"I ain't got much time, man. I got a bitchy wife at home, her mother and a houseful of k**s. You wanna get what you came to get now?" Sure," I said."So let's go to the john," he suggested, dr****g his arm around my shoulder."I have a better idea," I countered, "let's go outside to the parking lot. I have a van with a mattress in the back."We gulped down our drinks, sat the glasses on the bar. I got off the stool, picked up my bottle of beer. We walked out his arm around my waist. Everyone appeared to be going on about their business or pleasure, but they were looking, trying not to be obvious about it.At my van on the end of the row in the dark parking lot, I sat my beer on the top of the van near the lift up back door. We dropped trou' pulling them off over our loafers, sockless. Neither of us was wearing underwear. Even in the dark I could see his black meat was just what I wanted. It hung half way to his knees, thick, a big, well-defined, circumcised head. Our trousers held in one. He remembered being on top of Jo, her eyes closed, and he chuckled as obviously her tidying had been interrupted by passion. As he filled the dishwasher he realized that he really didn’t remember much else of the previous evening. He remembered coming home exhausted after a long week. He had stopped at the liquor store on the way home and remembered that Jo had seemed a bit put off by his drinking. Or maybe it was his not eating much of dinner. She always hated it when he didn’t appreciate her cooking. Maybe he should take her out for dinner to make it up to her. After loading the dishwasher, he noticed a number of beer bottles about. As he gathered them up for recycling he realized that he held the remnants of a full 12-pack. ‘Did I really drink that much?’ he mused. ‘Funny, I don’t remember. But unless the cat has developed a taste for hops, it must’ve been me.’ But somehow the joke tasted sour even to himself. He didn’t really like the fact that he couldn’t remember hours of his.
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