She dropped her robe and lay back on the bed. I had to pause a moment and fill my eyes. Her petite body was perfection. She was very light-skinned (not my usual ‘type’—truly I have always been a ‘brunette-with-a-tan’ man; never had any luck with blonds at all, but Shonnie was a different kind of blond.
The sun was setting outside the huge hotel window and cast a slight shadow over her. Her hair was still semi-damp and fell down perfectly over her breasts, slightly curling up at the ends. Her right leg was seductively raised up, bent at her knee and turned slightly to the side, thus denying me any direct look at my lustfully desired target.
A better scripted scene could not have been created by even Howard Hawks. (Thinking ‘To Have and Have Not’ here—Bogie an’ Bacall). I continued to draw the scene into my mind, hoping to meld it permanently with my memory cells. Joni began singing “Blue Motel Room” on the boom box.
“You window shoppin’, or are you coming into the store?”
“Into the store,” I said, “I have spied something interesting enough to draw me in.” I knelt down at the foot of the bed, picked up her right leg and kissed the underside of her foot, then took her big toe into my mouth for a moment or two. I began working my way up her calf to the inside of her thighs, ever so slowly back and forth, ‘thigh to thigh’, I suppose you could say. At this point she was beginning to writhe a bit. I proceeded north and just as ‘Blue Motel Room’ ended, I began.
Tantalizingly slowly at first, then faster and faster, then slowly again… occasionally gently sucking her clitoris, alternating with circular tongue motions, also mixed in with rapid back and forth tongue movements.
While Joni sang ‘Song for Sharon’, a rather longish song, I brought Shonnie, by my count, to three or four climaxes. (But what do I know? Well, I WAS THERE, after all, and I felt her contractions in my mouth.)
I was about to lose it myself so I threw my back down beside her, pulling her on top of me. Grasping that so fine little firm ass of hers, I pulled her on top of me. She straddled me sitting full upright and as I kept my hands on her hips, she fucked me with what could almost be described as pure violence.
Embarrassed to report, but about twenty seconds after I entered her, I was spent. She didn’t complain though, as she rolled off of me and lay on her back, both of us panting, sweating, but completely and blissfully sated (and spent)
As Joni began singing ‘Refuge Of The Roads’, Shonnie said, “Reach me a cig, will ya Baby?” (First time she had called me ‘Baby’. I kind of liked the sound of it. I lit two Marlboros at once, Movie Style, handed one to her, and we lay back, smoking and began (between giggles) a smoke ring competition. (I lost.)
Cigarettes dispatched, Joni run out, silence now, Shonnie once again broached the subject,
We spent that Friday afternoon and most of Saturday enjoying the Bluegrass festival while swilling beers and smoking lots of cigarettes. During the late evenings we would share burgers, listen to all sorts of music on my little boom box, drink whiskey and have great sex. We also talked of many things, but nothing too heavy. We were enjoying ourselves.
Sunday noon we checked out of the motel and sadly headed west back to San Dog. It had been a perfect weekend and I truly regretted the ending of it. Shonnie impressed me more and more with her worldly wisdom, and in spite of no formal higher education, she seemed to know a lot about a lot. Mostly about the important shit: Life. She had not one ounce of pretentiousness in her small body. (Small, very sexy body) Both of us were inventive and creative in bed. Did I mention the sex was fantastic? I am certain I did.
Knowing my duty schedule on the USS Frederick, I knew it would be three weeks until I had another weekend completely devoid of any responsibilities as a sailor. I had already formulated a plan to ‘kidnap’ her when that free weekend came about.
During the ensuing days we kept up our regular rendezvous schedule. More and more I looked forward to seeing her and getting to know her even better. She was reluctant to tell me very much about her life, but bits and pieces did come out between slow dancing, drinking, smoking, and fucking. Her father had left her and her mother when she was still quite young. ‘He was an abusive type’, was about all the detail I got from her, but I could occasionally catch a glimpse of sorrow and pain in her eyes. I refrained from broaching the subject of her husband-the-biker. In fact, the fact that she was married at all, slipped away from my mind like so much quick silver…
One Saturday night she had me drive us to a Mall.
“Okay, what are we doing here?” I asked her. Malls ain’t my thing, you see.”
“I wanna buy you something,” she replied.
“Oh no you don’t. I have everything I need.”
“No. You need this, c’mon.”
She led me to a record shop and began searching the bins.
“What’re you looking for?” I asked.
“Gimme a sec. Oh here it is,” she announced happily pulling a cassette from the bin.
“What’s that?”
“You’ll love it. Trust me.”
“I’m already in-love….with you, you crazy bitch.”
She purchased Nighthawks at the Diner by Tom Waits, an artist I had never heard of….
Until Shonnie.
We drove to Balboa Park, and opening some beers to go with our whiskey we listened to the cassette. I loved it from the very first minute. My Girl had me all figured out. It was just a little disconcerting, how she had so easily pegged me and yet to me she was still mostly an enigma.
After the sun set we started our make out session, then she did something unexpected. She unbuckled my jeans and started giving me head. This had never happened before and to say I was quite pleased would be an understatement bordering on the felonious. Just as I was really getting into it, she stopped suddenly, looked up at me with those piercing blue eyes and said solemnly, “If you come in my mouth, I will kill you.”
Well, that kind of ruined ‘My’ moment, but actually in a good way. It struck me so funny that I just could not help bursting out laughing. It was priceless. Make out session temporarily put on hold and my fondness for her intensified.
The next weekend (my ‘freedom’ one), we met at our usual rendezvous point. She, on instructions from me given over a pay phone, had brought along a bag with extra clothes and whatever other tricks of her trade she needed for a two-and-a-half day ‘excursion’, along with a pass from her mom relieving her of motherly duties for the weekend.
“So Cowboy, where are we going?”
“Vegas,” I said. “My turn to ‘educate’ you My Love.”
“Woolworth Rhinestone diamond earrings and a sideways glance”
We spent the rest of that Friday and most of Saturday enjoying the Bluegrass Festival while swilling beers and smoking lots of cigarettes.
