He Drinks at Home Now Most Nights With the TV on and all the house lights Left Up Bright, or “I’m gonna blow this damn candle out. I don’t want nobody comin’ over to my table; I got nothin’ to talk to anybody about.”

And all the house lights left up bright.

Happy  New Year.

“I’m gonna blow this damn candle out.”

“Holidays are hard on some guys.”

I stole that line from a favorite movie of mine, loosely based on a wonderful play by some guy. Oh yeah, David Mamet “Sexual Perversity in Chicago” which I first saw performed live by a group of travelling U.S. actors and actresses when I was in Sinai, SFM (and after the performance I had all of the cast and crew in my hooch and we all got hopelessly stoned on hash and drunk on scotch)  in the Sinai, and then saw it, many years later, the fucking movie… wait for it… in Chicago, drunk but not stoned. The Navy had random piss tests back then—for drugs–they gave not zero fucks about your alcohol blood level. That is just my Navy. How it was…  maybe still is. Who knows? Who cares?

When I saw the movie in Shy – Town, It had been bastardized into… “About Last Night.”

The Movie Gave The Play a

Fucking Happy Ending!

They Really Ruined it With That!

Fukkin’ Hollywood!

HOLLYWOOD! Up-Dated!! Re-Visit This One Y’all. It is fucking Awesome! The Vids! The Vids! The Vids! Ignore My Prose! Watch the Videos!

 

“Travesty” as a word…

“Cynical and drunk?”

“May-hap: C’est moi?”

“Huh?”

“What did he say?”

*******

Honestly, when it comes down to it, we all die alone… boring someone in some dark café.

“Jesus Christ! Lance! Some happy thoughts for the New Year?”

“Naw, been there…”

“You’re either too stupid to die, or too stupid to live.”

“Yes. Both.”

I like to think that I only write for me.

That is some vain fantasy. Or just a pleasant fiction.

I write to get bed, er… read.

I do.

I really do.

I am a “writer”

Or, at least, I think of me in that way.

And I love commas.

And I edit as I go.

Someone once said of “Lord Ernest” (Hemingway),

Someone said he said, “Write Drunk. Edit Sober.”

Now, personally, I think that apocryphal, but what do I know?

Yet, I am going with it.

(at least the write drunk part)

Now, back to Joni:

“Love can be so sweet.”

“Go look at your eyes.”

“Drink up now. It’s gettin’ on time to close.”

Some footnote:

Oh, and by the way, The Last time I saw Richard was Great Lakes, Recruit Training Command, ’86,  and he told me… something about staying alive while with the Navy SEALs in SO CAL, just before he went to Florida and committed suicide,  because He could not handle the Pressure that was (then) the U.S. Navy Nuclear Submarine Program. Thank God I was in Coronado with the SEALs.

And So Safe

So safe.

I miss Richard.

He was braver than me.

And nobody ever committed suicide while at BUD/s (Navy SEAL) training: we were just all too busy, you see, just ‘busily’ trying to stay the fuck alive.

“Richard got married to a figure-skater–post-humorlessly.”

Somehow, I live.

His name was “Richard” and he was a real person.

Yeah, I left  out the tag line (on purpose):

“when you gonna get back on your feet?”

**********

If you happenstance to swerve into this blog, and catch yourself saying,

“Gee! This guy is cool.”

Don’t.

(Just don’t.)

Because I ain’t.

I’m an asshole.

Bona-Fide

Asshole.

And I have references

But if’n you do, Do not then… follow the comments.

Just don’t fuckin’ do it. 

Save some:  them, them the good memories.

And walk on by.

(You just knew I had to.)

 

I Did Promise Music and Laughter: I Kind of Lied (BTW: All Lives Matter)

I actually gave this some serious thought earlier today.

And truthfully I was inspired by a post I read over yonder at

P.R.O.B.L.E.M.S.

We were talking about optimism.

Well Sharon was but it got me to thinking.

(Scary, yeah.)

Anyhow, I had this post develop in my head. A post about good and bad. A post about optimism and pessimism. A post about Human Decency.

Then I promised me: I Promised me I would not post it because it might sound too preachy, but when we fall away from stating the obvious, because “it has been said too many times before,” well then we forget. And dammit! Some of us need reminding from time to time.

So, here it is:

I have spoken on ‘racism’ before.

