Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 21

Jenny took her time peeing and brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed. She lingered, sitting on the toilet and remembering what sex had been like with Carmen, how good it had been, the loving without the romance, affection without the lies and pretending. The orgasms Carmen had given her. The water sports in the shower and even on the toilet in that very bathroom. Jenny began to rub herself, and before long had her own orgasm, fantasizing that it was Carmen and not Moira between her legs, licking her pussy so well the way Carmen did, almost ... jungle-cat-like. A way that Moira could somehow just never seem to master.

Before the night was over, the Dallas Cowboys had their butts manhandled, 36-22, at home. Carmen, too, had her butt womanhandled, caressed and adored, also at home. And unlike Drew Bledsoe, she fell asleep that night smiling. And still wearing her Cowboy boots.

***

Shane went to the bar and got a pair of mugs of Dos Equis from the keg, and took one to Carmen up on the dais at the back of the ballroom. Then she went to find herself a piece of wall somewhere to hold up while she drank her beer and watched DJ La Pica do her stuff. The guy who had been in line behind her at the keg wandered over and backed into the wall next to her. He had a mug of beer in one hand and a shot glass of Jack in the other. He sipped enough beer out of the mug to create space, and dumped the shot glass of whiskey into it. He bent down and put the empty shot glass on the floor by his feet.

He was a decent-looking guy in his mid-thirties, one of the Texas awl bidness people whose party this was. He wore a suit of a nice dove-gray material that Shane could tell had been quite expensive. The guy's white dress shirt was buttoned at the collar, and he wore a bolo string tie with a large piece of turquoise at the neck clasp. Shane could tell from his bloodshot eyes he had been drinking all afternoon. At Carmen's insistence, Shane herself wore a cowboy-style shirt with a line of fringe across the front at pocket level; she'd worn one just like it the time Carmen had made them attend the western movie film festival at Cal U. Shane wore jeans, an old, beat-up pair of cowboy shitkickers, and a carefully weathered cowboy hat that disguised most of her hair.

The guy gestured with his beer mug, indicating Carmen up on the dais, and ignoring the beer that slopped over onto his hand. "That's one mighty fine-looking woman," he said with a trace of slurring in his speech. He looked at Carmen, and Shane could see the lust in his eyes. She felt a surge of anger at this asshole looking at her lover that way. Just calm down and take a breath, Shane told herself. Just relax and let it go. Carmen was a gorgeous, sexy woman: Of course men were going to look at her like that. And in her Dallas Cowboys knock-off outfit, she had given nearly every Texan in the room his own personal longhorn – but that was the nature of the DJ job; it was why they'd hired her.

"Uh-huh," Shane said.

"I seen you git her a beer a minute ago," the guy said. "You know her, huh?"

"Yes, I do," Shane said. "I helped her bring in and set up her equipment."

"Oh, you're like her roadie, huh?" the guy asked. Shane could tell he didn't mean it insultingly.

"Yeah, I guess I am her roadie," she said, relaxing.

"Well, you're one lucky bastard, then, lemme tell ya. That's one fine-looking woman. She got a boyfriend, do you know?" He took a swallow of his beer.

It dawned on Shane that the guy thought Shane was a man. She realized her outfit was androgynous, and her voice was deep enough it could go either way. It had certainly happened often enough before – she'd even made a career out of it, once upon a time.

"No, I'm pretty sure there's no boyfriend," Shane said. What the hell, she decided, I'm gonna have some fun with this guy. No need to get all bent out of shape.

"No, guess not," the guy said agreeably. "No reason for a girl that young and that pretty to get tied down to some asshole, ya know? Get tied down and knocked up and start popping out the muchachos. She's got the right idea, stay single long as possible, am I right?"

"You got it," Shane said. "Preaching to the fucking choir."

"Damn right," the guy said, equably. He took another pull from his mug, and sighed. "Not that I got anything against married women. I'd bang a MILF, some nice, happily married mommacita. You bet I would."

"I've banged a couple of married women in my time," Shane said truthfully. In fact, her score of married women was well above a dozen. Cherie Jaffe had not been the first, by a long shot.

