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From: The Traffic Guy <TrafficGuy@NOSPAM.Nighthawk.sytes.net>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 02 Oct 2002 19:26:56 EDT
Subject: {ASSM} The Pickup Game {Traffic Guy}{rom no sex}
Date: Thu,  3 Oct 2002 02:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Special thanks to MikeC and Nighthawk for their help and encouragement. 
  Comments can be sent to TrafficGuy@NOSPAM.Nighthawk.sytes.net (remove 
the NOSPAM to reply)  Enjoy!






The Pickup Game

By The Traffic Guy
(C)2002


	It was just after 7 when I made my way into Murphy's.  I was looking 
forward to sitting in my usual spot at the end of the bar, hoping it 
would be another good show.  My days had been monotonously normal of 
late, which made this guilty pleasure more and more important to me.  I 
ordered my usual virgin screwdriver, paying the same amount as the real 
thing to the bartender even though it didn't matter to anyone else 
whether I was downing liquor or not.  Just something I did to "justify" 
being there.  And, frankly, it set the stage for the "show."  What show? 
  Why, the show I got every Wednesday, watching the youngsters play "the 
pickup game."
	It all seemed to start innocently enough.  I'm a widower approaching 
retirement age with no thoughts of retiring, because my current life, 
such as it is, revolves around the nine to five.  I like my job, and 
most of the people I work with, but there's no passion there.  A 
shoulder problem curtailed my athletic endeavors, and game night with 
"the boys" just doesn't excite me as much as it used to.  So one night, 
on the way home, I decided to pull into the lot of a quiet looking bar I 
had often passed.
	I actually sat in the car for about ten minutes, watching a few others, 
couples and singles, enter the establishment, before convincing myself 
that it was okay to walk in.  I certainly wouldn't be carded.  And while 
I didn't drink, it was more by choice than by any attitudes deeming the 
practice either sinful or demeaning.  This was more a debate as to why I 
was going in.   Boredom didn't seem to be enough of an excuse.  A hope? 
  If so, of what?  I wasn't ready to examine that question too closely yet...
	But, in I went anyway.  Once inside, I looked around and decided to go to 
the end of the bar farthest from the door.  I figured that would be the 
best place to watch.  Watch what?  Again, I shrugged that off and sat down.
	I ordered a ginger ale and asked for a menu, deciding to try the house 
burger with all the trimmings, even though it was listed as spicy and I 
am not usually fond of spicy food.  I found it to be surprisingly good, 
and started to enjoy my meal, although I needed several refills on the 
ginger ale.  No surprise there.  Menu items that make you thirsty at a 
bar?  Of course!
	As I settled in, I started to take a look at those around me. 
Eventually, that was what hooked me - watching those who came and went, 
and the pickup games they played with each other.  It was almost like a 
theatre experience, complete with heroes, villains, victories, defeats 
and occasional avant-garde like weirdness.
	Oh, there were plenty of normal people, coming in as couples or groups, 
having their meal or celebration and then moving on without anything 
amusing or interesting coming of it.  But then there were the real 
players, the stories that unfolded in front of me - the couples on the 
verge of breaking up, the singles trying desperately to connect with 
someone, the braggarts, the big shots, the gigolos and the sluts.
	That first night, I was fascinated primarily by the singles, the way the 
men approached the women and the dance was performed.  No, they didn't 
actually get out on the floor and gyrate together.  I just likened it to 
a dance; the way one would lead and the other would follow, the 
animation in the faces and the gestures telling the story, even though I 
couldn't hear the words.  I saw what I assumed were several 
assignations, and when the bartender started looking at me as if I was 
taking up space, I decided to start paying as if I were drinking the 
hard stuff, to give some justification for staying at the bar.  That 
seemed to appease the bartender, and so it became the norm.
	So, every Wednesday night I would stop there, get in my spot in the 
corner, take my time with my meal, and then pay what amounted to a cover 
charge to watch the show.
	There wasn't a lot of turnover of clientele at this local place, and 
after about a month I had pretty much observed and catalogued the 
idiosyncrasies of most of the regulars.  And if that had been all there 
was, I probably would have either moved on or stopped the practice 
altogether, having satisfied whatever curiosity had led me there in the 
first place.  But there were these two regulars...
	They were both young women, very good looking, and always dressed to 
kill, or, as I looked at it, dressed to draw the attention of the other 
sex.  And they were very successful at it.  But that wasn't the show for 
me.  The show was the variety of ways the pair shot down their eager 
suitors.
