This is a personal thread in which Mark Davis meets his new neighbor, Gerry Baxter for the first time in the role play, "Baxter Court". It is being written here for ease of writing and reading both. Members of "Baxter Court" are encourage to read ALL Personal Threads. They are, essentially, the "Baxter Court" role play ... just not in the "Baxter Court" thread.
Mark and Gerry -- Closed
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deevo
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"Welcome to Baxter ... Mister Baxter."
Well done, Gerry thought, you're only the tenth person to notice. But Gerry didn't say that. Instead he smiled, took Mark's hand and shook it firmly.
"Hey, pleasure to finally meet you," he said. Mark Davis; according to some, he was the richest guy in three counties, though others suggested more. He certainly looked like he came from money. The white teeth, the unblemished skin, the expensive sneakers he was dragging through the mud.
But more than that, Gerry could see an aura of confidence around Mark Davis, the confidence of a man who knew he had the finances and the backing to get him out of any trouble.
Gerry took the chance to stretch out a growing knot in the back of his leg. He'd pushed himself a little hard and was eager to limp home and grab an ice pack... if he could remember what box they were in.
"Nice night for a run, huh?" he asked. Small talk wasn't coming easily; something told Gerry that a guy like Davis didn't care about the weather unless it affected his shares in some corporate farm venture.
Well done, Gerry thought, you're only the tenth person to notice. But Gerry didn't say that. Instead he smiled, took Mark's hand and shook it firmly.
"Hey, pleasure to finally meet you," he said. Mark Davis; according to some, he was the richest guy in three counties, though others suggested more. He certainly looked like he came from money. The white teeth, the unblemished skin, the expensive sneakers he was dragging through the mud.
But more than that, Gerry could see an aura of confidence around Mark Davis, the confidence of a man who knew he had the finances and the backing to get him out of any trouble.
Gerry took the chance to stretch out a growing knot in the back of his leg. He'd pushed himself a little hard and was eager to limp home and grab an ice pack... if he could remember what box they were in.
"Nice night for a run, huh?" he asked. Small talk wasn't coming easily; something told Gerry that a guy like Davis didn't care about the weather unless it affected his shares in some corporate farm venture.
"Nice night for a run, huh?Gerry asked.
Mark laughed aloud, jerking a thumb back the direction he'd come. He corrected, "Nice night to get away from ... well, just get away from."
Suddenly, he questioned himself about what he had to worry about to night. He'd gotten fucked by a sexy woman half his age, and after getting caught, made a deal that -- he was hoping -- would keep his wife from finding out and cutting his nut sack off while he slept one night.
"Just have to get out of the house sometimes, ya know...?" Mark continued, searching for something -- anything -- to say before his new neighbor began to wonder whether all wasn't paradise back at #66. "The phone, the internet, the tablet ... someone always emailing or texting or calling wanting something or another."
He took a quick look around him, not that he could see anything in the post-11 o'clock hour, then looked back to Gerry and said, "It's nice out here. You're gonna love having it to run in. Day and night, summer and winter ... though, be careful when it freezes 'cause the trails can get treacherous."
He laughed his typical You don't know me, I don't know you, I don't know if you find this funny laugh and said, "Listen ... I don't know if you're a drinker or a hoot owl, but a have a bottle of cognac ... very smooth, great aroma ... woody with a bit of fruity, flowery after taste. Good stuff."
Mark stepped closer and reached into the pocket of his shorts, pulling out one of the business cards that he never left home without. "I never sleep 'til two, three ... four sometimes ... so ... if you want to talk about ... anything ... sports, the economy, your new neighborhood, your new neighbors..." He leaned in a bit, flashing the card and that winning Mark Davis smile. "...women. I can fix you up. I'm a professor at CU ... City University. Babes everywhere you turn. Are they still calling them babes...? In my day, they were chicks, and even that was on it's way out I think."
Mark laughed aloud, jerking a thumb back the direction he'd come. He corrected, "Nice night to get away from ... well, just get away from."
