the groper and the psycho-bitch
Starting a few months back, my boss, Bob Bandit started telling me stories about this millionaire investment banker that he'd been partying with. The banker shared Bob's love of drinking 7 nights a week and combing the local bars and clubs for sluts and bimbos.
Bob had a lot more game when it came to picking up the girls, but this didn't phase the banker dude. The banker dude would just grope the women once they were sucked into their entourage. Bob didn't really seem to care about the banker's groping. He actually thought it was kind of funny. Then eventually Bob and the banker would take the sluts back to Bob's place and they'd double bang them.
"Isn't that kind of weird--being naked and having sex around another guy?" I asked Bob.
"Not really," he said. "In fact, sometimes we'll lie in bed together in our underwear waiting for the girls to come over. We make a little divider out of pillows that runs down the bed."
Anyway, when I first heard all the groping stories about the investment banker, I dubbed him "the Groper" for all conversational references. Then, when I came home from work I would retell some of the more outrageous groping stories to my girlfriend. For instance, one time, before the double-banging began, Bob was screwing this one girl while the Groper was hanging out elsewhere in the house. Then Bob got up very early in the morning to make some business calls or some such thing, and left the girl sleeping in his bed. The Groper took this opporunity to creep into Bob's room and do what he does best. The girl then woke up and screamed and chased the groper away.
"That's disgusting!" my girlfriend said, when she heard the story. "What a complete piece of shit that guy is."
A few weeks later, by sheer coincidence me and my girlfriend ran into Bob and the Groper in this club in south Tampa. When I whispered to my girlfriend who the older, chubbier guy was, she actually called him out on his perverted habit.
"So, I finally get to meet the Groper," she said. "Well, you better keep your hands the fuck away from me!"
I kind of cringed because no one had ever called the Groper his nickname to his face. But the Groper just laughed. He didn't care.
Anyway, a few weeks later my girfriend and I split up. She had some sort of psycho-rage disorder and she smashed a bunch of windows in my house and tore pictures off the wall and that kind of stuff. I was glad to get rid of her, since I realized she was never going to get a job and she intended to sponge off me as long as possible.
Still, I had had a lot of good times with her. She was fun to party with and we'd had a lot of great sex. I ended up having relapse sex with her a few weeks after our break-up, even though I had a restraining order against her and it was a misdemeanor for her to be within five-hundred feet of me.
When we left the bar to come back to my place and have the relapse sex, I was shocked to see that my girlfriend was driving a sixty-thousand dollar Jaguar.
"Where the hell did you get that?" I asked her.
"Oh it belongs to a friend of mine," she said.
"Is he letting you car sit for him?" I pressed.
"Actually, he's probably going to give it to me."
"Give it to you? Who the hell is this guy?"
"I can't tell you," she said.
After pestering her some more about this mystery Jaguar giver, I finally gave up and took her back to my house for our relapse sex.
The next morning at work I told Bob Bandit how I'd ran into my ex again and how she was driving this Jaguar, even though she didn't have a job or a dollar to her name.
Bob just laughed.
"That's the Groper's jag," he said. "He's also putting her up in an apartment and paying all her bills."
"Is she fucking the Groper?" I asked.
"That's a pretty stupid question," Bob said.
8:00:57 PM 
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