During the late evenings we shared burgers, listened to all sorts of music on my little boom box, drank whiskey and had great sex.
We also talked a lot about a lot of things, but nothing too heavy.
We were enjoying ourselves.
Sunday noon we checked out of the motel and slightly sorrowfully, headed west back to San Dog. It had been a truly perfect weekend and we both regretted the ending of it.
Shonnie impressed me more and more with her worldly wisdoms, and in spite of having no formal higher education, she seemed to know a lot about a lot. Mostly about the important shit: Life.
She had not one ounce of insincerity, pretentiousness, nor of ‘I’m a Sexy Diva wrapped in a small, concentrated package. Worship me’ in her small little body. (Small, very sexy, very energetic little body) Both of us were inventive and creative in bed, but she could’ve been some kind of ‘Concentrated Diva’ had she wanted to.
She didn’t want to.
She knew exactly Who She was and Who She wanted to be:
Just Shonnie.
Did I mention the sex with her was fantastic?
Fairly certain I did.
Knowing my duty schedule on the Callaghan, I knew it would be three weeks until I had another weekend completely devoid of any sailor related responsibilities.
I had already formulated a plan to ‘kidnap’ Her when that free weekend came to pass, and me with my ‘Weekend Pass’.
During the ensuing days we kept up our regular rendezvous schedule. More and more I looked forward to seeing her and getting to know her even better. In fact, time spent away from her was beginning to become more and more unbearable.
“This is not good Sailor,” I kept trying to remind myself, “You have allowed yourself to become vulnerable. If you lose this one, you’re gonna have a Very Bad Day-Week-Month-Year—Life.”
She was reluctant to tell me very much about her life, but bits and pieces did come out during slow dancing, drinking, smoking, and fucking, ‘making love’.
Her father had left her and her mother when she was still quite young. ‘He was an abusive drunk type’, was about all the detail I got from her, but I could occasionally catch a glimpse of sorrow and pain in her eyes whenever I asked about her ‘growing up years’.
So I quit asking.
We were living in-the-moment, Our Moment. Hers and My moment. So Fucking Happy Together.
Honestly Happy Every Moment We Were Together.
Un Happy Every Moment We Weren’t.
(Making a hopeful assumption here, regarding how ‘She’ was feeling during the times we were not together)
Happy Together – The Turtles (1967)Vid Share Cred: Cameron Posh
***
This is what we were all about: The in-the-moment-happy-together-existence. Carrying on as the slightly flawed, yet also slightly perfect, ‘couple’ and ‘match.’
I refrained completely from broaching the subject of her husband-the-biker. In fact, the mere fact that she was married at all had rapidly run away from my brain like so much spilt quicksilver…
One Saturday night she had me drive us to a Mall.
“Okay, what are we doing here?” I asked. “Malls ain’t my thing.”
“Mine neither, but I wanna buy you something.
“Oh Hell-no-you-don’t. I have everything I need.”
It’s Important to ME, damn it!” she replied. You gonna give me attitude now, Sailor-Boy?” You need this, c’mon.”
She led me by the hand to the mall and into a ‘musicland’ record shop.
None too delicately, she immediately attacked the cassette bins. When Shonnie is in pursuit of something, Any Somethingthat is ‘important’ to Her, there is no holding her back, slowing her down, and don’t even foolishly consider trying to stop her.
“What’re you looking for?” I asked finally, as she kept up her ransacking efforts.
“Gimme a sec! Will ya? Oh here it is!” she announced a little too loudly, pulling a cassette from the bin and keeping it from my view.
“What’s that?”
“You’ll love it. Just trust me.”
“I’m already in-LOVE. With YOU, you crazy Bitch.” (I did NOT say this aloud; only in my head.)
She had in her clutches, Nighthawks at the Diner, she eventually allowed me to discover. It was an album by Tom Waits, an artist I had never heard of…
Until Shonnie…
She made me keep my distance once she had captured her quarry and headed toward the check-out.
“Go stand over there while I pay for this,” she commanded while pointing to the very front of the store.
I dutifully did as ordered while shaking my head. Thinking “Well, That’s My Gal.”
We drove to Balboa Park.
I found a nice, secluded place for the Toranado. Cracked open some beers to go with our whiskey while Shonnie dropped in the ‘Mystery Cassette’ and twisted the volume knob.
Up.
Way Up.
“Stand by for heavy rolls as the ship comes about Sailor-Boy,” she giggled.
(I sincerely wished she’d stop calling me that, but itseemed to make her happy to do so and what a small price for me to pay to see her wonderful smile and hear her wonderful laugh.)
I’d taught her that, my most favorite bona-fide ‘sailor-phrase’, although I could not remember when or even why—at least she remembered—and when used properly in context and in a suitable situation, it is a handy phrase to have in one’s repertoire.
Twenty seconds into Waits’ ‘Opening Intro,’ I was a fan. Call it ‘love-at-first listen’, an extremely rare occurrence for me.
But My Girl had me all figured out.
It was just a little disconcerting, how she had so easily tagged, pegged, and captured me, and yet to me she was still mostly an enigma.
“OK. Show me the cassette case now please,”
“Here ya go Baby, she said, handing it to me.
“’Tom Waits’. Never heard of him, but this is some great shit Shonnie Darlin’.”
She smiled demurely at me and said, “Yeah, I know, and now so do you. You’re welcome.”
I grabbed her and kissed her for a long time. Finally she pulled away from my embrace.
“Time enough for that later. Listen to the music. The whole album is one story. Kinda like a thin book. Pay fuckin’ attention.”
“Okay. Okay. No need to get all testy.”
She softened her voice and cooed, “Pay fucking attention, please. How’s that?”
“Better,” I said, as I tried to kiss her again.
“For fuck’s sake. Listen to the Goddamn story.”
“I am. I love good stories and when folded into great music. Bam! I was just pushing your ‘Shonnie Button’. And I am paying attention.”
She sweetly glared at me.