Suddenly, he questioned himself about what he had to worry about to night. He'd gotten fucked by a sexy woman half his age, and after getting caught, made a deal that -- he was hoping -- would keep his wife from finding out and cutting his nut sack off while he slept one night.
"Just have to get out of the house sometimes, ya know...?" Mark continued, searching for something -- anything -- to say before his new neighbor began to wonder whether all wasn't paradise back at #66. "The phone, the internet, the tablet ... someone always emailing or texting or calling wanting something or another."
He took a quick look around him, not that he could see anything in the post-11 o'clock hour, then looked back to Gerry and said, "It's nice out here. You're gonna love having it to run in. Day and night, summer and winter ... though, be careful when it freezes 'cause the trails can get treacherous."
He laughed his typical You don't know me, I don't know you, I don't know if you find this funny laugh and said, "Listen ... I don't know if you're a drinker or a hoot owl, but a have a bottle of cognac ... very smooth, great aroma ... woody with a bit of fruity, flowery after taste. Good stuff."
Mark stepped closer and reached into the pocket of his shorts, pulling out one of the business cards that he never left home without. "I never sleep 'til two, three ... four sometimes ... so ... if you want to talk about ... anything ... sports, the economy, your new neighborhood, your new neighbors..." He leaned in a bit, flashing the card and that winning Mark Davis smile. "...women. I can fix you up. I'm a professor at CU ... City University. Babes everywhere you turn. Are they still calling them babes...? In my day, they were chicks, and even that was on it's way out I think."
deevo
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It was comforting to know that even the super-rich sucked at small talk. Gerry wondered if Mark knew that he was rambling. But he could understand what he meant about someone always hounding you for something.
"Yeah, sometimes you wanna just escape," he said. "You do what you can. I switch off my work phone after 10pm." Gerry's personal cellphone number was a guarded secret. More people knew who really shot Kennedy than knew Gerry's full number, though the old office offered a considerable amount for the intern who could crack it.
The business card was one thing, but the mention of "babes"? That was another. Gerry took the card - always paid to be polite to the neighbours - but he couldn't mistake the gleam in Davis' eye at the mention of women. Gerry wondered just how well Mark knew the student body.
Still, an offer of a drink wouldn't hurt. It was getting cold, and he was looking for any excuse not to unpack tonight...
"Well, I guess one couldn't hurt," said Gerry. "A drink, I mean. Though a woman wouldn't hurt, either." He gave Mark a well-rehearsed chuckle. Well, that was a dumb thing to say.
"Yeah, sometimes you wanna just escape," he said. "You do what you can. I switch off my work phone after 10pm." Gerry's personal cellphone number was a guarded secret. More people knew who really shot Kennedy than knew Gerry's full number, though the old office offered a considerable amount for the intern who could crack it.
The business card was one thing, but the mention of "babes"? That was another. Gerry took the card - always paid to be polite to the neighbours - but he couldn't mistake the gleam in Davis' eye at the mention of women. Gerry wondered just how well Mark knew the student body.
Still, an offer of a drink wouldn't hurt. It was getting cold, and he was looking for any excuse not to unpack tonight...
"Well, I guess one couldn't hurt," said Gerry. "A drink, I mean. Though a woman wouldn't hurt, either." He gave Mark a well-rehearsed chuckle. Well, that was a dumb thing to say.
Mark had told the joke wrong; he could see it in Gerry's eyes, and in the fact that the man hadn't laughed aloud like Mark had the day he'd first heard it.
"Hor-ti-culture," he repeated. He told the joke again, trying to enunciate his words; the cognac -- and the fact that he'd been up 18 hours -- were beginning to make him loopy. "Use the word horticulture in a sentence... you can lead a hor-ti-culture, but you can't make her smart. Whore ... to ... culture ... get it?"
Finally, Mark got a reaction, and then -- happy with himself -- laughed aloud once more. He never got tired of that joke; word play was a favorite of his, as was the bottle the pair had been sharing for the past hour.
