tagErotic CouplingsRattlesnake Cantina Girl Ch. 01

Rattlesnake Cantina Girl Ch. 01

byrockandroller©

Fair warning - this story is a little slower to develop than most Literotica tales, including the other ones I've written. Hopefully the extra depth will make the story more enjoyable, and of course there will still be lots and lots of raunchy sex. If you're still interested, dear reader, then come along and listen to the story of a sex-driven girl looking for the right man...

*

.....Friday night -- "Let's go for a ride.."

I walked into the Rattlesnake Cantina hating myself for it. Was I really so damned desperate to meet a cowboy that I'd resort to trolling a country western bar?

It's not like I didn't know what I'd find there -- overweight pretend cowboys drinking beer until they believed they were actually attractive. Yuck.

But I didn't know where else to go. After all, it wasn't as if there were better places to meet a cowboy. It was the wrong time of year for the stock show or the rodeo. What was I supposed to do? Drive from ranch to ranch, introducing myself to the hands? "Hi! I'm Shelley, and I really want a cowboy to play with!"

Although my deprived pussy believed differently, I didn't think that would work very well at all.

In my experience the kind of cowboy I was looking for existed only in the movies and not in real life. In real life they couldn't hold a decent conversation. In real life they weren't handsome or smart and their personal grooming habits were sometimes lacking. In real life they could handle horses but were hopelessly inept when it came to handling girls.

What I needed was a cowboy like Brad Pitt. Or even better, Tom Cruise. Ohmigod yes! Jeans and a Stetson and a shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons. Tom was the perfect cowboy for a girl to ride. And I had earned the right to call him by his first name after all the masturbating I'd done with visions of him between my legs. His smile always sent warm tingles straight through me, and an especially warm tingle was having its way with me now. I felt silly when I realized that my overactive imagination had gotten me so excited that I was actually looking around the bar for him.

The bouncer standing just inside the lobby took my driver's license. Phooey. He didn't even look at it. I liked it much better when they thought I was underage.

Still, he was good looking, in a big-cute-guy kind of way. He smiled at me and I smiled back. Things were looking up. I hadn't even gotten all the way into the bar and here was a possibility. Kinda handsome. Catchy smile. He had on jeans, boots and cowboy shirt. The bar probably made him dress that way, but maybe not. Maybe he was a real cowboy and he was just moonlighting at the bar. A girl could hope, right? He was a big boy, and I wondered if that meant what he had under his jeans was bigger, too. Ohmigod, did I just think that? I'm sure I blushed.

I gave him a cheerful smile as I wondered what I could say to let him know I might be interested. Are you a real stallion, or are you just happy to see me? Wanna break in a new filly? I giggled to myself at how wanton I was, even if it was only in my imagination.

I watched as the older lady behind me held out her hand to be stamped and he gave her the exact same grin he'd given me. Damn. He wasn't smiling at me because he wanted me. He was smiling at me because he was doing his job. Sheesh. I hadn't even gotten into the place and I was already imagining myself fucking the doorman.

I walked inside feeling quite chagrined.

It was a Friday night, and the place was pretty full. Some of the men at the bar were turned around on their stools watching the band. Others were looking at the girls on the dance floor or the little crowd of people at the mechanical bull. Even though I'd only been there a minute I got my first hit of the night.

"Hey, there Missy? What brings you to a place like this? You are the prettiest little thing, but you look parched. Can I buy you a drink?" I was pretty sure the accent was fake. Nobody really talks like that, do they? He was really cute, and he was wearing the prerequisite jeans and hat and plaid shirt. But he was a little wobbly on his feet and staring at me with way too much attention. The beer bottle in his hand obviously wasn't his first. I thought uncharitably that he was probably a TV salesman.

I held up my hand and pointed to the white line on my ring finger where my wedding band used to be. "I just got divorced," I said as if I was too sad to contemplate having someone buy me a drink. I knew that that wasn't a real reason and that I was just avoiding telling him the truth. But he wasn't my type and at least I didn't hurt his feelings that way.

He took my rejection pretty well and wandered back to his friends. I had no idea what I was going to say to discourage men once the line on my finger tanned in.

