Desperado

Desperado-3970

         There were only two redeeming qualities in Grant’s life right now; his Harley, and his work. Of course that’s not entirely true, although his social life extended primarily to his baby sister and her family, and the weekend get-together’s with his buds.

         His sister’s goals in regards to his life were simple; marry him off to some sweet honey so poor, poor big brother Grant wouldn’t be lonely. This had to be a female curse of some sort, as their mother, when she was alive, had the same singular goal in mind.

         He wasn’t THAT old, only twenty-eight and in the prime of his life. Exactly six feet tall, Grant maintained a trim 190 pounds, due primarily to two factors; the hard, physical requirements of his job as plant supervisor in the mill where he worked, and the weekly visits with his sister and her family.

         Now, why would a weekly visit with his sister and her family contribute to his physical fitness you ask? Well you see, he had a secret that’s only shared between him and her family.

         In his last year of high school, both his mother and his sister Clare made it a mission to get him a date and attend his last chance for a prom night. After he confessed that he didn’t know how to dance, they forced him into nightly dance lessons at home for the nearly seven months preceding the prom.

         What surprised him most during this period was how physical this exercise could be, each lesson leaving him sweaty and exhausted when completed. He discovered that he was building muscle mass, losing flab, and becoming extremely agile in the process. He’d committed both of his instructors to absolute secrecy, hoping that he could just amaze everyone at the prom with his performance, and then move on.

         Ah, ‘the best laid plans of mice and men’, it seems, was more than just a metaphor. Robert Burns was obviously on to something, because despite careful planning by his sister, arranging a date with one of her cheer leader girlfriends, that night would be memorable for something other than one of his best.

         Jennifer was one of the darlings of the white collar group, and he wasn’t sure, even now how his sister managed to get her to agree to accompany him to the prom. Nonetheless, she did, and the evening began quite well, her making a wonderful accessory on his arm as the proceedings began. After snacks and announcements, the prom king and queen crowned, the band struck up and the music began.

         It was apparent that there were many more boys in attendance than girls, and since Jennifer and he really didn’t have a history, it was quite clear that they didn’t have a present either, or a future. After she’d accepted the invitation of the first boy to reach her, Grant was unable to find her for the rest of the evening, and as the night progressed, one of her girlfriends informed him that she’d already left the prom with another, to some party somewhere.

         Old habits die hard, particularly when their effects prove to be beneficial, so it didn’t take a whole lot of convincing from his sister to continue the dancing lessons. In truth, the exercise itself kept him lean and mean. His sister also reaped healthful benefits from teaching him, so she aggressively kept him at it.

         Only three at the mill rode Harley’s, and they’d get together whenever their wives would let them out on Saturdays and ride, just to feel wind in their faces and imagine they were free spirits. Okay, the other two were married, but it still took time away from their families for the rides. It usually began as a stop at the Hot Pipes Bar near the edge of town.

         This bar featured a small dance floor, a passable band, a full bar and serviceable café. They had agreed some time ago to meet there on Saturday mornings, weather and wives permitting, riding along an agreed upon route, before meeting that afternoon for sandwiches and a couple of beers. It had worked out well for some time.

         They’d usually arrive back at the bar just as the band was beginning, and there was a short opportunity to observe some of the local beauties at their athletic best, or worst as the case might be. After cooling off a bit, and filling their bellies, they’d check out the dancing crowd a while, swapping comments appropriately.

         Usually, there were several married men in the Bar, obviously on the prowl; but it was the presence of a few married women, having arrived without husbands or escorts that made his married friends a bit uncomfortable and anxious to return to their families. Grant’s stay after that point was short, and he usually left before the troublesome crowd began to arrive. He never danced on those evenings.

         This evening was off his routine however, because he was waiting to see something; actually someone amongst the bevy of young ladies that regularly showed up on Saturday nights. Since July, the crowd included a remarkably attractive young lady whose behavior fell contrary to the usual promiscuous displays of most.

         Despite conservative dress, she exuded sensuality, and from the time of her arrival with the crowd she was hard pressed to fend off countless requests to dance, and the ultimate pawing and groping of the less sober that inevitably took place near the later hours in the evening. She usually ended up declining all further requests from men, settling instead for dancing with a couple of the more talented women she arrived with. One thing was certain; she was good, really good. And she was smoking hot!

         Another thing drew his attention to her however, and that was the fact that she seemed to be watching him whenever they were here at the same time. In fact, several times when he’d caught her eyes on him, he watched her turn to whisper to one of the other women, who probably knew a bit more about his past than she did. In those instances he felt helpless, as who knows what she was being told?

