Shonnie, The Biker’s Wife Part Four: “Night Hawks”

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 Something that 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 it seemed 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.”

Shonnie and I had a very complex relationship.

Not on the Surface

But Deep

Deep Down Inside

It Was Forever Bubbling, Burning, Boiling

Deeply Inside Both of Us

Volatile and Dangerous

****

Previously:

Look For This Very Soon:

Shonnie, The Biker’s Wife. Part V: Vegas

****

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! 🙂

***

Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.

But if you can’t wait… Here ya go!

Parts One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife Chapter Three: Desert Dreams, Sex and Music

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 Toranado for some late night, great night, great sex.

And it was all good. Not just the great, energetically, intensely, passionately acting of our love-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-Shonnieexperience 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 doing what-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.

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 she leaned against the driver’s side door 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.

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?

I Had Fooled Around And Fallen In Love

Title: Fooled Around And Fell In Love (Elvin Bishop)

Band: The Winery Dogs

Shared Vid Cred: no1here4unow

***

Previously:

Coming Soon: Shonnie, The Biker’s Wife, Part Four

******

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?

LAMarcom June 17, 2014 at 22:59 Edit

Yes. She cut me to the quick on that one!

Cheers!

Love that you are reading.

–Lancers

🙂

~ Sadie ~ June 17, 2014 at 22:57 Edit

City boy – LMAO!!!!

***

Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.

But if you can’t wait… Here ya go!

Parts One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife: Denouement

Or: “Dreams do come true; it can happen to you… When you’re young at heart and stupid and bulletproof.”

Or, if you prefer: “Big-Boned Gal”

Parts  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen This is the End

***

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 Toronado. 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), which 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 for a spell. At one point I contemplated stopping and asking him for directions, but in the end thought better of that.

Eventually, he either got bored, lost his nerve, or ran out of gas. Anyway, he disappeared from my radar. I made it back to the USS Frederick with just enough time to change into my dungarees and make morning muster.

When the 1MC announced “Knock off Ship’s Work” at 1600 hrs, I quickly changed into my civvies, left the ship, 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?”

“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?” In asking this, I felt as if I had been kicked in the solar plexus. Hard. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

“Yes.”

“You sure about this?”

“Yes. I am.”

I could not continue the conversation. “Well, I guess that’s it then.”

“Yeah. I guess it is. Goodbye Lance.” She hung up.

Rage. Heartbreak. Sorrow. Self-Pity. Despair. Aloneness: All competing in my soul to climb to the top of my emotional hit parade. I slammed the receiver into the phone and walked toward my car. As soon as I sat down in the driver’s seat I realized that I was crying. Fuck! (There seemed to be a pattern developing here, Shonnie: Then grown men crying–note to self–‘research this.’)

A couple of weeks later I was kidnapped by some of my buddies from my ship.

“Marcom, you done been mopping around for too long. We’re going 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 Chevelle, which he referred to as his “She-Vail” Accent on the ‘Vail.’

“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.

We were just a couple of car lengths behind Mark and Tommy who, wearing their bandanas, leather jackets, black jackboots, and seated astride their Harleys puking blue smoke, producing one hundred decibels above what OSHA would consider workplace violence, had metamorphosed elegantly from A-Jay-Squared-Away Sailors into So-Cal Bikers. Passing through National City, (‘Nasty City’) then Chula Vista, (Chew, Ya-Wanna?’) I couldn’t help but keep thinking of Shonnie and how much she would have loved this ‘adventure.’ And I with her, experiencing it together. Damn! 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 myself staring at. Lots of bikes 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.” 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 toward the arms of intoxication. As I was not expected to drive (this was sort of a ‘coming back out of the shadows/death’ party for me after all), I planned to “Drink that woman offa my mind.”

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 and not really paying attention to the larger part of navigation.

Looking up I realized I had run into a woman. A very tall, very large woman. Not a fat woman, mind you, but tall and large. I mean a ‘Big-Boned Gal.’ A fuckin’-beautiful-brunette-dark-eyed Big Bone Woman, who, praise Neptune, did not appear to be angry at my clumsiness.

I found my voice and said, “Hi… I’m Lance. Will you take me home? With you?”

BBG smiled down at me, “Yes, I sure will,” she said as she took my hand.

And as they say (Always ‘They’), “Nothing gets you over the last one like the next one.”

My recovery was officially underway.

barefootkd’s channel

This Concludes Our ‘All Things Shonnie’ Broad Cast (no pun). We now return you to our regularly scheduled inaneness.

Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I was enjoined to write it.

Peace and Beer to all Y’all!

Last thoughts HERE

More Big-Boned Gal  HERE

Lance OUT

 

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife: This is the (NOT) The End

Parts One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen

The three Harleys were gaining on me as I sped southbound down Interstate 5. It was still dark and the traffic was light. I floored the pedal on the Toronado, but I knew they would eventually catch up to me. As my speedometer redlined at one hundred I took another furtive glance in the rearview: still gaining fast. Where the hell were the famous CHiPs? For the absolute first time in my life, I wanted to get busted. One biker managed to pull up alongside me on the passenger side. I swerved to the right just a bit to try to spook him. No dice! He easily dodged my quarter panel and I caught a brief glimpse of his grinning face, mocking me. (bikers never wore helmets)  The two remaining bikes pulled up behind him. I was running out of options. Should I just continue on until I ran out of freeway or gas? Hope a highway patrol finally spotted us? Surrender? I stole another glance in my side mirror and could just barely make out the third biker taking aim at my car with a handgun, rather unsteadily given our speed, but I braced for the worst, then BAM!

I awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed. The alarm was wailing away. Shonnie stirred and moaned, “What time is it?”

Reaching over to kill the alarm, I knocked the clock off the nightstand. “Shit!” I reached over the side of the bed, grabbed it and managed to turn the damn thing off. “It’s five-thirty,” I said.

“Ohhh too early,” she moaned again, pulling the covers over her head.

“Go back to sleep,” I said.

“No. I’ll make you some coffee,” she said, sitting up, stretching her arms upward yawning

“Got no time for that. I gotta get back to my ship. Muster is at zero-seven.”

“It’ll just take a minute,” she said as she extracted her naked body from the covers.

“Okay, but a minute is about all I have.”

I got out of bed and put on my jeans. Shonnie threw on her robe and disappeared downstairs. I went into the head and splashed some cold water on my face, trying to shock the dream out of my mind. Just as I finished struggling to get into my too-tight boots, I heard the kettle whistling downstairs. Making sure I had my wallet and military ID, I descended to the kitchen to join Shonnie. She handed me a cup and I took a quick sip.

“Good coffee,” I said.

“You’re welcome Cowboy.”

“You sleep alright? I asked.

“Yeah, sorta, but you were snoring and moaning till all hours.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Look, I gotta split. I wanna beat the traffic. My Master Chief don’t have a sense of humor about being late for muster.” I handed her the still mostly full cup of coffee.

She set it on the counter, threw her arms around my neck clinging tight, pulling me down and kissing me passionately. She withdrew her lips but kept my neck locked tight. “Oh Rhett! When will Ah evah see you again?”

I reached up and gently pulled her hands free and said, “Very funny Scarlett. I’ll call you this evening, but now I gotta go.”

“Okay, Darlin’, lemme walk you out.”

We walked over to the front door holding hands. I opened it. Shonnie let out a gasp. “Oh no,” she said.

“What is it?”

“Look there,” she said pointing down at the deck.

There was a white sack about a yard from the front door. It had the unmistakable mark of McDonald’s on it. I took a step outside, picked it up, turned to Shonnie and said, “What the fuc…”

“Come back inside quickly,” she almost whispered.

I went back in and she shut the door, locking it with a loud click. “It’s Billy.”

“Billy?”

“My husband, you idiot.”

“Sorry. You never did tell me his name.”

“You never asked.”

Still clutching the sack in my hand, I opened it up and discovered two large coffees and two pastries.

“Give me that!” she said, almost shouting as she grabbed the sack out of my hand. “Look, this coffee is still hot. He must have just been here.” She was visibly shaking.

“Quite the gentleman to deliver breakfast, doncha think?”

“Goddamn Lance! This shit ain’t funny!”

“Well, what the hell do you expect from a smartass?”

“You can’t leave now,” she said as she walked over and slumped down into an overstuffed chair, dropping the bag on the floor almost tipping over the coffees inside.

“Seriously? Will he try to hurt you if I go?”

“No… not right away anyhow. It’s you… You! He’ll be after you! Dammit to Fuck!”

“Baby, I got no choice. I’d rather face ‘Billy’ than try to explain to Master Chief why I’m UA.”

She stared at me blankly for an instant as if I had just said something in a language she did not understand. “Whaaat?”

“Uh UA; unauthorized absence. AWOL. You know.”

