Lynn Richards - Sex by the Numbers

The woman was gorgeous. And she didn’t need to lose any weight to look that way. The woman’s friend appeared to be a size ten or twelve. A woman Emily would have considered skinny, but whom society still labeled as overweight. When the man approached, the smaller woman smiled at her friend and left the table. She didn’t go far, casually circling back around so she was facing her friend but the man’s back was turned toward her.

Emily saw her laugh and give her friend a thumb’s up before moving completely away. She realized why when the man turned slightly and the number on his back came into view. Twelve.

Wow.

Jennifer and Deb were in a discussion concerning bleached blonde men and the color of their pubic hair and she took the opportunity to liberate one more flamingo.

“So what if they lie?”

That got their attention. Jennifer cleared her throat before she spoke. “I don’t believe they fill out an application, Emily. But I’m sure they wouldn’t lie about something that important.”

All the women around the table snorted and waded up their napkins to throw at Jennifer’s head. “What? Why would they lie? That’s a very discoverable lie.”

“No, not that.”

“Well, the women can’t very well lie either,” Sara stated. Her tone held a hint of disgust that Emily had heard most of her life. And usually from skinny little bitches like Sara.

Yup, she really liked those pink flamingos.

“The women don’t have to tell their dress size, Sara. This club is for the women , not the men.”

“But what if they lie?” Again she asked the question.

Jennifer eyed her with concern. “I don’t understand honey, who’s lying about what?”

“The men, what if they’re lying about what size woman they want to be with? This could all be a great big prank. Get the fat girl alone and then make fun of her.”

“Alright, that is definitely enough for you.”

Emily wanted to retract the words as soon as they left her mouth, but she couldn’t. She saw the malicious gleam that entered Sara’s eyes and groaned. She had just inadvertently revealed one of the most embarrassing experiences of her life. That prank had almost happened to her at her junior prom. A boy had asked her out and she had been all excited, studying dress patterns — fifteen years ago there were no plus sized prom dresses available unless you paid an arm and a leg for an extra half yard of sequins and satin — and waiting for that magical night. Luckily the boy hadn’t been the star quarterback and the night hadn’t turned into a lesson-to-be-learned Disney movie. But it had hurt when he’d kissed her and tried to grope her breasts. When she had protested, he’d told her she was lucky he’d even asked her out, her being such a heifer and all.

Of course that had added tremendously to her self-esteem issues.

Before anyone could answer her, a man came up to Sara and asked her to dance. He was a great looking man and the front number said zero. Emily was sure that was just to flatter the women he tried to pickup, since Sara was definitely not a size zero. Seeing the eye rolls of the other women, she knew she was right. His back number said ten and she hoped he had lied about that number as well.

Sara didn’t deserve a ten.

Eric didn’t know why the hell he’d let his brother drag him to a club. Club hopping usually wasn’t his style. The last time he’d hooked up with a hot number, but it had only been a one-night stand. A true wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am since they had both been three sheets to the wind. Not one of his finer moments.

But it had been over a year since he’d hooked up with someone. His last breakup had made him reexamine his life. The woman had been professional, smart, beautiful and pencil thin with breast enhancements the size of grapefruits. He’d woken up one day and realized he was dating Professional Barbie. Not what he wanted at all.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust when they entered. The deep bass of the music sounded like a giant heartbeat, pulsating with life. Maybe this was what he needed. A pretty brunette. Or a blonde. Or a redhead.

“Damn.”

He cursed when the hostess handed him two white place cards and a black sharpie. He’d forgotten the “theme” of the club. It was a Mandingo Club. A place where women came looking for men with extra-long assets.

Big dicks in other words.

Even though anyone was welcome, the underlying excitement for the women was that most of the men there were very, very well endowed.

He wasn’t complaining, he liked the idea, even appreciated it. He’d learned early on that even though most women fantasized about making love with a man with a big, thick cock, when it came right down to it, sometimes the size of the one-eyed snake coming at them scared the shit out of ‘em. In his teens, he’d actually had a girl cry when he’d whipped it out in the backseat of his daddy’s car. Since then he’d learned not to reveal himself too soon and how to make the experience pleasurable for himself and his partner, but it took trust which meant a relationship.

He sighed. This was not a good idea.

“What’s wrong, bro? Thinking about Cindy?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” They took a seat at the bar. His brother raised his hand and flipped the index and middle finger of his right hand, indicating they wanted two whisky shots, straight up.

“I forgot.” He motioned to the white cards.

“Man, how could you forget? This is the best place. Ever.”

Eric smiled at this brother’s enthusiasm. He was only two years older but seemed so much more carefree than Eric ever had.

The whisky came and both men lifted their glasses, clanked them together and downed the amber liquid. Eric tapped the bar top and the bartender refilled them before moving on to another customer.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you drink yourself under the table tonight. Maybe you can remember the experience this time. There’s nothing like a woman who appreciates size. Cause let me tell you, size does matter.”

He picked up his own sharpie and wrote the length of his penis in big, bold numbers. Ten. He didn’t round up.

Eric knew his brother’s dick was almost eleven inches, but it wasn’t in their nature to brag. They’d come from a long line of men who had damn good…uh, genes. In fact, Josh was probably the smallest of their generation. Yeah, when the male cousins where younger, they’d compared, they’d measured, then told stories about their dad’s dicks along the lines of my dad’s bigger than yours . Referring to their cock sizes of course.

When it came time to have sex, it had helped to have older males to go to with questions and concerns. And his dad. His dad had been cool about it, telling him in plain, understandable terms what he had to do to make the act of sex pleasurable for himself and his partner. The fifteen year old Eric had pretended not to listen, but had absorbed every word as any fifteen year old would when learning something new about the most ‘forbidden’ of subjects.

It had freaked out the seventeen year old Eric when he’d put two and two together and realized all the things his dad had told him about, his dad had done to his mother.

He reached for his drink. So not the image he needed tonight trying to pick up a woman.

Josh grabbed one of Eric’s cards and wrote twelve in even bigger letters than his proud ten.

“Josh,” Eric growled. “That’s not right.”

“Oh, come on big brother. We both knew it’s just a matter of centimeters.”

“Then change yours too.”

“Boys, boys, boys. Let’s not argue.” The hostess stood behind them no doubt hoping she’d have to referee a measuring contest. Eric wondered if they did that, verify the truth so to speak?