That's What Friends are For

It's a fucking bitch doing surveillance at a beach. You can't just take your camera out to the beach and start taking pictures of people. Well, you can and it's legal because the people are in a public place and legally have no expectation of privacy, but a lot of people, especially women, don't see it that way anymore.

It's the goddamned internet that fucked everything up. A couple websites started up that published pictures of women who didn't know they were being photographed. They were an instant success and it's not hard to understand why. We guys are a bunch of horny bastards and we really like seeing women doing what they don't want us to see them doing. Most women don't like everybody seeing them when they're naked or when they're on the can and that's what most of the pictures were.

It didn't take long before there were guys installing cameras in swimming pool shower rooms, clothing store changing rooms, women's restrooms, and their own bedrooms and guest rooms. At least one guy fixed the ceiling fan in his twenty-something neighbor's bedroom and while he was up there, installed a camera with a wireless transmitter in the base. He had a 24/7 view of her doing what she did in her bedroom until one of her friends saw the pictures and recognized her.

There were even guys who put a little camera in the toe of one shoe and then walked around sticking that toe under a woman's dress to catch a view of her panties or panty hose they saved on a memory stick in their pocket.

A lot of pictures like these ended up posted for the world to see. Now some of the shower and dressing room shots were pretty neat but I didn't care much for the shots of women on the can. Panties, I can understand a little. On the right woman, the right panties can start raising my flag. I don't understand the attraction of fucking panty hose at all.

First of all, panty hose are about as sexy as a sack of warm dog shit. Second of all, the crotch, the part that covers what would be fun to see, is usually black or dark brown so all you see is a dark stripe between the woman's legs. Third of all, women usually wear pantyhose over their panties, so even if you can see through the goddamned things, all you see is panties and you can't see them worth a shit. I guess the crotchless pantyhose are OK, but I'd rather look at tits and a bush. Big tits are the best, but any tits are better than fucking pantyhose.

Personally, I think whoever invented the goddamned things should be strangled with them...slowly. They're a bitch to get off a woman. By the time you get the goddamned things off, she's out of the mood. Well, that's my experience with my ex anyway. She wasn't ever in the mood much to start with, though, so I think she wore pantyhose like a medieval princess wore a chastity belt.

Well, the goddamned feminists found out about these voyeur sites and raised one hell of a stink. Pretty soon, guys were getting arrested for peeping with all those cameras. There were even special laws passed to make what was already illegal more illegal, and guys who were convicted had to register as sex offenders.

Now, I understand why the women were so pissed off. Women tend to let their hair and everything else down when they take a shower or get ready for bed and some of what they let down isn't all that sexy. I mean, bras and what women call "body shapers" exist for a reason. What I don't understand is how that attitude didn't get transferred to beaches.

When I started out in the PI business, most women wore one-piece swimsuits, and those suits pretty much hid everything a guy would want to see. They looked more like short-shorts with a matching top sewed to the waistband. If the woman had really big tits, her tits would swing around when she walked but the whole suit was stretchy so it pretty much kept all the other lumps and bumps in place and hidden. Women then didn't care if you took their picture. You could just walk around with a camera snapping photos of women until your ass fell off and usually they'd just smile.

Now, women wear skimpy little bikinis that show all of their ass cheeks and most of their tits. They have to shave their pussies or the hair sticks out around the little strip of material between their legs, and some of the tops don't cover much of their tits besides their nipples.

They wear suits like this for one reason and that's so men like me will look at them. They like men looking at them, but let just one PI take one snap shot and all hell breaks loose. You'd think you'd just walked up to the woman and asked her if you could fuck her in the ass.

Even if the woman you took a picture of didn't see you take it, some other broad will have and she'll call you a pervert and throw a can of soda at you. Full soda cans hurt like hell. I think the real reason the broad will do that is she's just pissed that you didn't take a picture of her flabby ass and saggy tits too. Yeah, those broads wear bikini's too. Shouldn't, but they do.

Anyway, I was sitting in my car in a parking lot on an August day and sweating my balls off while watching the beach on Percy Priest Lake through my binoculars. I was in my car because of what I just said. If I'd just strolled along the beach in my jeans and shirt trying to see if Belinda was there, I'd have gotten in trouble with the fucking feminist police and also let her know I was looking for her.

