The following story is from a poster called, ChristopherInOregon if I recall. It was a series of forum posts with commentary. I loved it so much I compiled and edited it into a single cohesive story, and this is the perfect place for it. Enjoy!

Gents;

I was sitting out on my porch the other morning, smoking one of my lovely antique pipes, luxuriating in the essence of my cherry-vanilla blend of tobacco that my seller of all fine things tobacco-related prepares for yours truly. A very serene moment for a bachelor. All was well with the world.

Sigh.

'Twas but the calm before the storm.

My cell phone started to ring, jarring me back to reality. I pondered who would be ruining my solitary moment when I'm at peace with my surroundings, and, but of course, it was a woman.

Naturally.

They seem to know instinctively when to shatter a man's happiness, even when not married to him. It's as if Mother Nature is sending out an all-call to her daughters, saying "Alert! Man happy! Dispatch destruction crew!"

It was the sister-in-law of a friend of mine. Huh. Well, she's married, so surely she can't be trying to hook up with me? Nah. Of course, I'll have to thank my dear friend for giving her my number.

I answered in my usual pleasant morning voice "What?"

Not hello, nor good morning, but a flat, toneless "What?" It serves to disarm women from the get-go.

She said "Chris?" I said "Yeah?"

"This is Ruth, you know, Adam's wife."

Now, some of my pipes are finicky, and this old Dr. Grabow is no exception. You've got to keep the airflow going, or it goes out promptly. Most Dr. Grabow's aren't that way; in fact, I would venture to say that the older Dr. Grabow pipes in my vast collection are among the easiest pipes to keep lit, and I have over 100 of them. Possibly one of the largest collections of colored Dr. Grabow pipes around. But, not this one. It's one of the rare bright red Bulldog's, and was unsmoked when I bought it. Forty years old and a virgin. (Where have I heard that before?)

Anyhoo, it's a matter of pride when I can keep the silly thing going. As soon as I clicked on to answer the phone, the pipe went out. We all have our buttons, and this one was mine. So, I was in no mood to be overly polite to the woman who ruined my morning smoke.

"Yeah, Ruth, I saw your number on my phone. How they hanging?" That response really unsettles women, and Ruth was no exception. She's a good Catholic, and such inquiries probably aren't the norm for her delicate ears.

"Uh, everything's, uh, hanging fine, I guess." she said, trying to recover. "I was calling to see if you wanted to go out a a double date with Adam and me Saturday night."

"Double-date? Me?" I asked.

"Yes, a double date. You don't get out enough."

"I get out all the time. I went down to the coast three times last week and bought some antiques." I innocently replied.

"You know what I mean. You never get out and date anymore."

"Anymore?" I said. "When do I ever date?"

"That's just the point." she said. "You have no social life outside of your buddies, your Harley, and your silly antiques.

Silly antiques? Talk about a nut shot. I have a lot of very fine antiques, thank you kindly, and none of them are silly, with the possible exception of my two antique oak commodes that I use as end tables. Maybe that's what she had in mind when she said my antiques were silly.

"Why do I need more of a social life?" I asked.

"Because it's just not natural for a man to not be at least dating a woman. Unless he's gay or something."

Sigh. Again with they gay thing.

"Ruth," said I, "I'm not gay. I'm not attracted to men, sheep, children or dogs. Nor dead bodies....".

"I know, I know," she interrupted. "I'm just saying it's not natural being alone. Are you going to play with yourself all of your life?"

Well, that's just plain rude, but I'm not angry, as Ruth is kind of out-there, and speaks her mind. I can respect that.

"Well, no Ruth, I do have a blow-up doll I carry with me wherever I go. A few blows and she's good to go," I lied. (Honest, I really don't have one. Mostly 'cuz I can't afford the really good ones ;))

She sort of laughed, not quite sure if I was teasing her, and tried again to get me to go dating with she and her hubby.

I said "Ruth, how old is this broad?"