Nothing Like a Dame

No Preacher: me.

Just a schmuck.

But I love this movie.

 

Here are some links, if ya wanna read some scholarly shit:

 

 

 

Continue reading

Shoulda Left Las Vegas

Las Vegas
And pondering why I love the TV show, ‘Nashville’ so much.

Here goes:

Many a time while stationed in San Diego, I would make a spur of the moment decision to drive the five hours to Vegas.

Occasionally with a buddy or two after closing down a bar somewhere downtown San Dog. Once or twice with a female accomplice,  but usually alone.

“It’s OK. We (I) can sober up on the road. We’ll get to Vegas about sunrise.”

Would just show up, never having the wherewithal or forethought to reserve a room so I’d just nap in my Tornado if necessary.

But then, I never really slept while in Vegas anyhow. Why would I need a room?

Too bad I was born too late to experience “The Rat Pack.” Maybe if I accumulate enough good Karma, I can come back as Sammy Davis Jr. Or Frank Sinatra.  Stranger things have happened, in the night, eh?

Dean Martin, caught in a Gravity Storm. 

Priceless.

Continue reading

He Drinks at Home Now Most Nights With the TV on and all the house lights Left Up Bright, or “I’m gonna blow this damn candle out. I don’t want nobody comin’ over to my table; I got nothin’ to talk to anybody about.”

And all the house lights left up bright.

Happy  New Year.

“I’m gonna blow this damn candle out.”

“Holidays are hard on some guys.”

I stole that line from a favorite movie of mine, loosely based on a wonderful play by some guy. Oh yeah, David Mamet “Sexual Perversity in Chicago” which I first saw performed live by a group of travelling U.S. actors and actresses (and after the performance I had all of the cast and crew in my hooch and we all got hopelessly stoned on hash and drunk on scotch)  in the Sinai, and then saw it, many years later, the fucking movie… wait for it… in Chicago, drunk but not stoned. The Navy had random piss tests back then—for drugs–they gave not zero fucks about your alcohol blood level. That is just my Navy. How it was…  maybe still is. Who knows? Who cares?

When I saw the movie in Shy – Town, It had been bastardized into… “About Last Night.”

“Travesty” as a word…

“Cynical and drunk?”

“May-hap: C’est moi?”

“Huh?”

“What did he say?”

*******

Honestly, when it comes down to it, we all die alone… boring someone in some dark café.

“Jesus Christ! Lance! Some happy thoughts for the New Year?”

“Naw, been there…”

“You’re either too stupid to die, or too stupid to live.”

“Yes. Both.”

I like to think that I only write for me.

That is some vain fantasy. Or just a pleasant fiction.

I write to get bed, er… read.

I do.

I really do.

I am a “writer”

Or, at least, I think of me in that way.

And I love commas.

And I edit as I go.

Someone once said of “Lord Ernest” (Hemingway),

Someone said he said, “Write Drunk. Edit Sober.”

Now, personally, I think that apocryphal, but what do I know?

Yet, I am going with it.

(at least the write drunk part)

Now, back to Joni:

“Love can be so sweet.”

“Go look at your eyes.”

“Drink up now. It’s gettin’ on time to close.”

Some footnote:

Oh, and by the way, The Last time I saw Richard was Great Lakes, Recruit Training Command, ’86,  and he told me… something about staying alive while with the Navy SEALs in SO CAL, just before he went to Florida and committed suicide,  because He could not handle the Pressure that was (then) the U.S. Navy Nuclear Submarine Program. Thank God I was in Coronado with the SEALs.

And So Safe

So safe.

I miss Richard.

He was braver than me.

And nobody ever committed suicide while at BUD/s (Navy SEAL) training: we were just all too busy, you see, just ‘busily’ trying to stay the fuck alive.

“Richard got married to a figure-skater–post-humorlessly.”

Somehow, I live.

His name was “Richard” and he was a real person.

Yeah, I left  out the tag line (on purpose):

“when you gonna get back on your feet?”

**********

If you happenstance to swerve into this blog, and catch yourself saying,

“Gee! This guy is cool.”

Don’t.

(Just don’t.)

But if’n you do, Do not then… follow the comments.

Just don’t fuckin’ do it. 

Save some:  them, them the good memories.

And walk on by.

