Women Study Pt. 01: Bowen

"That's pretty brassy, for a high school kid, Norma," I had to damp down the sass somehow, "you really should have some respect for your elders, you know!"

"Bowen! Listen to yourself," she laughed out loud, "high school kid? NO! I graduated a year ago and, as if you didn't already know, I am 21 years old now...I'm NOT a 'kid'....and you are 25 years old...I know...I looked it up....I've got 'connections'....so, how much of an 'elder' are you to me? No, I'd say we're pretty even on that score. So, get it out of your head that you're sneaking some under aged high school girl to a bar tonight. This will be an 'adult' night."

"Norma, I am duly chastened," I pulled in my horns somewhat.

"And, in case you're wondering, Cowboy," Norma affirmed, "this is officially a DATE and, yes, I asked YOU out. How's them apples? Now, let's go and have some fun."

Well, commissioned with a mandate such as that, I had no choice but to go out and have some FUN!

***************************

"So, Pard, did BB bring you over here tonight?"

The questioner was "Bondo", an habitué of The Corral, the establishment that poses for a fine dining restaurant in this locale, and, of course, it has an attached bar. Actually, it's more bar than restaurant, which speaks volumes about the values of these small town residents: Why eat good food before you drink? You're just going to throw it up anyway! Anyway, Bondo was the local body shop owner/operator who's sobriquet was meant to demean the quality of his body and fender repairs. Actually, Bondo did pretty good work, especially painting, mostly on old cars. He was all "Cowboy-ed up" and ready for an entertaining night at The Corral.

"So, Bondo? Right? Why BB? You mean Norma, right?" I tried to tread lightly.

"Oh, BB is just a nickname we hung on her," he was joshing, "like Bondo, you know. I fix wrecks...so....Bondo, y'know."

I asked again, "But why BB? What does that mean?"

"Well, you can ask her, if she'll tell you," he drawled, "or, you'll find out eventually, if she hangs out with you long enough."

What this answer actually sounded like, the drawl torturing the King's English was, "Way-ul, yuh ken ayusk hur, if'n sheeeel tayul yuh or, yule fahnd owt evenchuly, if'n sheey hangs owt weeuth yew fer lowng eenuf."

His drawl was so bad, I thought it was an act, until I found out he WAS originally from the South. He fit the character of the bar, however, perfectly.

My brain had to do some fast translating but I got it: I'll have to find out on my own.

I could go on forever about The Corral and its denizens but, suffice it to say, it characterized every cliché' you could envision about country western, shit kicking bars. Whooping, hollering, loud twangy music, line dancing, and a fight or two which got taken out into the alley. Here were salt-of-the-earth folks blowing off steam, having a good time, suppressing for a night the tedium of hard work that was their lot in a farming community. Sure, there were a few mean, ill-intentioned folk thrown in--and they seem to be everywhere, anyway--but they were not bad enough to blunt the overall sense of fun.

The guys outnumbered the girls, as is usually the case; the guys were all on the quest of getting laid; the girls loved the fact they were being pursued. Maybe 20% of the guys were going to get lucky; a third were going to go home to their wives; and the remaining were going to be left to watching porn--if they didn't pass out and get carted off home, that is. Absolutely 100% of the girls who wanted to get laid, were going to get laid; it didn't make any difference what they looked like.

But I was there with Norma, AKA BB, and I didn't have any expectations either way. My main concerns were a) not making an ass out of myself and b) not antagonizing any of the rough hewn farmers and getting, as they say, "My Ass Whooped". Now, I'm not much of a drinker so I knew I kept my wits about me so neither "a" nor "b" was likely to happen. If I'd thought about it, I would also thought that "c" wasn't going to happen either. Oh, "c"?...Yeah...that would be getting laid.

Norma knew everybody, as one might expect, but she was part of everything that was going on. When she said that she "Had Connections", she wasn't fooling. She knew the Mayor, the Sheriff, the City Attorney, the town veterinarian, the Head of the Chamber of Commerce and, if they had been there, the two pastors in town. It was a marvel to see how she mixed with folks; she had a lively talent for "pressing the flesh". A very bright woman was this Norma!

The Corral shut down at11:59PM--no booze was served in town on Sunday, PERIOD! Off everyone went and Norma drove me to my place in her ruggedly used old pick-up truck. She pulled into the back of the big, gravel surfaced, parking lot behind my apartment building and turned off the truck.

"So, Cowboy, whaddya think about The Corral," she was trying to make conversation, "the folks,...you know...and the music...and....well?"

"All very interesting, Norma," I knew I had to choose my words, "and...well...it's not exactly my...errr....cup of tea...but in is...well....interesting...very lively, that's for sure."

"What IS your cup of tea, Cowboy? Don't tell me I'm going to have to take my hat back," Norma said, keeping it light.

I felt I had to level with her, "Norma, you know I'm a teacher and I'm with this job here so I can get money to get back into school in a master's program. My background isn't small town, it's big city. I'm not a Country Western guy, I'm a city guy and I'm a...well....a student as well as a teacher. I grew up with academics....teachers...professors....PhD's...like that....I want to BE a PhD! My music? MY music isn't even current music....I don't know a single singer or group today. The people who wrote the music I like have mostly been dead for a hundred years--or a lot longer in a lot of cases. This teaching hiatus is just to get me back into school....up to my neck in books, and research, and writing, and....yes, teaching....but not high school forever. I'm just not a..well...a country guy. And I know I haven't gotten around much since I got here....and I know you've tried to help tonight...and I appreciate that...but I just need to finish up the school year here and be about my business. So, thanks for the evening but I really feel tired and I have to go in and get to bed."

