Brad runs a bar; long ago it became the place we go when we want to shoot a game of pool, and it's got a small but decent area for half drunken dancing near the jukebox. We know the bartenders and the waitresses, and we know when the better nights for being there are; Saturday night is not the best night for a middle aged couple that long gave up drinking for the sake of getting shit faced and who don't grind on the dance floor. Still, it's where we went last night. Mostly out of habit.
The kids decided we needed a night out and chipped in to get us a gift certificate to Red Lobster, and then got Brad to pick them up and keep them for the night. It was a sweet, if not underfunded, gesture; we went out to dinner, then headed for the bar, not thinking that it was Saturday night and we would likely be the oldest non-employee people there.
Char wanted to shoot some pool; I don't mind losing (which is good because she always wins) so why the hell not? We had to wait an hour to get a table, just long enough for her to get a couple drinks in and just a little tipsy. It was also just long enough for the frat boys to notice her, tune me out, and develop a dozen kinky fantasies about the older woman who defines MILF.
They watched her move tentatively around the table at first, shooting less than spectacularly, and watched me win the first game of nine ball I think I've won in ten years. And then they started positioning to play against her. I backed off; I knew what they didn't, that she's been playing since she was three years old, long before she could even reach the top of the table without help.
She shot sloppily through the haze of a couple pf margaritas, but once the buzz wore off, she was on fire, and those boys decided to play her for money.
If my wife was less honorable, she could have drained them all, but she played for $2 a game, and no one lost more than $10 to her.
And somehow, I wound up paying for all their beer.
By the time I managed to get back at the table, she was on fire, and destroyed me in 3 straight games of nine ball. She offered to switch to eight ball, not that I do any better against her at that, but by then the sub-30-somethings were all drunk enough that they weren't grinding all over each other near the jukebox, and I took the chance to get a little closer to her.
Those kids? All they could do was watch, knowing that the hot MILF that had mercifully not emptied their wallets was obviously into the old guy who had just sat there and watched; I took some perverse pleasure in knowing they all understood that they'd been played with and set aside, and the old guy was the one she was going home with.
She can flirt with the frat boys all she wants; they wind up frustrated, and I get the girl.
No comments:
Post a Comment