I wandered down to the end of the bar and bought myself a Goldschlager on the rocks. The barmaid even shook the bottle to make sure the little gold flakes were swimming in the liquor so that I got some in my glass. Good girl. I gave her a big tip.

I love the elegance of Goldschlager, it makes me feel all grown up and sexy. But I only have it on special occasions, and I had decided that maybe if I took the initiative in making tonight special then it really would be. I closed my eyes to the crowd and the noise and raised the glass to my lips. I downed half the drink, thinking to myself, "Real cowboy, real cowboy, real cowboy, real cowboy." The fiery cinnamon taste warmed me all the way through, centering on the liquid flames between my legs which didn't really need the extra fanning, thank you very much.

I took my glass with me as I wandered through the bar. I kept getting hit on. Boy after boy showered me with compliments as if it would help them get into my pants. "You have the most beautiful smile." Or, "Can I borrow a quarter? I want to call my mom and tell her I just met the girl of my dreams." Or, "What time do you have to be back in heaven, darlin?" Or, "God, you're cute. How about a date?" It's always good for my ego to hear that I'm pretty or that I have a sexy smile, and I felt awesome whenever some stranger paid so much attention to me.

Even so I turned them all down. If the best conversational gambit they had was to try to butter me up as a prelude to an assault on my honor then I didn't want anything to do with them.

My roommate Eva says she's been observing me for years and that I'm 'blithely unaware' of the effect I have on men. She says they tend to lose their minds around me because they're so smitten. They start complimenting me over and over because they're instantly infatuated and I just drive all other conversation out of their minds. I don't know about that, but Eva swears it's true. She says that if I'd just give them a chance to get it out of their systems and start acting normally I might learn they really weren't shallow. Some of them, anyway. I think Eva's full of it.

Anyway I was through with boys who wanted to get into my pants so badly that they couldn't be themselves. I never could stand fawning men. And I sure as hell wasn't going to be somebody's Friday paycheck. Unfortunately, those restrictions seemed leave me without many men to choose from.

There was this one guy who had a merry twinkle in his eye when he asked me to dance. He had the right clothes, he seemed gentlemanly and smart and he wasn't tipsy. He was probably even a real cowboy. But I didn't want him even thinking he was going to get anywhere with me because he looked almost old enough to be my dad -- can you imagine? Yuck. I told him my date was waiting for me on the other side of the room.

I caught the eye of a lanky boy in jeans and a big belt buckle. At least he was closer to my age. He said that his name was Bobby and that he really was a cowboy, but I didn't believe him. We talked for a little bit. He managed to restrain himself from giving me too many compliments, but I don't really remember what we talked about. As usual I was imagining what he'd be like in bed, and I liked the mental image of tangling my fingers in his hair while he sucked my breast. I decided that he was promising enough that I could have a little fun stringing him along. I sure as heck wasn't feeling any of those sparks that I was craving, though. He asked me if I wanted to dance, and of course I said yes. I love to dance, even though I don't think I'm very good at it. It was a slow song and Bobby held me a little close, but not too bad.

He was sweet enough that I didn't object when his hands started roaming all over my body. Bobby steered us over to the corner of the dance floor so that he could steal a kiss. But he got carried away pretty quickly, ardently kissing me as if we were about to have sex instead of just doing some innocent-but-fun first time necking. He started to nibble on my lips which made me giggle. When he asked me what was so funny, and I gave him some crap about how I was laughing because I liked what he was doing.

I finally managed to extricate myself by telling him I had somewhere else to be. Like to go and find a real man. Loser.

I was tired of all of the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of cowboys. Too old. Too drunk. Too pushy. Too ugly. And I couldn't even picture most of them actually riding a horse, never mind being the right guy for me. Cowboys, my butt. Insurance salesmen, computer weenies and convenience store clerks is more like it. I knew it was a mistake to come here. I needed a break.

I was standing near the wall by a bunch of those little round tables that exist only in bars. A pretty girl can always manage to find a chair in a bar if she wants one, but I wasn't in the mood to have to fend off another attack, and all of the empty chairs I could see had unappetizing guys next to them.