(“Should I tell her now?” I was asking myself. “No.” was the answer I received. “Wait for Vegas. Then tell her. You will know when the time is right.”)
Then I hung up the phone in my head and hundred percent focused my attentions on Shonnie and Tom (And the Jim Beam I was enjoying.)
Warm Beer and Cold Women
***
After the sun set we started our make out session. Then she did something very much unexpected. She unbuckled my jeans and started giving me head.
This had never happened before and to say I was quite pleased would be an understatement bordering on the felonious.
Just as I was really getting into it, she stopped suddenly, looked up at me with those piercing blue eyes and said solemnly,
“If you come in my mouth, I will kill you.”
Well, that kind of ruined ‘My’ Moment, but actually in a good way. It struck me so funny that I just could not help bursting out laughing. It was priceless.
Make out session temporarily put on hold and my fondness for her greatly amplified.
The next weekend (my ‘freedom’ one), we met at our usual rendezvous point. She, on instructions from me given over a pay phone, had brought along a bag with extra clothing items and whatever else ‘tricks of her trade’ she needed for a sustained two-and-a-half day ‘excursion’.
She also had a signed ‘liberty pass’ from her mom relieving her of motherly duties for the weekend. (Ok, she did not have an actual ‘signed’ document—I made that up—but she did have verbal permission and even a blessing from her mother.)
“Thanks ‘Mom.’“
“So Cowboy, where are we going?”
“Vegas,” I said. “’Sin City’. Should be right up your alley. My turn to ‘educate’ you My Love.”
‘Love?’ How did that slip out?
Had I already told her that I loved her? While drunk perhaps? Pretty sure I had not at that point, but it was on my ‘To Do List’ and a weekend in Vegas would put me in the perfect environment to take such a gamble with my heart.
I just have to remember the old gamblers mantra in-case she did not love me back yet:
“Never throw good money after bad.”
“Night Hawks”
Perfect Metaphor for Lance and Shonnie Together
“Woolworth Rhinestone diamond earrings and a sideways glance”
–Greatest line from any song.
***
One Might Also Describe Our Relationship in Terms of “Opposites Attract.”
Some Bonus ‘Added Value’ below for all you Waits Fans out there in ‘Radio Land.’
“Emotional Weather Report”
Putnam County
***
And Yet Even More ‘Added Value’ Below:
How I recall the Mystical Magic That Life Held for Me During My Time Spent with Shonnie:
“Wicket Games”
Chris Isaak
***
Commentary Below From The Original Post.
For Continuity, Please Start at the Bottom and Read Up
And Thank You if you have made it this far.
Best Regards,
Lance
LAMarcom June 20, 2014 at 18:31 Edit
Thank you Sadie 🙂
Yep, after all my years and all my wives, I still do not quite understand women. I guess if I did, some of the magic would go away. (No. That is not sexist–it is just that the female mind fascinates me)
😉
~ Sadie ~ June 20, 2014 at 17:44 Edit
Loving this story, Mr. Marcum 🙂 “It was just a little disconcerting, how she had so easily pegged me and yet to me she was still mostly an enigma.” — love the way you worded this & YES we women can be awfully good at that, at times 😉 Can’t wait to read more!!!
lauramacky June 20, 2014 at 09:16 Edit
you’re welcome!
LAMarcom June 20, 2014 at 09:12 Edit
Thanks for the kind words Mark. Movie eh? Writing it and remembering those days does run like a movie in my mind.
Cheers My Friend
LAMarcom June 20, 2014 at 09:10 Edit
Waits is definitely one of my favorites. I have Shonnie to thank for that!
Thanks Laura!
lauramacky June 20, 2014 at 09:05 Edit
I haven’t listened to Tom waits in ages! 🙂
markbialczak June 20, 2014 at 08:33 Edit
This is shaping up as a pretty interesting movie, Lance. Really. Especially if it keeps getting better, as I suspect. Write on!
LAMarcom June 20, 2014 at 08:11 Edit
And ‘Chocolate Jesus’ 😉
Thanks for your visit! And for your comment.
Cheers, -Lance
LAMarcom June 20, 2014 at 08:09 Edit
Hahaha!
I will! I will!
Cheers Mate!
happierheathen June 20, 2014 at 03:56 Edit
Dammit, man, get to writing! 🙂
Diana June 20, 2014 at 02:58 Edit
ohhh….”please call me baby” and “the heart of saturday night” – – my two favorite tom waits songs.
LAMarcom June 19, 2014 at 23:44 Edit
Thanks.
Means a lot coming from you.
Teela Hart June 19, 2014 at 23:42 Edit
I will most definitely stay tuned.
How could I not?
You tell a damn good story!
😀
T
LAMarcom June 19, 2014 at 23:38 Edit
I’ll give you a hint…
Naw.
You just gotta stay tuned.
Thanks for reading.
🙂
P.S. Next to Lenny, Tom Waits is my Hero.
Along with Janis, Jimi, Jimmy, Willie, Waylon, Kris, Jim M., …and on and on..
Teela Hart June 19, 2014 at 23:35 Edit
I knew nothing of Tom Waits until visiting.
I really love his sound.
I’m loving the saga, we never know what’s comin next.
🙂
LAMarcom June 19, 2014 at 23:01 Edit
I have left little pieces of me all over Las Vegas.
Hahahah
Thanks Friend for your visit and comment.
Cheers,
-Lance
quarksire June 19, 2014 at 22:59 Editeducate er loose 🙂 LoL 🙂 .ya neva know! 🙂
Around about three a.m. I was pulling the Toranado up in front of her house, actually, turns out, her mother’s house.
During the course of our conversation after leaving the bar’s parking lot Shonnie revealed to me that she had left her husband, who was a biker, and moved in with her mother.
She had a nine-year-old son who suffered from a crippling disease and though fairly independent, still required almost twenty-four hour supervision.
I asked her why she felt compelled to move out of her house and she told me her husband was overly jealous and had a ‘bit of a mean streak’.
(Perfect, I thought: A jealous Biker with a mean streak and I had just finished screwing his wife.)
