Quick Hook

My phone rang about 1 AM and I noticed it was my soon-to-be ex-wife. I thought about letting it go to voice-mail, but since I was already awake, I answered the call.

"Ungh. Ungh. Ungh. Ah. Ah. Ah. Ooh fuck yeah!" she wailed, obviously in the throes of orgasm. I had heard the sounds often enough to know she wasn't acting.

There was more unintelligible squealing before Traci exhorted her partner, presumably Wilson, to fuck her harder. I should have ended the call immediately, but I was frozen in place. I listened in for another two minutes, long enough to hear Traci's paramour growl out his own release. I then hung up before they started cooing to each other post-fuck, wishing I was on a landline so she could hear me slam the phone down.

If I had even the slightest doubt that I was doing the right thing, that sealed our fate.

On the advice of my attorney, I had made it a habit to record all conversations with my wife. As I sat there with my blood pressure about to ring the bell, I hit the number for my in-laws, and when my father-in-law acknowledged his presence, I hit playback on my phone recorder app. I let the whole three minutes play for him, then ended the call. I was pretty sure there would be no repeats of that little one-act play in the future.

Unlike my wife, I didn't avail myself of the charms of others until the divorce became official, and even then I didn't take a woman to bed for more than a year. I'll admit that I struggled in my social life. It had been 24 years since I last dated, and since I never planned to date again, I hadn't been keeping up on the dating scene. Silly me. That proved to be a disastrous strategy, because the dating world certainly passed me by like a freight train on speed.

I knew some of my reluctance to date was in my head. I was afraid of being blindsided again. I loved Traci, and I never saw what happened coming my way... not even a hint.

The one thing that was easy to see that had changed since I last dated was the attitude of the women. When I was dating, it was all one-sided. The man picked out the target. The man asked said target for a date. If said target said yes, the man chose the activity and paid for everything. Nowadays, women seemed to be the hunters almost half the time, or at least had thoughts on how the date should go. Sometimes they even paid for things. There were times I felt like a dinosaur trying to chase a cheetah.

The dating scene showed me that Traci's sudden selfishness was not unicorn behavior. Along with feeling more empowered, today's dating women were definitely more self-centered. Many of them wanted theirs, even at the exclusion of their partners. If it was good for them, then it would be good for them and their significant others. Been there, done that... all fairly recently.

I'm not going to complain about the physical aspects of sex with a 20-something woman. Okay, the first few times the women about killed me. I was pretty sure I pulled a fuck muscle. Once I got used to the physicality, however, the enjoyment level was off the charts. I'm not saying Traci wasn't good in bed, but at 45 she didn't have the energy and flexibility of a 20-something. Of course I didn't have the regenerative powers of a 20-something man, either, but my powers with my tongue and fingers held me in good stead while my partner and I waited for my dick to revive.

It wasn't all about younger women, though. I dated—and fucked—women from about 25 to 55. I guess you could call me an equal opportunity fucker. Still, I always looked first for women about my age, in my comfort zone, so to speak.

It had been a rough week, and after finishing a meeting with a new client on the far side of the city, I stopped in at the bar of an upscale hotel/restaurant still wearing my suit. I sat down on a tall stool at the bar and ordered a shot of Glenmorangie single malt. It was about 7 when I walked in, and about an hour later, a group of women from a bachelorette party took up residence at a group of tables marked reserved. There must have been about 15 of them, and they were all being pretty raucous. I decided to hang around a bit and watch the fun, so I ordered a meal to be served at the bar.

The bride-to-be, of course, was the star of the show, and I noticed that she was a pretty girl of about 25, with waist-length light brown hair and big brown eyes. I'll admit that I'm a long-hair freak, so I was kind of taken by her and focused on her for several minutes before I started paying attention to the others in the party. It was then that I spotted her. She was about 40, I guessed, and by her age I figured she was the chaperone for the evening, the older mother hen brought along to watch out for the innocent—and not so innocent—younger chicks.

The first thing I noticed was that she seemed to be a little fidgety in her mid-thigh-length black skirt, which seemed to be riding up a little higher on her legs as she sat in her chair. Several times in the first few minutes she tried unsuccessfully to pull the skirt down. I smiled to myself. She did have nice legs.

