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“Don’t look now,” said my friend Karen. “Bob is here.”
Of course, I did look. Unfortunately, he was looking my way at the same time, so we made eye contact.
“Fuck,” I said. “Well, he’ll probably just ignore us.”
“Don’t think so. He’s heading this way.”
I sighed. Trouble was the last thing I needed. I was in a prolonged dating slump (it seemed like I always was), but my pretty colleague Karen had accepted my offer of a drink after work. I was hoping I might finally be moving beyond her friend zone.
And there was no question that Bob could be trouble. I had fired him a week earlier, and he got angry enough that I had to call security and have him escorted out of the building. And here he was, in the same bar as me, heading my way. I stood up and turned to meet him. Whatever mayhem he might be bringing, I wanted at least to face it on my feet.
“Steve,” he said, extending his hand.
“Bob,” I replied.
I hesitated to extend my own hand for a second, thinking he might throw me down and put me into an arm bar or something. But then I reached out, and it was simply a handshake. A painful one, as my bones scraped together in Bob’s powerful grip, but still just a handshake.
“Hey dude,” he said. “Glad I ran into you. I wanted to apologize for going off on you last week.”
“Well, it’s understandable,” I replied. “I was firing you at the time.”
“I know, but it’s not your fault. You were just doing your job. It was just a bunch of bullshit office politics.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” I replied. “I guess when you called my boss a miserable fucking prick, you were making sort of a political statement.”
“He’s a goddam liar. I never used the word miserable.”
We both laughed. I liked Bob, and he was right, my boss was a fucking prick. Bob had been working for me as a part-time contractor, and he did a great job. Unfortunately, he didn’t get along with my boss. Well, actually nobody got along with my boss. It’s just that Bob didn’t like pretending.
“Anyway,” he said, “it worked out fine. I was gonna give notice pretty soon anyway, because they took me on as a full-timer at my other job.”
“Hey, that’s great! I hear they pay petty well.”
“Yeah, thank God. I need the money. My divorce is final, the condo is up for sale and I gotta find a new place. Jesus, rent is expensive out here.”
“Tell me about it. I’m looking for a place out here too. I’m sick of the commute. The problem is, one bedroom apartments are just outrageous. Two bedroom places are a better deal, but then you gotta deal with finding a roommate you can live with.”
For a moment, Bob just stared at me. I could almost hear the gears grinding. Oh shit, I thought. Me and my big mouth.
“We should get a place together!” he shouted.
“Um,” I enthused. For a bunch of reasons, this didn’t seem like a good idea.
“It’s a perfect opportunity!” he said. “There’s a brand new complex that just opened. The two bedrooms there are really nice. Maybe we can check it out next week?”
“You bet,” I lied. I was going apartment hunting that weekend, so I figured I’d find a one bedroom place I could afford before he could drag me out to look at the new complex.
“Awesome!” he said.
“Hi Bob,” said Karen, sounding a lot sexier than she had moments earlier when I was talking to her.
“Karen, sweetie!” he said. He bent down to give her a quick kiss. On the lips. She beamed.
“We miss you,” she said. “Me and Monica and Kristen and Layla, and all the girls. We’re always talking about you.”
“Aw, that’s sweet!” he said. “I’d love to get together with you guys. But I didn’t get a chance to get your number. Kinda had to leave in a hurry.”
They laughed, and gave me a sideways glance. Yeah, he left in a hurry. Because some asshole called security and had him escorted out.
“Here’s my card,” she said. “I’ll write my home number on the back.”
“Cool, I’ll be in touch,” he said. “Hey, I know it’s short notice, but I got two tickets to the Dodger game tomorrow night. Wanna go?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely!” she said. “It’s a date!”
A date. With sexy Karen. Just like that. And I’d been trying for months to get up the nerve to ask her out. How did he do that?
“Hey, nice to see you guys. Karen, see you tomorrow, and Steve, I’ll be in touch!”
“Why don’t you hang out with us for awhile?” Karen asked.
“Wish I could,” he said. “I gotta get back to my friends, we’re about to head out.”
His friends were two good-looking blonde women who were staring daggers at Karen.
Three weeks later, on the night Bob and I officially became roommates, Karen was on hand for the celebration. Unfortunately, she and Bob celebrated in his room. Her screams kept me up most of the night.
“C’mon, man. You gotta go. You’re my wingman.”
Wingman duty. What a ridiculous notion. I was supposed to go to a party I didn’t want to be at, following him around while he scoped out “hot babes,” and when he found one, I was supposed to engage her friends poker oyna in conversation so he could score.