Twice
Smooth Lance. Real smooth.
In spite of this revelation, and in the department of ‘I shouda known better’, I agreed we ‘needed’ to continue seeing each other, so we set a date for the following Saturday night, back at the bar, which I have decided to arbitrarily Christen ‘Gilley’s Lite’.
A., Because I am tired of calling it all sorts of generic names.
And B., Because this is My Blog and I can do whatever I like.
For the next several weeks we continued our weekly rendezvous, sometimes meeting on a Friday if I had ‘Duty’ on Saturday. Occasionally even sneaking in a mid-week ‘booster shot’ rendezvous on a Wednesday or Thursday night.
Basically, we would drink and dance and romance. (Still only slow dancing, but once I did allow her an attempt at teaching me the ‘Two-Step,’ with semi-disastrous results: Pretty sure I had embarrassed her no end, for she never broached That Subject again.)
Of course after we had closed down the bar, uh, I mean ‘Gilley’s Lite’, we would retire to the Toranadofor some late night, great night, great sex.
And it was all good. Not just the great, energetically, intensely, passionately acting of ourlove-making. (We had ‘up-graded’; no longer did we ‘fuck’.We ‘made love’.)Yes, I was in the midst of ‘Stage-Four Deep Emotional Vulnerability’.
No!
Not Just The Sex!
The whole just ‘Being-with-Shonnie‘ experience was great.
And better now that she was arriving in her own car (Miss Layla having moved on to find a new BFF to Chaperone) and I did not have to risk accidentally running into ‘Jealous-Biker-Dude-With-A-Mean-Streak-Estranged-Husband at her momma’s house at three or four in the morning.
Eventually we grew weary of the bar, ‘Gilley’s Lite’ scene and went straight for the sex, generally in some out of the way dark and empty parking lot.
But every once in a while, usually right after one of my paydays, we’d find ourselves in some ‘Budget Motel’, read ‘Cheap and Sleezy’. Some in San Diego even rented by-the-hour, and even though I was trash,Shonnie was not. So I never, ever considered those venues as even a remotely viable option.
This new routine went on for some several more weeks.
One weekend I had a rare three whole days off duty, so we planned an ‘outing’, or rather, ‘she planned an outing’. She managed to get her mom to take full responsibility of the kid for the entire three days and we met up in a parking lot in Pacific Beach.
She got out of her car with a small suitcase, locked up, jumped into my car, inquiring breathlessly, “You got plenty of gas?”
“Not really,” I said. “Why?”
“I’m kidnapping you, and we have some miles to cover today.”
“Road trip?” I asked.
“Yep, and while we’re gassing up, we need to get some booze and maybe some munchies.”
“Hey, I’m all in. Hell! Let’s do it.”
So without even asking where we were going, I took care of the logistical tasks. Once we were fueled-up, stocked up, and by then, slightly fucked-up(With excitement and more than just a little bit giddy over the prospect of our two-and-a-half days of just being together and doingwhat-ever-the-hell-we-damned-well-pleased…)
As she directed me to start heading east toward the desert, I asked,
“So Shonnie, where’re we going?”
“Away from all this San Diego Shit an’ into the desert,” she said.
“This much, I have already figured out, but where, and why?”
“Tell ya when we get there,” was all she said as she dropped ZZ Top’s Tres Hombres into my cassette player, firing up “Jesus Just Left Chicago” which started mid-way through. Couldn’t really talk over that, so I just kept driving east.
***
OH MY GOD! THIS IS
GABBY PETITO!
DURING HAPPIER TIMES FOR HER. SHOULD I LEAVE IT IN?OR DELETE IT?
NO!
I WILL NOT “DELETE” HER!
That would be disresectful
Ed. Note: Remember, this photo was just one I pulled off the Net, back in June. It is not here for any other reason than I needed a photo of a beautiful blond to represent Shonnie. I am honoured, to have her ‘Live on’ in my story.
GABBY
An hour or so later we were pulling into some little town called ‘Alpine’. It seemed nice enough, I suppose, if just a little dusty and brown. But apparently, we had come in through the ‘back door’, as later I would see mountains in the background and green areas too!
Also, I discovered later, that ‘Alpine’ was the ‘Austin’ of Eastern Southern California, famous for live music and various other attractions. According to the 2000 census, Alpine had a population of 13,143 people, so probably substantially less on the weekend of our visit (didn’t say how many dogs, but I saw a lot of dogs that day)
And also famous for quirky sites to visit:
Alpine, California: Dead Dolly Lane
“Find us a motel. If you take the next left, I’m sure you’ll find the Perfect One, but don’t let me tell you what to do.” she said, after turning down the stereo which she had kept cranked-up during the entire trip: ZZ Top, Marshall Tucker Band, Hank Jr…. It was about two in the afternoon.
I ignored her smart-assed instructions and loved them all at the same moment.
Performing as ordered, I turned a corner and sure-as-shit, ran into this ‘Perfect-for-us’ run-down, kinda sandy, sleezy-lookin’joint:
As we were getting out of the car I asked her, while discretely pointing at a bored-looking girl sitting on the porch, “Reckon that’s the manager? One night or two?”
“Two.”
“You’re the boss,” I said as I got out and headed to the office.
I always kept most of my civilian clothes in the trunk of my ‘Tornado’ since there really was not much room on the USS Callaghan DDG 994 for anything in my locker other than uniforms.
I grabbed some civvies out of the trunk and along with my Babe, headed toward our new little love nest.
The room was Spartan, but adequate. At least it had regular sized towels and no roaches that I could see.
Actually, it was clean and tidy. There was a tiny TV on the dresser-drawers and a regular-sized bed, two chairs and a small coffee table which had some initials carved into it along with a review offered by a previous occupant succinctly describing their experience while staying in this establishment:
“J and J had sex here. 1981. Hiley Rec’mend”
Very quaint, I thought.
“Hey Shonnie,” I said to her back as she unpacked, “Do you have a pocket knife? I’m feelin’ sorta ‘literary’.”
“What? Too soon to slit yer wrists City Boy. What for?”