She also seemed to have a sizeable chest not quite hidden under the tight lavender silk blouse she was wearing. The blouse was kind of a V-neck, with the opening coming down to the middle of her large breasts and showing that her alabaster skin wasn't often exposed to sun. When she wasn't worried about the length of her skirt, she was gazing down at her boobs, I'm guessing to make sure that not too much creamy skin was showing.

Her whole outfit was probably a little young for her comfort, and I guessed that it was put together for her by one of the younger women in the group. I gave some mental kudos to whoever picked it out and persuaded her to wear it.

The women definitely seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing, drinking and eating, and when a three-piece combo started to play, several women got up and started to dance with each other.

The women dancing together seemed to embolden the other men in the bar, who started to approach the women on the floor and those at the table, except for their chaperone.

I waited about 10 minutes, and when no one made a move for the chaperone, I decided the coast was clear and made my way over to her. She had dark brown shoulder-length hair and bright green eyes, reminding me of Jacqueline Bisset in her heyday. Just as important, she wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

She blushed a gorgeous shade of pink when I asked her to dance. She hesitated at first, but then said yes, and several of the younger women seated near-by gave her a ration of grief as she got up, pulled her skirt down and took my hand.

The first two dances were fast, and I had to give my ex-wife a silent thank you for insisting I learn how to dance. The next dance was a slow one, and I was a little surprised when she melted her lush body into mine. Her hair smelled of White Shoulders, and I grinned to myself because that perfume is not exactly popular with younger women. We actually talked a little bit as we glided about the dance floor. I found out her name was Kathleen Franks, she was an aunt of the bride and the group chaperone.

She thanked me for the dances and started to leave the floor after the slow dance, but I held onto her hand and invited her to join me at the bar. She started to protest that she needed to watch "her girls," but I pointed out to her that she could see them just fine from my spot at the bar.

We watched the younger women and talked. I found out she was actually 48 years old and was divorced after being married for 15 years. She told me her husband, a man of means, had traded her in for a trophy wife who was 27 to his 48 when he married her three years ago.

She also told me that her outfit was chosen for her by her niece, the bride, and that she felt it was a little too young for her as she normally dressed more conservatively. I opined that her outfit seemed perfect for her, and I completely sucked up when I told her I absolutely loved her sexy heels. I had learned years ago that women really seemed to like having their shoes complimented.

"You don't think I look out of place dressed like this?" she asked innocently.

"Not in the least. Pardon me for saying so, but you look good enough to eat."

If I liked the pink blush before, I loved the dark red blush she now exhibited.

We talked for about 15 minutes. She noted that I didn't wear a wedding ring and wanted to know that story. She expressed surprise when I said that my ex-wife had never actually cheated on me physically.

"I'm really old-fashioned," I explained. "She cheated on me emotionally and had plans to do it physically. I couldn't trust her anymore. You don't tell someone you love them... but want to have sex with someone else."

"I get that," she answered. "Everybody has to have a line in the sand."

She went back to the bridal party table a few minutes later, but was more than receptive when I again asked her to dance about 30 minutes later. This time when we finished she took my hand and led me back to the table with the other women, which now also had several other men.

The evening was a success from my standpoint, even with the younger women being a little on the rowdy side. I was greatly surprised when Kathy invited me to be her plus-one at the wedding in two weeks.

"I was going to go by myself, but I know I'd have a better time with you. I know we've just met, but you've already met many of the girls who are going to be there, too," she said. "Besides, you'd be doing me a great favor because I wouldn't be there alone looking really pathetic."

"I definitely wouldn't want you to look pathetic. I would be more than pleased to accompany you to the wedding," I said. "Tell me what color you are wearing and I'll pick the suit I have that best goes along with that."

She leaned in to me and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

"Ooh-la-la," came the chorus from down the table.

I smiled brightly while Kathy blushed again. I could get used to that.

I sat with Kathy when we weren't dancing. During one of those times we were at the table, I kept my eyes on the bachelorette party girls, some of whom were obviously going overboard with their alcohol consumption. I'm the father of a teenage girl, so it wasn't out of character for me to be in "dad mode" with the young women around. When I saw a young man take one of the girls' hands and start to lead her toward the restrooms, I excused myself from the table and quickly and quietly made my way to them, getting to them just before the guy was about to push the girl inside the men's room.