	At first, most of the regulars took turns at one, the other, or both, but 
after a couple weeks, they stopped trying.  For a while I worried that 
the duo would stop coming in.  But, there always seemed to be a new 
batch of possible suitors cruising in, and the show went on.
	It was fun, the most fun I had had in a long time.  To watch a brash 
young man, buff to the extreme and cock-sure of himself, approach the 
short, perky, blue-eyed blonde, seem to hit it off for a good 15 minutes 
or so, and then look like he had been shot, it made me feel good.  The 
doe-eyed brunette seemed to have an insidious way making the guys 
hitting on her leave without quite knowing why they were leaving alone, 
or even that they had been shut out completely.  The two of them seemed 
to have infallible radar too.  There were times when I thought violence 
was in the air, expecting things to end roughly, and once almost started 
to get the bartender's attention just in case, but somehow, it didn't 
happen.  The guy gave a nasty laugh, spit out a few choice words, and left.
	Some of the loud parting comments of the brasher guys contained lewd and 
caustic references to lesbian bitches, and to tell the truth, I had 
pretty much assumed that was the case myself.  After all, when they 
left, it was always together, and a couple times they were holding each 
other as they sashayed out the door.  Did it bother me?  No.  Did the 
idea detract from what they were doing?  Not at all.  After all, I was 
just watching the show.  I didn't need to worry about rejection, or the 
reasons for it, because I had no intention of becoming part of the show 
myself.
	Ah, but the road to hell...
	What started happening about four months after their first appearance 
didn't make any sense to me, or to anyone else, for that matter.  And 
that may be why they did it.  But for whatever reason, the two of them 
started to include me in their little show.  At first, it was a nod and 
a smile, usually just after one of them had taken someone down.  Since I 
had been watching, and enjoying the show, I would nod, raise my glass 
and smile back, getting a little thrill that the performers had 
acknowledged the audience.
	Then, they started playing to me, moving from the middle of the bar 
closer to the end, and doing things like rolling their eyes when I could 
see and their target could not, or winking or giving some other sign 
just before the kill.  I was having the time of my life, trying hard not 
to laugh out loud at times so that I wouldn't spoil the finish.  Life 
was good again, at least once a week, and my memories of those nights 
made the rest of the world easier to take.
	But as I walked in the door this time, I saw them sitting at the end of 
the bar - in my spot!  At first, it didn't really register.  But when 
they looked up, saw me and waved I stopped dead.  They were smiling and 
gesturing for me to come on over, but I couldn't.  All of a sudden, my 
world was turned upside down.  I started to turn away, but heard a 
shrill whistle!  It was the brunette, and when I looked at her, I saw 
that she was smiling, but the eyes seemed to be pleading a little, as 
well.  Deep inside I knew, I knew, that it was just another act, that it 
was my turn, finally, to be part of the show.  Still, I couldn't resist. 
  I had to play it out.  After all, I started reasoning as I picked my 
way around, I probably deserved it, having gained so much pleasure from 
the pain of my fellow man.  And the fact that these young lovelies 
apparently even considered putting me with all the virile brutes I had 
observed almost gave me a reason to rejoice.
	Unfortunately, I realized it would still hurt when it ended, and there 
was no doubt in my mind that it would end.  And so, with a false air of 
bravado, I headed to the end of the bar.
	"Hi, I'm Bob, what can I do for you lovely ladies," I said, finding I 
could actually smile and mean it.
	The brunette smiled back.  "I'm Barbara and this is my sister Nancy. 
Could we buy you a drink?"
	"Only if I buy for the rest of the evening."
	Nancy laughed and nodded, signaled the bartender, then nudged Barbara and 
mouthed "pay me."
	I cleared my throat, looked at the two of them sitting in the last two 
seats, and asked "Can I have my regular seat?"
	Nancy scooted over one and pointed to the chair between them.  I sighed, 
and the ladies giggled as I sat down.
	The bartender brought the drinks, and I started to sip my orange juice, 
but immediately made a face and called the bartender over.  "Tony, this 
isn't my usual."
	The bartender just smiled and said, "It's a screwdriver, just like you 
always pay for."
	Giving him a look, I said, "You know better than that.  Just give me the 
orange juice, as usual, no vodka."