         Usually, he’d simply return home, wondering why he should be curious about her at all, seeing that he was content with his bachelorhood. He had no one to answer to but himself, and he sure as hell didn’t have to subject to the whims of any fickle female in his life. Security and regularity were the guides in his future.

         But there he was, sipping a cool longneck, gazing out over the crowd, casually wondering if she was going to show up with the rest of the belles. Something he’d done that week made him wonder if he was beginning an early mid-life crisis. Taking some time off from work that Tuesday, he’d nosed around a bit to find information about her, something that he was still at a loss to explain.

         Some surprises resulted, but answers were supplied as well. Her name is Roseanne Carter, 25 years old, single, no current attachments, junior high school teacher, and a dance instructor. Moved here shortly before the current school term began, and introduced to the closest local dance hall in town by fellow teachers. A dance instructor; of course. Why else would she have the grace of a swan and the stamina of a long distance runner?

         Small towns can’t keep secrets, and his were no exception he figured. Most women who frequented this bar had tried to slip a brand on him at one time or another and he’d eluded them all. His habits here were well known, so usually he was left alone. With the greater portion of the crowd working for him or the mill, he had a comfortable edge on privacy.

         His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the dancing crowd, and as he scanned the group for Roseanne, his eyes met hers. They locked gazes for what seemed like minutes before one of the women noticed what was going on, and elbowed a couple of the others. Finally, they broke in and dragged her back to one of the booths near the band stage.

         Unlike previous nights, she wasn’t wearing a full dress, but instead had on a pair of dark blue, silky, wide leg slacks, topped by a scarlet blouse. This was as close to seeing her actual figure as he’d gotten in the previous weeks, and she was stunning. He also noticed that the usual wolf pack had begun to move towards the ladies.

         The girls all seemed to be talking to her at once, occasionally glancing back to where he sat at the bar. He saw a lot of head shaking from the group, so he took that to mean that he was being ‘dissed’. He should’ve taken that as a blessing, another guarantee for his precious bachelorhood, but for some reason he was pissed.

         Fuck’em, he thought, turning to finish his beer. He should have left with his buddies a while back. He definitely didn’t need this kind of small town drama. Waving over the bartender, he prepared to settle his tab and leave, but as she rang him out, the band had begun to play a very familiar tune.

Desperado
Why don't you come to your senses?
You been out ridin' fences
For so long now

         He decided to wait a few minutes to hear a bit more.

And freedom
Oh, freedom
Well, that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walking
Through this world all alone

         He felt a tingle creep up his shoulders as he sorted out the lyrics.

It may be rainin'
But there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you (Let somebody love you)
You better let somebody love you
Before it's too late...

         Suddenly depressed, he turned towards the door as the song faded. He knew where the door was, so without looking he bumped into someone soft, an apology already forming on his lips. Reaching out to steady her, his biggest surprise came when he discovered who he’d run into.

         This was the closest he’d been to her since her arrival in their small town, and a quick inventory revealed the following: she was even more beautiful up close than afar, her eyes a deep hazel, sparkling with restrained humor. Just a couple inches shorter than his six feet, they were nearly face to face, and he felt paralyzed by her seductive scent.

         Roseanne, who had somehow made her way across the floor to stand between him and the door, stepped back and said, “They’re playing your song, Grant.”

—oooo—

         Roseanne came to the Hot Pipes Bar each Saturday night since she was hired to teach junior high school in June, to get the lay of the land and to become familiar with her coworkers and the local culture. This bar’s only real claim to fame was a small dance floor, a so-so band, good eats and a fair selection of wine.

         One major drawback was the late night clientele, who tended to be a bit too ‘touchy-feely’ after a few too many drinks, and no suitable relationship possibilities. She chuckled to herself; until now she’d listed a progressive high school program and willingness to support an arts program of dancing as her ideal professional environment, but she’d assumed that reasonable social opportunities would have been a ‘gimmie.’ Turns out, it wasn’t.

         She had noticed one thing however, and that was the regular appearance of a tall, tanned, wiry man who stopped in with a couple of his friends each Saturday night. His sandy colored hair tousled by what her girlfriends referred to as a long torrid affair with his ‘woman’, a 1969 Harley Davidson Electra Glide motorcycle. Tall, his dark complexion complemented by ice blue eyes, she’d felt a tug in her gut when she first caught him looking over at her.

