Fine Date for Darts

I was a Tech Rep working on the mighty F-4C in the wild town of Houston, Texas. I owed one of the airmen a favor. He had secured me some mach II gray aircraft paint, and most importantly the thinners, hardeners, primer and primer thinners that make for the complete paint job. He also threw in some insignia blue. I found out the reason why.

"Would you be interested in taking my younger sister out on a date?"

"Damn, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to do something that would leave a bad taste in my mouth."

"Hey, my sister's a real nice girl, that's the reason I'm trying to get her out more. I'll pay for the date." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a twenty.

"Twenty, that won't even pay for my beer drinking, release its twin and you, got a deal." He pulled out the other twenty, on standby.

"Deal."

I picked her up at the given address. The entire family was introduced as I retreated through the gauntlet. She was an extra large girl, with a large family. I knew that each one of the introduced brothers, had plans on kicking my ass. So I gave them my best hand shake. I like to push any rings between their fingers with my thumb then input a quick and hard crush. As we drove away the brothers were all checking their hands for any permanent damage.

Our escape vehicle was a black Dodge Ram van with no windows and no seats. It had two chairs up front. The back dim interior was empty except for the mattress on the floor and a couple of yellow half octagon aircraft chocks joined together with ¾ inch yellow rope. I didn't ever use my parking brakes, (sticky) so I thought the clocks would come in handy. I only used the chocks once, to much trouble.

I watched her struggling with the seat belt buckle.

"Don't worry about seat belts, this van has truck plates, so you don't need to hook up"

She had the belt loose, and attempted a hook up. She was a big girl; the belt was about a foot short of protecting her girth.

"Don't worry about it, I'll drive slowly. Do you like to shoot darts?"

"I don't know, never tried it before."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"What's you name?"

"Maria."

It was Friday night, I was loaded with enough, "gooseneck' Bud to feel brave and I was 39 years old. "Hell" was just another option.

"We are going out for an evening of dart shooting."

"Am I dressed okay for dart shooting?" She was dressed in black, shoes, slacks, and blouse. I knew she was smart, white clothes would have made her look like a walking glacier.

"Yeah, you are looking good, let's get rolling."

I kicked up the pace; we could still make the dart tournament. I whipped around a curve to the right and unplanted Maria. She bounced off the engine nacelle and rolled into the back of the van. Her momentum carried her across the van as I completed the hard turn. When she rolled into the other side I managed to fight the lean, it corrected itself fast. She banged into the other side, the van rocked hard to the right. I was hanging on, slowing down and playing the lean. We looked like a wobbling meatloaf chased by a wolf.

I got the van stopped, she had also stopped. Her final roll had her at the opposite side of the van by the side doors. "Are you okay?"

"Yes"

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes"

"Good, don't move. I'm going to chock you up for the rest of the ride."

I placed the chocks against her exposed side and kicked them.

"How's that feel?"

"Better then falling out of your chair."

"Let's Roll."

* **

We arrived just as the tournament was starting. My name was in the pot and I had a partner. The shooter's claimed they heard about a black Ram van rocking and rolling on the "Flash News." I introduced Maria to the gathered dart shooters. I started hearing snive remarks about my dusty van and my choice of women. I looked at Maria she had a layer of dust coating her entire superstructure. She looked like she had stepped out of a depression dust storm.

The bar owner handed me a couple of brooms. "Dust your girlfriend off, over by the side door."

I started working on one side, another dart shooter started working on the other side. We used a sweeping downward motion. We walked in several circles touching up what the other sweeper had missed. Maria was giggling and saying that we were ticking her. I stopped. I didn't want her to wet her black pants. Several dart shooters volunteered to man my broom. I finished off the final dust touch up by hand. She was a fine solid woman. Hours later I was still finding dust which I brushed off in a gentlemanly manner.

I ordered us a large sausage pizza from the painted wall menu, and two pitchers of beer. She was a big girl and deserved her own pitcher, plus the added attraction I like to drink out of the side of the pitcher, in the little nook area as the glass starts to swell for the spout. She asked for a glass, the only sissy act she committed all night.

Maria learned a lot in one date. I showed her the fundamentals of dart shooting. Concentration, process of elimination of movements, knows your off's and dirty tricks to increase your chances of winning. She kicked off the pointed shiny black shoes, so she could toe the hockey line. She was a good student.

I also showed her how to do the dart shooter's rub-a-dub. Dart shooters never shake hands; your hands are your weapons. Dart shooters never do "hi or low fives," your hands are your money makers.

Dart shooters do the chest rub-a-dub. I tutored her on the correct jutting of the chest. I coached her on breast placement and the shoulder twist that rubs the woman's breasts back and forth across the victorious male dart shooter's frontal area. She was a natural, sporting big numbers, estimated 52 double D, or (some other letters way down the bra cup alphabet.) All I know about bra sizes is that double D's can be used for a rain hat while coon hunting, because my dad used one. Umbrella's are for the sissy boy.

The Dart shooter's rub-a-dub is one of the reasons they like huge women. Think about it, ever seen a fat girl trying to play tennis or softball. Tits flying everywhere, and not doing anyone any good.

Tall or short, no problem, this varies the placement. The same rub-a-dub babe all the time should be avoided this will imprint wear marks on your lucky dart shirt.

I ended up winning second place in the dart tournament. I had Maria as my main support team member. Each time I shot a score over one hundred, called a "ton" by dart shooters, Maria would give me the dart shooter "One ton rub-a-dub." "Ton eighty" or 180 points is the highest score you can achieve in darts. This is achieved by shooting all three darts into the triple twenty; it's rare and very difficult to do. It's like rolling a 300 game in bowling.

I received her rub-a-dub efforts with open arms. The first couple of times it raised a little dust. Maria was a gifted dart shooting woman.

***

I took it easy on the drive back to her house. I extended an arm as I made right turns, to hold her in place.

She had told me, "Chock me up if you want to."

I walked her to her door, no one was home. She invited me in.

She told me, "I really had fun; but we don't have much time. My parents will be home in 30 minutes, what would you like?"

I realized that I couldn't cover enough territory in 30 minutes. So I decided to be a perfect gentleman.

I said, "I noticed during the rub-a-dub that one of your breasts is larger. I'd like to look at your breasts. I believe that your right breast is larger. Are you right handed?

"Yes"

"That means that you are left breasted. From now on make your left breast the leading breast as you start the rub-a-dub, this will beef it up."

"Do you need some help? Unpacking."

She was leaning against the door and had released her left breast by pulling up her blouse and lifting her left bra cup. I became her supporting team member. I wanted her dusty blouse out of the way. The door was moving. Voices from the outside wanted in. Mom and dad were home early.

The big girl had a fine block on the door. She held off her parents advance and released her right breast.

"Ton eight!" I yelled.

She smiled, "Rub-a-dub."