	The girls giggled again, and this time Barbara winked at Nancy, saying, 
"we're even," as the bartender laughed and immediately switched drinks.
	"You knew I didn't really drink, didn't you?"  I glared at the two of 
them, and then looking directly at Nancy, said, "and you thought I'd 
drink it anyway - maybe to act like something I'm not, huh."
	Nancy's eyes opened wide, and with the innocent look I had seen her use 
so effectively many times over the past few months, uttered, "Why, sir, 
I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about," and batted her eyes 
at me.
	'Oh, boy,' I thought, 'I guess I'm going to get the full treatment,' and 
I almost rolled my eyes.  But then, I suddenly realized that I didn't 
care.  Or rather, that I did care, a lot, and that I was very, very 
pleased about the whole thing.
	After all, here I am, obviously much older than these young ladies and 
the various hunks that had been vying for their attention, and I was 
being treated the same way.  No, actually I had one step up on them - 
the girls had actually come to me!  And that's when I decided to 'go 
with the flow,' just be myself and enjoy the evening.
	Still fixing Nancy with a look, I replied, "Young lady, it's obvious to 
me that you aren't taking this matter seriously enough.  And you," I 
said, turning to Barbara, "encourage this behavior."  To which Barbara 
replied, "I'm shocked, shocked I tell you, to think that you could even 
entertain such a notion about me!"  and batted her eyes at me as well.
	'Could it be?'  I thought.  'Is Barbara doing a take-off of Claude Rains 
in Casablanca?'  "You'll regret this," I shot back, "maybe not today, 
maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life."
	"I knew it!"  Barbara shrieked.  "I knew he'd get it!"
	It was my turn.  "Why, I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about," 
and batted my eyes at her.  The bartender looked puzzled as all three of 
us dissolved in laughter.  God, it felt good.
	The rest of the evening went much the same way.  We got a table and ate 
together, and chatted away, finding many common topics of conversation. 
  It turned out the sisters had grown up with classic movies, watching 
them with their mom.  They also enjoyed listening to classic rock, while 
I admitted to watching MTV from time to time, although I was quick to 
point out it was more for what was on some of the videos than for the music.
	The usual time for my departure came all too soon and I knew it was time 
to go.  All of a sudden, I felt awkward.  After all, when the evening 
started, I had been looking forward to seeing these young ladies do 
their usual thing, with me just sitting on the sidelines.  Now, I 
thought of them as delightful people that I wished to spend more time with.
	'Here goes,' I thought.  "Ladies, this has been the best evening I've had 
in a long time, and one of the best ever.  Do you..."
	Before I could go on, Nancy jumped in with, "Oh, it isn't over yet..."
	"Nancy!"  Barbara snapped, "don't!"  Nancy stopped, with a foolish look 
on her face, which quickly turned red.  She was actually blushing and 
looking real uncomfortable.  I looked at them both, slowly going back 
and forth from one to the other, trying to look them in the eye.  But 
now, after months of taking on the guys without a hint of fear, they 
both dropped their eyes and fidgeted, twisting their hands or tugging at 
(delightfully short) skirts.
	That stopped me for a moment.  Don't?  Don't what?  And why?  I sat and 
thought for a moment.  Then I smiled and said, "Ladies, I believe it's 
time for me to pay up on my obligations.  Would you like to order 
anything else before we go?"
	Nancy glanced up quickly.  "We?" she asked.  Barbara immediately joined 
her in looking slightly puzzled and, possibly, hopeful.
	I looked them both in the eye and said, "Well, I believe we have some 
things to talk about, and I think we'd be more comfortable somewhere else."
	"Talk?" squeaked Barbara.
	"Yes, talk," I intoned.  "But, before we go, I do need the answers to two 
questions."
	"Two...q...questions," Nancy stammered.
	"Yes.  The first is actually a repeat.  Do you want anything else before 
we go?"
	The girls looked at each other, shrugged, and shook their heads no.
	"Okay, now the second question.  Is there anyone else that will be 
joining us?"
	Now they looked really scared!  "How did you know?" whispered Nancy.
	"I didn't, for sure.  Look, I like you both very much, and actually find 
that I care about you.  I'm willing to do this any way you want to.  We 
can part tonight, with nothing more than a handshake or a kiss on the 
cheek, and that's it.  Or, we can go somewhere else tonight, your 
choice, with or without others.  Or we can meet at another time, a date 
and a place of your choosing.  Or, if you want to think about it, I can 
give you my number and you can either call, or not.  Whatever you do," 
and I shrugged his shoulders and pretended to pull down the brim of a 
hat, "we'll always have Paris.  Gee, I always wanted to do a takeoff on 
Bogie in a real-life situation," I smiled, "and tonight I got to do it 
twice!"
