A Good Man is Hard to Find

We had lots'a great times. Alma was a good ol' gal. Oh Boy! More spunk than any woman,....I mean, more spunk than any lady around. I should introduce myself! Joseph, well naturally Joe. Joe Cannon. I saw those 2 boys of hers grow up. Neither one of those boys was really my type. You know a bit uppity and sorta sissies besides. I liked Alma because she knew the score. That's right. She knew the score. She knew I was after her money. Hell! We laughed about that all the time. That didn't bother her even one little bit. Hell, I knew the score too. I was way too rough for her. Oh, you know, not rough like hitting a woman. Oh No! For Christ's sake she would'a never put up with that shit for a second, for an instant! I mean I was too “rough around the edges”. That's exactly what she use'ta say. “Rough around the edges”. But we'de go dancing. She couldn't resist a night of dancing! And ole Joe, well, yeah, ole joe knows his way around the dance floor. Out at the ole Shore Room. Sometimes there might be a little live music, but usually just Humperdink on the Juke Box.




Oh. Oh, Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm very sorry to cut in Joe. Beg your pardon. Might I say a few words? Thank you. Thank you. You are too kind, Joseph my old buddy. I'm Earnest! Ha, Ha. Earnest Loprich. Yacht pilot extraordinare. Ladies man extraordinare. Ha. Ha. For sure. Joe and Alma could cut the rug! And just like Joe said, he was a little “rough around the edges”. Ha Ha. Alma used to say I was too smooth to trust. Sooooo smooth. Anyway, to get back to my story, Joe and I are professionals! We have our unique styles. Yes we are the members of the now extinct breed of men known as professional bachelors. Are there any left? I don't really know. I doubt it. What could we do with today's women: jerking their bodies and rubbing their behinds on your cock right out on the dance floor. Phooy! That's not dancing! Alma was a lady. Oh, boy. What a lady. It was a privilege to take her out. And don't you get the wrong idea! No not for a moment. Alma didn't pay for an escort. There was no need for that. It was a privilege! Of course if I had a profession opportunity, she understood that I might not be available. But when I was available, boy, she could call me anytime.



I've heard enough! No doubt you two boys had your fun times with Alma. But you have to admit it: I was her main man. It was my car parked in the driveway in the morning, now wasn't it? I'm Dave. Dave Mullin. My family goes back to the Mayflower. You know Priscilla Mullin. Any how. Let me tell my story now. I'm no smooth talking professional bachelor. That's not to say I don't have my faults! My God! Just ask Alma! No. the main problem is that I'm a married man. My wife's about a hundred miles away so there was never any ugly confrontation. No it usually went pretty nice for me and Alma.. I admit there were times she threw me out of her house. Usually because I had a bit too much to drink. I don't know what you call it exactly. I never went to AA or anything. I called it a social drinker. I suppose today they would call me an alcoholic. But back then, Hell it was normal. I wanted to marry her, you know. But she wouldn't have me. Leastways not the way I was. And it wasn't the drinking that bothered her. Alma said that it was the lack of ambition. Hell she tried to change me and I tried to change. She helped me put together sales presentations when I was selling on the road. With her help I was a damn good salesman. But my time was passed. The companies wanted cute girls to sell advertising, not some guy with smoke-stained false teeth and a couple cocktails for lunch. I went on the road playing poker. All around Indiana. I hit a game no more than once a month, at the Elks or VFW. I always pretended I couldn't shuffle and carefully hid my winnings. I knew who was cheating and who was teaming up. Hell I could spot it a mile away. Yeah, I was good at poker. You know I won over $30,000 on the boat back from Germany after kicking Hitler's sorry ass! Of course even the best players run into bad streaks. Alma would stake me, but Boy! She hated doing it! Of course she never would marry my sorry ass. But we had a good time. Dinner, Dancing, and a Little Lovemaking afterwards. If you are hoping for some dirty details, I'm sorry. That has to be private. That's how she would want it. Anyway, I loved her. And I'm not the least bit ashamed that I cried like a baby when she died. I didn't think that I was welcome at the funeral so I didn't get a chance to say goodbye in the usual way. But I went down to the Shore Room at Bass Lake and listened to some of her favorite Sinatra. I bought her favorite cocktail, and brought it out to the house. I placed that pretty drink on that cute little black carriage boy statute and made my peace. Goodbye Sweetheart. You were the best!