“’City Boy’? That hurt. Never mind,” I laughed.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said, already half-way through peeling off her shirt and blue jeans. “Join me?”
“Yup.”
We did the shower sex, er… ‘love-making’ then wearing nothing but towels, sat on the bed and had a drink or two over some Marlboros.
“Okay Shonnie,” I said. “You gonna tell me now exactly why we’re here, ‘miles from nowhere’, on this hot and dusty Friday afternoon?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She said.
“Nope… I mean it’s lovely an’ all, and good to be out of town an’ all, but if you just wanted a sleazy motel room and me all to yer lonesome, we coulda done that in San Dog and saved the gas.”
“You told me you were a ‘romantic’.
“Yeah. Yeah. I did. Uh… I mean I am, but…”
“Get dressed. We have a place to be this afternoon.”
So we got dressed, grabbed the Beam and cigs, locked up our room and headed to the car.
“You got a beer cooler stashed in your trunk or somewhere?” She said as we pulled out of the parking lot.
“You know I do,” I said.
“Good, take a left. There’s a Seven Eleven up the street. We need some more beers and some more cigs.”
“Roger that.”
That mission properly dispatched, Shonnie played navigator and back seat driver and eventually we ended up in a dusty park.
A dusty park teaming with people.
And Music.
Bluegrass Music.
She had kidnapped me to a Blue Grass Festival! Surprised? Yep.
Shocked?
By Shonnie?
Nope.
Nothing shocking me about this gal anymore.
We parked the now very dusty ‘Tornado’ next to all the other dusty cars and trucks and Harleys and climbed out.
People were milling about everywhere. I noticed more than a few walking around with beer bottles in their hands. Shonnie was anxiously walking ahead of me. I yelled,
“Shonnie! Stop!”
Turning around, somewhat glaring at me, she demanded,“What IS it?” (Occasionally, Shonnie exhibits No Patience)
“Come with me back to the car for a sec, Ok?”
Grumbling as she made her way back to the car, then once next to me, in a lower, calmer voice, said, slowly and ‘matter-of-factly’,
“Ok, here we are, back-at-the-fuckin-car. Why? You don’t like ‘Blue Grass’?”
“Darlin’ I love ‘Every-Thing’ when I’m with You, but we forgot something.”
She yawned as sheleaned against the driver’s sidedoor while lighting a Marlboro.
Opening the trunk, I began fishing bottles of beer out of the cooler, drying each bottle with a towel I kept with the beers for just such purpose.
“Baby,” I said. “Come over here with that big-ass purse of yours that never has nothin’ in it.”
She sauntered over to stand next to the trunk and opened her bag, allowing me to cram several beers into it.
“Ya know, Cowboy, we can always walk back over here and get more beers. Don’t have to make me carry a portable brewery around in this damn heat all day.”
“Shit! You’re right. What was I thinking?” I said.
Shonnie rolled her baby blues at me and opened her bag once again.
I retrieved a few of the beers and placed them back into the cooler, leaving only four in her ‘purse-big-ass-bag’.
“Much better. Now those beers can breathe, and so can I,” she laughed.
“Smart ass.” Was I could come up with, by way of a retort.
“Come on. Let’s get on over to the stage.”
During our casual trek, I was observing all the folks in attendance. All sorts of folks, mostly dressed in ‘Real, Bona-Fide’ attire: Straw Cowboy hats, Gimme Caps, Jeans, Some Daisy-Dukes and halter tops on a few of the Ladies, Boots, Beers in hand, Smiling, Rowdy Faces, and on and on…
Real “My kind of People” stuff adorned them, is what I’m sayin’.
There were older, younger, very older, very younger and everything-in-between folks. Little kids runnin’ wild laughing and whooping it up.
Everyone was havin’ FUN!
Woodstock it weren’t, but
DAMN!
It was Heaven to this Cowboy, especially after suffering that joint in San Dog where Shonnie and I had first met.
As we drew near the stage the crowd grew denser and tighter (No ‘Social Distancing’ back then and certainly not at this venue.)
Everyone was pleased-as-pie just to share the love of the music and the camaraderie.
The band on–stage started up with their rendition of ‘Uncle Pen’, a song which was in fact, very familiar to me.
Bill Monroe–The Man, The Myth, The Legend!
The folks in front of the stand went nuts!
Clapping their hands and stomping their feet.
A-Whoopin’ and A- Hollerin’
Shonnie and I joined in.
And I Loved it!
And She Loved it!
And I may have been falling in ‘for-real-love’ with Shonnie at this point.
Screw that!
That is a lie!
I had been in ‘for real love’ with her from ‘Night One.’
Just had a little trouble admitting it to myself.
Until That Moment.
For You See?
IHadFooled Around And Fallen In Love
Title: Fooled Around And Fell In Love (Elvin Bishop)
Commentary From The Original Version. As before,for continuity, I recommend you start at the bottom and read your way up.
***
LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:33 Edit
I don’t know what I’m doin’ half the time…
Hahaha.
Thanks for the read my Friend.
Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 18:11 Edit
I have no idea where this is going. (This is a good thing.)
LAMarcom July 21, 2014 at 13:06 Edit
Hi Shelley,
Sorry for the tardy response. Slipped in under my radar.
Thanks for reading and commenting. Always.
Cheers,
Lance
peakperspective July 12, 2014 at 14:04 Edit
You had me wondering where the field trip was heading–nearly thought it might have been the end for you there, Lance, but how lucky … Bluegrass. Hot diggedy.
Waiting with bated breath for Chapter 4. 🙂
markbialczak June 18, 2014 at 21:40 Edit
🙂
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 21:37 Edit
Mark,
I was joking.
I am a sap for a happy ending.
Always
😉
markbialczak June 18, 2014 at 21:25 Edit
Not necessarily, Lance.
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 19:49 Edit
Thanks Mark.
There is enough for five or six more…
Happy Endings are so boring though. Wouldn’t you agree?
markbialczak June 18, 2014 at 19:02 Edit
I indeed am rooting for a happy ending. Yet the realist in me … You go, Lance! Make the magic last five or six more chapters, please do!
