The Vee Jay Bar ain't much, but it's on the way from work. Joe and I drop in from time to time. The beer is cheap—hell you could get high on the beer fumes that come out of the woodwork.

So last Friday we are letting the first couple of cold drafts slide down our throats when Joe nudges me. "Check out the blonde," he says.

I look. She is in her mid thirties, a few pounds overweight. Tight skirt, no bra. Butt overflows the barstool a bit. Looks like she's been in the Vee Jay for a while.

Joe is no slouch with women. "Gimme a few minutes," he says, and slides down the bar to where the blonde is sitting. I can see them talking. After a bit, Joe waves for me to come on over.

"This here's Flossie," Joe says. "Flossie, this here's my good buddy Dick." (My name isn't Dick. Joe is always planning ahead.) "Dick and Roger go way back, right Dick?." (So now his name is Roger. For that matter, like her name is really Flossie?)

Up close I can smell the beer on her breath. She's a little ripe. But shit, Joe and I have done worse. "Hi, Flossie, how ya doing? Yeah, Dick and Roger go way, way back. One for all and all for one," I tell her. "Want a beer?" I signal to the barkeep, beers all around. Flossie is smiling. Well, hell, she has most of her teeth still.

So Joe and I are sitting on either side of Flossie, chatting her up. Joe says, "Dick is one of those lucky guys. Always gets the girls." He has his hand on her arm.

"If only," I tell her. "Wish I had muscles like Roger." And I put my arm around Flossie. "Have a drink," I tell her.

"You guys just want to get me tipsy," she giggles. Well, too late for tipsy. We are working on sloshed, more like.

I take a piss break. When I come back, Joe has his tongue down Flossie's throat and his hand is up under her blouse, feeling those big milkers. So I run my hand up her leg and rub her crotch. I can tell by the smell that she is getting plenty hot.

The barkeep comes over. "Not in here," he says. "Take her out back."

Joe unhooks from Flossie and stands her up. "Where we going?" she says. She is barely able to walk.

"We're going to the royal garden house," says Joe. We snag some beers. Then we put our arms around her and walk her out the back door. There is a sort of shack out back. It ain't much, but it has two chairs and a mattress on the floor. Hell, I've spent a night on that mattress when I've been too drunk to walk, meself.

"Only two chairs, huh? Well, Blondie, you can sit on my lap." So saying, Joe grabbed Flossie and hauled her down on top of him. She was squirming and laughing. Partly because Joe slid his hand up her leg and was fingering her pussy. "Have another beer," Joe told her. I popped a can open and gave it to her. She was slugging the beer down while Joe was ramming his middle finger in and out of her pussy. It made a sort of sloshing noise. Just then Flossie let go an enormous belch. Beer shot out of her nose and ran down her chin. I reached over with this bandana from my rear pocket—it was a little greasy from work, but not real bad—and wiped her face off.

"Flossie, you better lie down," said Joe, sliding her panties off. He placed her on the mattress. Her cunt hair was all matted with pussy juice, so I guess she was ready to go. Joe waved me on, so I dropped trou and slid into her. She was sloppy, all right, but at least warm and wet.