She said "She's thirty-five, and she's not a broad."

"Okay," I said. "Why does she want to go out with me?"

"She's just divorced, and you don't have anyone, and it's got to be lonely in that big old house of yours."

Ah, yes. My house. :roll:

"I have plenty of company, Ruth, and all of the pussy my bed can handle."

"What? You're not dating anyone, are you?"

I said, "Who said anything about dating? I'm talking about Elmo."

"Elmo, who's Elmo?" she asked suspiciously, probably going back to her earlier gay comments.

"Elmo," I said. "Elmo. My Siamese. He's a chocolate point and fourteen years old."

"A cat? You sleep with a cat? THAT'S your idea of pussy? she demanded.

"Well, yes," I said. "He's been sleeping with me all of his life, and I don't think he'd take kindly to outsiders. He's not into threesomes."

"You mean if a woman stayed over, she'd have to sleep next to a filthy cat?" she snorted.

Filthy? Elmo, filthy? Hardly. He's probably the cleanest pussy around these parts.

So, I said "Elmo's not filthy. He's a clean cat, and he has never been outside."

"But he uses a cat box, fer crissakes" she stormed. (this from a Catholic?)

"And you use a toilet, but I don't notice Adam throwing you out of bed. Or did he? Is that what this is all about?" I inquired ever so sweetly.

"No, no, try and stay focused," she replied.

"I'm very focused. You just insulted Elmo," I said sounding very grave, "and I refuse to talk further unless you apologize to him."

"Are you insane?" she wanted to know.

"Well, that's the general opinion of most of the women I know..."

"How do you expect to get laid if you're fixated on your damn cat?"

"I'm not fixated; Elmo is family." I said.

"What is it with you and all men? You act like you're just afraid of women. Is that it, you're afraid of women?"

Now, she expected me to act as an man would when faced with shaming. Deny. Of course not. Me man. Me no afraid.

But, I surprised her. I said "Yes, I am afraid of women. Very much so."

She paused, sensing my more serious side was coming out, and I think she was no longer sure if she wanted to engage me in any verbal sparring. I do have a reputation.

"Why?" she asked oh-so-carefully.

"Think back to what you just said. Think about the shaming language you used. How you denigrated my cat."

Silence.

I told her that I fear unbridled, unreasoning hatred on the part of anyone. I fear being ripped apart emotionally.

She naturally came back with one of the standard lines about not being able to truly live life if I'm so afraid of women.

I said "You're wrong. I live my life very well precisely BECAUSE I'm afraid of women. I don't get bitten by the Great Whites that lurk off the beaches in Oregon because I don't go in the water. The same principle is at work here."

"So you never take risks?" she wanted to know.

"Of course, I take risks," I answered, "but they're reasonable risks. I don't go spelunking anymore because I found it was getting too dangerous, and I don't ride fast bikes anymore for the same reason. I take risks, but I weigh them carefully. I've weighed women, and found the risk too high."

Silence again.

I went further and told her that if women hadn't embraced feminism and become so toxic, maybe I would have followed the path usually tread, and gotten married. But things were different now. The risks are simply too high.

She said "So you're never going to get married? Ever?"

"HELLO!" I said. "I'm fifty years old. How old do I have to be to qualify as a confirmed bachelor?"

"Well, I just can't believe someone so nice as you hasn't been snapped up."

Me? Nice? I've been called a lot of things by women, but nice?

"Well thank you kindly," I said, "but marriage isn't on the horizon for me."

And here's proof that women just never listen to anything you say.

"Well, will you go out on the date or what?"

Come again?

I'll spare you the rest of the dialogue, as it was tedious. And I'm forgetting the rest of the conversation anyway. But, it was as if I hadn't said a word in the first place. She had one thing on her mind: setting me up with her female friend, pure and simple.

You gotta love women....

Gents;

Analyze the phrase "going your own way". Until recently, I never really and truly gave it deep thought in relation to how I'm living my life. But, I really have gone my own way. Completely. I'm really coming to grips with that reality and how it affects my behavior.

