10. The Men They Couldn't Hang
Thursday evening, I told Justine that I wouldn't be back until late.
"Who ya fucking this time?" She didn't sound pissed, just curious.
"No-one. Reuben and me are going to rehearse our routines for the club. He's really hyped us up, so we need to be good. I'm going to his place for a dress rehearsal."
"I see. Want an audience?"
"I -- I guess yes. Let me just clear it with Reuben." I reached for my phone.
Twenty minutes later, Reuben opened the door. "Hey, you must be Justine. Tommy's been keepin' you a secret, and I can see why. You're one hot momma!"
Justine had applied some make-up and put on a tight top, a skirt and heels. Nothing too slutty, but just nicely and subtly sexy. By the look on her face, I could see she liked the look of Reuben.
"And Tommy hasn't told me much at all about you, Reuben. And again, I can maybe see why." She reached out to shake his hand, but he leaned in and kissed her. On the mouth. For several seconds. And her arms went around him, instinctively.
"Wow!" Justine said when they'd broken the clinch. "You're a very direct young man."
"Sure. People have called me worse than that. It sure beats 'uppity nigga'. So Justine, can I fix you a drink?"
It turned out that Reuben's range of alcohol was a little limited. Justine settled for a bourbon and soda, Reuben passed me a beer and then we headed to the bedroom to change while Justine settled into an armchair and read a magazine.
Five minutes later, we were back, in our cowboy outfits, both of us masked and with Stetsons and guns in holsters. (Turns out these were real, but not loaded). Each of us wore a kind of vest and a bandana, but no shirt.
"Mmm, pretty hot, but maybe start with the bandanas over your faces like outlaws," Justine suggested. "What music are you gonna use?"
"Maybe Bon Jovi's 'Dead or Alive'," Reuben replied.
"Cheesy. How about something by Clutch? Maybe 'A Quick Death in Texas'?"
"Never heard it," Reuben replied.
"I'll get it on my phone. You got a Bluetooth speaker?"
A minute later, the song was blasting out of Reuben's speakers. We listened, nodded to each other and I said "OK, let's give it a try."
So we started. We strutted, we circled each other, trying to act like two gunfighters sizing each other up. We faced off, swaying our bodies making mock-punches. Then we slipped off the vests. The music stopped.
"No, slower. Tease. The ladies want to get a view of those pecs and shoulders, but you need to reveal slowly. Face away from the audience, put your arms back and let the vests slide down and slip off. Then turn around so the audience get to see those bodies. Yes, like that. Wow, guys, that's hot. The black and the white, and both of you ripped. That's gonna moisten a few panties, believe me."
We moved on, throwing the Stetsons away. "No, keep your hats on," Justine suggested. So the next thing was the Velcro chaps. Some more mock fighting, then the gunfight bit, where we both drew out our guns, pretended to fire and both fell backwards.
"Guys, guys. Right, you need to lose the guns earlier. How about you draw, and then each of you knocks the gun out of each other's hand? That means you have to wrestle. Two hunky guys, all muscles and testosterone, mock fighting in just their underpants -- I'd pay to see that, and I reckon there'll be a few fingers in panties while you're doing it. Could you pull off each other's chaps? Would that work?"
It was nearly an hour later, and we'd done the routine four times. Yes, the guns went earlier, we'd start mock-fighting, but we found we had to lose the chaps ourselves; it was too hard to remove each other's. But the final part of the routine, which Justine suggested, involved each of us ripping off the other's underpants, and then us both staring in amazement at each other's cocks, before turning to the audience with looks of surprise on our faces, still wearing our Stetsons and holsters.
"You'll need somewhere to put the tips," Justine suggested, "and you can get more in a holster than just in a waistband."
Another hour passed as we tried our 'construction worker' routine. This involved pretending it was hot and losing items of clothing along the way. The last move was ripping off our own underwear and mopping our foreheads with them. "OK, a bit weak, but you'll be OK. You may have to mop up some woman juices as well."
We ran through a couple of basic dance strips, one which involved Reuben turning a cartwheel, which we decided we had to do before he was naked, as his cock and balls flailed around too much.
"Tommy, could you do a handstand, or maybe even just a shoulder-stand?" Justine asked. I tried the former, but had to settle for the latter. I had the upper-body strength but not the balance. "Now both of you, get your underpants off and flip into a shoulder stand, side by side. No, turn your backs to the audience, then pants off, then shoulder stand -- one, two three AND... Wow, that's an impressive sight!"
Over the course of around two hours, Justine had rewritten most of our routines and given us a whole bunch of new ideas. Reuben and me were sweating, while Justine looked a little flushed, and kept crossing and uncrossing her legs.
"Guys, that was awesome. You're really going to crush it tomorrow night. Now, get showered and I'll fix us some more drinks."
It's a little weird, showering in close proximity with another guy, especially when we were soaping each other's backs, but that was as intimate as it got. "She's quite a lady, that Justine o' yours," Reuben said as he was drying off. "She looks like she's kinda strait-laced, but she ain't. You still want another re-lay-sion-shit? I'd've thought you'd certainly have enough of the 'lay' part."
"Justine is great," I said, ignoring the invitation to talk about the sex, "but like I said, she's a lot older than me."
We went back into the main room with towels around our necks. Justine had put out two more beers and helped herself to another Bourbon.