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 18:32 Edit
Aw C’mon Mark.
Don’t ya want the story to have a happy ending?
Hehehe
Cheers,
-Lance
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 18:31 Edit
Hahaha! Nope, wasn’t me!
“Me no Alamo.”
Hey thanks Friend.
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 18:27 Edit
I agree. Imagine the nerve of that woman! Calling me, ME! A City Boy!
Hahahaha
Thanks Annie.
🙂
Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann June 18, 2014 at 13:48 Edit
“City boy”… when I called someone that, it was the Kiss of Death! LOL
happierheathen June 18, 2014 at 07:55 Edit
My Texican second wife tried to teach me to two-step. I usually made it three or four steps. Step, step, get confused, shuffle a bit, step, shuffle, shuffle, trip, cuss. She and I once made an escape to a “rustic” motel in the desert, too. And she had a thing for picking up guys at urban poser cowboy bars. If it weren’t for it being a crippled son instead of two perfectly healthy daughters I’d think one of you had changed her name and you were banging my wife.
Hanging on the edge of my seat here, man.
markbialczak June 18, 2014 at 07:19 Edit
Oh, great bluegrass fest twist, Lance. I’m digging the serial and biding my time until Biker hubby appears, in, what, next chapter, or the one after?
Alternate Title: “Fairy-Tales can come true; it can happen to you if you’re young at heart… and stupid and credulous and careless and think you’re bulletproof.”
But be thee forewarned:
They are fleeting, ephemeral, transitory–i.e.,
They Don’t Fuckin’ Last Forever!
Trust From Where I Speak (From Experience)
***
“You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams, if you’re young at heart.”
I’m callin’ ‘Bullshit’ on that statement.
Frank Sinatra – Young At Heart:
Cred For Vid: TheKillerC94
Frank Sinatra – Young At Heart – 1953
Video Credit: kopbyt123
***
Or, if you prefer: “Big-Boned Rescue Gal”
(Or All of The Above: Virtual Ink is Cheap Enough)
***
Nothing to do now but drive away and discover what happens next. No point in trying to flee at a high rate of speed. Most Harleys (when they are not broken down) will outrun a heavy-ass Toranado. Which brings to mind a t-shirt one of MY biker friends often wore.
Yes, I had some biker friends. They were also sailors, but I don’t think that disqualifies them.
The T-shirt read: “I’d rather push my Harley than ride your Honda.”
***
So off I drove into the predawn.
Never having what could be remotely considered decent navigation skills, I just headed in the general direction of what I thought to be south, hoping to hit I-Five, which would lead me to 32nd Street Naval Base and my ship.
And of course I kept frequently glancing in my rear-view.
Billy, or whomever, did in fact follow me, yet at a respectful distance. At one point I contemplated stopping and asking him for directions, but in the end thought better of that.
Eventually, either he got bored, lost his nerve, or ran out of gas.
Anyway, he disappeared from my radar. I made it back to the USS Callaghan with just enough time to change into my dungarees and make morning muster.
When the 1MC announced “Knock off Ship’s Work” at 1600hrs, I quickly changed into my civvies and ‘hit the beach’.
I grabbed a pay phone on the pier and called Shonnie up at work.
“Hello?”
“Shonnie?”
“You were expecting maybe… Madonna?”
Ignoring her classic wit, I said “Are you okay?”
“Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
Uh oh. Her tone did not bode well. “Perhaps you caught amnesia. Did Billy come calling?”
“Uh, yeah. He did.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Come on Shonnie, what happened?”
“He begged me to open the door, so finally I let him in.”
She didn’t seem to want to talk about this, but damn it! I was in ‘need-to-know’ status. ‘Hey! I’m needin’ to know here!’ (Sorry Dustin)
“Well? Do I have to drag this out of you?”
“Listen Lance, he broke down and cried All Right!
He promised to be a better husband and father. He begged me to take him back. He is the Father of my Son, Goddamn it! What-the-fuck-do-you-expect-me-to-do?”
(Kids always trump lovers. I suppose this is as it should be, but… this asshole was abusive. At least that was her early story.)
“So, you’re getting back together then?” I felt as if I had been kicked in the solar plexus.
Hard and more than once.
It was becoming difficult to breathe.
“Yes.”
“You sure about this?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Goddamn it Shonnie! You can’t do this to ME! To US!”
“It has to be this way Lance.”
“Well, I guess that’s it then.”
I quickly scoured my brain for something else to add but could not continue the conversation.
“Yeah. I guess it is. Goodbye Lance.” She hung up.
“That’s IT??!!” I screamed into the dead receiver.
All clawing at my mind, tearing apart my heart, climbing over each other in their effort to get to the top of my emotional hit parade.
Damn it!
I never saw this coming!
I slammed the receiver into the phone and watched it bounce out and fall toward the ground, stopped short by the silver metal tether.
I stood there vacantly staring at it for a moment as it aimlessly swayed back and forth, pendulum-like.
Suppose at some point I walked toward my car, because that is where I ended up. As soon as I sat down in the driver’s seat I realized I was crying.
There seemed to be a pattern developing here:
Talk to Shonnie. Then grown men cry.
Note to self: ‘research this.’
Fuck! This Hurts! Hurts Real Bad.
I sat there and watched my heart breaking.
Bits and pieces of it fell to the floorboard.
Linda Ronstadt – Heart Like A Wheel (1976) Offenbach, Germany
***
A couple of weeks later I was kidnapped by some buddies from my ship.
“Marcom, you done been moping around for too long. We’re goin’ out tonight to a great joint. No arguments. Just grab yer shit and come on.”
I had to acquiesce.
Mark and Tommy mounted their Harleys. Frank, Lenny, and I climbed into Lenny’s ’68 orange Chevelle, which he referred to as his “She-Vail” Accent on the ‘Vail.’
Of ‘course’ it was ‘hot-rodded’ up, racing stripes, loud pipes, loud stereo, the whole bit. He loved that damn car. Talked about it more than booze or women.