My attention wandered up to the stage, where a rockabilly-country band was holding court. They were good and loud and playing the kind of music that country-bar crowds just love to hear. I liked the skinny guy who was singing and playing guitar. He wore dark glasses and was dressed all in black, which made him look kind of cool. They were playing a catchy number that sounded like something Elvis might have sung.

Maybe someday you'll realize I was good for you Maybe someday you'll learn to love me too Maybe someday you'll understand my love was true But honey that might be the day I'm over you

He sang as if he meant every word; a personal heartbreak of his disguised in a bouncy song to help him forget the girl who did this to him. It tore my heart out at the same time it made me want to dance. I thought seriously about lowering my sights from 'cowboy' to 'guitar player,' so that I could help him forget her, whoever she was.

"They're pretty good," said a voice from behind me, talking kind of loud so I could hear him over the band.

I turned around to look at the man who had spoken and immediately forgot all about broken hearted skinny guitar players. And I really wished that I'd decided to wear my glasses. I could see him well enough, but he was so near my idea of the perfect man that he took my breath away, and I wished I had that little extra clarity my glasses added.

He was sitting low in a chair with his feet stretched out in front of him. Every inch of him from his head to his boots screamed 'relaxed cowboy'. I could feel my eyes widen, trying to take him in. He was definitely older than me, but not by too much. There was a touch of gray at his temples and I recognized the weathered look around his eyes of too much time in the sun. He wore jeans and a cowboy shirt with his boots, and it wasn't at all hard to picture him comfortably riding a fiery steed. My knees went weak and my breathing got deeper.

I clenched my pussy, trying to get it to stop sending 'take me now' signals. He looked like the model for one of those bronze Remington statues - handsome, masculine and rugged, with an air of self reliance. The little corner of my mind that wasn't taken over by lust tried to reason with me - he just had to be too good to be true. If this guy was a real cowboy, then I was a princess.

He tipped his beer bottle at the empty seat next to him, silently offering it to me. I realized that I'd been staring at him for far too long. I'm sure I looked flustered but he didn't seem to notice. I couldn't believe how lucky I was -- he was not only the best looking guy there but he looked like he might even be a real cowboy. He didn't already have a girl on his arm, and he was asking me to sit with him.

I plopped down in the chair, trying to look casual and not spill my drink. I needn't have bothered, because he didn't pay any attention to me at all. He didn't talk to me or even spare me a glance. It was as if I wasn't there and he was perfectly content just sitting, sipping beer and perusing the crowd.

I couldn't believe it. Why did he even ask me to sit with him if he was going to ignore me? Didn't he feel the spark between us? Couldn't he tell that he could have me? I sipped the last of my Goldschlager, trying to bolster my courage and calm my raging hormones at the same time. I didn't want to just throw myself at him, but with my pussy screaming at me like that it was pretty hard to think.

What could I say? "Hi there, handsome. Come here often?' God, how lame. 'Can I buy you a drink?' Way too desperate. I knew in my bones that if I said the wrong thing he'd just get up and leave. I had a new appreciation for the courage of the guys who had been hitting on me. And their lines seemed positively eloquent compared to what I was coming up with. I resolved to cut them a little more slack in the future. Maybe Eva was right after all.

My mind was racing, and I was afraid that he'd find something more interesting to do than sit next to a girl who couldn't even talk. Exasperated with myself for not coming up with anything better, I finally decided to go for the direct approach. "Thanks for the seat. My name's Shelley."

He slowly swung his head around and looked at me, sizing me up. He exuded confidence; an aura that said he didn't care one bit whether or not a pretty girl with a needy pussy was sitting next to him. He took a sip from his beer and went back to watching the crowd.

"I'm Ethan," he said coolly. I fell in love with that name right then, and I decided on the spot to name my first son Ethan. His son, if I got lucky. Damn. Two words from him and we were already friends, lovers and parents. I really needed to learn how to harness my imagination for good and not for evil.

"Frome?" I asked brightly. It was mean of me to test him, but how many times in her life does a girl get an opening like that?

He took a sip from his beer and thought about my question as he looked at the crowd. After a few seconds of silent contemplation he arrived at some conclusion. Slowly he sat up straight and turned in his chair so that he was facing me across the table. He took another sip from his beer as he stared at me analytically.