         When questioned about him, her companions roared in laughter, explaining that they’d all, including a few of the married gals, tried to corner him at one time or another, and had been kindly, but firmly rebuffed. Repeated attempts had yielded identical results, so they’d simply stopped trying, referring to him and his two buddies as the ‘Untouchables.’ There were rumors from time to time however, that he’d been seen with a girl or two, but never from around there.

         Other things came out of her inquiries, and she began to see in him the solution to her own monastic life to date. She’d listened carefully to everything and anything that was said about him, and began to construct a picture of a man in stasis, frozen at a point in time before personal commitment. Beyond that, he was nearly perfect (read that ripe) for a lasting, loving relationship. It was then that she convinced herself that she was the one that would grab onto this gold ring.

         Even though she’d managed to establish a visual connection with him during those brief moments on Saturday evenings before he left, it seemed that his personal habits were blocking any real chance of them meeting up on a personal level. Her companions assured her that he didn’t dance, so that particular avenue was ‘iffy at best. Simply walking up to him and saying something like, “hi’ya big-boy” was definitely not her style, and she doubted that it’d work on him any better than it had the other women.

         This evening however, she’d decided to put all doubts behind her, and to make a move. As she explained her plan to her companions, they all began trying to dissuade her at the same time, shaking their heads, not wanting her to embarrass herself doing something that they knew would fail. In a few short months, she’d earned a very protective fan club, and the thought of having to console her afterwards didn’t appeal to them at all.

         When she glanced over at him, she noticed that he had a frown on his face, and had turned back to the bar. When she saw him flag the bartender over, it was obvious that he was preparing to leave, and she had to act fast. On a preset signal to the band, it began to play the old Eagles hit, ‘Desperado’, breaking into their current set. She’d found that this song happened to be one of his favorites, and since it was also one of hers she took a chance and used it to make him hesitate.

         With the girls pulling on her arms, she slipped across the floor and positioned herself directly between the exit and Grant’s back, blocking his way out. Pulling in a deep breath, she waited for her ‘make or break’ moment, her heart banging in her chest so hard that she thought he had to have heard it. Then, it happened. . .

         At the end of the song, she saw him spin around and make his move to the exit, right through her! He’d turned so quickly that she hadn’t had time to brace herself, and as she felt herself falling back, his hands shot out and caught her, pulling her into his chest. His touch was electric, and she knew at that moment that they were meant for each other. She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of leather and traces of his aftershave lotion.

         As she stepped back a step or two, she quipped, “They’re playing your song, Grant.”

         She watched his face carefully, trying very hard to read meaning into it. He appeared a bit stunned at the moment, giving her an opportunity to ask her next question, “Are you afraid of me?” With another song beginning behind him, it seemed like he took a long time to answer this question, now with a puzzled look on his face.

         Finally she heard him whisper, “Yes.”

         “Good,” she replied, and took his hands in hers. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to ask me to dance, Grant. You’ve put it off way too long.”

         She was a little startled when he pulled his hands from hers, and replied, “I don’t dance. You don’t want these feet stepping on yours.” He was smiling nervously as he said that.

         Still blocking his exit, she took his hands once more and responded, “I’ll lead if I have to.” Gently pulling him towards the dance floor, he allowed her to take charge.

         Leading a reluctant dance partner onto the floor was awkward, but once she’d pressed herself against him, she sensed a change in his body language. He’d returned her pressure, and leaning into her neck, she heard him hiss, “Fuck’em, let’s DO this!” After that comment she suddenly felt him take charge, and in a flash he spun them out onto the dance floor.

         Stunned, she switched into automatic and followed his lead, but not before noting that he was as smooth as oil on ice. The band had moved on to an old Sinatra favorite, ‘Just In Time’, and Grant shifted into an exceptionally crisp Foxtrot. One thing was certain, conversation around the dance floor had ceased, and jaws were dropping everywhere, including hers.

         As the song ended, the band immediately spiced things up a bit with ‘I’m Your Baby Tonight’, and one of the braver men watching them approached her to cut in, but she curtly cut him off with, “Sorry, but my dance card is full” and grabbed onto Grant once more, giving him no chance to escape. She watched in awe as he moved with her into the middle of the floor executing a flawless Swing execution. There was a smattering of applause from the sidelines by now, and all she could think was, ‘Grant, you are s-o-o-o in trouble.’

         By now the dance floor had cleared except for her and Grant, and to encourage other dancers to the floor, the band now eased into ‘Dancing Like Lovers’, an oldies Waltz that Grant executed with such flair that there were cheers drowning out the music, but it allowed her to press her body into his hard enough to leave no doubts about her intentions.

