logo by Sunday, February 06, 2005
Last night around 10:00 I was really starting to get bored. I hadn't made any plans for the night because my wife had led me to believe that she was going to get a babysitter so that we could go out together. But when that didn't pan out and as usual she kept evading my attempts to be amorous, I finally decided to go out to a local bar in an attempt to salvage the night.
This local bar is nothing like the big, hip, downtown clubs frequented by the college crowd and young adults. Instead, it's a small, redneck, biker bar where half of the men are in their 50's and 60's with long, scraggly beards, black Harley-Davidson t-shirts, and leather jackets, and the rest are in their 40's with flannel shirts and Caterpillar baseball caps. And then there's the women. The older women are in their 50's, easily pushing 300 pounds, and they typically sit around chain-smoking and looking angry. The rest, who I'll call the "young" ones, are usually in their 40's, maybe a few in their late 30's, and can almost always be found dancing with each other in front of the stage, dressed in tight middy sweaters or camisoles and low-cut jeans. Their bodies are trim for their age and they usually show a lot of skin, but I often figure it would still take me about ten beers before I'd be ready to go out back with one of them. And that's usually about seven beers too much, considering the only way to get to this place is by car. So, yes, it's a total dive, but it's also cheap, close to home, and it happens to have the best live music outside of the city. Plus, it's not uncommon to see some biker chik whip off her shirt and jiggle her bare tits around in the face of one of the scary-looking bearded men. Bonus.
The only real problem I have with this place is that I stick out like a sore thumb. And to make matters worse, last night I forgot about the "biker/redneck" dress code and ended up walking in there wearing a hooded, college sweatshirt, jeans, and boat shoes. But, fuck it, I thought. I'm not here to meet anyone. I'll just stand in the back, listen to the music, have a couple drinks, and mind my own business. Or so I thought. Apparently when you are younger than every man in the place by a good 10-20 years, minding your own business is not an option. To these people I imagine that I looked more like a cute kid than a 34-year-old man. Not only did I get stares from every guy in the place when I walked in, but I kept getting looks and dirty little smiles from the "young" women as they were dancing. One in particular, whose jeans were cut so low that I kept thinking I was gonna see some slit, and whose breasts were so huge that her middy sweater was having some serious trouble wrapping all the way around them, kept rubbing herself and looking my way.
For a while I tried to ignore everyone and just stood there in the back, sipping a beer and nodding my head and tapping my feet to the incredibly good music. But I guess I made the mistake of glancing at big-boob woman one too many times because before I knew it she was pointing at me from across the room and beckoning me to join her and the other women on the dance floor. I hesitated for a split second, thinking about how the men in the place were already giving me cold stares from their bar stools, but ultimately I gave in, walked out into the middle of the throng of gyrating women, and started dancing with Ms. Boobs.
And hoo-boy did she dance! If she had just shaken her little body around a bit, it would have been hot enough, but clearly that was too tame for her. She kept rubbing her hands up her bare sides, pulling that tiny sweater up almost too far, and then moving her hands down to her jeans, tracing her finger along the top of them and then moving down to rub her thighs, getting about as close to her crotch as she could without actually masturbating. And then, holding her arms above her head she would stretch that little sweater so tight against those breasts that a couple times I was amazed that it didn't pop right off and end up around her neck. She also kept caressing her bare midriff and belly button as if to point out how proud she was of her surprisingly flat stomach.
After a few songs, though, I was really starting to feel a little self-conscious given that I was basically the only guy out there on the dance floor. So I smiled and thanked her for the dance and headed back to my position against the wall. But apparently she had not had her fill, because a little while later when the band started playing a slow song she came over to me and pulled me back out onto the floor. She grabbed my left hand with her right, put her left arm around me, and pressed her hot little body up against mine. Frankly it was weird to feel those huge tits of hers against my chest. My wife has A-cups which I've always thought are very hot because of the way they look so young and perky, especially in a tight, stretchy top, but to have these huge balloons squished up against me was an entirely different experience altogether. We danced one song like that with her grinding against me, and I'm sure she could feel the buldge in my pants against her bare stomach. But after that, the band saved me by rocking out again and ending their set shortly thereafter. They said they'd be back for one more set, but I figured it was time for me to go. Who knows what that girl might have tried after getting a few more beers in her. Plus, the thought of standing around in that place for twenty minutes or so while the band took their break and while everyone else continued to stare at me didn't exactly excite me, so I left.
