Time to Fuck?
Time to Fuck?

Time to Fuck?

Time to Fuck?

Gus was a fry cook at the local cafeteria where I grew up. He was in his forties, never married, no kids. He wasn’t that bad looking aside from the fact that didn’t have a single tooth in his head. The story was that he drove trucks in Desert Storm and had all his teeth blown out when he ran over a landmine.He had to go through months of therapy to learn how to talk again, and even then there was a lot of lisping involved.

But man, that guy got more pussy than I ever thought possible. I was just seventeen—a virgin, though I was loathe to admit it. I worked the kitchen with Gus for a summer, which is how I got to know him.

One night we were closing up, and he was regaling me with the story about how he slept with the assistant manager after the Christmas party last year, and I stopped him.

“Gus,” I said, “No offense, but I don’t get it. You’re not much to write home about.”

He nodded, laughing. “I know, and my dick ain’t that big neither!”

“So how do you do it — bed all these chicks?”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “You wanna see my secret weapon?”

At first I was afraid he was going to pull his dick out, but given his previous comment, I figured I was probably safe. So I told him sure, let’s see it.

“Hold on a sec.”

He shuffled off to the break room where staff personal effects were stored. When he came back, I didn’t notice anything different at first.

“So where is it?” I asked.

Gus grinned and indicated a cheap-looking blue wristwatch. He held it up in front of me.

Written in big orange letters on the face were the words, “Time to Fuck?”

“Time to Fuck?” I repeated. “What the hell is that?”

“I toldya, it’s my secret weapon! When I’m at a bar or at the laundromat, or hell, even church one time — though that one didn’t work out so good — I just show ‘em my watch and say, ‘well?’ and that’s all she wrote!”

“And then they slap the shit out of you?”

“Sometimes. But just as many times they laugh, and that’s my in! Then we start talking and one thing leads to another. Every woman likes a man who can make her laugh. But you know what’s the craziest part?” he asks, his eyes alight.

I didn’t think anything could be crazier than the temerity of this toothless madman, but I asked anyway. “No Gus, what?”

“The number of times she’s just said ‘yup’ and walked with me out to my truck.”

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