“Where we goin’?” I asked after about five minutes of ear-splitting Guns N’ Roses (Lenny waxed and waned between ‘Pure Country’ and ‘Heavy Metal’ depending on his mood and blood alcohol level.)
“Goin’ to IB,” he shouted over Welcome to the Jungle. (‘Imperial Beach’ for those who may not have had the opportunity to visit some of the classier environs south of San Diego.) One can actually ‘smell’ Tijuana from IB, not an entirely unpleasant smell if the wind is right and it ain’t summertime.
Welcome to Imperial Beach
HAZMAT Gear On Tap for Rental at Cook’s Corner Boutique & Bar
(Subject to Availability)
We were just a couple of car lengths behind Mark and Tommy straddling their Harleys, puking blue smoke, and producing one hundred decibels above what OSHA would consider workplace violence.
They had effortlessly and instantly metamorphosed from ‘A-Jay-Squared-Away Sailors’ into ‘So-Cal Bikers’…
Replete with all the garb: leather jackets, black jack-boots, Brando Hats, ‘too dark to see through’ sunglasses.
The whole bit.
We passed through National City, (‘Nasty City’) then Chula Vista, (Chew, Ya-Wanna?’).
I couldn’t help but think of Shonnie and how much she would have loved this ‘adventure.’ And I with her, experiencing it together. Damn! Damn her! I missed her still!
“Almost there!” Lenny shouted as we pulled off of I-5 and tacked somewhat west toward the Pacific.
“Almost where?!” I shouted back, but Lenny said nothing. After navigating through some of Imperial Beach’s “Nicer Hoods” our little caravanserai pulled into a gravel parking lot, which presumably belonged to the ramshackle ‘Joint’
I now found me staring at. Lots of Harleys in the lot. I cannot recall the name of the establishment, but it was something along the lines of “The Salty Frog.” or “IB Bar N’ Grill” or “Busted Spoke.”
Oh wait! Now I remember!
‘Cook’s Corner’
No matter, I was only interested in drink, not ambience. Mark and Tommy dismounted as Frank, Lenny, and I ‘de-She-Vailed’ and headed into the ‘Dew Drop Inn’ or, what-you-will.
Inside, the joint wasn’t too bad. Good A/C, low lighting, a couple of pool tables and lots of… Yep: bikers. Well, why not?
I was sick to death of the memory of the squeaky-clean C/W Joint where I had first met Shonnie and this place was as far removed from that type of joint as I could ever hope to get.
We found a table against a back wall and proceeded headlong into the arms of intoxication. As I was not expected to drive (this was sort of a ‘coming back out of the shadow of death’ party for me after all), I planned to “Drink that woman offa my mind.”
“Drinkin’ My Baby (Off My Mind)”–Eddie Rabbitt
***
The drinks flowed and the bullshit rolled (mostly downhill into my lap, as it was well known that I was in ‘lost love recovery’ mode.)
I won’t go into detail about how piercingly eloquent we all became during the course of the evening. Mainly because I cannot remember all the pearls of wisdom which were cast back and forth amongst us swine.
What I do recall was my exit:
Roughly fifteen minutes after Last Call, and as all the patrons began to shuffle (or in my case, stagger) toward the exit,
I ran headlong into an immovable object: probably because I was trying to guide my feet one step at a time with my eyes cast downward and not really paying attention to the ‘bigger picture’ part of navigation.
‘Situational Awareness’ is overrated and for cowards anyway.
Looking up I realized I had run into a woman.
A very tall, very large woman. Not a fat woman, mind you, but a tall and large Jumbotron of a woman. I mean a ‘Big-Boned Gal.’ A fuckin’-beautiful-brunette-dark-eyed Big Bone Woman, who, praise Neptune, did not appear angered by my clumsiness.
I found my voice and said, “Hi… Uh… I’m Lance. Will you take me home? With you?”
BBG smiled down at me, “Yes. I sure will,” she said as she took me by the hand.
I wanted to tell her that I was a refugee from a disconcerted affair, mourning over the one that got away, but even thinking about Tom Waits, let alone quoting him, would have hurled me into an emotional tailspin and probably also into a drunken crying jag for added melodramatic value.
I dared not risk it, so I shut up and silently allowed her to lead me to her vehicle.
***
Well I’ve lost my equilibrium and my car keys and my pride, The tattoo parlor’s warm, and so I hustle there inside And the grinding of the buzz-saw, “What you want that thing to say?” I says,
“Just don’t misspell her name buddy, she’s the one that got away”
***
But as they say (Always ‘They’. Who ARE ‘They?’ The ‘They’ who always say?)
“Nothing gets you over the last one like the next one.”
***
My recovery was officially underway.
Thank You Big-Boned Gal!
Street Cred for Vid: barefootkd’s channel
***
This Concludes Our ‘All Things Shonnie’ Broad Cast (no pun). We now return you to our regularly scheduled insanity.
***
Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I was ‘enjoined’ to write it.
However, BOLO for some ‘Final Thoughts Part Duh’ coming real soon.
I’d provide them today, but they are gonna be Real ‘Heavy,’ Real ‘Philosophical,’ Real ‘Tedious,’ and Real ‘Sad.’
And I am not up to the task of laying them down just yet.
Comments from the original version of this post may be discovered below.
Please read from the bottom up for continuity.
18 THOUGHTS ON “SHONNIE THE BIKER’S WIFE: DENOUEMENT”
LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:42 Edit
Youth is a magic healing bullet.
Thank you very much for reading this long series. Your time spent here is greatly appreciated. I know how busy all of us are and there are TONs of blogs out there to read.
I am very grateful you took the time to read mine.
Cheers Friend.
Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 19:09 Edit
Fantastic read. Truth be told, I was actually a little gutted at the end. I’m not sure I could go through a break up like that.
LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 18:19 Edit
So glad you are enjoying the tale.
Yeah, lost loves can be painful, especially when one is young and doesn’t yet possess the thick skin for protection.
Thanks very much for reading and commenting.