The youngster looked at me with disdain, obviously not being intimidated by an older guy in a shirt and tie. I'll admit, at 5-11, 175, I'll never scare anybody on sight, but I'd like to think I'm still in good physical condition, and I had been in my fair share of scrapes as a kid. Sometimes you have to be willing to take some abuse to do the right thing, which in this case meant protecting some young girl from being this kid's sex toy. I would hope somebody would step in and protect my little girl if the situation called for it.

"Let go of my arm and get away from me, old man," he growled at me. "She's old enough to play if she wants."

I let go of his arm but used my other hand to palm his head and slam it hard into the wall to the side of the door. I shoved him hard enough to break the drywall, bloody his face and stun him. He suddenly didn't seem quite so cocky anymore and let go of the girl. He also didn't seem to want anymore of this disagreement.

The club had gotten quiet as people picked up on what had just gone down. Just as I started to guide Alicia back to the bachelorette party, Kathy and the rest of the group came up to us, grabbed the woman and led her back to the table. I was left standing face-to-face with the restaurant manager and another employee. I thought I was in trouble until the manager stuck out his hand and thanked me for helping the young woman.

"The police have been called. This yutz is going to jail. They'll probably want your information and your side of the story, but I don't think you have anything to worry about. By the way, your drinks for the rest of the night are on the house. Thank you again," he said.

"Wow. That was some crazy shit," said Wanda, the bride-to-be, when I got back to the table. "Thank you for paying attention... to more than just Aunt Kathy."

"How did you see that?" Kathy asked me. "I'm supposed to be the chaperone, and I didn't have a clue what was going on. I feel pretty bad about that."

"Not your fault. It's easy to lose track of 14 girls in a bar if you're not a professional security person... or a dad. Dads, at least most of us, have what I call Dadvision."

I talked and kibitzed with the women at the table until they decided to leave and go somewhere else for the remainder of their evening. I gave Kathy a soft kiss on the lips as we said good night, feeling pretty good about myself and having her digits in my phone.

"Get a room," one of the girls said to raucous laughter from the group.

I licked my lips softly and tasted Kathy's lipstick as I watched the women leave the restaurant. I took my drink back to the spot at the bar I had earlier occupied.

"That seemed to work out pretty good for you," the bartender chuckled as I sat back down.

"Who knew?" I laughingly replied. "A bachelorette party? Give me one for the road so I can celebrate my good fortune before I go."

My new best friend, Sean the bartender, earned himself a double sawbuck as a tip for the night.

Kathy's dress for the wedding was light blue, so I wore my dark blue pinstripe suit, which I consider to be my "own the room" suit. I thought we made a handsome couple, as did several of her relatives at the wedding.

Several people came up to me at the wedding and thanked me for looking out for Alicia. Apparently the bride had spent the previous two weeks telling everybody who would listen that I was some kind of a hero.

"Heroic and handsome, what a great combination," said Kathy's sister, Donna Fulham, the mother of the bride, as she glided up to us to introduce herself to me before the wedding. "Thank you for helping the girls a couple of weeks ago, and for making my sister look like she has gotten better taste in men."

I also met Kathy's 24-year-old daughter, Marissa, and her fiancé, Ben.

"Well at least one of my parents doesn't troll for dates at an elementary school," Marissa said upon meeting me. "Dad's absolutely going to hate you if you stick around long enough to get introduced to him."

By the time the reception was over, I knew Kathy and I would go the distance. I introduced her to my kids a month later. My son took to her quickly; my daughter was a bit standoffish. She was still somewhat pissed at me for divorcing her mother "even though Mom didn't even cheat on you." My son got it, though. He had a serious girlfriend, and we had the full discussion on fidelity and what it meant to each of us one night.

Epilogue:

My wife, Kathy, and I retired several years ago. We celebrated our 25^th anniversary with an Alaskan cruise. With the help of a daily Cialis and Astroglide, we make love every morning before we shower and get on with our lives. At our age, it's more about "connecting" than it is about sex.

All three of our children are married and doing well. We have a total of six grandchildren.

I've only talked to my ex-wife maybe a couple dozen times since our divorce; counting our kids' weddings and Christmas holidays. She's been married and divorced a second time. My kids tell me she blames me for her life being what it is.

"I never actually cheated on him," she still tells them.

Some people just don't get it.