Lola

George, my nephew, is a skirt chaser. Quantity, not quality, seems to be his objective. The size of the skirt or who's wearing it doesn't matter. Getting phone numbers makes his heart throb. One night he got four. Total ecstasy! I assisted in his final acquisition: a big mistake. Instead of making a move on that beautiful woman myself, I told the hound about my brief encounter with her. In a flash, with the money I loaned him, he was buying her and her two girlfriends a round of drinks. Although her friends were about his age, fifty, he strutted away with the older woman's phone number.

"Don't call her," I pleaded. "She's the first woman I saw since I moved to Florida that's close to my age."

My request was ignored. His next two nights were spent with Lola. After night one, he had me look her up on POF.com. She looked fantastic. I can't think of anyone in Hollywood looking that great. At fifty-six she could easily pass for forty. I suspect minor surgery, and I think she might have a vision problem.

The night we met I was sitting alone at the bar. George was busy getting the number of some young hefty girl who smiled at him from the smoking area outside. Lola strolled up to the bar from a small table behind me. Her hip bumping into me caught my attention. Her smile took my breath away. I was speechless after she said, "You and your friend are a couple of good looking guys." She winked. "I'm Lola," she said prior to sashaying back to her table.

I glanced at myself in the mirror. Not too bad for sixty-one, but still old looking. Perhaps the darkness inside the bar helped my appearance a great deal. When George returned, I repeated what she said.

George lived in Rhode Island with his girlfriend. He was visiting me for a few days and was short of cash. So I loaned him another hundred for their second date. That wasn't enough. He wanted me to accompany Lola's roommate - make it a foursome. Reluctantly I agreed to go after he told me the woman was in her late fifties.

George lied! Terry was fifty and looked thirty or younger. No doubt those girls had a gifted plastic surgeon working on them. I guess Terry could afford it. She was an attractive psychotherapist. Perhaps the cosmetics was somewhat needed in her quest for young boys. "Terry dates guys in their twenties," Lola said to me with a smirk.

Now she tells me. I should have departed then. Instead I stuck around for the worst night of my life. The torment began after George and Lola returned from her car. They had smoked a little pot. Possibly crack or swallowed a pill or two. Don't know. But they were high when they returned. And rude! They made out at the table like a couple of school kids in a car at a drive-in movie. That made me feel extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed.

My three chums were smokers. It didn't take long for them to go outside, leaving me alone. Not for long. First I took a cheap shot from a huge motorcycle mama sitting at a nearby table. "Are you two on a date?" she asked in a very condescending manner. It was as if I was a pedophile on the prowl. Moments later a woman sat down next to me and another gal was standing by my side touching my arm and shoulder. "Are you two on a date?" the one on Terry's chair asked as she unfastened a button and opened my shirt.

Feeling guilty about being with such a young looking girl I said I wasn't on a date. Another mistake! They didn't budge when the smokers returned. Terry stood by her chair for ten minutes before leaving. George chatted with the women. Ah, more phone numbers was running through his little mind - I thought.

I wanted to go home. I wasn't interesting in the two women, mainly because of the way they ignored Terry when she returned. Too rude for me. If I had been all alone, I would have been pleased to get their phone numbers.

Eventually the younger one asked if I wanted to go out to dinner some night. I lied and said I was dating someone. She didn't take the hint right away. Ultimately they left when it was time for George and Lola's smoke break. I followed the two smokers outside.

George and Lola lit up while I sipped my sixth drink - much more than I'm used to. The older of the two women from our table escorted a young girl, about twenty-one, over to me and introduced her. It was her way of saying I must like them young. The girl shrugged her shoulders as if she didn't know what was going on. George thought it was funny and laughed. I felt stressed out and started to perspire.

In an attempt to calm down, I told the two smokers an unusual story. It followed Lola's report that her mother had dated Warren Beatty, and mom looked like Jackie Kennedy. I had met Caroline Kennedy, sort of. We had arrived at the Kennedy Library at the same time. I held the door open for her and her two daughters. Wearing golfing attire, my girlfriend and I were escorted along with Caroline and her children to a backroom. Apparently the escorts thought we were Caroline's guests.

All the people in the room were dressed formal. A woman approached us and asked what was my connection with Caroline. I whispered, "I promised not to tell," and winked at her.

My girl punched my arm and said I was kidding. Then I said I held the door open for her. The woman gave a us a dirty looked and rushed over to a guy leaning against the wall. She pointed at us.

I led my girl to the back of the large room by another door. In case the guy pulled out a gun I wanted an escape route. Anyway the door opened and George Bush entered the room.

"This is political!" my moronic nephew said, rudely interrupting me.

I was stunned. It had been a rough night. "You better tell me what's political or don't ever visit me again."

"It's boring!" Lola said. I guess her way of defending George.

I had enough. "Have her drive you to my house. I'm outta here."

A couple of days after George went home, Lola stopped by my house for a visit. I made her a few drinks and we talked on my patio. I was a gentleman and made no moves or passes. The next night my son-in-law called and told me George told my daughter I was trying to get his girl (Lola) drunk and take advantage of her.

Several days later Lola stopped by again. I was ready. I had several bottles of rums, including Bacardi 151, pineapple juice and several mixes. In a few hours we downed a pitcher of the strongest drink I ever had and took a refill pitcher over to her place. My patio has nice with a view of the ocean, but her patio was better; very private and surrounded by a tall fence and trees.

Lola told me about Terry's last stud. Terry had loaned him over a hundred thousand to start a business. That twenty-four year old was handsome, in great shape, nude and stiff when he grabbed Lola's breasts. Terry had gone to the store. When she returned the kid was history.

Getting stiff was a problem for George. Although she was more than willing, they didn't have sex due to his 'soft' problem. As soon as Lola shared that information, I said I've been hard for a couple of hours. I was wearing shorts and with just a slight tug of my pants I could prove it. Inappropriate! Besides she might tell George. Who knows who he might tell. I'm not a dirty old man. I was a drunk old man when that brief thought came to mind.

I enjoyed her company: especially when she showed me her breasts. Their appearance was a pleasant surprise. Her doctor was a great craftsman. I was tempted to touch and fondle, but I didn't. Instead, like a dummy, I said, "Nice nipples." Remember, I was drunk.

"Why are you so shy?" she asked, confusing me.

I was thinking entrapment. It was after midnight and like most men I usually turn into a wolf by then. Something didn't seem right. She was gorgeous. Yet, I wanted to go home. My little brain was shouting, "Noooo! Noooo!" but I left in a hurry.

The next day George's girlfriend caught him on the phone with Lola. She threw him out of her house after smashing his car windshield. Then George promised to fly Lola to Rhode Island for a visit. He was going to rent a motel room for a week.

I stopped by while Lola was packing. She was excited. I informed her there wasn't a remote possibility she was flying out that night or any night unless she paid for the ticket. George didn't have any money and he might be crazy. I was surprised she hadn't noticed. All he had were good looks and a little charm. No brains. No money.

She didn't believe me. When he wouldn't answer his phone or call her back, she thought I might be right. My phone rang at eleven-thirty that night. I didn't pick it up. Lola was drunk and left a message for me to come over. If she was looking for a friend to comfort her, I would have stopped by. But I didn't think that was the case. Taking advantage of a drunk and hurt woman might be inappropriate.

Lola never stopped by again. I ran into her several months later at our local bar. She was drunk and had a new boyfriend, a good-looking guy in his early forty's. How can we old guys compete with that? I was even somewhat attracted to the guy - and I'm straight.

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