The air was practically dripping of estrogen and testosterone. Both men and women studied them with appraising eyes, as Sandy followed her friend into the fray. The women appeared to be sizing up the competition, and the men, why they were just sizing them up! Surreptitiously unfastening one more button on her already dangerously open shirt, Ginger grabbed Sandy’s arm and steered her to a nearby table which still had empty chairs available. The tables were purposely large, seating ten or more people, in an effort to encourage fraternization among the patrons.
Because it was a bottle club—meaning you brought your own beverages—there were coolers of ice, beer, liquor, and mixers here and there between the tables. There appeared to be an unspoken rule that you didn’t mess with someone else’s booze, for unopened drinks were unguarded, and no one seemed to be taking advantage. There were several ‘bouncers’ mingling in the crowd, who were quick to squelch any disputes, escorting any uncooperative parties to the nearest exit!
On stage, the red-haired vocalist was belting out a ‘he done me wrong’ ballad, accompanied by a bearded, burly, electric guitar player clad in muddy brown and yellow western-style shirt, tight, faded jeans, and highly polished cowboy boots. As the singer in her brick red, cleavage-flaunting mini dress held the phallic microphone to her lips, she leaned suggestively toward the guitarist for emphasis. All around the dance floor, couples were clinging to each other, demonstrating varying degrees of intimacy and dancing ability.
“Welcome to singles night at Country Connections,” she muttered to herself. It hadn’t been her idea to come to this place, known throughout the southern part of the state to be frequented by fast- moving men and freewheeling women.
That is the beginning of a story I wrote. If you are curious to read more of it, I have it posted on the following site:
Have a great day, all!