This was obviously a concept invented by guys who got laid a lot. Hard to imagine how it benefitted guys like me, who didn’t.
According to Bob, it was part of the “Bro Code,” some mythical body of unwritten law that all men were supposed to know, but which could never be discussed with women. I’d heard the term previously, usually mentioned in a joking manner, but I’d never met anyone before Bob who actually took it seriously.
For the most part, Bro Code seemed to govern how men interacted with each other while trying to get laid. Bob invoked it a couple of days after his wild night with Karen, when I finally explained why I was pissed off at him.
“Dude,” he said. “I had no idea you were after her. Man, I’m so sorry. I feel like such an asshole.”
“Look, it’s no big deal,” I said. “You can bring her over here. I’m being a dick about it. It’s not like I own her.”
“No, don’t worry. I’ll break it off with her.”
“What?? No, I don’t want you to do that. What good would that do? She’s clearly not interested in me anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I have to. It’s Bro Code.”
“Come on, that’s silly.”
“There’s nothing silly about Bro Code,” he said with a solemn look on his face. “She’s just a girl. You’re my Bro, that’s more important. She’s gotta go.”
It seemed beyond silly to me. Why not just do what dogs do, and mark your territory. If you like a girl, piss on her leg to keep the other hound dogs away.
But Bob, true to his word, dumped Karen. Without revealing Bro Code, of course. I had to listen to her cry about it at work for two weeks. But I have to admit…I was really touched by Bob’s gesture. Women were such a freaking mystery to me, it felt good to think I didn’t have to figure it out all on my own. I felt like I was part of a team.
Maybe there was something to this Bro Code shit after all.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go to the goddam party. But I’m driving. If it’s lame, I’m gonna bail, and you can either leave with me or take a cab.”
The party did not turn out to be lame. Far from it. At somebody’s house up in Anaheim Hills, the place was jamming. Big crowd, great music. Lots of dancing. And oh so many beautiful women, baring acres of lovely tanned skin in the warm California evening.
I watched Bob operate. He was on his game tonight. One thing I noticed, he didn’t find just one girl and latch onto her. He circulated and inserted himself into numerous groups. Playing the field, hedging his bets. At one point, I think he was working on seven women at once. As far as I could tell, he was succeeding with all of them.
Wingman duty was a mixed bag. The women Bob was pursuing were each paired up with a single friend, so my targets were obvious. A couple of them seemed uncomfortable when I tried to strike up a conversation, but most of them seemed to know the game. I had a few mildly interesting conversations, but there was no spark with any of them.
As the night wore on, the field narrowed. Bob began to focus on one woman, whose name was Trish. The others either didn’t make the cut, left the party, or hooked up with someone else. I was a bit surprised at his selection. Trish was certainly pretty and seemed very sweet, but she didn’t seem like Bob’s type. Kind of a girl next door cuteness. She reminded me of Mary Anne from Gilligan’s Island.
If Trish was Mary Anne, her friend Evangeline was Ginger. Tall, beautiful, glamorous. Sexy as hell, with long, silky jet black hair. She wore a leopard pattern mini skirt and a black halter top: the perfect outfit for a girl wanting to show off long legs and large breasts. The girl had it going on. And she was way out of my league.
She had an aloof manner and radiated mystery. At first glance, she came off as complex and deep. After spending some time with her, I realized I was off by 180 degrees. She was simple and shallow. Or, to be blunt, not very bright. Which was fine. I didn’t have to make much effort to talk to her, because she didn’t really talk much and she seemed content to just stand next to me.
Needless to say, she attracted guys like…something that really attracts things. She must have had dozens of guys hit on her, but no one got close. She had a devastating Death Stare that seemed to make big, confident men turn into skulking little boys.
Bob was shouting in my ear.
“C’mon, let’s go!”
“Right on!” I said, pumping my first. “Damn straight! Let’s go! Let’s rock this place!”
“No, I mean literally. Let’s go. We’re going.”
Bob and Trish sliced through the crowd toward the exit. Evangeline grabbed my hand and followed them.
Let me reiterate: Evangeline grabbed my hand. Jealous eyes followed. Seriously? She’s going home with HIM? I felt like a love god.
When we got to the car, reality hit. Bob and Trish went straight to the back seat and started making out. Really, really making out. I opened the passenger for Evangeline, and by the canlı poker oyna time I got around to the driver’s side, Trish’s panties were off. I could tell, because Bob had tossed them away, and they landed in the driver’s seat.
“Ummm…where to?” I asked.
“Our place,” Bob said as Trish swallowed his tongue.
“Well, okay then,” I mumbled.
