Gunner hooks up with Ashley for drinks at a dive bar.
***
I first got to know Ashley since we play on the same coed volleyball team near where we both live. She's tall, I'll guess around six foot since I'm only a couple of inches taller than her and I'm six-two. She has long, toned legs that run right up to a delectable ass that's always on display when she's wearing her tight spandex when we play matches.
I know she wears nothing underneath by the way her shorts ride up into the crack of her butt and from her ever-present camel toe in front. Ashley keeps her brunette hair cut short and has small, uplifted breasts with nipples that always seem to be hard. And she has the cutest dimples in the small of her back that would make perfect grips for someone's thumbs (mine) if they were ever lucky enough to be doing her doggy style.
She has a sexy, twangy Southern accent in her voice and is always flirting with the guys on the court, it doesn't matter if it's our team or the one we're playing. I'm wasn't sure if she's just friendly by nature or is looking to get laid. Either way, I have always fantasized about getting her in the sack.
Ashley loves country music and one day after a match, she let me know that she and some friends were planning on going to a local dive bar for drinks that next Friday night and invited me to join them. It seemed innocent enough so I decided to join them since I didn't have any other plans.
So that Friday, as cliché as it sounds, I slipped on some old faded jeans, boots and a tight-fitting tee-shirt and jumped in my old pickup truck and headed to the bar to meet her and her friends.
The Broken Spur Saloon, or the Spur as most call it, is literally a metaphor for life itself in these parts. Located off of County Line Road, it sits at the crossroads where two parallel universes seemingly collide. One where the city meets the country and the pavement of the lonely two-lane highway comes to a crumbling end and the rutted and pitted dirt road of life starts its uphill struggle towards parts unknown.
The Spur is a dilapidated joint and much like the rode-hard women slinging drinks behind the bar, its seen better days. It draws an eclectic clientele from all walks of life for some reason, from ranchers and cow punchers, to drifters and bikers, to the occasional desperado and the bored city dweller searching for some excitement out on the edge somewhere.
Few questions are asked and all are welcome and tolerated unless you come in with an agenda, are trying to use a credit card or are looking to order a craft beer or a Cosmo, the latter of which might get you tossed just on general principle alone.
The place has uneven wooden floors with a long bar along one wall, the obligatory pool table with ripped felt and a vintage jukebox loaded with old, scratchy 45's of songs by mostly dead or forgotten country singers. The walls are covered with the faded ghostly photos and other memorabilia of fly boys from the nearby military base that have come and gone over the years.
Annie owns the Spur, a hand-me-down from her daddy and his daddy before him. A forty-something-year-old acid-tongued spitfire of a redhead, Annie is still striking and fit, albeit a little weathered and saddle-worn from her years as a champion barrel racer.
She always wears boots and jeans, and whatever shirt she has on is always unbuttoned one button too many, so as to show her bra selection for the day as it strains to contain her ample bosoms.
She's been through too many men to count and literally lives life by the mantra of her namesake Annie Oakley: "
I ain't afraid to love a man. I ain't afraid to shoot him either.
"
But she walks the walk as is evidenced by the Colt 45 Defender she sports on her hip on account of being robbed a couple of times and other mayhem happening over the years. It's mainly for show since the real peacemaker with knock-down power is the sawed-off baseball bat Annie keeps behind the bar to quell the occasional brawl that breaks out or to silence some mouthy drunk.
That night as I walked inside from the dusty parking lot, the Spur was crowded and noisy as people tried to talk above the mournful strains of the Hank Sr. song that was playing. I stopped at the bar to grab a long-neck beer as I waded through the place looking for Ashley.
There were several young good-looking women in the place and based on their pretty smiles and appraising gazes, I could no doubt get lucky. But I was only interested in Ashley, at least for the next few minutes anyway.
I saw a table in the corner with three women sitting there laughing as they talked animatedly. Ashley was standing with her back to me as I approached. Her hot ass almost had me creaming my jeans when I saw her in hers.
I startled her when I touched her arms, causing her to spin around, her face now almost touching mine. She smiled broadly as she wrapped her hands around my neck and I leaned in to kiss her cheek. She had other ideas as she kissed me on the lips.
"I was beginning to think you weren't gonna make it!" she said with a surprised smile and a slight slurring of her words, telling me the tequila shot she was drinking probably wasn't her first.
She hung on to me for a moment, her pelvis briefly pressing into mine. I was going commando so I was pretty sure she could feel my man meat through the well-worn denim.
"Oh, I wouldn't miss meeting up with you and your friends for anything," I said with a big smile, loud enough so that all of them could hear me.
I broke the embrace and Ashley introduced me to her hot friends.
"Hey everyone, this is my stud friend Gunner. We play on the same volleyball team," she said. "He's pretty decent but I'm better," she teased. It was true, Ashley had played on a scholarship in college and was indeed an exceptional player.
"Gunner, these are all my slutty friends," she said with a laugh.
"This is Susie, and this is Kylie and this is Jade," she said, pointing to each of them individually as she introduced them.
Wow, I thought to myself, this is quite the line-up: Ashley, Susie (a short stunner with dirty blonde hair), Kylie (a freckly red-head with an awesome rack) and finally Jade (a thin, dark-skinned Hawaiian beauty with long, jet-black hair).
"A pleasure to meet all you, uh, sluts," I replied with a smile.
Kylie rolled her eyes and laughed. "Well, if we're all sluts then Ashley here is the Queen!"
"Yeah, and we're her royal pussy posse!" Susie chimed in.
They all got a kick out of that one and laughed in unison.
I greeted each of them and soon everyone was carrying on talking and laughing again as I went and got a round of shots.
After a while, Ashley and I were off talking by ourselves, each of us downing a couple of more shots.
"How do you know all those girls?" I asked nonchalantly.
"Oh, we all went to college together and after graduation, we all ended up back here in the real world working for a living."
"So, what's with the slut references?"
"C'mon Gunner," she said, smiling and poking my arm, "we're all best friends and sorority sisters...you don't think we know a thing or two about each other?"
"Such as...?"
"Hmm. Well, let's see if you can guess which of 'em are into guys and which of 'em like girls."
I'm sure my eyebrows raised as my imagination ran unchecked for a moment, images of what they might look like naked flashing through my head.
"Um, I don't have a clue...maybe Susie's into other girls?"
"Hahaha, that's funny. You picked the one that probably likes men more than I do!"
I had to laugh at that one.
"Okay, so it was a bit of a trick question since technically we've all had our fair share of pussy, you know, from being in the sorority and all," she said unapologetically.