The combination of lights from the stage and the brightly colored neon bar signs danced in his eyes, which were a color I'd never seen before, a dark amber gold. God, they gorgeous. I'd never seen anything like it, and my infatuation ratcheted up another knot.

I sat there patiently, trying my best to smile and look fetching even though I could feel myself chewing my bottom lip. I was mesmerized by those eyes. They captured my breath and I loved it.

Finally a reluctant smile came over his lips and he chuckled to himself, a deep throaty sound that was so masculine it sent delicious shivers between my legs. I was immediately addicted. He took an interest in the label on his beer bottle, amused but not wanting to look at me while he answered.

"No, I am not a man who was cursed to love the wrong woman so he crippled himself by riding his sled into a tree."

I was caught, dammit. He had compressed the plot of the famous book into one succinct sentence. I cursed myself for my clumsy attempt to find out if he had any brains. But it didn't seem like he held it against me.

He laughed again, knowing that I'd been testing him, but not at all concerned about it. He looked up at me again. "My name's Russell. Ethan Russell."

God, I loved his eyes. Even if it turned out that he wasn't a real cowboy I wanted him. And that wasn't just my pussy talking, either.

"So, Miss Shelley, it seems that you're a pretty sharp cookie, aren't you?" he said, a question that didn't really seem to call for an answer. He looked straight at me as he spoke, all of his attention focused on me. I love that. "Are you a student?"

I was amazed that he'd discerned that, and it caused me to giggle. My school studies had been interrupted by my marriage, and I'd only recently gone back. I was just enough older that I knew I didn't really look like a college student. So how had he known?

"Yep. I'm studying accounting and the effects of newly divorced girls on the male student population.

Ethan laughed and said, "Have you always been this cute, or do you work at it?"

I tried not to blush but I'm pretty sure I didn't succeed. Why was it that the flirtatious compliments from all the other guys couldn't do that to me?

Fortunately he didn't seem to want an answer.

Ethan asked me about my classes and told me a few stories from his college days and how different things were back then. When I asked him what he did for a living he managed to duck the question, but I was smitten enough not to push it. We started making fun of the pretend cowboys in the bar, trying to guess what their real occupations were. I was having enough fun talking to him that I was able to keep my pussy from intruding into the conversation, although I wasn't able to keep it from getting slippery.

I decided to hell with how alcohol always goosed my lust and let Ethan buy me another drink when he ordered another beer. With any amount of luck it wouldn't matter how horny I got because Ethan would be ramming his cock into me.

The vision of me on my back with my legs spread wide and Ethan inside me stole enough of my senses that I didn't realize that my mind had wandered away from the conversation. But I could tell he'd asked me a question and I struggled a second before I could recall it. "So what brings you to the Rattlesnake Cantina alone on a Friday night?"

Jeez. How could I answer that? Should I lie? Say something funny? Or had he heard my insistent slit screaming out for a cowboy? My mind struggled with so many ideas that I couldn't sort them all out. He was so cute that I just wanted to spread my legs, jump on his lap and kiss him over and over; to give in to the wanton hussy that my pussy knew me to be. I wanted to say, "You! You! You!" Was he assuming that I didn't want him? Or did he just want to hear it from me? Was he so confident because he knew he could have me? Didn't he want to fuck me? I squirmed in my seat, trying to still the disappointment between my legs.

I was so busy thinking and fidgeting that I almost forgot to answer him, and when I realized the silence had been stretching on way too long I said the first thing that came to my mind.

"Nothing." Damn. That was so stupid.

He nodded slowly and his eyes wandered around the bar once, taking in all of the men in cowboy shirts as if he'd just noticed them for the first time.

There was that chuckle again, and I blushed at the feelings it engendered down below. Good thing it's hard to see if somebody's blushing in a bar.

"I'll bet I know. I'll bet you're a buckle bunny."

"No!" I said. Then belatedly I realized that a truly good girl probably wouldn't even know what he was talking about. "What's a buckle bunny anyway?" I asked, cursing myself for the transparency of my answer. Besides, how the hell did he know I was a buckle bunny?

He ignored my feigned ignorance, graciously pretending that he didn't know I was lying.

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