Now, I'm a humanist. I don't believe in deliberately trying to hurt another human being if it can be avoided. But, since I just turned fifty (and I can hardly believe it) a certain calm has settled over me, and I tend to be frank with people. More so than I used to be. I realize, that in spite of increasing attention from women, I'm essentially out of the breeding race. Not because I can't or don't get offers, but because I want to be out, and need to be out. It's time. That period in my life when I could have been breeding is over, and I've moved on. And yes, even though I'm closer to the end than the beginning, I feel no sadness. I feel an elation and peace I never knew before. I'm less inclined to worry about what women think or feel, but again, I try to not be cruel.

With that said, let me say the following.

Yesterday wasn't a bad day. We haven't had any winter at all here in Portland. No snow, no ice, nothing. This often happens here. We've gone as long as four years without a speck of snow. Yesterday was my day off, and I had my beloved Electra Glide out in the driveway. It never really gets dirty, as I don't ride it in the rain, but I do like to inspect the old war wagon for specks of dust and what-not. So, there I was, walking around 900 pounds of Milwaukee pot metal, when my cell-pone (which I'm sorely tempted to shove up someone somewhere) starts to ring. I wasn't suspicious. I have a lot of friends who call me regularly, and my employer calls me often on my weekends trying to get me to work my days off. I answer it and I hear "HI!"

"Uh, hi. Who are you", I asked.

"I'm Max!" said a disgustingly happy female voice.

"Max? I said. "Max? Is this some sort of a joke?"

She said "No, it's short for Maxine, which is my my middle name." Who the devil names a girl Maxine anymore? And that begs the question: If she likes to be called Maxine, just how bad is her first name?

I said "Well, who are you, what are you selling, I don't need any, and that's a weird name for a woman."

All I heard was a high-pitched hyena-like laugh, followed by a series of giggles. I felt my stomach churn. :P

"I'm Ruth's friend, the one you're going out with."

Pardon me, and what the hell?

"Uh, yeah I know Ruth, I don't know you, and I'm gay."

Total silence.

"You're GAY?" she actually shrieked into the phone.

"Yes," I said, sounding so sincere. "Card-carrying, fudge-packing queer as a three dollar bill."

Total silence.

"You're not telling the truth..........are you?" she almost begged.

"Well, yeah. You should see my stiletto collection. I might even have a pair that would fit you."

"This is so FUCKED UP!!!!" she actually screamed, and the line went dead.

Well, that was simple enough. Some time ago two of my gay friends told me that the fastest way to scare off most women is to tell them you're gay, and I've used that method, more or less, but never had quite this reaction before. This woman was not happy.

Huh.

Less than two minutes later, the phone rang again. This time it was Ruth.

"Chris, why did you tell Max you're gay?! You're not gay!"

"Because she sounded like a hyena, and that makes me nervous. She might try and eat me later. Hyena's do that, you know."

"Gawd, you ARE an asshole." she stormed.

"And your point is....?" I responded. "Have I ever made any attempt to convince anyone that I'm anything but an asshole?"

"You didn't have to be so damn rude to her."

"I wasn't rude. I told her I was gay. Are you homophobic?" I asked.

"You know how I feel about that sort of thing. It's disgusting. And stop changing the subject. Why do you always change the subject?"

"What is disgusting? Someone being gay, or the fact that I told a woman I was gay to get rid of her?" I said.

"BOTH!" she snorted.

Sigh.

"Well, Ruth, I'm not homophobic, and I kind of resent your attitude."

"You're not the first man who has told Max he's gay." she told me, and with that damn voice of hers, I can see why.

It was at this point that my day seemed to be going downhill; women tend to darken even the sunniest days. So, I said "Ruth, I've got to go. I've got a load of delicates in the washer." and hung up.

So there.

Oh, I feel I'm gonna pay for this one.

