The Listener looked up in mild surprise. "Oh?"
"Of course. They're so blindingly, naively hopeful."
"Perhaps for some," the Listener replied.
So I'm at my local bar one night, and in walks this truly fine specimen. Great build. Thick shock of red hair, and I am so into red heads. And as for down below, well, hell, I mean, no kidding, this guy was so seriously hung that I was surprised those jeans stayed intact. And I thought to myself, Damn, I want me some of that!
But I was cool. No sense in throwing yourself at them, right? Let them come to me, that's my motto. So I let him know in little ways I was interested, but he seemed determined to ignore me. So I finally walk up to him and say hi. He says hi as well. Nice smile. Great teeth. A jawline that would cut butter. I am so hot for this man it's not funny.
So we chat for a while. Small talk. Bikes. Football. Guy stuff. Then he tells me maybe we should get together some time, but he can't tonight; he's on his way to see an old friend, and he's gotta motor if he's gonna get to the other side of town in time.
My mind is racing like a Harley in sixth gear. "So where's your friend live?" I ask. He tells me. Not far. Then an idea hits me. "You know, you can't go that way. They got Fifth Street all torn up. Sewer construction. You're gonna have to take the 820 Loop."
"Damn!" he says. "That's like thirty miles outa my way. Well, if that's what I gotta do... Thanks, bud."
"No problem. Glad to help." Then I take off outa there like a bat outa a Meatloaf album. I jump on my hog, head over to the friend's place. The friend's an older guy -- still hot, though, and I'm starting to think maybe two for the price of one. "Listen, sorry to drop by like this, but I got a message from your buddy. Mind if I come in?" Within seconds, I have him in the bed, and we're going at it so heavy that, I swear to God, he passes out cold.
So I close the bedroom door and wait. And maybe five minutes later I hear the other guy's bike roaring up. Real quick, I turn down the lights; I like the element of surprise, y'know. Red walks in, says "Hey, stud," and grabs me in a liplock like you cannot believe. Even though he thinks it's the other guy, I'm seriously liking this, let me tell you.
So we go at it, right there, in the dark. And every now and then, he says something like, "Damn, Gramps, you been working out?" And I'm, like, disguising my voice: "Hey, all the better for you, huh?"
"Yeah, but check those arms!"
"Yeah, well, hey, all the better, huh?"
"And that stuff from the Internet site musta worked. Sheesh, I had no idea it was this big now."
And I figure the only way to shut him up to put that mouth to other uses. So I do. And he ain't complaining.
So we finish up -- and lemme tell ya, it was every bit as good as I hoped. He gets up, turns on the light. He looks at me. "Hey, you're not my grandfather!"
I'm, like, "Huh?"
But he's really pissed now. "Okay, slime, where's my gramps?" Then he looks at me real hard. "Don't move a muscle, you hear me? You move one inch, and I'm gonna hunt you down and beat the living crap outa you." Then he heads outa the room, calling for his... gramps. And I'm thinking, What the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into now? Whatever it is, it definitely ain't my scene, y'know?
The second he's gone, I'm outa there like a bullet, on my hog, and heading down the road as fast as I can, taking every side road I can think of. And I'm a mile away before I look down and realize I've left one of my custom-made boots behind, and it aint gonna take him very long to see whose foot fits inside that...
"Oh my!" the Woman with the Shaved Head laughed. "How terribly awkward."
The Listener merely nodded.
"But it does leave one question," she added with a pensive grin.
"What's that?"
"What kind of goodies were in his basket?"