“Fuck that! If you leave here now, you might be ‘AWOL’ permanent.”

“Well, I doubt that, but anyway I gotta go.” I turned and walked back toward the door. “I’ll call you this evening. Lock the door behind me.”

“Okay,” she sighed, getting up. As I was about to open the door she spun me around and hugged me, burying her face in my chest. “Be safe Lance.”

“You too Baby.”

I opened the door and walked out. Shonnie shut it behind me and I heard the click as she turned the deadbolt.

My car was parked almost a block away from the house. It was still an hour before sunrise but the streetlights, though not bright, afforded enough light for me to make my way without any difficulty. As I slowly walked toward the Toronado, I was glancing left and right, trying to see into the shadows, hoping I would see no one. My shoulders were tight as I wondered if they would suddenly be pierced by a round from a hand gun. I keep walking. Almost there now. The Toronado was parked directly under a street light. Shit! I would have preferred a darker venue for getting into my car. Oh well. I fumbled around for my keys, unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. Turning the key in the ignition, the engine turned over a few times more than normal, but finally caught hold. The cassette player was still cranked up and in the early morning quiet seemed extremely loud. I quickly reached over and shut down Jim Morrison in the middle of his song.

The car was facing the opposite direction I needed to be going, so I had to pull forward into an empty driveway, back up and get turned about. Back in the street and facing the right direction, I dropped the car into drive.

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a Harley cranking up and someone revving the throttle.

Not The End.

More:  HERE

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife. Chapter XIII: La Jolla

Parts One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve 

It’s a pretty good drive from Seaport Village to La Jolla. We stopped along the way for cigarettes, sandwich stuff and beer and arrived at “Auntie’s House” about seven-thirty. This isn’t it, but a reasonable facsimile:

La Jolla

“Your aunt rich?” I asked stupidly.

“Yeah. What was your first clue?”

“Lucky guess, I suppose.”

“Come on. It’s even better inside.”

She led me into the condo.

“First class joint,” I said. “Really classy.”

“Let me give you the nickel tour.”

She led me through the living room, past the dining room and into the kitchen. It was all stainless steel and wood. Very nice. We put the sandwich stuff and the beer in the fridge. Shonnie produced two tumblers and threw some ice into each. I took the bottle of Jim Beam, splashed some into each glass, and handed one to her.

“A toast!” I said. “To us!”

We clinked tumblers, took a swig and fell into each other’s arms. Lips to lips. “You make me happy my dear,” I whispered into her ear as we broke our lip lock.

“I had a great fucking time in Vegas. Won’t be forgetting that soon.”

“Yeah, but next time. Please. Please listen to me.”

“Hahaha! Sure Cowboy. I promise to be good… ‘Next time’. Come on. I wanna show you the rest of this ‘joint’.”

We took the stairs and she led me into what I surmised was the master bedroom. It was large as condo bedrooms go, but then, I was no expert on anything ‘condo’. In fact, this was probably my first. There were double French doors opening up to a small patio overlooking the Pacific. The bed was huge. I pushed down on it with my hand and watched as it rippled. Waterbed. Last time I had seen a waterbed was back in the Seventies. I wondered silently if this one leaked… There were Asian paintings on the walls and shag beige carpet on the floor. Some African wooden statues were on the dresser. I recognized them from my eight days spent in Kenya. The bathroom had an old-timey tub, green towels, and a shower stall… and a bidet! Wow! Mishmash of so many cultures. Well, California. What could one say?

“Why don’t you rinse off in the shower while I fetch some ice and build our bar?”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do that.”

After my ‘rinse off’, I wrapped a green beach towel about me, lay on the bed with my drink and my Marlboro. (Figured it permissible to smoke, as there were about five ashtrays strategically placed about the room.)

Shonnie reappeared with the whiskey, two sandwiches, a small bucket of ice, and two beers. Quite the juggler, she was.

“It’s okay. Don’t get up,” she said with some small sarcasm, as she deposited her items on one of the nightstands next to the waterbed.”

“Hungry?” I asked.

“Yeah. Lose that towel.”

I did and she ‘lost’ her jeans et al.

We made slow love for some thirty minutes. Deep kisses, lots of teasing, and finally came together…

As we lay back in the bed, silently smoking, she said, “You’re quite the catch, ain’t ya Cowboy?”

“Not sure your meaning, Little Lady.”

“Just sayin’. You’re quite the catch.”

“Not really. Just another lonely sailor far from home.”