Mark had found Gerry to be a very interesting man and knew right away that he was going to like him. And that was saying a lot; while Mark knew just about every man in the town of Baxter who was worth knowing, he didn't often find one who he found to be interesting and worth future time together. Mark didn't have a great number of friends. What he had were a great number of acquaintances; business associates, fellow club members, golf partners, and the like.
Mark felt very comfortable with Gerry, but he wondered whether Gerry felt the same way. As the alcohol had begun to take its effect, Mark had accidentally made some comments about money that could have been taken as bragging, which he had in no way meant to be doing. If he'd been bragging, it was only about the smart investments and divestments he'd made just before the recent Great Recession.
Gerry had recently gone through a divorce. Mark hadn't asked for details -- if the man wanted to discuss it, he would -- but he knew that divorces were tough on the finances, even in an amicable split. Hell, if Mark wasn't careful, he'd be going through one of his own after tonight's incidents.
"Tell me about your kid," Mark suddenly said, leaning forward to offer Gerry a bit more of the quickly depleting bottle. "I have two daughters of my own, ya know. Heaven and Hell, you could call them, but I love them both and would do anything for them."
And now, I'm doing something for one of them that NO man should be doing ... wow, how the hell did I get into this fix?
"Hor-ti-culture," he repeated. He told the joke again, trying to enunciate his words; the cognac -- and the fact that he'd been up 18 hours -- were beginning to make him loopy. "Use the word horticulture in a sentence... you can lead a hor-ti-culture, but you can't make her smart. Whore ... to ... culture ... get it?"
Finally, Mark got a reaction, and then -- happy with himself -- laughed aloud once more. He never got tired of that joke; word play was a favorite of his, as was the bottle the pair had been sharing for the past hour.
Mark had found Gerry to be a very interesting man and knew right away that he was going to like him. And that was saying a lot; while Mark knew just about every man in the town of Baxter who was worth knowing, he didn't often find one who he found to be interesting and worth future time together. Mark didn't have a great number of friends. What he had were a great number of acquaintances; business associates, fellow club members, golf partners, and the like.
Mark felt very comfortable with Gerry, but he wondered whether Gerry felt the same way. As the alcohol had begun to take its effect, Mark had accidentally made some comments about money that could have been taken as bragging, which he had in no way meant to be doing. If he'd been bragging, it was only about the smart investments and divestments he'd made just before the recent Great Recession.
Gerry had recently gone through a divorce. Mark hadn't asked for details -- if the man wanted to discuss it, he would -- but he knew that divorces were tough on the finances, even in an amicable split. Hell, if Mark wasn't careful, he'd be going through one of his own after tonight's incidents.
"Tell me about your kid," Mark suddenly said, leaning forward to offer Gerry a bit more of the quickly depleting bottle. "I have two daughters of my own, ya know. Heaven and Hell, you could call them, but I love them both and would do anything for them."
And now, I'm doing something for one of them that NO man should be doing ... wow, how the hell did I get into this fix?
deevo
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For a member of the patriarchal capitalist elite, Mark was all right. His taste in alcohol was certainly commendable, though Gerry was well aware that he'd had a little too much, as was his habit.
"Whore to culture, that's... that's pretty good..." Gerry gave him a little chuckle, then downed the last of his glass.
Mark had spoken pretty openly, so it was only fair that Gerry did the same. He hadn't met many people in the neighbourhood just yet, so having someone he could shoot the shit with was welcome. He didn't talk much about Anna-Marie, but he did say they were on amicable terms. That was the best one could hope for, really.
The sudden change in topic, to Mark's daughters, was unexpected, but Gerry could only shrug.
"I hear ya," he said. "Yeah, my Holly's a good kid. Strong-willed, you know? My ex and I... shit, we were only kids when we had her. So she had a long leash. Kinda regret not having more, but Holly was enough of a handful."
Gerry leaned into a box beside his chair and rummaged around, finally pulling out a photo frame.
"Here she is," he said, handing Mark the picture. "Takes after her mom... so, you know, the local boys got to know me real well." Gerry laughed. He never imagined he'd one day be the one chasing teenage boys down the street with a Louisville slugger. Circle of life, he supposed.
