Narrow hips.
Tiny tits.
Little bit on the diffident side so at first you might think she had a little mind.
Then she'd blindside you with how smart: a little devil she was.
Which was why Uncle Roy had Little Ramona more or less manage his joint while he was inside. Which brought to Sadie Mae's mind the sobriquet Sallie Anne had claimed for her own.
Called her Fucking Sallie Inside because Sallie Anne ran.a.whorehouse service for the boys incarcerated for the time being down the road along with Uncle Roy.
Sallie Anne enjoyed her work.
She herself did not have to swallow the pork, Sallie Anne rather lined up the assignations, catalogued according to preference, for the lads to dork damsels and uncork cases of Uncle Roy's special brew while allowed out of the big house on weekend passes for good behavior.
In fact, Sallie Anne was like an unofficial parole officer, Sadie Mae thought, shaking her butt while shimmying a jug full of Wildfire Margaritas-so named because they were made with pure tequila- no ice-twist of lime peel only and a bone-sizzling wallop of picante sauce.
'Say, boss,' Sadie Mae coughed out. 'What was the name of that drink you wanted?'
'I said,' the red-faced dude in the crew-necked jersey in the colors of the university with a number stitched on underneath the yoke jawed, 'Sadie Mae. I want a blow job.'
Sadie Mae filled a narrow glass flute with a mixture of chocolate and coffee cream liqueurs. She added a fillup of whipped cream to the top and reamed her mouthlips slowly.
'Mmmmm,' Sadie Mae mewed snidely. 'Looks good enough to swallow.'
'It's for you,' the jock dude in the athletic duds said smugly.
Sadie Mae batted her eyes.
Ran them from side to side underneath the fluttering eyelids.
Peepers wide:
'Why, I can't do that!'
'Come on.'
'I might lose my job-'
He flounced his paw out and rubbed his thumb along the pads of his index and middle claws. A dry shuffling sound.
Sadie Mae shot her head around.
Scraped her peepers through the crowd as though staring out loud.
He said again:
'Come on.'
Placed a knob of moist currency afloat on the swamplike dregs along the bar counter.
'I guess I could drink some-'
'I'm ready.'
Sadie Mae placed her hands behind her back. Slacked her jaw.
Dipped her head.
'All right!'
Embedded her tongue raucously on the creamy tip of the drink.
'Bodacious.'
Opened her mouthlips wider and took the rim of the glass inside.
'Outrageous.'
Threw back her head.
'Smack those lips, sis.'
Tresses rested on her shoulders and strung down her bare back.
'Sssss-uuuiiu-ucker!'
Chugalugged the entire drink into her mug. Glazed her gullet.
Smirked as she let some of the nacreous white liquor-laced syrup drain from the side of her lower mouthlip.
Drip over her chin.
Dapple the patch of ultra-white skin at the roots of her boobs and between them. She let the lad lick the drops off her.
After all, it was his drink.
He paid for it.
Tipped Sadie Mae a lot.
And Sadie Mae actually spat the drink out daintily into the sink as soon as the dude wasn't looking or maybe while he was.
Of course, sometimes the guys would drink it right from her own lips.
If they were in shape for it.
'I'll have one of those,' the singer in the punkrock clothes said. 'Less you got something better for me.'
'We got something called Sex on the Beach-with iced vodka and nine different rums-'
'That's a little out of my reach.'
He perused the fringes of cuntpleach straggling from Sadie Mae's snatch.
Pussfur snaggling out from underneath her frayed panties and the stringy frazzled slants of her shortshort cutoff shorts.
'How about a Screaming Orgasm?' Sadie Mae posed. 'You look like you could use one of those. Grain alcohol straight up with a snuff of locoweed to help you off.'
'I'm game.'
Sadie Mae smiled.
He was a tame one, regardless of whether he was dressed like a hoodlum from a low-budget science fiction movie with bleached hair, leather, and studs all over the place.
'You from around here?' Sadie Mae said setting the drink down.
'Louisiana. Lafayette. That's my name, too. You like our sound?'
'Huh?'
'The band-'
Lafayette took a sip of the drink.
Made an unguarded face.
Sat the glass down again in front of him. Took a pinch of snuff from the tin Sadie Mae had sat beside it.
Then suckered the rest of the juice down.
'Burns,' Lafayette said. 'Good stuff. But I didn't get no orgasm.'
'Have another?' Sadie Mae snickered.
A hand-slim fingered and bigger than most-now rested on Lafayette's shoulderblades.
Sportjacket, string tie.
Bootheels clicking just underneath the din of the jukebox as the band lurched into silence taking a break between sets.
'Howdy. Eye-dee.'
'Don't have identification with me,' Lafayette said. 'But I'm old enough. I was in the army.'
He showed a tattooed bicep.
'I can get one of those,' the man said, 'any cub scout could,' flashing out a wallet with a badge pinned inside of the leather flap. 'Tell me something, boy. Where you from?'
'Please,' Sadie Mae said. 'He's one of the musicians in the group playing tonight.'
'Sorry. Law is you gotta card everyone.'
'Fuckingchrist,' Sadie Mae said. 'Mister. You better talk to Little Ramona-'
'Already did, No luck for you there. Seems she and her sister clearly propositioned me-on behalf of some other available ladies-'
Of course.
Sadie Mae should have known something was screwy about the cleancut dude in Western duds including
