pot-belly and a thin, wide mouth. “What’re you gorgeous ladies doin ’ in a dive like this?” he asks, white spots of saliva working at the corners of his thin lips.
Eww . Yuck. Nuh -uh. Speechless, I look to Luanne, but she’s beaming like she’s just been named Harlow County Corn Queen.
“Well, aren’t you the sweetest,” she gushes, thrusting her chest further up and out. “We’re just looking for a good time. So tell me, which one of you is the good time?” she purrs.
Cowboy number one responds first. He places a meaty hand on the table and leans into Luanne, whispering something into her ear I’m certain would make me physically ill. Cowboy number two steps around the table and mirrors his friend’s position, leaning close to me. I bend back on my stool, watching in horror as he hovers a fat gold-ringed finger over my forearm. He hasn’t even touched me yet, and my skin is already crawling.
“My name’s Daryl, but you can call me Dawg ,” he says. His breath is warm, tainted by cheap beer, and he smells sour beneath a heavy dose of cologne. I can see beads of perspiration clinging to his forehead beneath a too-big cowboy hat. His eyes have a glassed over look, maybe from having one too many Budweisers . “How’d you like to take a slow dance with the Dawg out on the dance floor?”
“Gee, Dawg ,” I say, trying not to gag. “I’m not really here to dance. I just came to watch over my friend Lu.”
I throw a pleading look to Luanne, but she’s completely ignoring me. She’s removed her cowboy’s hat, which had been covering up a glassy bald spot on his head, and tries it on. Tipping the brim back with a finger, she looks coyly up at him and releases a throaty laugh.
“She looks like she’s gettin ’ watched real good to me,” says Daryl Dawg , his breath hot on my cheek.
“Yeah, well, I’m her wingman tonight, so I really can’t leave her,” I say, turning my body against Daryl’s oncoming assault.
“Don’t worry about it, Ellie,” Luanne calls. “Get out there and have some fun. Me and Wyatt Earp here are gonna hit the dance floor, ain’t we, handsome?”
Luanne’s cowboy places those meaty hands of his on either side of her tiny waist and hoists her into the air. Luanne squeals out what I can only describe as a slutty giggle. It may be time for me to make some new friends.
Daryl Dawg , becoming more assertive by the second, pulls out my chair and uses a clammy hand to shove me onto my feet. He guides me through a throng of drunken hillbillies toward the dance floor, and I stumble as we push further into the crowd. I rise up on tiptoe, searching for Luanne, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I’m going to kill her when we get home.
Daryl stops and yanks my arm, pulling me around and straight into his moist, soft chest. My utter disbelief at my own bad luck has left me all but paralyzed. He takes advantage of my shock and draws me in closer, grinding his hips against mine to the crooning music of Hank Williams. I try to wiggle free, but old Dawg just uses the movement to spin me out and bring me back against him, hard. I can feel something bumping against my thigh and look down to see Daryl’s thin erection outlined beneath too-tight Wranglers.
Fighting the urge to puke over the wild, running horses printed across his shirt, I use my hands to push away from his very impolite boner. He’s having none of it.
“Where you think you’re going, darlin ? Old Dawg’s just getting’ started.”
“Actually, Daryl,” I say, squirming to release myself from his grasp, “I think I’ve had enough dancing for now.”
“I don’t think so,” he says, increasing his hold on me. He gives me a thin lipped smile that seems mean, vicious even.
“Really, Daryl,” I say, using all of my strength to try and push away from him, “I’m done dancing so please let me go.”
Daryl sneers and draws closer to me. I flinch away from him, barely avoiding his thin lips as they come
Eww . Yuck. Nuh -uh. Speechless, I look to Luanne, but she’s beaming like she’s just been named Harlow County Corn Queen.
“Well, aren’t you the sweetest,” she gushes, thrusting her chest further up and out. “We’re just looking for a good time. So tell me, which one of you is the good time?” she purrs.
Cowboy number one responds first. He places a meaty hand on the table and leans into Luanne, whispering something into her ear I’m certain would make me physically ill. Cowboy number two steps around the table and mirrors his friend’s position, leaning close to me. I bend back on my stool, watching in horror as he hovers a fat gold-ringed finger over my forearm. He hasn’t even touched me yet, and my skin is already crawling.
“My name’s Daryl, but you can call me Dawg ,” he says. His breath is warm, tainted by cheap beer, and he smells sour beneath a heavy dose of cologne. I can see beads of perspiration clinging to his forehead beneath a too-big cowboy hat. His eyes have a glassed over look, maybe from having one too many Budweisers . “How’d you like to take a slow dance with the Dawg out on the dance floor?”
“Gee, Dawg ,” I say, trying not to gag. “I’m not really here to dance. I just came to watch over my friend Lu.”
I throw a pleading look to Luanne, but she’s completely ignoring me. She’s removed her cowboy’s hat, which had been covering up a glassy bald spot on his head, and tries it on. Tipping the brim back with a finger, she looks coyly up at him and releases a throaty laugh.
“She looks like she’s gettin ’ watched real good to me,” says Daryl Dawg , his breath hot on my cheek.
“Yeah, well, I’m her wingman tonight, so I really can’t leave her,” I say, turning my body against Daryl’s oncoming assault.
“Don’t worry about it, Ellie,” Luanne calls. “Get out there and have some fun. Me and Wyatt Earp here are gonna hit the dance floor, ain’t we, handsome?”
Luanne’s cowboy places those meaty hands of his on either side of her tiny waist and hoists her into the air. Luanne squeals out what I can only describe as a slutty giggle. It may be time for me to make some new friends.
Daryl Dawg , becoming more assertive by the second, pulls out my chair and uses a clammy hand to shove me onto my feet. He guides me through a throng of drunken hillbillies toward the dance floor, and I stumble as we push further into the crowd. I rise up on tiptoe, searching for Luanne, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I’m going to kill her when we get home.
Daryl stops and yanks my arm, pulling me around and straight into his moist, soft chest. My utter disbelief at my own bad luck has left me all but paralyzed. He takes advantage of my shock and draws me in closer, grinding his hips against mine to the crooning music of Hank Williams. I try to wiggle free, but old Dawg just uses the movement to spin me out and bring me back against him, hard. I can feel something bumping against my thigh and look down to see Daryl’s thin erection outlined beneath too-tight Wranglers.
Fighting the urge to puke over the wild, running horses printed across his shirt, I use my hands to push away from his very impolite boner. He’s having none of it.
“Where you think you’re going, darlin ? Old Dawg’s just getting’ started.”
“Actually, Daryl,” I say, squirming to release myself from his grasp, “I think I’ve had enough dancing for now.”
“I don’t think so,” he says, increasing his hold on me. He gives me a thin lipped smile that seems mean, vicious even.
“Really, Daryl,” I say, using all of my strength to try and push away from him, “I’m done dancing so please let me go.”
Daryl sneers and draws closer to me. I flinch away from him, barely avoiding his thin lips as they come
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