"She should be starting college soon," he said, reaching for the cognac. "She wants to be an artist. A real artist, not a sell-out like her dad." He grinned and poured. "How about your girls? What do they wanna do?"
"Whore to culture, that's... that's pretty good..." Gerry gave him a little chuckle, then downed the last of his glass.
Mark had spoken pretty openly, so it was only fair that Gerry did the same. He hadn't met many people in the neighbourhood just yet, so having someone he could shoot the shit with was welcome. He didn't talk much about Anna-Marie, but he did say they were on amicable terms. That was the best one could hope for, really.
The sudden change in topic, to Mark's daughters, was unexpected, but Gerry could only shrug.
"I hear ya," he said. "Yeah, my Holly's a good kid. Strong-willed, you know? My ex and I... shit, we were only kids when we had her. So she had a long leash. Kinda regret not having more, but Holly was enough of a handful."
Gerry leaned into a box beside his chair and rummaged around, finally pulling out a photo frame.
"Here she is," he said, handing Mark the picture. "Takes after her mom... so, you know, the local boys got to know me real well." Gerry laughed. He never imagined he'd one day be the one chasing teenage boys down the street with a Louisville slugger. Circle of life, he supposed.
"She should be starting college soon," he said, reaching for the cognac. "She wants to be an artist. A real artist, not a sell-out like her dad." He grinned and poured. "How about your girls? What do they wanna do?"
(OOC -- Sorry I didn't post earlier. Believe it or not, I have a pinched nerve in my leg and couldn't sit down comfortably for the past two days, so I haven't written much, and when I did, it was standing at the kitchen counter. Better now, though.)
Gerry leaned into a box beside his chair and rummaged around, finally pulling out a photo frame.
"Here she is," he said, handing Mark the picture. "Takes after her mom... so, you know, the local boys got to know me real well."
Mark stared at the picture of Holly and quickly said, "Beautiful eyes. They're, what, steel gray...? Blue-gray...?"
Mark had learned his lesson about ogling beautiful women years ago clear back in high school: check out the eyes first! He'd been hitting on a college girl at a Frat party to which his cousin had invited him. The woman was wonderfully shaped, with nipples that would have shown through a suit of armor. Knowing that all Mark was interested in was getting her out his clothes, she suddenly closed her eyes and said, "Tell me what color my eyes are, and you can fuck me all you want."
Mark couldn't answer; his attention had been on those incredible tits, of course. And, of course, he missed out on getting laid by a college girl. He didn't expect that that sort of situation would occur in the future, but just in case, he had made sure to check out any potential lover's eyes before her body from that day forward.
So, the first thing he'd noticed about Holly was her eyes, which were indeed mesmerizing; but as he was complimenting about them to Gerry, his attention had already moved downward. Gerry's little girl, was beautiful, exactly the kind of woman Mark liked: young and sexy.
Mark forced him to hand the picture back to Gerry quicker than he'd wanted. He could have stared at the gorgeous creature all night long ... then recalled the girl's features later during one of his alone times with a locked bathroom door and a bottle of hand lotion. But he didn't, for two reasons: first, Mark was really taking to Gerry and, despite the fact that they'd only met tonight, he felt that he and Gerry could become good friends; and second, Mark knew that some day he might meet Gerry's baby, and Mark would really prefer that the first thing he stuck out toward the beauty was his hand for a friendly shake, not his dick which would certainly come to attention at the sight of her.
"You're a lucky man," Mark told Gerry. "And yes, I know what you mean about beating the boys with a stick. My Samantha and Abigail ... Sam and Abby ... they're both real lookers ... now, anyway."
Poor Samantha had been the children story's ugly duckling as a young teenager. It had never been as bad as she thought it was, of course, but girls -- and guys, Mark assumed -- were just that way. He blamed television for a lot of the self esteem problems kids has these days. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect bod' ... If you didn't have all of these, you simply weren't good enough to be seen in public. Ironically, Samantha had turned into the beautiful swan from that same children's tale and, her mother had told Mark, had a new beau in her life, some guy from CU.