	Barbara looked at Nancy, got some sort of signal, actually brightened a 
bit and told me to stay there for a moment, as they needed to go to the 
ladies' room before leaving.
	So I waited, sipping at my water (I'd had enough fruit juice by then), 
trying to guess what would come next.  I still had a feeling I was being 
set up, but I was also pretty sure it was a good thing, not a bad one. 
Of course, I could be sitting here waiting forever, or they could come 
out and head for the door, ignoring me completely, but I didn't think so.
	I was right.  They came out, walked over to the table, sat down, and 
looked at me expectantly.
	"Um, we don't seem to be going anywhere, at the moment," I muttered.
	"Gee, you are so observant tonight," smirked Barbara.
	"So, I guess we are waiting for something or someone."
	"Right again," snickered Nancy, "no flies on you."
	'Not yet, anyway,' I thought to myself, 'but apparently the night isn't 
over yet.'  Aloud, I asked, "Do we have long to wait?"
	"Not long!" they chimed together, then turned to each other and giggled.
	That's when the door opened and a woman came in.  A good-looking 
brunette, who I estimated was in her forties.  She looked around, a bit 
unsure of herself until she spotted us, then straightened up and started 
towards us.
	"You didn't," I said, arching my eyebrow at the girls.
	"Why, whatever are you talking about," simpered Nancy, doing the eye bats 
yet again.
	I stood up, pulled out a chair and offered it to the new arrival, who 
gratefully sat down.  I remained standing.
	"Good evening, my name is Bob, and I apologize sincerely for what your 
daughters are doing to you.  It wasn't my idea."
	"Good evening Bob, I'm Cynthia, and I know it wasn't your idea," she 
offered softly.  "In fact," she said, turning to glare at her daughters, 
"I really shouldn't have let it get this far."
	"Girls, leave us," she ordered.  The two looked at each other, then back 
at their mom, questioningly.  "Mom, this isn't the way..." began Barbara.
	"No, it's not.  This is so stupid, and wrong!"  Cynthia looked down at 
her hands.  "I'm sorry, Bob.  I'm afraid I overindulge my children."
	"No need to apologize," I quickly offered, "and I'm not so sure this was 
such a bad idea."
	That seemed to make things worse, not better.  "Look," I continued, 
"whatever it is, let's take this someplace else and straighten it out."
	"Please," said Cynthia, still looking down, "just let it go.  I don't think..."
	"Mom, listen to him," interrupted Nancy, with Barbara nodding.  "Don't 
let him go without explaining.  I think it will do you some good, even 
if it doesn't work out.  Take a chance!"
	"But I'm not the one taking a chance, he is, and it isn't fair!"
	"I'm a big boy, and I think I'm old enough to determine what is and isn't 
fair to me," I urged.  "Look, it's a nice night for a walk in the park. 
  Just you and me.  The girls can watch us from outside earshot to make 
sure I'm not out to do something hideous, and you can tell me what is so 
bad about meeting me in a bar."  I actually winced as I realized what I 
said.  "I mean, uh..."
	Cynthia actually snorted, a good sign, but sobered up immediately.  "That 
could be more accurate than you think," she sighed.
	After taking care of the tab, we all trooped out together and made for 
our various cars.  I took the lead with the girls bringing up the rear. 
  I think they thought their mom might make a run for it, but several 
minutes later we all pulled into the lot of a small municipal park.
	Since I pulled in first, I got over to Cynthia's car in time to open her 
door for her.  I got a bit of a strange look from her, but, hey, it was 
a strange night.
	"Don't tell me no one's ever opened your door for you before."  I looked 
her in the eye, and saw... a little pain?  Hmmm.
	Cynthia dropped her eyes and got out as her daughters wandered over from 
their car.  "My lady, would you walk with me a while?" I asked, 
extending my arm.  Again, the strange look, and, finally, a small smile 
as she put her arm through mine.  Nancy and Barbara found a bench near 
the entrance of the park, sat down, waved at us and promptly started 
talking and laughing with each other.
