She starts weaving her hips, the leather of her chaps creaking an inch away from his nose, and he makes a jerky little nod as the troopers howl even louder. Right. So. A plumb loco drunk it is. "Nice song."
She rips her hat off and sends it spinning, the thong at the end of the long braid that tumbled out joining it in short order. "Been savin' it."
"For?"
Charlie doesn't answer, just pulls away and starts to dance as long-dead voice cuts in.
Down in Mexicali
It's small movements at first, little steps and twitches, everything riding on just her big brown eyes, just like their eyes are starting to ride up on her.
There's a crazy little place that I know
Both hands come down to spread her duster wide as she turns towards the troopers, and if the shape of her ass through the back is any indication, her hips can roll like they're on casters.
Where the drinks are hotter, than the chili sauce
She spins again, the long drape of her coat wrapped around one arm as her hips snap out, and if it's possible for a woman to make it look like she's tying herself up with her own damn clothes, she's doing it.
And the boss is a cat named Joe
Raul relaxes his legs, he can't help it, and the toe of her boot slams down in the tiny space left in front of his groin. Every single one of the men behind her jumps, groans, and if the .22 slug that just whanged into the ceiling plaster wasn't the only little load that just shot off, Raul would not be surprised.
He wears a red bandana
Her own comes off, and underneath is a collared linen shirt so white against her ballistic vest and honeyed skin it's a wonder she doesn't blind herself with it getting dressed in the morning, and now Raul starts thinking that she could shut her eyes, shut her eyes and he'd redress her when they got up, and just no, no, no.
Plays a cool piana
The zipper on the vest comes down slow, slow, slow, and the buttons on the shirt pop one by one, her fingers trailing down.
In a honky tonk, down in Mexico
Suddenly there's a shadowed pool of cleavage in front of his face that even a fish could drown in.
He wears a purple sash, and a black moustache
She twirls again and rolls over, legs spread out towards the troopers and her head on his shoulder as she arches her back, going up on her toes, sliding her cheek next to his. It's either the brush of her hair or a glimpse of that soft, secret space behind her ear that breaks him. Raul reaches up and runs his hands down her sides.
In honky tonk, down in Mexico
She's lithe and limber and he bets just all legs from the opposite angle, and she's got no damn business being sexy enough under that battered old coat to give him this much of a cockstand. All of them are pushing tents, and sweet creeping Jesus, she just brushed her ass into his.
Well, the first time that I saw him
He generally thinks of her in a sisterly fashion, so what she's doing now, grinding into him with three men who want to murder him and possibly do worse to her watching, all of whom look like they're just about ready to crawl up her back and mount her like a raw-boned mare, is downright filthy on so many levels he can't tally it up.
He was sittin on a piano stool
She's set a new bar for how much like a dirty old man he can feel, he thinks. In short order she shows him he couldn't possibly be more wrong.
I said "Tell me man, when does the fun begin?"
Charlie bucks her hips, grabs his right hand and slides it down to her waistband, then under it, his rough, bitten fingers interlaced with her slender ones, running over downy-soft skin and obscenely swelling out the fabric over the join of her legs for the barest of seconds before his own tighten on what she's led him to and she twists away to flick her duster out and flaunt her ass at their captor audience, wet fingers shining before she tucks them into her mouth, coat and vest hitting the ground at the exact moment they slide in. Raul isn't sure if it's the troopers moaning, or him.
Re: Down in Mexico 2/?
She rips her hat off and sends it spinning, the thong at the end of the long braid that tumbled out joining it in short order. "Been savin' it."
"For?"
Charlie doesn't answer, just pulls away and starts to dance as long-dead voice cuts in.
Down in Mexicali
It's small movements at first, little steps and twitches, everything riding on just her big brown eyes, just like their eyes are starting to ride up on her.
There's a crazy little place that I know
Both hands come down to spread her duster wide as she turns towards the troopers, and if the shape of her ass through the back is any indication, her hips can roll like they're on casters.
Where the drinks are hotter, than the chili sauce
She spins again, the long drape of her coat wrapped around one arm as her hips snap out, and if it's possible for a woman to make it look like she's tying herself up with her own damn clothes, she's doing it.
And the boss is a cat named Joe
Raul relaxes his legs, he can't help it, and the toe of her boot slams down in the tiny space left in front of his groin. Every single one of the men behind her jumps, groans, and if the .22 slug that just whanged into the ceiling plaster wasn't the only little load that just shot off, Raul would not be surprised.
He wears a red bandana
Her own comes off, and underneath is a collared linen shirt so white against her ballistic vest and honeyed skin it's a wonder she doesn't blind herself with it getting dressed in the morning, and now Raul starts thinking that she could shut her eyes, shut her eyes and he'd redress her when they got up, and just no, no, no.
Plays a cool piana
The zipper on the vest comes down slow, slow, slow, and the buttons on the shirt pop one by one, her fingers trailing down.
In a honky tonk, down in Mexico
Suddenly there's a shadowed pool of cleavage in front of his face that even a fish could drown in.
He wears a purple sash, and a black moustache
She twirls again and rolls over, legs spread out towards the troopers and her head on his shoulder as she arches her back, going up on her toes, sliding her cheek next to his. It's either the brush of her hair or a glimpse of that soft, secret space behind her ear that breaks him. Raul reaches up and runs his hands down her sides.
In honky tonk, down in Mexico
She's lithe and limber and he bets just all legs from the opposite angle, and she's got no damn business being sexy enough under that battered old coat to give him this much of a cockstand. All of them are pushing tents, and sweet creeping Jesus, she just brushed her ass into his.
Well, the first time that I saw him
He generally thinks of her in a sisterly fashion, so what she's doing now, grinding into him with three men who want to murder him and possibly do worse to her watching, all of whom look like they're just about ready to crawl up her back and mount her like a raw-boned mare, is downright filthy on so many levels he can't tally it up.
He was sittin on a piano stool
She's set a new bar for how much like a dirty old man he can feel, he thinks. In short order she shows him he couldn't possibly be more wrong.
I said "Tell me man, when does the fun begin?"
Charlie bucks her hips, grabs his right hand and slides it down to her waistband, then under it, his rough, bitten fingers interlaced with her slender ones, running over downy-soft skin and obscenely swelling out the fabric over the join of her legs for the barest of seconds before his own tighten on what she's led him to and she twists away to flick her duster out and flaunt her ass at their captor audience, wet fingers shining before she tucks them into her mouth, coat and vest hitting the ground at the exact moment they slide in. Raul isn't sure if it's the troopers moaning, or him.
He just winked his eye and said "Man, be cool."