Abigail, on the other hand, had had the boys eating out of her hands her entire life, the cute flirtatious type who Mark was always watching over closely -- too close, it seemed, as she became rebellious toward her parents during her teens. Mark wasn't sure when she'd taken to smoking. Abigail did her best to hide the fact from him and Joan, but Mark had enough smoking acquaintances to know how to spot a closet user. He hadn't said anything to her about it; it only would have pushed her farther away.
And now, of course, the two of them were far closer than any father -daughter pair should be. My god, did you almost fuck your daughter, tonight...? Fuck! What were you thinking! He knew what he was thinking, of course; he had been trying to frighten her away from exposing his extramarital sex life to his wife. But in the end, the erotic nature of the encounter -- the feel of his little girl's lips taking in his dick -- had simply been overwhelming. He doubted that such an event would happen again; it was the heat of the moment, he was sure, and while neither of them would ever forget it, it certainly wouldn't repeat ... would it?
Mark glanced toward the wall, looking for a clock, but found none. He pulled out his smart phone and pressed a button, illuminating the screen. "Jesus, it's almost three. He drained his glass and stood, snatching up the cognac bottle and his light jacket. "I should get home."
He looked at the bottle in his hands, then set it back down on the table in front of his host. "Keep this. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Maybe we'll finish it off another night."
He turned to head for the door with Gerry close behind him, then stopped, contemplated, and turned back. "Listen ... you're new to town, and I know that that can be hard sometimes."
Actually, Mark knew nothing of the kind. He'd lived here -- in Baxter, on the Court, in #66, all his life.
"And I know that it can be hard after a divorce," he continued, still talking about things that he knew of only by second hand information from his divorced acquaintances. "I know someone you might like. Nice lady. Good looking. Great bod'."
Mark chuckled grabbing the door handle and pulling open the door. The rush of cool, night air was an eye opening to him in his drowsy, inebriated state. He looked back to Gerry again, finishing, "I'm going to set the two of you up ... dinner, Friday night. See what happens, okay...?"
He didn't really care whether Gerry thought it was okay or not. Mark wanted to do this for his new friend, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He stepped out into the night, trading farewells with Gerry and watching the unfamiliar walkway closely. "Friday night! It'll be fun. I guarantee it. You'll see."
At home, Mark entered quietly, drinking a full twenty ounce bottle of water in an attempt to head off the hang over that would come in the morning. He ascended the stairs, stopping for a moment outside Abigail's room. He lowered a hand to his groin, pressing his fingers against his dick; he could remember the feel of her lips upon his cock. He looked toward his own bedroom door and thought to himself, Joan wouldn't hear us. She sleeps like the dead.
But he turned away from the door, heading into the bathroom for his end of day chores, before slipping into bed next to his wife. He considered fucking her; he considered rolling her to her back, parting her legs, and pounding against her as he envisioned Abigail's face looking up at him from her knees.
But before he could even make a decision, he was out...
(OOC -- And so ends this thread. You may now return to the post that had the link that brought you here, Post #16 in the "Baxter Court" main IC thread.
Gerry leaned into a box beside his chair and rummaged around, finally pulling out a photo frame.
"Here she is," he said, handing Mark the picture. "Takes after her mom... so, you know, the local boys got to know me real well."
Mark stared at the picture of Holly and quickly said, "Beautiful eyes. They're, what, steel gray...? Blue-gray...?"
Mark had learned his lesson about ogling beautiful women years ago clear back in high school: check out the eyes first! He'd been hitting on a college girl at a Frat party to which his cousin had invited him. The woman was wonderfully shaped, with nipples that would have shown through a suit of armor. Knowing that all Mark was interested in was getting her out his clothes, she suddenly closed her eyes and said, "Tell me what color my eyes are, and you can fuck me all you want."
Mark couldn't answer; his attention had been on those incredible tits, of course. And, of course, he missed out on getting laid by a college girl. He didn't expect that that sort of situation would occur in the future, but just in case, he had made sure to check out any potential lover's eyes before her body from that day forward.