(You just knew I had to.)

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

Update: Part Five Found Here:

If you are new here, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey

Below and then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road”

i.e., The Lancelot Links:

****

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 Two: “You Look So Good In Love”

“Well Shonnie, was nice of your friend to introduce us. Did Y’all come here together?”

“Yeah, we come here two, three times a week.”

“I didn’t catch her name.”

“Layla.”

(Well, I guess ‘that’ fits, I thought.)

“See seems like a real nice Lady,” I lied.

“She’s a good friend. We work together.”

“I see. Do you need a fresh drink?”

“Uh, yeah I do. Thanks.”

I managed to get the attention of one of the Serving Wenches, a slightly chunky Brunette, wearing too-tight jeans, and rockin’ a Neon-Green ‘Cowgirl’ Hat, with little flashing lights adorning the brim. (???) Other than the hat, she seemed fit enough for her duties.

“Shonnie, what ya drinkin’”

“Jack and coke,” she said. (A kindred spirit? Well, if you lose the coke, but what the hell, right?)

To the waitress I said, “For the Lady a Jack an’ Coke, and for me a shot ah Beam and a Heineken.”

“OK. Be right back with those. Wanna run a tab?”

“Sure. Thanks. Nice hat, by the way.”

“Thanks, uh… Cowboy’.”

The word ‘Cowboyseemed to get caught in her throat. Likely her first or second night on the job here at… still cannot remember the name of the joint. Oh well. She was probably a refugee from some higher-end beach bar in La Jolla.

The band started up with “You Look So Good In Love” (George Strait)

Vid Share Cred: ‘asphyxed’

“I love this song,” Shonnie said.

“Wanna dance?” (I knew I could manage a slow dance and that was about it. My Two-Step resembles a blind turkey caught in a rain storm)

“Sure,” she said, standing up. Wow! I thought, she really is tiny, as I took her hand and led her to the floor.

We began our dance and her head barely came up to my chest. I estimated she was about five foot nothin’, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. She held me very tightly as we slowly moved back and forth to the music.

She smelled sweetly of some perfume I could not identify. Not surprising, as I am not really a connoisseur. Whatever it was, it was very alluring, and seemed ‘perfect’ for her.

To any Ladies reading these words, is it common to ‘fit’ the perfume to the ‘venue’? Certainly it must be.

Her semi-long blond hair just covering her shoulders was somewhat unkempt and slightly askew. Well, that may be unkind. Let’s call it ‘Country Casual’.

She had a very nice figure, breasts just about right (far as I could tell) for her frame, nice ass (Yes. Yes. I know. I am being sexist, but I suspect she was ‘checking me out’ as well.

And at one point she actually put HER hand on MY ass. So there!

As we danced I admitted to her that slow dancing was all I could muster and that I had never even mastered the simplest dance of all: ‘The Two-Step’. She giggled in my ear and offered to teach me. Told her I would have to think on that.

As the song finished, we stood there momentarily to see if they were going to play another slow song.

They awarded our wait by busting out with ‘Cotton-Eye-Joe’, a song I remember far too well from the Seventies and the line dance that went with it.

No way!

I hustled us off the dance floor mucho más pronto.

***

Below is How One Dances to ‘Cotton-Eye-Joe’

(It is requisite that one be ‘at least’ four sheets to the wind before performing this dance. In fact, that is a State Law in Texas. Though probably not in California)

Surely you can understand no way I’m gonna attempt THAT, making a fool out of myself in front of a Potential New Girlfriend. Uh Uh. Nope!

Texas Style Cotton-Eye-Joe

“The Bullshit Song”

“Texans don’t like line dancing, with one exception. When this song is done at the end of the night it is a real crowd pleaser. If you don’t know how to dance the Cotton Eyed Joe yet (the real way)  you will, two and a half minutes from now.”

Video Content & Quotation Credit: ‘Wisegeorge’

***

Happily our drinks had arrived while we were dancing and we settled back down and began to get to know each other over booze, Marlboros, and Country Music.

While we were continuing our small talk, Layla suddenly (and loudly) reappeared.

“How’re you kids doing?” She shouted over the band.

Just as I was about to say “Fine,” Shonnie said, “Great!”

(Hmmmm…. ‘Great?’ OK, I’ll take ‘great’.)