Norma looked at me with her clear blue eyes in a steady gaze. "So, Cowboy, I hope you're not telling me that you're so tired that you're not up for having sex tonight!"

I was so caught up in my own self explanation that what Norma said didn't sink in. I think she could have said, "I'm going to shoot your foot off!" and I wouldn't have heard that either. But there's one principle usually works when employed emphatically: Repetition.

In a voice loud and emphatic Norma said, "Hey, Cowboy! Did you hear what I just said? Or, is it that you just can't be bothered with getting a blowjob tonight?"

"Huh? What? Did I hear you right?" I was spluttering now. "Sex? as in S-E-X? Well...SURE!"

Off we went to my court apartment and, once inside the door, the preliminaries didn't take long. Off came the clothes--Norma's get up took a little longer than mine--and onto the bed we went. Now, I'm 200+lbs (190kg) and Norma is pushing 150 (68kg) so the stress on the bed frame and springs was acute. You have to remember that Norma was both muscular AND energetic; add passionate to that and you have a recipe for some vigorous sex.

But, not only did the bed make noise, Norma--and I don't know why I wouldn't have expected this--was highly vocal in her love making. Words were only a part of it; her squealing and moaning was frequent and high in decibels. And her verbal contributions were explicit to the point of almost embarrassing me, to say nothing of shocking anyone else who might have heard her. My apartment is the last one in line at the court but that was no guarantee the she might not have been heard...maybe for blocks! To give you some examples:

"Cowboy! Don't be shy...Let me see that cock of yours....Oooh, yeah! I think that will do the job. Let's get it hard. Getting my mouth around it will help....

"Hey, While I'm sucking your cock, you gotta give that tongue of yours some time in my pussy, you know. Oh, Yeah!! How does that taste? Don't shoot your cum down my throat yet!..... "We've got some fucking to do here, Cowboy..... I'm wet enough down there now...get your cock in there and give it a work out. C'mon, Cowboy drive it in there...hard...harder...faster....deeper...harder...I'm getting on top...I'm gonna fuck'n ride you good...just watch....

"You gonna shoot your load, Cowboy? Tell me when...C'mon...tell me when...I'm cumming...I'm cumming....Work that cock....Work IT, Keep fucking me but tell me when you're going to cum.

"I can tell you're gonna cum...I can feel you cock...I know....Oh, YEAH! Pull that cock out...now...now...NOW. Let me get it in my mouth! Oh, yeah! I'm gonna suck it and jack it until you shoot that load of yours down my throat! Do it...DO IT...DOOOOOO IT!

"Oh...OOOOH! You must have been saving up....I couldn't get all of your cum down me....Here, let me do some licking....oh, yeah!"

Well, I think that gives you an idea except for the fact that we did essentially the same thing twice that night...and that doesn't count the extra time I spent licking her pussy between fucks. And Norma was right: I had been saving it up...and she loved it.

I was tired and, surprising to me, so was Norma. That didn't prevent some post-coital pillow talk, though.

"I have a feeling you planned this whole thing, Norma," I gently quizzed, "I think cleverly, too."

"Moi? You're accusing Moi of being way clever," clearly in mock denial, "how could you say I 'had a plan'....tell me."

"Well, I don't think it was an accident that you ran into me at the hardware store," I gave it my Inspector Clouseau accent, "I mean, I have no doubt you MET me there by accident but I think it gave you the opportunity to actually collide with me while you were carrying that box of hangers. And, yes, I think you know very well what other meaning 'hangers' has, considering I was staring fully down the front of your work shirt, Ms. I-don't-wear-a-bra-with-my-work-shirt.

"The bicycle chain had me puzzled except for the fact that you likely observed me talking to the hardware guy while I had the chain pulled out full length for him looking at the broken link. And, frankly, I don't think it was by chance that my chain and the link would up in your box of hangers. I believe you quickly constructed a plan to, a) give you a reason to call me, and to, b) do me a favor by fixing the chain, and to, c) create a pretext to come by apartment and shanghai me into going to The Corral. Oh, and sex was always on your agenda; you just wanted to keep me guessing. Am I right?"

"It's all circumstantial, and I plead the 5th," she said, in a 'lawyerly' tone, "I don't need all of that subterfuge to accomplish what I wanted. I could just have easily said, 'Let's go to The Corral and have some fun and then go to you place and fuck, because I like your body ' but, well...don't you think the 'game' makes it a little more romantic?"

That was hard to argue, but I said, "I'm flattered, Norma, for your being that much of a 'romantic' to lure me into bed; but I'm pleasantly surprised what a fantastically passionate lover you are. I think I'm going to put you on my 'Hall of Fame' list...for sure."

"MMMMmmmm?" she murmured, dozing

"Oh, Yeah," I said with a yawn.

We snoozed a little and then 5:00AM happened. Norma rolled out of bed, found all of her clothes, got dressed, and headed for the door.

She blew me a kiss as she opened the door, "Hey, Cowboy! Thanks! That was great. But I gotta go. Morning chores don't go away just because it's Sunday. Hold on to that kiss...until next time."

Well, at least, I had a pretty good idea there would be a "next time"!