Gents;

In yesterday's mail, I found a nice red envelope with no return address. Hmm. I opened it up, and inside I found a photograph of an apparently not-bad looking woman standing behind thu-ree small children. Three. Boom-boom-boom. All in a row. Five and six and seven. Or so. Give or take.

Also included was a lovely short letter. I would be remiss in my duties to you all if I didn't share the content of the letter. I will include all of the punctuation and spelling errors as she had them in the original, so please don't blame me if it gets choppy. I purposely omitted the name of her husband's employer for obvious reasons.

"Dear Chris (omitted):

I got your jokes about being gay. Ruth told me your not gay, so you don't need to tell me your gay anymore. Ive three kids and Im divorced. Or almost. My ex is a firefighter and lutenant with the (omitted) fire department and were seperated. Ive included a pictuer of my kids so you can see them for yourself and see they are nice kids. The youngest has crohns disease but is doing okay. Maybe we could get together for lunch soon? You dont have to be afriad of me Im not like all the women youve known in your life. Give me a chance you wont be sorry. Ruth told me all about you and your fear of women and love. I can change that maybe. Hugs, Max."

That, my friends, is the exact content of the letter, painstakingly repeated here for your benefit and enlightenment. Everything she wrote was included except for my last name and again, the name of her stbx's employer.

Well, now. I just don't see how I can resist such an offer. A ready-made family, a woman with the IQ of a possum, and a potentially angry fireman for a husband who could probably beat the stuffing out of yours truly. What's not to like?

Gents;

I was sitting in my beloved Barca Lounger last night, just about to start watching "The Soprano's" season four. And as an aside, I must say that as a bachelor, you will be able to afford a Barca Lounger. Anyway, Tony was just driving up his driveway as the show was starting and I was pumped and ready to go. This show is amazing and does things to me. I always thought everybody in New Jersey lived in caves or something....

The phone rings.

I grabbed it without thinking, as a lot of my buddy's call me in the evening. That's okay; I'm sort of poop-ular, as Lucy Ball used to say. I don't mind.

It was Ruth.

Shit.

Right away she said "Chris, did you get the card? What do you think? Is she nice, or what?"

Huh.

At least now I know who was holding the camera.

I said "Well, she's not bad Ruth, but I'd rather do you."

"Christopher!"

"No, seriously, you get my blood boiling."

"I'm married and you're a pig."

So I kind of sighed and said "Oink."

An awkward pause.

"Are serious about me?" she asked very quietly.

Uh-oh. Tactical error. A retreat is in order me thinks.

"Well, Ruth, you're hot and you've got a nice rack, but your hubby does own a lot of guns, so in the interests of not getting drilled full of holes, I think I'll back off."

"I have a nice what.........?"

Oh, my. I'm not going down this road again......

I said "Ruth, I thought you were trying to get me to go out with Max."

"Well, I am."

"Let's stick to the matter at hand. Not to be rude, but why would I want to date this lady with three kids and a pant-load of baggage?"

She responded by telling me that "You don't have to worry; Max has the house all to herself, and twice a month he has the kids."

"So what you're telling me that twice a month I could get my ashes hauled when her kids are gone?"

"I didn't mean to put it THAT way." she snorted.

"Well, I'm just saying. You've all but undressed her and dropped her in my bed."

"I did no such thing."

"Say, you aren't tapping that yourself, are you? " I asked with a hint of sarcasm. "I could always watch."

"No you can't!"

"No, you're not doing her, or no I can't watch you doing her?" I quietly inquired.

"Unbelievable." she said.

"You still didn't answer the question, Ruth."

I was really getting annoyed, as women can drag a conversation on and on and on and say......not a bloody thing. And she didn't answer my question. So I said "Not to be rude, Ruthie dear, but I've got to get back to my show."

"What're you watching?" she demanded.

Jesus. It never ends.

"The Soprano's" I said.

"I LOVE that show! His wife is so hot!"

"Uh, Ruth, did you just say his wife is hot?"