I glanced at Evangeline, wondering how she was taking all this. If she was embarrassed, she wasn’t showing it. She was staring straight ahead, with a slightly quizzical look on her face. Perhaps wondering where the Sun had gone.
And that’s how it stayed during the rest of the ride. Evangeline, sitting like a gorgeous sculpture in the front; me, sweating bullets as I wondered what I was supposed to do with Evangeline when we got home; and Bob and Trish in the backseat, giggling and making sucking, slurping sounds.
The porn movie in the back only got worse. I heard a sound like a belt clanking, and glanced in the rearview mirror. I saw a flash of Trish’s dark-nippled bare breasts, before Bob’s thick body moved on top of her. Someone honked, and I made a strategic retreat back into my lane. Our lives no longer in immediate jeopardy, I checked the mirror again. Trish’s legs were wrapped around Bob’s waist, her ankles locked behind his butt.
His naked butt.
Bob’s hips started to move, and he groaned.
“Oh Jesus YES!” shouted Trish. “Oh fuck yeah, give me that cock!” That seemed to pull Evangeline out her reverie.
“Oh yeah girl!” she yelled. “Take that cock baby!” she turned around in her seat and slapped Bob hard on the ass.
“Woohoo!” she yelled, as she looked at me with a demented grin. It was the first time I’d seen her smile all night.
It was too much for Bob. He started making weird guttural sounds, and then he delivered the big news:
“I’M CUMMING BABY!!!” he roared.
“Not inside!” yelled Trish. “Pull out! Pull out!”
“On her tits!” Evangeline suggested helpfully.
Fortunately, at that moment the road was demanding my attention, so I didn’t have to watch Bob making a disgusting mess in my backseat. Bob groaned. Trish busted out an orgasmic screech. Evangeline continued to shout encouragement like a pornographic cheerleader.
I drove on into the night, in shocked silence.
“Almost home,” I told them a few minutes later. “You might want to um.”
“Get dressed, slut,” said Evangeline. I think she was talking to Trish, but it could have been Bob.
“Can’t find my panties,” said Trish.
“You wore panties?” asked Evangeline. She seemed surprised.
“Got ’em right here,” I said.
“Thanks Stevie, you’re a sweetheart!”
I parked my car, and after a bit more groping and giggling, Bob and Trish declared themselves ready to face the public. I suppose they were, for the most part, although whoever was responsible for cleanup duty hadn’t done a very good job.
“Jesus Trish, that’s nasty,” said Evangeline, reaching out to scoop some of Bob’s cum off her friend’s check. “You really embarrass me sometimes.”
Evangeline licked Bob’s cum off her finger. Apparently she hadn’t noticed that Trish still had some in her cleavage and a bit in her hair.
We must have been a strange sight as we walked through the complex toward the apartment, which was at the very far end. Trish, looking like Mary Anne after a gang bang. Bob, shirt unbuttoned, his sweaty, hairy chest glistening in the moonlight; Evangeline, looking like an inflatable sex doll magically brought to life; and me, head on a swivel, hoping no one would see us.
But of course, people saw us. Cyn, our sexy MILF neighbor who seemed to spend a lot of time hanging around our place in skimpy outfits, gave us a smile and a wave from a distance and started to head our way. But the smile quickly disappeared, and she spun and walked away, looking miffed. The property manager, Mr. Phipps (yes, he insisted we call him Mr. Phipps) leaned on his third floor balcony, smoking a cigarette and following us with his eyes, wondering what kind of happy horseshit the boys in Unit 215 were up to now.
And finally, Jessie and JJ, the adorable young married couple we’d met a few days before in the Jacuzzi. Because of their androgynous names, I still wasn’t sure which was which. We almost physically ran into them as we entered the hallway to our building.
“Hey guys,” said Jessie/JJ, the wife, with a big smile that quickly froze on her face as she took in our companions. And Bob’s manly chest.
Meanwhile, Jessie/JJ, the husband, smirked at us and tried unsuccessfully to hold in a laugh. I felt my face burn with embarrassment, but Bob grinned back and slapped Jessie/JJ, the husband, on the back.
“Buddy!” he shouted. “Any big plans for the weekend?”
“Just hanging out,” said the husband. “You should stop by. If you, um, aren’t doing anything else.” He apparently realized we might be doing something else.
“Hey, let me introduce our friends,” said Bob, pointing to Trish first. “This is, ummm…”
“Trish,” internet casino said Trish after a couple of very awkward seconds.
“And this is, uh…” This time several seconds ticked by. Evangeline stared blankly at them, apparently not understanding that Bob had forgotten her name.