But hey, if any of you guys who live around here are young, single, and looking for some action and you don't care about banging a hot but slightly older woman, I would highly recommend this place. I have a feeling by the end of the night you could pretty much get anything you want. But just make damn sure you bring a condom with you as I have a feeling these girls are not exactly fresh and clean, so to speak.
This local bar is nothing like the big, hip, downtown clubs frequented by the college crowd and young adults. Instead, it's a small, redneck, biker bar where half of the men are in their 50's and 60's with long, scraggly beards, black Harley-Davidson t-shirts, and leather jackets, and the rest are in their 40's with flannel shirts and Caterpillar baseball caps. And then there's the women. The older women are in their 50's, easily pushing 300 pounds, and they typically sit around chain-smoking and looking angry. The rest, who I'll call the "young" ones, are usually in their 40's, maybe a few in their late 30's, and can almost always be found dancing with each other in front of the stage, dressed in tight middy sweaters or camisoles and low-cut jeans. Their bodies are trim for their age and they usually show a lot of skin, but I often figure it would still take me about ten beers before I'd be ready to go out back with one of them. And that's usually about seven beers too much, considering the only way to get to this place is by car. So, yes, it's a total dive, but it's also cheap, close to home, and it happens to have the best live music outside of the city. Plus, it's not uncommon to see some biker chik whip off her shirt and jiggle her bare tits around in the face of one of the scary-looking bearded men. Bonus.
The only real problem I have with this place is that I stick out like a sore thumb. And to make matters worse, last night I forgot about the "biker/redneck" dress code and ended up walking in there wearing a hooded, college sweatshirt, jeans, and boat shoes. But, fuck it, I thought. I'm not here to meet anyone. I'll just stand in the back, listen to the music, have a couple drinks, and mind my own business. Or so I thought. Apparently when you are younger than every man in the place by a good 10-20 years, minding your own business is not an option. To these people I imagine that I looked more like a cute kid than a 34-year-old man. Not only did I get stares from every guy in the place when I walked in, but I kept getting looks and dirty little smiles from the "young" women as they were dancing. One in particular, whose jeans were cut so low that I kept thinking I was gonna see some slit, and whose breasts were so huge that her middy sweater was having some serious trouble wrapping all the way around them, kept rubbing herself and looking my way.
For a while I tried to ignore everyone and just stood there in the back, sipping a beer and nodding my head and tapping my feet to the incredibly good music. But I guess I made the mistake of glancing at big-boob woman one too many times because before I knew it she was pointing at me from across the room and beckoning me to join her and the other women on the dance floor. I hesitated for a split second, thinking about how the men in the place were already giving me cold stares from their bar stools, but ultimately I gave in, walked out into the middle of the throng of gyrating women, and started dancing with Ms. Boobs.
And hoo-boy did she dance! If she had just shaken her little body around a bit, it would have been hot enough, but clearly that was too tame for her. She kept rubbing her hands up her bare sides, pulling that tiny sweater up almost too far, and then moving her hands down to her jeans, tracing her finger along the top of them and then moving down to rub her thighs, getting about as close to her crotch as she could without actually masturbating. And then, holding her arms above her head she would stretch that little sweater so tight against those breasts that a couple times I was amazed that it didn't pop right off and end up around her neck. She also kept caressing her bare midriff and belly button as if to point out how proud she was of her surprisingly flat stomach.
After a few songs, though, I was really starting to feel a little self-conscious given that I was basically the only guy out there on the dance floor. So I smiled and thanked her for the dance and headed back to my position against the wall. But apparently she had not had her fill, because a little while later when the band started playing a slow song she came over to me and pulled me back out onto the floor. She grabbed my left hand with her right, put her left arm around me, and pressed her hot little body up against mine. Frankly it was weird to feel those huge tits of hers against my chest. My wife has A-cups which I've always thought are very hot because of the way they look so young and perky, especially in a tight, stretchy top, but to have these huge balloons squished up against me was an entirely different experience altogether. We danced one song like that with her grinding against me, and I'm sure she could feel the buldge in my pants against her bare stomach. But after that, the band saved me by rocking out again and ending their set shortly thereafter. They said they'd be back for one more set, but I figured it was time for me to go. Who knows what that girl might have tried after getting a few more beers in her. Plus, the thought of standing around in that place for twenty minutes or so while the band took their break and while everyone else continued to stare at me didn't exactly excite me, so I left.
But hey, if any of you guys who live around here are young, single, and looking for some action and you don't care about banging a hot but slightly older woman, I would highly recommend this place. I have a feeling by the end of the night you could pretty much get anything you want. But just make damn sure you bring a condom with you as I have a feeling these girls are not exactly fresh and clean, so to speak.
