“Do the other one.” His brother wrote a ten on his remaining card.
Eric frowned. “Where does that one go?”
He knew they wore one on their backs. They managers were smart, they didn’t want the size to matter too much. If you saw someone you liked coming at you, you were more apt to stop and chat and maybe strike up a conversation. That’s why most men, no matter what the size of their penis, could take home a woman most any night if they were charming and sincere.
“On the front.” Josh peeled off the sticky back adhesive and slapped the card on his left pec.
When Eric wrote a twelve on his other card, his brother frowned. “What’s with that?”
“You wanted me to round it up. I can’t very well have two different numbers can I?” He slapped the twelve card on his chest and moved to put Josh’s ten card on his back for him.
Josh reached over to grab a blank card from a stack on the bar. “That one wasn’t for you. That’s for her.”
Eric started to stand. “You are making absolutely no sense. Let’s go. I don’t have all night.”
Suddenly he wanted to get laid. And laid fast.
His brother grabbed his arm. “They’ve added a little something extra. You need to put the size of your woman on the front.”
“Did you drink before you picked me up? Cause you are making absolutely no sense. Isn’t the purpose of the number so the women will know what size we are? What do we have to do, guess what size they want? Which makes absolutely no fucking sense because why would you put anything other than your own freaking cock size?”
His voice rose on the last attracting the attention of the hostess, bartender and a group of men and women entering the front door.
“Sit back down. I think you’re the one who needs another drink.” Amber liquid filled their glasses again.
“The other card is for the size of the woman you prefer.” When Eric still looked puzzled, Josh sighed. “The dress size. You put the size of the dress you’d want your woman to wear.”
“The dress size?”
“Yeah, apparently, they did some market research and found out it wasn’t as effective if you put the weight of the woman you preferred.
“Oh.” Eric did sit back down. And he grabbed his drink and downed it as well. So much for not going home drunk tonight. Well, he wasn’t drunk, just had a really, really good buzz. He was too big of a man to get drunk on three small shots of whiskey.
He laughed at his own pun, then frowned. Hell, maybe he was drunk.
But he was also intrigued. He picked up his abandoned sharpie and took off the lid. “So I put down the dress size of the woman I want?”
“Yeah.”
He glanced over at Josh’s card and grinned. “So you put down the dress size of cousin Marie. Is there something you want to tell me? Should I be concerned if I hear the soundtrack for Deliverance playing at the next family reunion?”
“Eww.” Josh made a face of disgust.
“Well she’s not ugly by any means and I think we both had a few boyhood fantasies centered around her long blonde hair.”
“She’s a third cousin on her mother’s side. She’s not even blood related.”
“Then why did you say eww — like a girl I might add.”
“Because now it’s gross.”
Eric agreed.
“So a ten is your magic number?”
“Yeah. Not too small — I feel like I’m crushing some of ‘em, or fucking a twig. And not someone bigger then me either. I don’t want to get crushed. A ten is just about right.”
Eric winched, hoping no one had overhead his brother. He knew Josh would never intentionally hurt a woman’s feelings, but he also knew that comment might not have sounded so good. Eric believed there was a man for every woman. And a woman for every man. Suddenly he hoped there was one here for him tonight.
Looking at the blank card, he pretended to think for a moment. He knew his perfect number, he just didn’t know what Eric would think. In the past, he’d dated a variety of women. Short, tall, willowy, athletic, not so thin, thin, black, white. It was the not so thin ones that gave him the biggest hard-on.
He wrote his number.
Eighteen.
He could go higher, the extra curves didn’t bother him a bit. There was nothing like holding a big, firm ass when you fucked a woman from behind. Her rounded breasts hanging down, soft and squeezable, unlike women with breast implants whose breasts in that position really did feel and look fake.
Hell, now he had a hard-on to go along with his buzz.
Josh glanced at the number and gave a nod. He quickly switched the cards, the twelve on Eric’s back, and the eighteen on his front. “Let’s go, big brother. I’ll play wingman for you first.”
Emily was bored. Jennifer was on the dance floor and the other women were being chatted up by various men around other tables. Again, she was alone in a sea of people. Right now she’d give anything to be home, dressed in her Scooby-Doo night shirt, watching TV from the comfort of her king sized bed.
Maybe she’d just sneak away. Even though this was supposed to be a night of celebration for her, it wasn’t like anyone would really miss her. Except maybe Jennifer. She drew a deep breath, resigning herself to at least another hour of watching everyone else hook up before she could actually make a valid argument for leaving her own party early. She had told her mother that she might come for a visit on Saturday. It would be as good of an excuse as any.
“Can I get you anything, ma’am?” A skinny waitress in a tight leather skirt and white button-down blouse opened just enough to show off her generous, cough, fake, assets stood next to the table, one hand on her bony hip and a derisive look on her gaunt face.
The woman needed a good, big…cheeseburger and fries. Emily smiled at the uncharitable thought. “No, thank you.”
“We have a menu if you’d like to see it.”
What? Since she was fat, she couldn’t sit here without something to stuff in her mouth? She so wanted to wipe the smirky look off of the thin face. But that wouldn’t be very professional of her. Counting slowly to ten, she glanced around the room, giving herself time to calm down. Her gaze was caught by two men at the bar in deep conversation. They were similar in height and build, but the darker headed one was broader, with shoulders like a linebacker. She’d bet he had something she could stuff her face with.
Oh my! Where had that thought come from? Too much alcohol? Maybe. She eyed the man again, noting the snug fit of well worn jeans and the knit polo shirt that stretched across his well-developed torso. Just looking at him had her fantasies — and her hormones — kicking into overdrive.
“Well?”
The snappy one-word question drew her attention back to the stick-like waitress. She’d had enough of the snarky tone and just enough alcohol in her to stand up for herself. “I said no. But you should really do yourself a favor and eat something. Only dogs like bones.”
The waitress left in a huff and Emily grinned. Score one for the fat girl.
* * * * *
The room was filled with a bevy of beauties. Big, buxom beauties.
Tall women, short women, and somewhere in between women. The height was as varied as their sizes. Thin women, downright skinny women and big, beautiful women. Most of the women in the room were of above average size — whatever that arbitrary number was these days that society placed on beauty. Men with big dicks usually preferred larger women and he was no exception. Yeah, a big beautiful woman was just his type.
A man who hadn’t dated a larger size woman didn’t know what he was missing. Since his teens when he’d first discovered the pleasures of the female body, Eric had also discovered some women were arrogant bitches and some didn’t care about anything except what handbag went with what shoes. More importantly, he’d learned that bigger women were more sincere and honest — somehow allowing their true inner self to shine through.