Tracking down a cheating spouse or lover is a common thing for any PI to do, so I'd done jobs like this before. What made this one special is Belinda's girlfriend wanted to know if Belinda was being faithful or not. Marjorie had given me a picture of Belinda, so I knew what she looked like. The picture also told me it was a goddamned shame Belinda was a lesbian.

Now, I don't have a thing in the world against lesbians. I have a few former clients who are lesbians. We became friends and I like them. I even like Billy Jean Boyd, though that was fucking hard to do until I got to know her. Billy Jean is a bull-dyke. Well, I guess today you're supposed to say she's a "butch". If you're a lesbian, you can still say bull-dyke, but if you're not you have to say butch so you won't offend anybody.

When she walked into my office that day, I thought she was a really short guy. She was wearing one of those dark blue work uniforms that looked a size or two too big and steel-toe work boots. Her brown hair was shorter than mine, and she had on a blue ball cap that said "IBEW 429" on the front.

When Billy Jean started talking, I still wasn't sure. Her voice could have been either a tenor or a low alto. I didn't know until she reached inside her shirt and adjusted her bra strap. When she did that, I saw her tit move under her shirt.

Billy Jean wanted me to find her sister for her. She said when she came out -- that means when she told everybody she likes licking pussies instead of being fucked by a guy - her sister had stopped speaking to her. That was ten years ago, and Billy Jean had lost track of Betty June because she'd moved three times. Billy Jean wanted me to find Betty June so they could get back together.

Well, I found Betty June and I was there when they met. It was pretty emotional. Betty turned out to be about as masculine as Billy Jean, though she was married and had three kids. She walked up to Billy Jean and hugged her and said she was sorry for not talking to her for so long.

Billy Jean cried her eyes out, and I mean that blubbering, sobbing, can't understand what the fuck they're saying, kind of crying. Before they left me, Billy Jean gave me a hug and told me if she could ever help me do anything, to just give her a call.

I did call her about six months later. My microwave kept tripping one of the circuit breakers that fed my office/apartment. I'd called the building owner about six times and he kept telling me he'd tried to get an electrician out to look but they were always busy. The asshole just didn't want to fork over the cash to get it fixed since it wasn't going to burn down the building any time soon.

I'm smart enough to know electricity isn't something I should fuck around with, so I called Billy Jean and asked if she knew of an electrician who had time to come look at the problem. She said she'd be right over.

Billy Jean found my problem, a wire that had loosened up on one of the outlets, and after five minutes, it was fixed. We sat down in my office and caught up over a little scotch. I learned Billy Jean had a new girlfriend and it was getting serious. They were thinking about getting married.

I also learned Billy Jean couldn't hold her scotch. When she stood up to leave, she damn near fell flat on her face. She giggled and said she'd just tripped and then started for the door, but she was walking in sort of an arc rather than straight. We'd only gone through about a quarter of the bottle and I was feeling fine, but I guess she wasn't much of a scotch drinker. I walked her back to my bedroom, put her to bed, and slept on my couch that night.

When she staggered into my kitchen about eight thirty the next morning, she croaked, "do you have any coffee", and then sat down at my little table and put her head in her hands.

"How much did I fucking drink last night?"

"I'm not sure because I don't measure except by eye. I filled your glass up to the flowers a couple...no, it was three times."

"It feels like my fucking head's gonna fall off."

I sat a cup of coffee in front of her.

"Nah, don't think that's gonna happen. Cream and sugar?"

"No, but I'd take about a dozen aspirins if you got 'em."

Billy Jean was in the middle of eating a sausage and egg biscuit I'd heated up in the microwave when her cell phone rang. Well, it wasn't really a ring. It was a the same goddamned sound you hear on TV when the submarine is going to dive, and it was fucking loud. I swear the cups on the table rattled. Billy Jean smiled weakly.

"Sorry. That's the only ring-tone I can hear when I'm working."

I only heard one side of the conversation, but it told me a lot more about Billy Jean.

"Hello."