So, the first thing he'd noticed about Holly was her eyes, which were indeed mesmerizing; but as he was complimenting about them to Gerry, his attention had already moved downward. Gerry's little girl, was beautiful, exactly the kind of woman Mark liked: young and sexy.
Mark forced him to hand the picture back to Gerry quicker than he'd wanted. He could have stared at the gorgeous creature all night long ... then recalled the girl's features later during one of his alone times with a locked bathroom door and a bottle of hand lotion. But he didn't, for two reasons: first, Mark was really taking to Gerry and, despite the fact that they'd only met tonight, he felt that he and Gerry could become good friends; and second, Mark knew that some day he might meet Gerry's baby, and Mark would really prefer that the first thing he stuck out toward the beauty was his hand for a friendly shake, not his dick which would certainly come to attention at the sight of her.
"You're a lucky man," Mark told Gerry. "And yes, I know what you mean about beating the boys with a stick. My Samantha and Abigail ... Sam and Abby ... they're both real lookers ... now, anyway."
Poor Samantha had been the children story's ugly duckling as a young teenager. It had never been as bad as she thought it was, of course, but girls -- and guys, Mark assumed -- were just that way. He blamed television for a lot of the self esteem problems kids has these days. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect bod' ... If you didn't have all of these, you simply weren't good enough to be seen in public. Ironically, Samantha had turned into the beautiful swan from that same children's tale and, her mother had told Mark, had a new beau in her life, some guy from CU.
Abigail, on the other hand, had had the boys eating out of her hands her entire life, the cute flirtatious type who Mark was always watching over closely -- too close, it seemed, as she became rebellious toward her parents during her teens. Mark wasn't sure when she'd taken to smoking. Abigail did her best to hide the fact from him and Joan, but Mark had enough smoking acquaintances to know how to spot a closet user. He hadn't said anything to her about it; it only would have pushed her farther away.
And now, of course, the two of them were far closer than any father -daughter pair should be. My god, did you almost fuck your daughter, tonight...? Fuck! What were you thinking! He knew what he was thinking, of course; he had been trying to frighten her away from exposing his extramarital sex life to his wife. But in the end, the erotic nature of the encounter -- the feel of his little girl's lips taking in his dick -- had simply been overwhelming. He doubted that such an event would happen again; it was the heat of the moment, he was sure, and while neither of them would ever forget it, it certainly wouldn't repeat ... would it?
Mark glanced toward the wall, looking for a clock, but found none. He pulled out his smart phone and pressed a button, illuminating the screen. "Jesus, it's almost three. He drained his glass and stood, snatching up the cognac bottle and his light jacket. "I should get home."
He looked at the bottle in his hands, then set it back down on the table in front of his host. "Keep this. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Maybe we'll finish it off another night."
He turned to head for the door with Gerry close behind him, then stopped, contemplated, and turned back. "Listen ... you're new to town, and I know that that can be hard sometimes."
Actually, Mark knew nothing of the kind. He'd lived here -- in Baxter, on the Court, in #66, all his life.
"And I know that it can be hard after a divorce," he continued, still talking about things that he knew of only by second hand information from his divorced acquaintances. "I know someone you might like. Nice lady. Good looking. Great bod'."
Mark chuckled grabbing the door handle and pulling open the door. The rush of cool, night air was an eye opening to him in his drowsy, inebriated state. He looked back to Gerry again, finishing, "I'm going to set the two of you up ... dinner, Friday night. See what happens, okay...?"
He didn't really care whether Gerry thought it was okay or not. Mark wanted to do this for his new friend, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He stepped out into the night, trading farewells with Gerry and watching the unfamiliar walkway closely. "Friday night! It'll be fun. I guarantee it. You'll see."
At home, Mark entered quietly, drinking a full twenty ounce bottle of water in an attempt to head off the hang over that would come in the morning. He ascended the stairs, stopping for a moment outside Abigail's room. He lowered a hand to his groin, pressing his fingers against his dick; he could remember the feel of her lips upon his cock. He looked toward his own bedroom door and thought to himself, Joan wouldn't hear us. She sleeps like the dead.