Another pause.

"You men are all alike. Get your mind out of the gutter."

I then said "Ruth, if I said Tony Soprano was hot, what would you think?"

"Oh, forget it. All you men think about is sex."

"Well, Ruth, you ARE the one trying to set me up with Max. Is sex part of the package or not?" I demanded.

Now, here I'll pause and admit to an error. I was letting her drag me deeper and deeper into the bottomless pit that is a woman's soul. You have to be on guard constantly when dealing with the beasts. I forgot the "power of click." A dear old friend of mine once taught me the easiest way to get rid of a cloying woman was to simply hang up the phone.

Click.

I've used it before, and it's effective. And nothing pisses off a woman more than being ignored. And it's FUN, too.

So, I tried a modified version to keep the peace. I said "Oh my gawd."

"What's the matter?"

My 'roids. They've been flaring up again like demons. I gotta go."

Now, if you want to silence a woman, tell her you have 'roids. An absolute fool-proof method to gross her out and shut her up.

I groaned loudly and hung up.

Now if she'll just tell Max about my "problem"......

I ain't so dumb.

Gents;

Fifty is a magic number. You're not dead yet, but a certain power comes over you. You have zero need for a woman yet women want you more because women desire security above all else. All the feminist bitching and moaning will never change that basic need in women. I have that security available, and it drives them nuts.

I've been amazed and humbled the last ten years at how my marketability has been skyrocketing since I turned forty. Granted, no 18 year old cheerleaders have been after me, but how long does anyone stay 18? Precisely one year.

But, I've had a lots and lots of post-thirty women making passes and asking me to go out for coffee, take a walk, suffer through a blow job, go to the beach, go antiquing, and from women of all levels of attractiveness, in so far as any woman over thirty can be attractive. And once a woman finds out that I have a 2900 square-foot, three-story fully finished and remodeled house that is mortgage-free, you'd be blown away at some of the antics they pull to get my attention. It gets really bizarre sometimes.

Lest you think I'm bragging...I'm not. I'm not stupid enough to think I'm so damned good looking that women are just dying to be with me. Hardly. It's money, pure and simple. I offer, in a woman's mind, a place for her to build a nest so she can roost on my back. I'm not flattered, not in the least. I also know that once she got tired of me I'd be tossed out in the street like garbage.

So, fear not. You younger guys can't quite understand, not really, what it feels like to be able to shut off your sexual drive at will. No woman can turn me on unless I want to be turned on, and frankly, playing Halo and killing Elite's and Grunts turns me on more than any woman. This drives these broads wacko.

I had one gal at work last December ask me to go to a family function with her on Christmas eve. Not a bad looking fortyish divorcee, but I told her I was going to sit home and play Halo that night. Brother, was she blown away. "Is that all men do is sit around playing computer games?" she wanted to know. I said, "No, sometimes I just ride around on my Harley." She just shook her head. (I actually had another dinner I was going to.)

As you age, your desirability to women will grow every year, just as their looks start to fade. At some point you will cross paths on the graph as you are ascending and she's descending, and from then on, you will have all the power. And women know or at least sense this. Some of the formerly attractive one's have a harder time grasping this reality, but I'm always here, ready and willing to bring them crashing down to earth in a heap. ;)

I am, as always, an asshole.

Now, on to Ruth and her shadow, Max.

Things be a-happening, me boys.

I got a call on my cell yesterday from Max, offering to make me dinner. She had it all planned out. Bought everything she did. Sauerbrauten, spatzel, potato pancakes, red cabbage....the works. I've got a buddy of mine that makes Sauerbrauten for me a couple of times a year; he's Austrian by heritage, and I know that this meal, to do it right, takes a lot of work, but the results are amazing.

She told me how she was planning a nice dinner for me so we could get to know each other.....What's going on is she's trying to show me how good a Suzy Homemaker she will be. Yeah, right.