"Man, I'd love to tap some of that tonight," the guy sighed, gazing at Carmen.

"Me, too," Shane said. The guy laughed. They watched Carmen perform a bit of business up on the stage, flirting with someone in the crowd. Her cleavage was spectacular.

"She keeps that up," the guy said, "I just may have to go choke my chicken, know what I mean?"

"Tell me about it," Shane said.

"Guy like you, always on the road going from town to town, I bet you roadies get some fine pussy."

"I have had me some fine pussy," Shane nodded. "I surely have." Gospel truth.

The guy transferred his beer to his left hand and reached his right across to shake hands with Shane. "William Earl Hardesty from Plano, Texas," the guy said. "People call me Billy Earl."

"Shane McCutcheon," Shane said, putting everything she could into a manly guy-type grip. "I'm from LA now, but I was born and raised around Austin."

"Awriiight, Austin," Billy Earl said. "Great town. Shane, huh? Like the gunfighter."

"That's right," Shane said. "Shane like the gunfighter."

"Nice to meet cha," Billy Earl said.

"You, too," Shane said, thinking, if he gives me the "Mother wants you" line I'm gonna kick him in the nuts. But Billy Earl had other things on his mind than what his mother wanted.

"Look at that ass," Billy Earl marveled, still focused on Carmen, who had momentarily turned away, giving them both a perfect view of her awesome, firm bottom in those fucking white booty shorts. "I always wanted to fuck a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader," he said wistfully.

"Got that right," Shane said, nodding. "America's Trim."

Billy Earl laughed. "America's Trim! That's great. I gotta remember that."

Don't hurt yourself, Shane thought.

"Look at her," Billy Earl said. "You know how they say somethin's as tight as a cheerleader's asshole? Well, that right over yonder's 'xactly what they mean."

"Oh, man," was all Shane could say. She knew from personal experience earlier that very week that Carmen's asshole really wasn't all that tight, and it certainly wasn't as tight as the asshole standing next to her. But yes, Carmen's bottom was firm and muscled and tight without an ounce of cellulite anywhere. The anal ring at the bottom of her crease would accept a finger or two with enthusiasm, if the fingers in question were lubed, took their time and didn't get too frisky too fast.

"Think she gives good head?" Billy Earl asked, half to himself and lost in his reveries.

"Bet she does. Absolutely," Shane said. "World class."

"Bet you're dead right, pardner," Billy Earl murmured. "Wonder if she's a moaner or a screamer?"

"Bet she's both," Shane said. "Bet she starts off low, kinda like, 'eh, eh, eh,'" she said, giving a pitch-perfect imitation of Carmen's warm-up growl. Shane had no difficulty in remembering what it sounded like; she'd heard it just last night.

Billy Earl threw his head back and laughed so loud that across the room and over the music Carmen heard him and turned to look. She saw Shane and some guy laughing and talking like two bosom buddies at a frat party. "What the fuck's that all about?" Carmen asked herself.

"Yeah, yeah," Billy Earl added, "and she's Mexican, right?"

"Latina," Shane said. "She's an Angelina."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, after she goes, she goes, she goes 'eh, eh,' she starts talking in Mexican, right? 'Oh, dios, oh, Haysu, más difícilmente, más difícilmente,'" harder, harder, he said. "Then she goes, 'ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, gimme that taco, gimme that big enchilada, ohhhhhhhhhhhh,'" and he and Shane both laughed like fools, the guy grabbing his own crotch and Shane thinking she'd like to choke this guy's chicken for him right about now, and not in a good way.

Carmen looked over and saw them laughing, and she knew they'd been talking about her. When Shane looked over, Carmen gave her a questioning look. Shane just waved her beer mug hello in reply, smiling broadly. For the first time all afternoon Shane was actually enjoying herself. The song that had been playing came to an end, and Carmen had to turn her attention back to her turntables and soundboard. She clapped her earphones on and did some DJ business with the crowd.

"What made ya leave Texas and come out here to LA?"

Shane shrugged. "One thing and another. You know."

"Yeah, I guess. Me, I could never leave Texas. I was born there, and I'll die there."