         She’d been watching his eyes throughout all three dances, and the intensity with which he returned her gaze with those icy blue eyes had convinced her that she’d achieved her goal, and much more it appeared. It was now time to turn up the heat, and put the final part of her plan into action.

         Suddenly grabbing his arm, she firmly pulled him towards the exit and out into the parking lot. His confusion only added to her sense of urgency as they neared his bike. There, perched on his sissy bar, was a ‘skid-lid’ decorated with pink flowers, and a folded leather jacket on the seat beneath it. As he turned to look at her she picked them up and began to dress out.

         When he began to speak, she simply reached out and pressed her forefinger against his lips, shushing him. “I need a ride home, and I think you need a breather,” she told him, and hopped onto the back.

         Shaking his head, he pulled on his skullcap and after a few brief directions, headed out onto the highway. Pulling into her driveway, Roseanne made sure that he knew she was his new dance instructor, and that the lessons began immediately. Grabbing his hand, she led him into her house, and pushed him onto her couch while she changed clothes. She figured by now that he had to be wondering about her gear sitting on his bike when she ran him out the door.

         Changing into something a ‘bit more comfortable’, slacks and a tube top, she entered the living room, and cocked her hips. Smiling at him, she said, “I lied about giving you a breather; your lesson begins now”, and pulled him to his feet.

         A moment later, another oldie began, ‘It Started With A Kiss’, and as the tune played out she whispered, “Just follow every move I make.” He looked at her as though he was going to absolutely devour her, and she thought, ‘I love that in this man.’ Moving her legs and hips in tune with the music, she could only imagine the affect that she was having on him.

         “This is the Rumba, Grant; a serpentine, sensuous dance that carries a special message between dance partners. It was said by Anna Freud, Sigmund’s daughter that dancing was the sublimation of the sex act, using that same energy in a socially acceptable way. Your thoughts?” As she was explaining this to him, she’d turned and began to slowly rub her ass against his crotch, again in time with the music.

         His response confirmed her affect on him, and indeed, she began to feel his own gentle sway and a substantial erection against her ass. As his hands came up to squeeze her upper arms, she felt his lips against her neck, and she knew that it was time to ‘set the hook’ and reel him in.

         The music was still playing and they were both swaying against each other, but Roseanne kept enough composure to whisper through heavy breaths, “Just a few more moves, Grant…” and led him into her bedroom.

         Once inside, no more instructions were needed, as they spent very little time undressing each other, and the next few hours were spent on a mission of mutual pleasuring. Compatibility assured, all avenues of sensual exploration were travelled that evening; sight, sound, taste and scent.

         ‘Insatiable’ she thought. ‘This man is absolutely insatiable.’ It was as though he had a map of her erogenous zones, as his lips, tongue and teeth laid claim to every part of her body he could reach. She felt. . .worshipped, and by the time she was able to turn the tables on him, she was already a quivering mass of shaking flesh.

         Finally breaking loose from his passion, she rolled him onto his back and slid up to his face. Panting heavily now, she ground her lips onto his, pushing her tongue deep into his mouth. She could taste herself, and the sensation drove her nearly crazy. Working her way down his body, she caught his nipples between her teeth, causing him to groan, then continued down his belly to the prize below.

         As she grasped his erection, his hips rose from the bed, drawing a deep groan from his lips. She had him now, she thought, and dropping her mouth around it, she began giving him all the reasons that this couldn’t be a ‘one night stand.’ With one hand around his cock, the other alternating between massaging his balls and stroking a finger between his ass cheeks, and her mouth paying exquisite homage to his impressive magic wand; he wasn’t going anywhere.

         He must have been reading her mind, because he reached down and hauled her up onto his waist, just as she directed his cock into her pussy.

         Settling down slowly, she suddenly heard the ring of a cell phone. It wasn’t hers, and the distraction caused her to reach down to the shirt that he’d thrown onto the foot of the bed, and retrieved it. Still impaled on his cock, she opened the line to the sound of a female voice.

         Roseanne barked into the receiver, “Grant’s a little busy right now! Call back later! Much later!”

         “Uhm…” came the voice at the other end. “This is Grant’s sister! Who are you, and what have you done with the ‘real’ Grant?”

         The laughing on the other end as the line went dead assured Roseanne that she and Grant’s sister were going to get along just fine; but right now, she had a plan to finish.

H –