"Hi, Marilyn. No, I'm OK. I'm in that PI's office I told you about. We had a drink or two after I fixed his outlet, and I guess I drank too much. He put me to bed to sleep it off."

"No. Why would you even think I'd do something like that?"

"Look, Honey, even if I was like that, and you know I'm not, I sure as hell wouldn't pick some prick like Harry. He's old enough to be my dad anyway."

"No, he didn't."

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't you think I'd fucking know if he had? You know what happens to me. Believe me, I'd fucking know."

"Well, if it'll help, come to his office and I'll prove it to you."

"OK, I'll wait. Love you."

Billy Jean looked at me and frowned.

"Marilyn thought I fucked you last night and that's why I didn't come home. She's on her way over now, so tell her we didn't do anything."

"Well, we didn't."

"I know, but Marilyn's a little insecure about herself. She'll be OK once she meets you. You're not exactly God's gift to women, you know."

Well, I didn't quite know what to say to that. I mean, it was one thing to call me a prick. I could understand that, and I was old enough to be Billy Jean's dad, but I'd always put myself in the "I'd fuck him if he bought me dinner a couple times", category. Billy Jean didn't seem to rate me that high. That was a little deflating, but then I figured Billy Jean was more than a little prejudiced, so I shrugged it off.

When Marilyn showed up, I could see why Billy Jean liked her. Marilyn was gorgeous even at ten in the morning. She seemed pretty upset until Billy Jean gave her a hug and a kiss, and then introduced us.

"Harry, this is Marilyn. See, Marilyn, he's just an old guy and he didn't do anything except keep me from driving home and probably getting my ass hurt."

I shook Marilyn's hand and it was like shaking a bath towel.

She smiled a smile with her bright red lips that threatened to blind me with the flash from her perfect, white teeth.

"Thank you so much for taking care of Billy Jean."

"It was nothing. I'd do the same for any friend."

Marilyn beamed that smile at me again.

"Maybe we could be friends too?"

Well, right then I was thinking I'd like to be more than friends. I mean, Marilyn was a lesbian and all that, but she had big tits and a really fine ass. The legs that she was showing below her little miniskirt were pretty fantastic too, long and slender and the kind of legs you just know would feel great wrapped around your waist. I knew I didn't have a chance, but it was a nice little fantasy.

"Any friend of Billy Jean's is a friend of mine."

"Well, maybe we could get together sometime then. Billy Jean likes to cook out on our grill. Maybe we could have some hamburgers some night. I'll make my special potato salad. Billy Jean says it's the best potato salad in the whole world."

Well, that kind of killed it for me. I like a woman to have some balls, well, not like Billy Jean, but I don't like the "Stepford Wife" type and that's what I pegged Marilyn as.

Billy Jean thanked me again before they left. I didn't miss the fact she didn't seem quite so enthused about the burger and potato salad thing, but I understood. Billy Jean was probably more than a little concerned about how Marilyn had acted toward me.

Anyway, I was looking to see if Belinda was at the beach where she was supposed to be. Belinda worked seven in the evening to three in the morning as a bartender, so she had her afternoons free. Marjorie worked eight in the morning to five in the afternoon as a receptionist.

Marjorie said that had worked out just fine. They were apart most of the week so they didn't get on each other's nerves and they had weekends together. The problem started once the weather warmed up. Belinda is a blonde, and Marjorie said when the weather warmed up, Belinda started going to the beach every afternoon to work on her tan, but Marjorie thought Belinda might be working on something else too.

I'd tailed Belinda from their house to the beach, so I knew which beach she went to. The place was filled up because it was a Friday and evidently a lot of people had taken the day off. That meant the parking lot was almost full. By the time I'd found a place to park, I'd lost her in the crowd. I was back there the following Monday and found a parking place where I could see the whole beach.

There weren't all that many people on the beach, but it still took me half an hour to find Belinda. Dumb ass me, I figured since Belinda was a lesbian, she'd be with another woman if she was playing around, so I was looking for a blonde with another woman.

When I finally found her, she was with a guy way down on the far end of the beach and they were pretty much all by themselves. He was built like those Charles Atlas ads that used to be on the back cover of comic books, and he was laying on his back. I thought his red Speedos were overkill.