-L
Teela Hart July 18, 2014 at 11:13 Edit
Great story Lance.
I enjoyed every minute.
I know how it is with lost loves.
I’m not sure I could write about mine, but I have to say once again that you have skills dude.
Can’t wait for the next adventure.
T
LAMarcom July 17, 2014 at 20:22 Edit
Thanks my good friend.
Truth be told, I’m glad that one is done. I’m rather emotionally exhausted.
😉
Time to move on to other Tales O’ Texas (and other places)
Have a wonderful eve,
-Lance
markbialczak July 17, 2014 at 20:19 Edit
You got, you gave. Good story, Lance. A little better than good. Great, possibly. Told well, sir, told well.
lauramacky July 17, 2014 at 12:29 Edit
loool
LAMarcom July 17, 2014 at 11:38 Edit
Hahaha! Well, ya know… I was just a simple sailor.
David Scott Moyer July 17, 2014 at 09:37 Edit
I enjoyed it. Seems like you did too, for the most part.
lauramacky July 17, 2014 at 09:28 Edit
Well that didn’t take long. Out with the old, in with the new I guess! LOL. Another lol was one of Imperial Beaches “Nicer Hoods”…reminds me of Oakland hahaha
LAMarcom July 17, 2014 at 08:19 Edit
Worse woman tango! Hahaha! Love it!
Gracias Amigo!
happierheathen July 17, 2014 at 01:43 Edit
The only cure for the bad woman blues is the worse woman tango. 😀
Thanks for filling in the blanks, hombre. (That’s pronounced as Daffy Duck pronounces it: Homber.)
LAMarcom July 16, 2014 at 22:09 Edit
In truth, Sadie, I am happy to put Shonnie to bed.
And also in truth, I would like to ‘bed’ her just one-more-time.
For old time’s sake.
😉
Cheers,
Lance
~ Sadie ~ July 16, 2014 at 22:04 Edit
I hope it was as cathartic for you to write it as it was enjoyable for me to read it 🙂 There’s some good memories there . . .
Peace out, Lance ☮
LAMarcom July 16, 2014 at 21:13 Edit
David, Friend,
Time for me to move on, and truthfully, aside from a couple of ‘relapses’, that was the end of me and Shonnie.
You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.
And thanks so much for reading the series; means much to me.
Always love your comments.
Cheers,
Lance
David Scott Moyer July 16, 2014 at 21:09 Edit
I’ll believe it’s over when I believe it’s over.
LAMarcom July 16, 2014 at 21:05 Edit
Homeopathic.
Always works.
Hahahah
Thanks for readin’ Annie.
Cheers,
Lance
Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann July 16, 2014 at 21:04 Edit
We spent that Friday afternoon and most of Saturday enjoying the Bluegrass festival while swilling beers and smoking lots of cigarettes. During the late evenings we would share burgers, listen to all sorts of music on my little boom box, drink whiskey and have great sex. We also talked of many things, but nothing too heavy. We were enjoying ourselves.
Sunday noon we checked out of the motel and sadly headed west back to San Dog. It had been a perfect weekend and I truly regretted the ending of it. Shonnie impressed me more and more with her worldly wisdom, and in spite of no formal higher education, she seemed to know a lot about a lot. Mostly about the important shit: Life. She had not one ounce of pretentiousness in her small body. (Small, very sexy body) Both of us were inventive and creative in bed. Did I mention the sex was fantastic? I am certain I did.
Knowing my duty schedule on the USS Frederick, I knew it would be three weeks until I had another weekend completely devoid of any responsibilities as a sailor. I had already formulated a plan to ‘kidnap’ her when that free weekend came about.
During the ensuing days we kept up our regular rendezvous schedule. More and more I looked forward to seeing her and getting to know her even better. She was reluctant to tell me very much about her life, but bits and pieces did come out between slow dancing, drinking, smoking, and fucking. Her father had left her and her mother when she was still quite young. ‘He was an abusive type’, was about all the detail I got from her, but I could occasionally catch a glimpse of sorrow and pain in her eyes. I refrained from broaching the subject of her husband-the-biker. In fact, the fact that she was married at all, slipped away from my mind like so much quick silver…
One Saturday night she had me drive us to a Mall.
“Okay, what are we doing here?” I asked her. Malls ain’t my thing, you see.”
“I wanna buy you something,” she replied.
“Oh no you don’t. I have everything I need.”
“No. You need this, c’mon.”
She led me to a record shop and began searching the bins.
“What’re you looking for?” I asked.
“Gimme a sec. Oh here it is,” she announced happily pulling a cassette from the bin.
“What’s that?”
“You’ll love it. Trust me.”
“I’m already in-love….with you, you crazy bitch.”
She purchased Nighthawks at the Diner by Tom Waits, an artist I had never heard of….
Until Shonnie.
We drove to Balboa Park, and opening some beers to go with our whiskey we listened to the cassette. I loved it from the very first minute. My Girl had me all figured out. It was just a little disconcerting, how she had so easily pegged me and yet to me she was still mostly an enigma.
After the sun set we started our make out session, then she did something unexpected. She unbuckled my jeans and started giving me head. This had never happened before and to say I was quite pleased would be an understatement bordering on the felonious. Just as I was really getting into it, she stopped suddenly, looked up at me with those piercing blue eyes and said solemnly, “If you come in my mouth, I will kill you.”
Well, that kind of ruined ‘My’ moment, but actually in a good way. It struck me so funny that I just could not help bursting out laughing. It was priceless. Make out session temporarily put on hold and my fondness for her intensified.
The next weekend (my ‘freedom’ one), we met at our usual rendezvous point. She, on instructions from me given over a pay phone, had brought along a bag with extra clothes and whatever other tricks of her trade she needed for a two-and-a-half day ‘excursion’, along with a pass from her mom relieving her of motherly duties for the weekend.
“So Cowboy, where are we going?”
“Vegas,” I said. “My turn to ‘educate’ you My Love.”
“Woolworth Rhinestone diamond earrings and a sideways glance”