“Uh, Layla… That’s your name, right? Would you like to join us for a drink? Take a load off?” I asked somewhat disingenuously.

“Love to!”

(Damn!)

“Well, name your poison,” I said.

“Wine cooler, white.” (Go figure)

I decided to just go to the bar to place the order, as our little wanna-be Honky-Tonk venue was now just about completely full and I did not want any delays in getting Miss Layla her (hopefully) solitary drink, and then her continuing to make her ‘Rounds’.

I took the liberty of ordering drinks for me and Shonnie while I was at it, returned and sat down.

Shonnie and Layla had their heads together and were giggling over something. (Probably my ‘dancing’).

“Drinks on the way,” I announced, thus interrupting their little giggle fest.

“Oh goody” (goody?) Layla exclaimed.

“So, Layla, Shonnie tells me Y’all work together.”

“Yep, and we’re best of friends, so you better take good care of her,” she said, still in giggle mode.

(Good ‘care’ of her? Hmmm…)

The drinks arrived and I decided to kick it up a notch, so I proposed a toast: “Here’s to new Friends,” I said, raising my shot of Beam.

The ladies followed suit and two glasses and one shot glass collided with a soft ‘clink’.

“Hear! Hear!” Layla giggled (what is with this woman? Drunk or stoned, or both?)

We tried to settle into some conversation, but Layla clearly was not interested, as she spent more time perusing the other tables and the dance floor than she did ‘focused’ on the ‘conversation’. I could see she was as anxious to extricate herself from our table as I was to see her succeed.

Thankfully, a California Cowboy finally came over and led her out onto the dance floor. (“Keep her as long as you like Cowboy.” Of course, I only said that inside my head.)

***

Shonnie and I danced every slow dance song that came up for the next couple of hours (between several more rounds of drinks).

About every twenty minutes or so Layla would pop back by, ostensibly to be ‘social’, but methinks, to ‘check on us’, as if we were her charges.

Good Grief!

Finally, as it was getting up along twelve midnight, and Shonnie and I had, indeed, seemed to find some mutual attraction, I broached:

“How ‘bout I give you a ride home? And Layla can be freed of her chaperone duty?” It was a gambit and I gave it fifty-fifty.

“Sure,” she said instantly. “Just let me tell her what’s up, okay?”

“Of course.”

I watched as Shonnie tracked her down and gave her the happy news. I could see they were having some discussion over this, but it did not seem ‘too’ heated, only ‘marginally’ heated.

Shonnie returned to me and announced gruffly, “Let’s go.”

“Yes Ma’am. Just let me settle-up with the bar, and we can split.” (Not really a Cowboy term, ‘Split’, but hell! I was in Southern Cali after all.)

We walked to my Toronado which was parked way in the back of the parking lot, by now pretty much emptied out. After we settled in and I was about to start the car, Shonnie said, “Ya wanna smoke a joint?”

“I would love to ‘Darlin’, but you know I’m in the Navy, and they have random piss tests all the time, so I just can’t.”

She looked a little disappointed, but it was a fleeting look. I turned my attention back to the keys in the ignition when she put her hand on my arm and said, “Well, would you like to fuck me then?”

Bam!

“Love to.” And it was definitely ‘On’. Since she was so tiny and my car so huge, with front seats that could be moved way back, we had no trouble with her straddling me on the passenger side.

The sex was passionate, slightly drunken, and fucking great! Seems there was much energy stored in that diminutive frame of hers and she unleashed all of it on one unsuspecting Cowboy.

After we had finished and I was back in the driver side seat fishing for two Marlboros, she started crying. (Crying??)

“What’s wrong Honey?” I sincerely asked.

“I’m married,” She said.

Almost laughing as I said,

“That’s okay Baby, so am I.”

She stopped crying and started laughing, laughing really hard and loud. She had a great laugh, by the way, boisterous, loud and proud, not even an ounce of pretention–seemingly impossible to be emanating from such a petite, sweet, lil’ thang.

And I joined in with her laughter.

We found time to fuck again.

Stevie Ray Vaughan & Double Trouble – Pride And Joy (Live at Montreux 1982)

Shonnie & Lance:

Keepin’ it Real”

Reasons Explained as to why I am Re-Working This Old Series:

Chapter One Below:

Chapter Three Here:

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.

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