After she went on and on about how she was going to make a dinner that would "rock my world", I dropped the bomb. I said, "Well, Max, I appreciate the thought, but I'm vegan."

Total dead silence.

"You're, you're vegan?" she whined. "Does that mean you don't eat meat, or what?"

Now, I'm not vegan. I tried it once, thought I'd go nuts. I've gotta be able to chew on a dead animal every now and then. It's a man thing.

"Yep," I said. "Total vegan. And I'm rather shocked that you would invite me over to such a barbaric ritual as eating a murdered animal."

Nothing but sputtering on the other end of the line.

"Didn't Ruth tell you I was vegan?" I said in my devilishly sweet voice, trying to drive a wedge between these two broads.

"No, she sure didn't!" she said.

"Huh." said I. "That's not good. How much did you pay for that murdered meat by the way?"

"TOO much, and I don't know what I'll do with it now." She then wanted to know what I would like instead, and I said "Max, I'd have a hard time eating in any home that uses meat. It's an ethical issue."

Oh, my. I think I blew all of her circuits with that one. Poor girl. I can't remember all of the specifics of the conversation, as I was doing other stuff, but needless to say, she didn't hook me into going to her place for dinner.

Was I fucking with her head? Yes, guilty as charged. Was it fun? Well, yes. Once you truly understand how women think, what they do and why they do it, and have a firm handle on your pecker (metaphorically speaking) you can sit back, and enjoy screwing with their pretty little heads. I promise you this, it's worth the wait.

Or as the saying goes, "Payback is a bitch, bitch." :lol:

I'll post later today the subsequent call I got from Ruth.

Gents;

Shit oh dear. Just when you think you've got them figured out....

Well, I do, actually. Have them figured out, that is.

Ruth gave me a holler this morning and wanted to know why I was being so mean to Maxine. To be specific, she said "Why are you such an asshole?"

Well. That's rather blunt.

I said "Ruth, it's genetic. Some men are born to be physicians, some are born to be great leaders. I'm an asshole."

"Well," she said, "You've sure as hell been a smashing success."

Me? A smashing success? My mummy would be proud.

I said "Whaddya want from me, Ruth? You drop this woman in my lap without so much as asking me if I want a girlfriend, and then expect me to be nice to her?"

"I thought you were a gentleman, Chris. Is it too much to expect a man to treat a woman like a lady?"

"Why?" I asked. "You yourself told me once that you're a feminist. If you've adopted the new standards and cast aside traditional gender roles, why the heck can't I do the same?"

"That's different." she replied.

"How is it different?" said I.

"Because" (and get the insane logic here) "only women were liberated from their roles. Men weren't."

Ah, there's the rub. It brings to mind the line from Animal Farm about some being more equal than others.....

"Okay, Ruth, so you advocate a double standard. That's just a tad hypocritical."

"No it's not. "

"Yes, it is."

"NO, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No, I tell you it isn't."

"Would you care to tell me why you feel that way, Ruth?"

"No, I would not. You're rude."

Dog chasing tail forever and ever and ever........

"Ruth," said I, "I've made no bones about being what I am. That's why you broads all want me."

"All women want you? Seriously?" she snapped.

"Pretty much." I answered. "Look how often YOU call me."

"Oh, so now I want you?"

"Yeah, but you can't have me."

"God, you are such a prick!" she snapped. And very rudely, too.

"Well, yes. I've been called that, too, and by women better looking than YOU."

And then I hung up.

She called again. She screamed "Why did you hang up on me?!"

"Because you are a pain in my butt, Ruth, and I can't afford to buy Preparation H in 55 gallon drums."

Click.

I hung up again.

The phone rings again.

I picked up, belched, and then hung up again.

No more calls.

Peace at last.

Now, as I've said, you young guys need to be patient. The day IS coming when you will be able to fuck with women's empty little heads, and I can assure you it's a lot of fun.

Trust me.

Fellers;

Lo and behold, the phone rang last night just as I was getting ready for my much needed beauty sleep.

