Bubba Fruge’ & Leon Thibodeaux sat on the gallery of Leon’s bait shop one steamy afternoon near Houma, LA. Bubba had just returned from his 14-day stint on the Blue Ocean drilling platform 75 miles south in the Gulf. The two long-time friends were sipping beers and solving world problems.
“You know, Leon, a man gets powerful lonesome after a few days out on one of them rigs,” Bubba said. “Shit, we can’t even have a beer to help wile away the down time. We got a gym, videos, and books, but after a few days a man wants to reach out and touch someone. You know what I mean? And I sure don’t mean one of them hairy coon asses on the rig.”
Leon cut his eyes toward his friend and nodded cautiously.
Bubba continued. “There’s normally a few women on the rig. But they’re either old cooks or stuck up engineer bitches who won’t even speak to you in the galley.”
Leon swatted at a lazy fly, “Uh huh.”
Encouraged by the stimulating banter, Bubba pushed on. “It sure would be nice if some fine, young ladies were available once or twice a week to ahhh… fraternize.” He turned toward his friend. “So, I was thinkin’. What if there was a party boat with some sweet things on it that went from rig to rig to entertain crew members who ain’t on duty? One of them websites could be used to show crew members the boat’s schedule and stuff. A man could make a killin’ running that type of operation.”
Leon opened another beer from the Styrofoam cooler between the chairs. “What you reckon them horny deck hands would pay for some cop-u-lation?”
“Leon, where’d you learn a $10-word like copulation?”
“I been doin’ me some readin’. You know, I got as-pir-ations. I want to expand beyond a bait shop.” He looked over his shoulder at the shack then back. “This place is nice and all. But a man’s gotta plan for his future.”
Leon’s spunk and the numerous beers had Bubba motivated. “I figure if we timed the boat’s visit to a rig when the crew had been out for about eight or ten days, them boys would be chomping at the bit to pay $50, maybe $75, for a shot of drawers.”
Leon grinned, “What you mean ‘we’? I ain’t no damn pimp! Besides, where we gonna get us a boat big enough for this floating cat house? And who you figgerin’ to turn all them tricks?”
Bubba hesitated. “I reckon you could ask your sister if she’d like to join our little enterprise.” He looked at Leon, trying to keep a straight face. Seconds later he burst out laughing with Leon joining right in.
When the laughter had died down, Leon took a big swallow of beer and said thoughtfully, “If we did get us boat like that, we’d need to give it an official name. How ‘bout we call it ‘Sea Whores’?”