It started with one of those damn Cosmopolitan articles.

Not the one about how to have the best orgasm of your life while cleaning your teeth. “Your dentist is Brad Pitt and….”

Not the one about the “Top 5 Things He Wants From You In Bed!” 1.” Suck My Dick and I’ll let you pick 2 through 5”.

Rather it was the one about “Things you should have done by the time you are 30, ah, I mean 40.

Some of them were easy.

#8 Know how to balance a checkbook? It’s simple, wait until its overdrawn then open a new account.

#12 How to bake an apple pie? Call the bakery and order it. That’s what they are there for.

#23 How to order a bottle of wine? He’s paying, order the most expensive. You’re paying, if they don’t have Boone’s Farm, order a beer.

#31 Reconcile with your first true love. Send an email to everyone on Classmates.com about the time he wore your panties to the prom.

However there were some that even a seasoned woman such as myself was having trouble with.

# 27 Okay, it’s probably too late for me to learn to speak Japanese. I don’t even like Sushi that much.

#15 Ride in a Hot Air Balloon. I am scared of heights.

#8 Date a millionaire. They don’t get rich, or stay that way, by dating women like me.

There were two in particular that I had not accomplished that were possibilities.

#6 Visit all 50 States

#10 Have sex with a complete stranger.

I have traveled a great deal but I’m still several states short of 50 and while I have had sex with some strange people, I’ve never had a total stranger, which leads me to a isolated roadside bar somewhere in the middle of Montana.

I was traveling some back road from Great Falls to Missoula, headed to Idaho. I had knocked North and South Dakota, and now Montana, off my list and after Idaho, would lack only Alaska to hit the magic 50 mark. I wasn’t having nearly as much luck with the sex with a stranger. I just hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it. Driving down the road, I convinced myself that it’s now or never, there was no way I’d ever be back in the middle of nowhere Montana so I didn’t have to worry about being recognized or my reputation. As if fate, a building, okay maybe a shack is a better description, appears up ahead. A solitary Bud Light sign flickers in the window. I pull the rental car in the lot and cut the engine. I decide that the first person through the door after me is going to have the time of their life tonight.

I walked through the door into a dark, dank room. Three lights, only two of which are working, hang over a dust covered bar. Behind the bar on the wall, hangs a large animal head of some kind. It has antlers though I’m pretty sure it’s not a deer. I pull out a bar stool and sit down at the bar. Out of the back comes someone who I assume to be the bartender. He looks like Grizzly Adams’ Grandpa. Other than him and I, the place is empty.

“What can I git ya?”

“I think I’ll have a glass of Merlot. What do you recommend?”

“I recommend you think again.”

After my next two choices meet a similar fate, I told him to bring me whatever was his favorite. Soon a shot of Jim Beam and a bottle of Bud is resting in front of me. Grizzly sits at the corner of the bar reading Guns and Ammo magazine. As I looked around the room I notice a jukebox against one wall. I walk over and it’s an old model, still has 45’s in it, and takes only quarters. I go back and get 5 dollars worth of quarters from Ole Grizz and put them all in the machine. When no music begins I ask Grizz if there’s something wrong with it.

“Thing hasn’t worked in 10 years.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t ask.”

The next 45 minutes were mostly silence. Grizz did perk up for a minute when I asked about the animal head.

“Yup, she’s a beauty. Mounted her myself.”

My guess is that’s not the only animal he’s mounted.

I have just about given up hope that anyone will walk through the door. My throat burns from the Jim Beam. No wonder the South lost the war.

I throw a $10 dollar bill on the bar and start to get up when I hear the door behind me open. I turn expectantly, hoping for a tall, virile hunter type with long wavy hair and muscles on top of muscles.

Well, he has long hair, in a sort of Nick Nolte mug shot kind of way. Frankly, he looks like a homeless person, except homeless people usually dress better. He walks inside and sits down beside me. Of course there are only 3 bar stools and I’m on the middle one. Grizz asks him what he’s having?

“Coors”

The beer is brought and Grizz returns to his magazine, but not before giving me a curious look. I know the feeling.

I turn and open the conversation.

“So, do you come here often?”

I should have read the Cosmo article about opening pick-up lines.

“Nope”

Okay, so hours of witty repartee is probably not in our future but I try again.

“What do you do?”

He eyes me suspiciously. “You from the government?”

He uses a word with more than one syllable. Things are looking up.

“Oh no, just a bored Soccer Mom, looking for a little spice and adventure.”

He hesitates a moment. “I’m an independent contractor.”

“How exciting, you own your own business. What field?”

I bat my eyes at him as I say this in a flirty manner and almost lose a contact.

“Demolitions”

“I hope you don’t bring your work home with you,” I jokingly reply.

“You sure you’re not from the government?”

Okay, this isn’t working. I try something else.

“I’m Rachel.”

“Ted”

“Got any family Ted?”

“A brother.”

“Me too.”

“He ever finger you?”

“Huh?”

Amazingly enough this continues for about 45 minutes until somehow we end up at his place.

I look around the place trying to think of something nice to say.

“I love how you have decorated it in an Early American motif.”

There’s a creek running through the middle of the shack.

“And to have running water this far up in the mountains must have taken a lot of work.”

He looks at me like I’m speaking Japanese so I make a mental note to mark that off the list.

“Is there someplace where I can freshen up and get more comfortable?” I ask in my husky, best Kathleen Turner Body Heat voice.

He points to a sheet, hanging down from the ceiling from clothespins. I step behind it, careful to not fall in the creek.

I remove most of my clothes, take a deep breath, and step back in front of the sheet. He looks at me with crazed eyes as I stand before him in my sheer bra and panties.

“You like? They are real silk.”

“Got anything made of wool?”

“Ah no. Don’t be shy. When’s the last time you had sex? With your own species?” I add.

He scratches his beard for a moment and remains silent.

“Never mind. Got any fantasies you want to act out?”

“Bend over the chair and pretend your head is caught in the fence.”

I do as he asks and he moves in behind me.


The light stabs me as I open one eye. I taste the slightly salty residue on my lips. My head throbs.

My husband Michael is standing beside the bed, laughing.

“Three margaritas and three shots of Don Julio, that’s a new record for you. Now get outta of bed and fix me some breakfast.”

What the hell is he thinking? Doesn’t he know me by now? I don’t fix his damn breakfast on my best mornings. Looks like I can mark sex with a stranger off the list as well…

That was one of the funniest things I've read in a while (totally meant as a compliament!)

quote:

Originally posted by Phoenix:
That was one of the funniest things I've read in a while (totally meant as a compliament!)

Indeed!

Silk,
That was hilarious, you have skills…if you’re not a writer/humorist you should be, that was too well put together.
Loved it.