'Twas Ruth, yet again.

"Christopher? Don't hang up on me again, damn it."

"Are you going to play nice, Ruth?"

Pause.

"Yes."

"Well then, what can I do for you, my dear?"

"What's it going to take to get you to go out with Max?"

"I don't particularly want to go out with Max. What's in it for me?"

"What do you mean what's in it for you?"

"That's pretty self-explanatory, Ruth. What do I get?"

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice rising a bit as I think she was fearing the worst.

"Well, you could come along, and well, you know."

A very long pause.

"That's sooo sick. You men all want two women to go down on each other."

"Ruth, you asked me what it would take to go out with Max, and I thought if you two could entertain me while I ate, I don't know, potato chips, it might be worth my time."

"You actually want us to perform for you? Like animals?"

"Well, yeah, Ruth. I'm getting older and it's harder to hold my interest these days what with all of my toys and hobbies and whatnot."

"I'm not a lesbian, Christopher."

"What do I care? I just want you to go down on her."

"I'm not going to do that."

"You might like it. Have you ever done it before?" I said, suspecting something in her past.

"That's not your business, Christopher, and we're not put on this planet to entertain men like you."

"Ah, so you have been with a woman, Ruth."

"I'm not going to go into my past, period."

"Well, that's the asking price, Ruth. You have to make it worth my time, as I have other things to do."

Pause.

"I won't do it." she repeated. "I just won't."

"Okay," said I.

Click.

I hung up.

My gay friends are amazed at my amazing gaydar, which is quite effective when dealing with women. I can spot a carpet muncher, closeted or otherwise, from a mile away. It's a gift.

I'll be home all day today, so I'm rather curious to see what will happen. I do think I struck a serious nerve with Ruth, though. It's always fun to screw with them. Nothing is going to come of my proposal, of course, but it's fun anyway.

Gents;

So here's where this thread disappeared to....

Well, women can sure enough throw you for a loop. Never underestimate the enemy, my boys.

Last night, the phone rang, and of course it was Ruth. Tenacious Ruth. The eternal matchmaker Ruth. Not that she's the only person who calls me, mind you. She immediately informed me of the following:

"Chris, I told Max about how you wanted us to....do stuff. Like I said, I can't do that, but Max is into it. You need to call her."

"Really," I asked. "What did she tell you?"

"Well, and I didn't tell you this, all right? That's part of why Max and ----- are getting divorced. Max is kind of bi, and ----- couldn't deal with it. I didn't know that about her until the weekend."

"Well," said I, "what happened.?"

Ruth replied "When I told her about what you wanted, she was all for it. She said she had been interested in me for a long time. I told her no way, no how."

"So, she wants a threesome with me?" I said. At this point I was thinking where was this broad twenty years ago?

"Yeah. I guess."

"She doesn't even know me, and she's willing to have sex with another woman for my benefit? Am I getting this right?"

"Well, yeah. She'll do it."

"Jeez, what a slut!" I snapped.

"What!?" Ruth screeched.

"Ruth, that's just disgusting. What kind of woman would stoop so low as to have sex with a total stranger. That's really gross."

"But you said..." she snapped.

"Never mind that, Ruth. You have some really sleezy friends. I'm truly disappointed in you."

"But..." she started.

"Gotta go Ruth. This is so sad."

Click.

This time she didn't call back. I think I really pissed her off. One can only hope.

Now, what really still boggles my mind is how she comes coming back to me. The situation is ridiculous, yet she's hopelessly addicted to the drama, no matter how much of an asshole I am being towards her. The more irrational and rude I become, the more she is drawn to me like a moth to a flame. Even I'm learning something here. Amazing.

Gents;

So far, no word from either Ruth or Max. Who knows what'll happen.

But fear not. At fifty, I'm firmly in control of my emotions and my sex drive. I'm enjoying screwing with women, but I'm careful. I haven't made it this far as a bachelor by being foolish, ya know.