Not soon enough, Shane thought to herself.

"You guys sticking around for the game? Kickoff's at 5:15."

"No, we can't," Shane answered. "Her contract says she's got to hurry up and get her stuff out of the ballroom here so they can set up for you guys and to bring in a jumbotron to watch the game. And anyway, we've got a long drive back to LA. So we can't stick around."

"Did you hear Parcells is gonna start Romo instead of Bledsoe?"

Shane had no earthly idea who Parcells was, nor, for that matter, what a Romo was. She vaguely remembered the name Bledsoe from Monday night's game, but within moments of the Plaxico Burress touchdown, she was lying on the floor with a bottomless Carmen straddling her face for a few minutes before they decided to take it to the bedroom.

"When did that happen?" Shane asked.

"Parcells announced it Wednesday."

"Christ A'mighty," Shane said.

"Fuckin' A," Billy Earl said.

"Shit. We'll be on the road," Shane said.

"Well, you'll miss a helluva game," the guy said.

"That's what I hear."

"But I tell ya, I'd gladly give up watching the game for a piece of that tail," Billy Earl said, gesturing toward Carmen.

"Oh, me, too," Shane said. "I'd give up two games. Three, maybe."

The guy laughed again. "Well, I don't know about three games. We're talkin' 'bout the Cowboys, ya know."

"True."

"But yeah, maybe two games, on the fifty-yard line, too."

"Me, I'd go for the end zone," Shane said, feeling a touch of sadism coming on.

Billy Earl laughed again. "Right, right. She's got some end zone."

"Just imagine," Shane said, "her sitting on your face. Your tongue, lapping up that pussy juice. Sucking on her clit while she starts to moan."

Billy Earl closed his eyes in pain. "Oh, Christ," he moaned. He shifted position against the wall, like something in his pants had made him uncomfortable. He didn't realize Shane wasn't fantasizing, but working from memory.

"Her thighs wrapped around your face. That velvety smooth skin over those thigh muscles, and she's riding your face. Then she comes. They say she's a squirter, she starts squirting all over your face as she cries out, her legs twitching, and your face is covered in the sweetest cum you ever tasted."

"Shit," Billy Earl said, grimacing. "Hey, I got to go drain the swamp. Good talking to you." He hurried off, heading for the corridor leading to the men's room. Shane chuckled to herself. She looked up and saw Carmen looking at her again with that quizzical look on her face. Shane just grinned back, and saluted her with her beer mug.

Later, when they were loading Carmen's gear into her Jeep, she asked, "Hey, what were you and your new best friend talking about? You guys seemed to be hitting it off."

"Women. Football," Shane said. "You know, guy stuff."

"Uh huh."

"Parcells said he was going to start Romo tonight."

"No shit? When did he say that?"

"He announced it Wednesday."

"Really? What about Bledsoe?" Carmen asked.

"Well, exactly," Shane said.

Carmen picked up a cardboard box full of CDs to put in the Jeep but stopped. "Wait a minute," she said. "Shane, do you have any idea who Drew Bledsoe is?"

Shane racked her memory of the two minutes she saw of the Monday night game, trying to remember if the name Bledsoe rang any bells. Not really. There was just that Texaco Burbage guy who scored the touchback, and then Carmen had straddled her lap and Shane's concentration went elsewhere.

"Sure," she said confidently. "He was the announcer."

Carmen closed her eyes and thought about counting to ten, but she knew that wasn't enough numbers. "How ... why ... Shane, why would Bill Parsells bench an announcer?"

Shane thought about it. "Speech impediment?"

Carmen laughed. "Shane, you don't have any idea what we're talking about, do you?"

"Nope," Shane said, beaming. "Not one fucking clue."

Carmen grinned, and shook her head as she put the carton in the Jeep. "It's such a shame you're a lesbian. You could have been a world-class sports widow to some poor husband somewhere."

Shane shrugged her shoulders and grinned back at her, happy. Tonight she was going to be the only woman in the entire United States of America as well as the great and sovereign state of Texas who was going to tongue-fuck a living doll in a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader outfit, America's Female Ejaculator.