Post by rvm45 on May 10, 2008 2:36:59 GMT -5
.
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.....A curious tribal custom
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This was back when I was still alive; and working for the Long and Nasty Railroad. We were laying Ribbon-Rail down by Ben-Hur, Virginia. One weekend, when staying with a few of the other guys; I decided to go to the little country bar in Jonesville. Now, back then--at least—Virginia had dry; wet; and half-dry counties. We were in a half dry county—meaning that Beer and Wine were cool; but hard liquor was verboten .
Never been much of a drinker; but I was absolutely not a Beer drinker. The little bar didn't have Wine. Didn't have Coke. Didn’t have Pepsi. So going meant sitting and nursing Shasta Colas; at a buck a can—back in 1980! But they did have a Pool Table; and folks to talk to.
I didn't know that they had a band and a $5 cover charge Friday and Saturday night. So unless you've been to a hillbilly bar—when they're having a dance—I'll describe it for you. There as a wide range of styles. Some of the girls wore jeans; some were halfway dressed up; and some of them looked like they were going to The Prom. Make-up ranged from none; to applied with a trowel.
Some of the guys looked like they'd just climbed out from under a truck; and slopped the hogs before coming. Some were wearing Western-look clothes; and a few dressed like Elvis.
I was sitting at a table. I'd taken several hits of Speed earlier; and they were just starting to come into focus. I was sitting at a table; enjoying the music immensely. Had that feeling that Drugs sometimes give you—like you're just on the edge of some Cosmic Revelation. That's when I'd go nearly catatonic; and people would insist on interrupting my Profound Meditations with dumb-ass questions like: " Are you all-right? "
Now this big ole girl came up to my table. She would have been about my height—six foot; but she had on high heels. She weighed maybe 230; maybe 240. She was hefty but not bovine. She was dressed in a long black evening dress. Had a low-cut bodice—exposing beaucoup cleavage The dress was also slit up to the hip on each side. She was smoking with a long black cigarette holder.
" You look all alone, " She Said to Me.
" I was, " I said regretfully.
" Would you like to dance? "
" Don't know how."
I'll teach you. "
My patience was wearing thin about then. I thought maybe some old-fashioned rudeness might help.
" I have no desire to learn to dance. Dancing is worldly. It’s a tool of The Devil; and it stirs up sexual desires. Fallen women like y’all done been Satan's favorite henchmen; and I have no doubt that he'll appoint you one of Hell's Head Firemen in exchange for loyal service…”
" I want to dance with you; and I'm not going to go away 'till you dance with me."
So as she put her arms around me and her belly touched mine; she felt my .45 Automatic; tucked right up front; where my belt-buckle helped break up the outline of the grip. That was one reason that I hadn't wanted to dance with her. I felt her pull her belly in marginally; so as not to touch my Gun. I remember thinking: " Well, now she knows I'm packed. Hope she'll keep ot to herself; and not make an issue of it. "
Then she let her belly touch mine again. Then she started rubbing her belly all over my pistol. She was heavier than me; and she had the initiative. I couldn't help being shoved all over the dance floor; without resorting to Violence.
" My God, she's turned on by a concealed weapon, " I thought.
Well, she wanted to dance every dance there for awhile. During a band break; Old Bill (who was a hell of a lot younger then; than I am now...) came over while Pammy was taking a potty-break.
" What kinda dance was y'all doin' out there? " He said; while holding an imaginary partner; and doing some very obscene hunching. He was good at vulgar. I doubt that Pammy and I looked Quite That bad. (This was before the movie "Dirty Dancing." )
" Bill, I don't know what to tell you. She gets turned on by my .45. "
" Are you carrying It in its usual place? " I nodded Affirmatively. " Dude, I got news for you...She doesn't KNOW that's a .45. She thinks you're packin' something else! Ha-Ha; Hee- Hee; Ho-Ho!"
RVM45
-------------------
.
.
.....A curious tribal custom
.................................................. .................................................. ....
This was back when I was still alive; and working for the Long and Nasty Railroad. We were laying Ribbon-Rail down by Ben-Hur, Virginia. One weekend, when staying with a few of the other guys; I decided to go to the little country bar in Jonesville. Now, back then--at least—Virginia had dry; wet; and half-dry counties. We were in a half dry county—meaning that Beer and Wine were cool; but hard liquor was verboten .
Never been much of a drinker; but I was absolutely not a Beer drinker. The little bar didn't have Wine. Didn't have Coke. Didn’t have Pepsi. So going meant sitting and nursing Shasta Colas; at a buck a can—back in 1980! But they did have a Pool Table; and folks to talk to.
I didn't know that they had a band and a $5 cover charge Friday and Saturday night. So unless you've been to a hillbilly bar—when they're having a dance—I'll describe it for you. There as a wide range of styles. Some of the girls wore jeans; some were halfway dressed up; and some of them looked like they were going to The Prom. Make-up ranged from none; to applied with a trowel.
Some of the guys looked like they'd just climbed out from under a truck; and slopped the hogs before coming. Some were wearing Western-look clothes; and a few dressed like Elvis.
I was sitting at a table. I'd taken several hits of Speed earlier; and they were just starting to come into focus. I was sitting at a table; enjoying the music immensely. Had that feeling that Drugs sometimes give you—like you're just on the edge of some Cosmic Revelation. That's when I'd go nearly catatonic; and people would insist on interrupting my Profound Meditations with dumb-ass questions like: " Are you all-right? "
Now this big ole girl came up to my table. She would have been about my height—six foot; but she had on high heels. She weighed maybe 230; maybe 240. She was hefty but not bovine. She was dressed in a long black evening dress. Had a low-cut bodice—exposing beaucoup cleavage The dress was also slit up to the hip on each side. She was smoking with a long black cigarette holder.
" You look all alone, " She Said to Me.
" I was, " I said regretfully.
" Would you like to dance? "
" Don't know how."
I'll teach you. "
My patience was wearing thin about then. I thought maybe some old-fashioned rudeness might help.
" I have no desire to learn to dance. Dancing is worldly. It’s a tool of The Devil; and it stirs up sexual desires. Fallen women like y’all done been Satan's favorite henchmen; and I have no doubt that he'll appoint you one of Hell's Head Firemen in exchange for loyal service…”
" I want to dance with you; and I'm not going to go away 'till you dance with me."
So as she put her arms around me and her belly touched mine; she felt my .45 Automatic; tucked right up front; where my belt-buckle helped break up the outline of the grip. That was one reason that I hadn't wanted to dance with her. I felt her pull her belly in marginally; so as not to touch my Gun. I remember thinking: " Well, now she knows I'm packed. Hope she'll keep ot to herself; and not make an issue of it. "
Then she let her belly touch mine again. Then she started rubbing her belly all over my pistol. She was heavier than me; and she had the initiative. I couldn't help being shoved all over the dance floor; without resorting to Violence.
" My God, she's turned on by a concealed weapon, " I thought.
Well, she wanted to dance every dance there for awhile. During a band break; Old Bill (who was a hell of a lot younger then; than I am now...) came over while Pammy was taking a potty-break.
" What kinda dance was y'all doin' out there? " He said; while holding an imaginary partner; and doing some very obscene hunching. He was good at vulgar. I doubt that Pammy and I looked Quite That bad. (This was before the movie "Dirty Dancing." )
" Bill, I don't know what to tell you. She gets turned on by my .45. "
" Are you carrying It in its usual place? " I nodded Affirmatively. " Dude, I got news for you...She doesn't KNOW that's a .45. She thinks you're packin' something else! Ha-Ha; Hee- Hee; Ho-Ho!"
RVM45
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