Is there one story that you find yourself telling over and over again? My fiance and I recently bought a house in a nice little neighborhood in central PA. Since we have met and drank with a lot of new couples our “How we met” story has been told a lot lately. I don’t like telling that story unless asked, mostly because then I have to hear everyone elses’ boring “how we met on hopelesslosersonline.com” stories. Even if they don’t offer it up, I still have to ask because it is the polite thing to do after telling them about how awesome my coupling went (please feel free to offer up your stories in the comments, especially if they are funny).
No one here asked, but then again you haven’t asked me to tell you about Penis pumps, letter H-ing midgets, shit-facing my commander, getting checked for the clap, or any of the other crazy things I’ve posted here.
After my cheating whore of an ex-wife left me, I took some time to myself and stayed celibate for a bit. After that month was over I went out on the hunt. MWR was my nickname, not Morale, Welfare, and Recreation, though I must admit that I provided that for quite a few ladies during my year of being single. MWR stood for Man-Whore-Ron.
One night I was sitting at the post combined club (no more officer/NCO clubs) with my roommate and a group of his co-workers, when one of them, a recently separated woman, asked me in all seriousness “does all of this sex with random people really help get over a heartbreak?” *insert sad smile here*. As I was welcoming the fly into my web, one of my men came up to me with a look of purpose and mission on his face.
“Sir, I need your help. Can you play wing-man for me? I’ve got this piece of action going on out here in the other room, and I really need your help running interference with her friend. Trust me, it’ll be worth your while.”
What’s a good LT to do?
A good MWR says, “sure thing buddy”. As I call my roommate over to further discuss how random sex heals all wounds with Lonely Hearts Club girl. I head off with my employee to help him out in a time of need. The thought process being that even if I don’t like, want, or score with my employee’s chick, my other buddy gets some and owes me a favor, and if he fails with the sure thing, I can always swoop back in later and pick up right where I left off.
Also you never know what’s behind door number 2? Anyone who just takes the bird in the hand is too scared of the BUSH in my opinion. Besides even in failure my DVD player has never said “no” and there’s zero risk of a pesky STD like children or the HIV.
Let me set the scene a little bit. The other half of the club is an actual Club, and it’s packed, the All Army Women’s Softball team is there and they are all over each other. My employee sits down next to a woman and points to future Mrs. LT and It’s go time.
Let me further segue here to tell you about why it’s awesome to be the “wing-man”. As the wing-man you can say whatever the fuck you want. Because your only job is to keep the friend away from her friend so that your boy can run game, you need to keep it as interesting as you can. 9 times out of 10 the friend is not someone you’d want to take home anyway, so part of the night can be spent poking fun at her while she tries in vain to get you to take her home.
This was that 1 time out of 10, my buddy wasn’t kidding when he said it was worth my while. 5’0 110 lbs 36-22-34 blond hair with a beautiful face, and half a buzz. She was surrounded by a bunch of E-5 and below, and when they saw the LT coming over they parted like the Red Sea.
Her: “So you must be the LT that John was telling me about”
Me: “That’s right, but you civilian types can call me Ron.”
Her: My name’s Brandy with a “Y”.
Me: Yeah, cause an “I” would be gay. Speaking of which, you’re not one of these lesbian softball players are you?
Her: Me, no. I prefer dick.
Me: Well that’s just great, because I happen to have one of those. I like vagina.
Her: Well that’s just great, because I happen to have one of those.
Me: Maybe we ought to get those two crazy kids together one of these days.
Her: What, like a play-date?
Me: Sure, we could play fun games like Twister, or just the tip, just for a second, just to see how it feels.
Her: You’re bad!
And she was hooked. Now every once in a while an E4 would get nervy and try and buy her a drink or ask her to dance, at which point I would walk out to the bar to check on my other buddy and his progress. Miss Brandy always made it a point to come find me. The E-4’s were like those small sharks anytime she was away from me, or when I’d feign boredom and go away. They’d swarm, and then get away when she’d find me. You could see she was annoyed that I kept leaving her side, and she kept tracking me down. Sometimes being a good wing-man is getting her so fixed on you that she stays completely out of the other room. The pissed off looks on those E-4 faces every time she found me was just a nice bonus.
Sadly, I did not go home with her that night. Her friend ended up being sober enough to ensure that she got home safe, and my roommate struck out with the sure thing, and was my DD, made sure that if he wasn’t getting any niether was I.
She called me a few days later and asked what I was doing, I told her “sitting at home drinking a beer, wanna come over?” She said sure, and was on her way.
I explained to my roommate, as I told him to make himself scarce, that the secret is confidence. I proceeded to change out of nice clothes into an old pair of sweatpants (old army issue, the kind with the cuffed bottom, not the straight-legged kind) and an old T-shirt. I told him that I was so confident in my abilities that I could pull it off even in sweats.
When she got there I told her that I lost my twister mat.
When my fiance tells this story, she always shakes her head at the fact that she got all gussied up to come over, and that she loves that cute grin I gave her at her expense when she walked through that door that night. It’s the same grin I give everytime we tell that story, now 3 years later.