But he turned away from the door, heading into the bathroom for his end of day chores, before slipping into bed next to his wife. He considered fucking her; he considered rolling her to her back, parting her legs, and pounding against her as he envisioned Abigail's face looking up at him from her knees.
But before he could even make a decision, he was out...
(OOC -- And so ends this thread. You may now return to the post that had the link that brought you here, Post #16 in the "Baxter Court" main IC thread.
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deevo
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"Beautiful eyes. They're, what, steel gray...? Blue-gray...?"
"Uh... blue, yeah," Gerry finally said, laughing. Yeah, maybe he'd had a little more to drink than he should have. "God knows how she got 'em; me and the ex both have brown eyes. Her grandparents, I guess." Oh, don't use the "G" word, Gerry. His mother still refused to let anyone call her "grandma."
Gerry gave the photo a long glance when Mark handed it back, before setting it aside. He was missing her, even if they did fight a little more in the past year. It was the divorce, Gerry knew; it didn't matter how old a kid was when their parents split. The pain was still there.
Mark mentioned his own trouble with pretty daughters and Gerry could only raise his glass. "To the trials and tribulations of fatherhood," he said.
"Tribulations" - maybe he wasn't that drunk. But when Mark mentioned the time, Gerry knew it was time to call it quits. He hadn't even realised how late it had gotten. Fine drink and good company had a way of doing that.
He accompanied his guest to the front door and was mumbling goodnight when Mark brought up a "nice lady" that he wanted to introduce to Gerry. Back to women, thought Baxter. He liked Davis, but Gerry was beginning to wonder if the guy had a one track mind.
But before Gerry could say anything, Mark was already setting him up with a mystery woman.
"It'll be fun. I guarantee it. You'll see."
"Uh... yeah," replied Gerry, watching Mark saunter up the street before retreating back into his house. The bed was way upstairs, but the couch was practically right there. Gerry slumped face first onto his old friend and quickly began to doze off.
Did he really want to start dating so soon after arriving? Meh, it was only one date. But what kind of women did Mark Davis know? Trust fund girls, or rich heiresses. Not exactly Gerry's type. But hey, it would gave him motivation to finally unpack everything.
Tomorrow.
"Uh... blue, yeah," Gerry finally said, laughing. Yeah, maybe he'd had a little more to drink than he should have. "God knows how she got 'em; me and the ex both have brown eyes. Her grandparents, I guess." Oh, don't use the "G" word, Gerry. His mother still refused to let anyone call her "grandma."
Gerry gave the photo a long glance when Mark handed it back, before setting it aside. He was missing her, even if they did fight a little more in the past year. It was the divorce, Gerry knew; it didn't matter how old a kid was when their parents split. The pain was still there.
Mark mentioned his own trouble with pretty daughters and Gerry could only raise his glass. "To the trials and tribulations of fatherhood," he said.
"Tribulations" - maybe he wasn't that drunk. But when Mark mentioned the time, Gerry knew it was time to call it quits. He hadn't even realised how late it had gotten. Fine drink and good company had a way of doing that.
He accompanied his guest to the front door and was mumbling goodnight when Mark brought up a "nice lady" that he wanted to introduce to Gerry. Back to women, thought Baxter. He liked Davis, but Gerry was beginning to wonder if the guy had a one track mind.
But before Gerry could say anything, Mark was already setting him up with a mystery woman.
"It'll be fun. I guarantee it. You'll see."
"Uh... yeah," replied Gerry, watching Mark saunter up the street before retreating back into his house. The bed was way upstairs, but the couch was practically right there. Gerry slumped face first onto his old friend and quickly began to doze off.
Did he really want to start dating so soon after arriving? Meh, it was only one date. But what kind of women did Mark Davis know? Trust fund girls, or rich heiresses. Not exactly Gerry's type. But hey, it would gave him motivation to finally unpack everything.
Tomorrow.
OOC -- You may now return to the main thread where you branched off to this PT. That would be Post #16 of the "Baxter Court" main thread
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