The Dixie Dykes

Convertible's top stuck down

Wind blowing hair about my face

Shoulders baking in the sun

Missed my damn flight again
Oh, what fun

All the while
A voice inside says,
Don't be such a wussy

Road trip
I wasn't looking forward to
Pavement unspooling ahead
Throughout the evening
Into the night
Cactus partying to my left
Mesas in the spacious right
And every so often
The unexpected
Dip in this route
That seemingly never ends
FM 106 blaring from the radio
When I found my rental Benz
Passed by a pair of denim rear ends
So curvaceous
Hot damn
Look at them go!

Biker chicks in high heel boots
Leather chaps
Cheap sunglasses
Escaping a swirling
Whirling dervish of dust devils
In hot pursuit of their sexy asses
Straddling motorbikes
Ahead of little ole me
Naive girl from the big city
Who wasn't in the know
Around these parts were told
Tales about this duo
Known as the Dixie Dykes

Now
On any other given day
I'd never stray
This far from the highway
Throat parched with an insatiable thirst
I stopped at the very first tavern
Aptly named The Hideaway
Out in the middle of Nowheresville
With a few hours to kill
Said to myself,
Oh, what the hell
Between shots and beers
Certainly had my fill
Rested with my feet up for a spell

Later
They strolled in
Jane and Marylin
Two stunning gals
If there ever was
While the couple ordered whiskey and gin
Every man stared
As every man does
And upon entering the billiard room
Arms around one another
The tavern came alive with a buzz
One patron saying to the other
Something about snatching
A lick of carpet fuzz

It wasn't long before
A burly man poked his nose
Through the beaded curtain door
Catching a glimpse of tryst going on within
When Jane's fist met his beer soaked chin
Sending him backwards to the hardwood floor
Peculiar was the look of calm on his face
Replacing his shit eating grin
And everywhere around me
The local male population
Were tipping chairs over
Pissed

Marylin stepping over the body
Cracking knuckles in her palm

Ready for the beatdown to begin

Quiet
Disrupted
The quaint tavern flat out erupted
Bottles
Bodies flying everywhere
Jane half dressed in her underwear
Not fussing to keep her brassiere adjusted
Whacked a few heads with a pool stick
And if that didn't quite do the trick
Marylin's fabulous roundhouse kick
Was like a spinning coin
Heads to the face
Tails to the groin

Tables literally began to turn
In this atmosphere
Now an Eastwood spaghetti western
As a yetti sized trucker
One scarred up motherfucker
Tried to give Jane's cheek a cigar burn
What caused me to grab my own chair
And wield it through the air
Perhaps it was the beers
Quite possibly the shots

Not really sure how many

I know there were lots

Enough to swing without a care

I thought I killed him dead
When it struck that trucker's head
Sending him tumbling against the bar
Instincts yelling at me,
Run for the car!
I helped Jane to her feet instead
Heaving chest to chest
I felt oddly possessed
When she embraced me
I didn't resist
Her straying fingers
Feeling up my left breast
Lingering
Passionately
We kissed

Leaving behind scattered broken glass
On a victorious field of kicked ass
Biker chics each gunning a throttle
Holding onto Jane for dear life
My other hand clutching a bottle
We found ourselves a secluded desert pass
And for many more years to come
We were tearing up the turnpikes
You could hear from the locals
Tales of the trio on their motorbikes
Known as the Dixie Dykes

I got my top pulled down

Wind blowing my hair out of place

Shoulders baking in the sun

Arms around Marylin's waist
One hand down her jeans
Furiously
Fingering
Her fine pussy