“Yeah with fireplace eyes and the gift of bullshit, and any port in a storm.”

“True enough, I suppose.” (‘Fireplace eyes?’ I’d only heard this once before. From… my wife. Somewhat unnerving to hear it again after so many years.)

“Eat your sandwich,” she said. “Then we can watch a movie. The night is still young.” She got up and I watched her walk to the bathroom. Her perfect petite body and (purposely?) twitching little ass tantalizing me still–although I was quite sated at that moment.

I reached for the sandwich even though I was not hungry. Suddenly becoming self-conscious about my nakedness and feeling vulnerable, I got up and put my pants on. I lay back on the bed, picked up the sandwich, took one bite and put it down. There was a large television opposite the bed. I picked up the remote from the night stand and switched it on. CNN appeared. Some talking head, info babe, was blathering on and on about something that had just happened in Iraq: ‘Breaking News’. I muted the volume.

“You’re watching the News?” She said, suddenly appearing in front of me wearing a white terry-cloth robe and a frown.

“I think it’s watching me.”

“How depressing. I never watch the news.”

“Current events are important,” I said.

“Not to me.”

“Well, here’s a news’ flash for ya: You are drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Careful there, Cowboy…”

She walked over to the ‘Entertainment Center’ which was part of the whole TV thing and began perusing some VHS tapes. “What kind of movies do you like?” she asked.

“Historical, hysterical drama.” I said.

“Well, that does narrow it down a bit.” She selected a tape; put it in, and then picking up two remotes began pushing buttons. “Top Gun” appeared on the screen as if by technological magic.

“I was thinking of maybe something a little less contemporary,” I said as Kenny Loggins began his bit.

Video Credit:

KennyLogginsVEVO

“Nonsense!” she said. “This is perfect for you. You’re a sailor, eh?”

“Yeah I am, but not a fighter jock. And I hate Tom Cruise.”

“Relax. Have you seen this movie?”

“’Fraid I have, but okay. Kelly McGillis is never a waste of my time.”

“Asshole!”

“C’est moi.”

With that she jumped on the bed causing me to spill some amber onto the sheets and almost drop my cigarette. She grabbed my head and planted a deep kiss, sticking her tongue down my throat.

“Madame! I am aghast!” I said as I was freed from her embrace.

“Shut up and watch the movie.”

Kenny was just finishing up ‘Danger Zone’, and proving once again that I needed to pay closer attention to my life’s soundtrack, especially when it is foreshadowing and trying to connect. We got through the horrible movie thanks to several glasses of Beam and a few beers and not a small number of cigarettes. It was, I have to admit looking back, the best screening of one of the worst movies of all time. I kept Shonnie in laughter as I picked apart the utter bullshit and un-factual parts of the movie. Yes, sometimes I can do sarcasm with the best.

As the final credits were rolling, Shonnie snuggled up to me and asked, “Lance, do you love me?”

“Probably,” I said.

“I’m a little hard to love.”

“Not for a schmuck like me.”

“I’m serious here. I have issues.”

“Yeah, don’t we all?”

“Goddamn it! I am serious.”

“’Serious’ is not something I’m good at.”

“You are EXASPERATING!”

“That’s a pretty good four-bit word,” I said with a mocking grin.

“Actually, it’s five bits, you bastard.”

“True enough,” I said, as I counted off the syllables in my head.

“You know my estranged husband is one mean son-of-a-bitch, right?”

“Never met the stud.  Do tell.”

“Trust me. And he called me up at Mama’s the other day and asked me who was my new boyfriend.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think he’s been following me.”

“I’m not much into ‘threesomes’.”

“Listen asshole. I’m getting scared.”

“Wanna end it?”

She paused and I saw some sorrow creep into her eyes. “Might be a good idea,” she said. Then quickly added, “But just for a little while. I don’t want to lose us.”

“Let’s sleep on it. I have to leave here at zero-five-thirty so I can make morning muster on my ship.”

She buried her head under my arm and we fell asleep under the blue TV screen light.

To Be Continued…  HERE

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife, Pt VI: Vegas’ ‘Soft Porn’, or ‘Blue Hotel Room’

Shonnie Saga Continues (Unsuitable for minors and miners: Adult Content)

Parts One   Two  Three  Four  Five

***

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,

“Are you ever gonna show me this town?”

“Yes, I am. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

Vid Credit: 

JoniJourney

To Be Continued… Here

“Will you still love me? When I get back to town?”