Belinda had on a white bikini that did a half-assed job of covering up her tits. Her tits didn't hang out under the cups like some I've seen, but they did hang out at the sides and top. The bottoms were a lot smaller. I figured she must have gotten her pussy waxed. It was either that or she shaved every day because she was as smooth as a baby's butt, and if that bikini bottom had been much smaller, I'd have been seeing her pussy lips poking out on each side. Both were held on by ribbons she'd tied in bows. She looked like sex in an easy-open package.

She was rubbing suntan lotion on the guy's chest and I figured she was enjoying the hell out of it because she kept licking her lips. When she got to his abs, she rubbed lotion into them for a while, and then looked around. A second later, she slipped her hand down the front of the guy's trunks. I could see her hand moving and when she pulled it out, the guys cock head stuck out over the waistband. She put a little suntan lotion on her fingertip and then rubbed it on the guy's cock head before she pushed it back under his trunks.

She laid back then, and he sat up and started putting lotion on her front. Now, there was no way in hell any sun was going to get under that bikini bra, but the guy kept sliding his hand under it. When he moved down to her belly, he didn't look around like Belinda had. He just slipped his hand under the bottoms. Belinda either jerked or adjusted things so he could reach her better, I couldn't tell which, but either way, the guy stuck his hand a little deeper. The crotch on Belinda's bottoms started moving up and down.

By then I had enough pictures to satisfy even the most skeptical client. I didn't think they'd do any more because it was a public beach, so I finished off my second bottle of water and then drove home.

That night about six, I called Marjorie and told her I had the answer to her question and if she'd come by, I'd show her what I'd found. She said she'd be there about seven if that was OK. I took a shower and then warmed up a frozen dinner while I was waiting.

When Marjorie walked into my office, she looked really concerned. I figured she was expecting the worst, so I didn't try to beat around the bush.

"Marjorie, Belinda was at the beach with a guy, and I'm pretty sure they're more than just friends."

I expected tears. What I got was a wide smile.

"A guy? Oh thank God."

"You're happy about this?"

"Oh yeah. This is way better than if she was with another girl. She won't feel so bad when I break up with her now."

I shook my head.

"Now I'm really confused."

Marjorie grinned.

"I'm not a lesbian. I might be kinda bi, but I'm not a lesbian. I like guys better than girls.

"See, what happened is I was married to a jerk and I got a divorce. After everything was final, I didn't want to screw up and hook up with another jerk. The guys in clubs are all jerks, so I didn't go to any of those clubs.

"One night after I'd stayed home every Saturday night for three months, I was going crazy. I needed to relax and have some fun. All I wanted was to have a couple drinks and listen to some music so I went to The Lipstick Lounge. I figured since there wouldn't be any guys there, I wouldn't have to keep saying no.

"I guess since it was my first time there, I got a lot of attention. These girls kept coming up to me and asking if they could buy me a drink, just like guys would in any bar. I didn't quite know what to think about that, you know. I mean, I'd never thought much about being with another woman but it sure seemed like they wanted to be with me.

"Most of them came on pretty strong so I kept saying I didn't drink much, but one didn't and that one was Belinda. She just walked up and asked me my name. I told her and she told me hers and then asked if I'd dance with her. I didn't see any harm in that. I'd danced with girls since I was in junior high.

"We danced a lot and we drank a lot, or at least I did. When I got ready to leave, Belinda said she thought she'd better take me home instead. She finally talked me into it, and when we drove into my drive I thought I ought to thank her so I asked her if she had time for a cup of coffee.

"We were sitting there on my couch when she touched my arm and said she thought I was pretty. She started rubbing my arm then, and pretty soon, she moved her hand up enough she was rubbing my boob at the same time."

Marjorie grinned.

"I've always had really sensitive boobs, and I hadn't been touched like that in a long time. If I hadn't been drinking, it probably wouldn't have affected me so much, but one thing led to another until Belinda kissed me. We ended up in my bed together.

"It wasn't like with my ex. Belinda was really slow and really gentle. It was almost like she was afraid of hurting me. Well, by the time she kissed me about a hundred times and squeezed my boobs a lot, I was a long way from hurting anywhere.