“Evangeline,” said Trish finally.
“Oh like that girl in the…” began the wife.
“Yeah,” said Evangeline. A few more awkward seconds ticked by.
“And these are our friends Jessie and JJ,” said Bob. His hands fluttered helplessly between the two of them, making me realize he also didn’t know which was which.
“So, how long have you girls known Bob and Steve?” the wife asked, still trying to salvage a conversation out of this wreckage.
“We, uh…” I began.
“Like maybe an hour,” said Evangeline. Pause. “Or two. I guess.”
“Hey we gotta go,” said either Jesse or JJ. “We got that thing, you know?”
“What thing?” asked Jessie or JJ. He was still checking out the girls.
“The thing,” she replied. She literally pulled him away by the arm.
“See you guys later!” said Bob.
Finally, we were safely in the apartment behind a locked door.
“So, ummm…” I said, intending to be a good host.
But Bob and Trish were already on the way to his room, leaving a trail of clothes behind them. Trish’s panties made their second appearance of the evening. The door closed, and I was alone with Evangeline.
“Want something to drink?” I asked.
“I’m good,” she said.
Blank stare followed. My mind spun, desperately trying to come up with some way to keep her safely occupied for however long it took for Bob to have his way with Trish. Or vice versa. Jesus Christ, this way above and beyond the call of wingman duty. My fucking roommate owed me big time.
“You want to watch a movie?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Why don’t you give me the grand tour?”
Awesome. In a 1,000 square foot apartment, that would kill about 30 seconds.
“Sure,” I said. “Well, this is the living room, where we, like hang out and stuff…and through those glass doors is the balcony, which is kinda nice. Want to see it?”
“No,” she said. “Too cold.”
“Oh, right. Well, that’s the kitchen right there…”
“Yeah, I got one of those too.”
“Of course. And that’s Bob’s room…”
“You mean where the screaming’s coming from?” We both laughed. I was relieved that she was trying to help with the conversation. Maybe I’d survive this nightmare after all.
“And the living room…”
“You said that already.”
“Oh yeah, sorry. And the bathroom’s right in there, in case you need to um…”
“I’m good,” she said.
“Well, just let me know if you need it. And in there is, um, you know, my, uh, bedroom.”
And, um, you know, my, uh, conversational material was all used up. Blank stare ensued. Awkward seconds ticked by.
“How big is it?” she asked suddenly.
Jesus Christ. Did she really just ask my how big my cock was? I was speechless.
“Your bedroom,” she clarified. “How big is it?”
“Oh, right, right. Yeah. It’s pretty big. Well not huge, I guess, actually kind of cozy, but there’s plenty of…”
“Can I see it?”
“Uh…sure. Right this way.”
Fortunately, it wasn’t too messy, since I’d cleaned it up earlier in the day. Just in case. In the unlikely event I ended up in there with a beautiful woman.
“Yeah, it’s pretty good sized,” she said as she walked in.
“It is,” I agreed.
“You did a nice job decorating it,” she said. “You have good taste. Wanna get naked?”
“Thanks, I um…WHAT?”
“I said, NAY,” she kicked off her shoes, “KED.” She started unfastening her halter top. I was seconds away from seeing her beautiful boobs. Then she stopped.
“Unless you don’t want to,” she said, with a flirty little pout.
“Naked is fine,” I said. “Need any help with that?”
Her breasts were manufactured in heaven. Absolute perfection. Quite large for her slender frame, firm but soft. No question they were real. And her nipples made me throb. Big, dark, prominent. Long and thick. Begging for attention.
Unlike her friend Trish, Evangeline had not worn panties tonight. Her skirt dropped to the floor, revealing a beautiful, dark bush. Lush and thick, but not overgrown. Just the way we liked it the in the 80s.
“I meant both of us get naked,” she said, unbuttoning my shirt.
Evangeline. That wasn’t just an ordinary name. It was exotic. Fascinating. Sexy. Regular girls didn’t get named Evangeline. It was a name reserved for supermodels, or actresses, or duchesses, or porn stars. Voluptuous vixens cruising Sunset in pink Corvettes.
I’ve spent my life being an ordinary guy. I expect I’ll be an ordinary guy for the rest of my life. The last three women I’d slept with (the only three, in fact) were named Beth, Janice and Mary.
How could it be that I was naked in my bedroom with a woman as beautiful and sexy as Evangeline? With a woman even NAMED Evangeline?
It had to be my reward. For being a wingman, above and beyond the call. For following the rules. Following the Bro Code.
Follow the Code, and the Code will follow you.
I’m a believer now.
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