriped suit he wore spoke of classic styles and tastes and high class parties with lobster and beautiful blonds serving champagne in tall fluted glasses. He was definitely out of place sitting at the bar in Chubby's.
"Let me introduce myself," said Charlie's new found friend. "My name is Lionel Marquardt. I'm in town for a few days and was looking for some 'local color' so I asked the bellman at my hotel where to go and he recommended Chubby's. Quaint place, this. Anyway, I've been in here for the last three nights and I've been watching your activities with the women - amazing, simply amazing. The way you talk them up, get them to buy your drinks, and then disappear with them for an hour or so is what I mean by admiration. I wish I had that ability when I was younger. And three or four women a night shows some remarkable stamina, also quite admirable. In short, Charlie, I like your style."
"Uh, thanks. I didn't realize I had an audience."
"No offence, my boy, I meant what I said as a compliment. I enjoyed every minute of your performances. Now drink your drink."
After sucking on their respective drinks for a couple long, silent minutes, the elderly gentleman, Lionel, broke the silence. "Charlie, may I ask you a question. Why is it that when you saw that table full of women over there you went straight for the least attractive one of the bunch? That one blond is absolutely gorgeous, why not her?"
Charlie smiled and turned his head to look at Lionel and quietly said, "That's easy. Most men would try for the best looking woman and be rejected almost immediately. They then move on to the next most attractive and if they're very lucky they get laid. If not, they move on to the next, and so forth. I start with the least attractive one knowing I'll get some action. Then I move to the next ugly one, get in her pants, eventually working my way to the top. If I screw all of them then I've had a great night. If not then I've still had sex a couple times and still had a damn good night in the sack. All in all I get off more often with the not so attractive women rather than the beauties. Besides, I've found that it's the ugly ones that are the best. They don't screw too often and when they do they are VERY appreciative of the attention they get. Most beautiful women are so self-centered that they're more concerned about getting their hair messed up than giving a good blow job. And, not to brag too much, I'm pretty damn good, if you get what I mean. I've never had a dissatisfied customer."
Lionel looked sideways at Charlie, smiled, and ordered another round of drinks.
Charlie continued, "Listen, I've screwed way more women than you can imagine: Two or three every night, seven days a week, for the last couple years. I can get as much pussy as I want for as long as I want. Sometimes I have to force myself to take a vacation just so I can rest, but I always come back. I'm not choosy either. Like I said, the ugly ones are as good as the raving beauties, maybe better. I don't care if they're married, fat, bald headed, they have one leg, or terminal acne. If they've got a mouth, a pussy between their legs, and a little brown hole around back then I'm there. I may sound it but I'm not stupid. I don't take risks. I have a lifetime supply of condoms and won't do anyone with oozing sores. Beyond that I'm pretty flexible. Oh, guys or those half-way people I won't do. Yuck!"
After a couple more drinks and a lot of idle chatter, mostly about his conquests, Charlie felt that his curiosity had not been satisfied. Besides the group of ladies left a few minutes before and there wasn't going to be any more trips to the parking lot, so he asked, "What do you do Lionel? Why are you in our fair city sucking watered-down drinks at this old south-side watering hole?"
"I'm a recruiter. I work for a large group of researchers interviewing people that our projects have a need for. Simply put, they say they need a certain individual for the work and I find them. I travel all over trying to find just the right candidate and when I do I do whatever is necessary to get them to join us. Sometimes it's simply a matter of throwing a lot of money at them. Sometimes other incentives, if you get my drift, help them make up their mind. Whatever they want or need I make sure they get it. This week I'm in town looking for a research assistant to work with one of our large long-term projects having to do with altering the evolutionary path of a native species. This individual is particularly hard to find. I can't seem to locate anyone with the right combination of physical talents, intelligence, availability, a willingness to travel, and a somewhat flexible moral code. I'm probably going to move on in a couple days if the right person doesn't miraculously appear soon."
"Bartender, bring us another round," Charlie said a bit cheerfully.
When the drinks arrived Charlie wanted to hear more because he had been a bit down on his luck lately and this old guy might turn out to be his meal ticket. Charlie's menial office job was outsourced to a company in India, he was two months behind on his rent for his crappy apartment, and his car was only good for its back seat. He had no family to speak of, no friends (except those he had for an hour at a time in the parking lot of the bar), and soon no job. Maybe he could fake it enough that Lionel would consider him for his research assistant position.