	Once we were out of earshot, I asked, "Do you want to go first, or do you 
want me to?"  Cynthia continued to look straight ahead as we walked arm 
in arm, and then said, "I'd better go first, before..." and then stopped 
and turned to me with a determined look on her face.  "Look, you like my 
daughters, don't you."
	"Absolutely," I said.  "They're a lot of fun to be with."
	"And their looks don't hurt, either, do they?"
	"Since you mentioned it, no, they certainly aren't hard on the eyes."
	"And you would jump at the chance to bed them, wouldn't you?"
	Ooookaaay... I felt like I was in 'Lost In Space,' with the robot chanting 
"danger, danger Will Robinson!"  But I had already decided that on a 
night like this I was going with the flow, which included reacting 
honestly to whatever happened.  "Jump?  I don't think so.  Don't get me 
wrong, I like them a lot and would consider making love to them if 
things ever got that far.  But that's not why I watched them at the bar 
or why I'm out here with you tonight."
	I could see that puzzled her, but she thought a moment and apparently 
came up with a different theory.  "They're too old for you, then, or too 
young."
I shook my head.  "Nope."
	"Then why..."  As we had stopped by a bench, I motioned to it, walked over 
and sat down.  Cynthia followed, and sat about two feet away.
	"Alright, let's start this over again, shall we?  Hello, I'm Bob.  I'm 
53, a widower with a married daughter living in L.A.  I met your 
daughters for the first time tonight, although I have seen them at the 
bar for over four months.  They seem to want us to talk about something. 
   Do you have any idea what that could be?"  I sat back and waited.
	"They want me to ask you to make love to me," she mumbled.
	"Huh?"  One of my wittier responses...
	She turned toward me, and, almost defiantly, snarled, "Those fucking 
daughters of mine think they are doing me a favor by setting me up with 
a man they think would be interested in hammering his tool into my box 
until I came like thunder."  She turned and started to get up but I 
gently grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.  Needless to say I was 
stunned, somewhat upset at the tone and, of course, rather intrigued.
	"Hold on there lady!" I snapped.  "It's impolite to leave in the middle 
of an assignation.  I should think that with your daughters watching you 
could show some manners!"
	I think that got her attention, although my grabbing her arm probably had 
something to do with it.  At least she hadn't screamed or hit me...yet.
	Staring her straight in the eye I asked, "How long has it been?"
	"What do you mean?"
	"You know what I mean, answer the question."
	Back came the defiant look.  "Almost ten years."
	"Why?"
	"Because that's when Jerry died, damn it."
	"And?"
	"What do you mean, and?  My husband died and I haven't even looked at a 
man since."
	"Oh?" I said, raising an eyebrow.
	"Well, I haven't looked at a man that way."
	"Oh?" Well, hell, it worked before.
	This time, she seemed to look into my eyes a little deeper, a little 
longer, thinking before her reply.  Then, softly, "Okay, I sometimes 
think about it, but that's as far as it goes."  And then, stronger, "and 
that's all the farther it will ever go!"
	I was about to say 'why' again, but thought better of it.  After all, it 
was about time I contributed my boundless wisdom and knowledge to this 
chat.  "It seems we have a lot in common."
	"Oh?" she replied, almost with a smirk.
	"Eight years, me neither, and I hadn't really thought it was likely 
myself until tonight."
	Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and I wished I could read minds for a 
moment before I realized I wasn't even sure what I was thinking.
	"You're kidding!"
	"Nope."  More sparkling wit.
	Then, thinking about what I said she snorted and said, "You mean you, 
just now, just because I said it, are thinking about fucking me."
	"Actually, I would be a little more comfortable with leading up to it 
slowly, a little talking, a little dating and then if things felt right, 
a little romance, a little making out, then making love... and then 
'fucking your box with my tool until you come like thunder!'"  She 
actually blushed. I think it was her noticing my blush that turned the tide.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

	That was eight months ago.  Now we live together at her home with her 
daughters (and, yes, they are gay), and we occasionally still all go to 
Murphy's on a Wednesday, although Cynthia and I go about 15 minutes 
ahead of time to watch the show, and then we all go home to our two 
bedrooms and, properly warmed up, I 'put my tool in her box and fuck her 
until she comes like thunder,' usually more than once as it takes me a 
while (I am 53 you know).  It's actually become a little joke with us. 
She claims she came up with it on the spur of the moment as a way to 
shock me and get rid of me.  I'm glad she did, and so is she.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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