I live in a bustling Texas suburb, but was raised a good ol’ country boy.

There’s a popular honky-tonk bar that I go to on the weekends with great music, a big dance floor, and where the bartenders know me by name.

Saturday night was packed like usual. Standing at the bar was a group of really good-looking gals, but one in particular stood out like a beacon. She was petite with a short blonde bob, thick black eyeliner and candy apple red lipstick, black hot pants, a black velvet jacket showing a bit of cleavage, black stockings, and high heels. My type of gal.

I walked over and asked if I could buy them drinks. “Fuck yeah, you can!” they all yelled in unison. I turned to Eli the bartender and ordered. The shots arrived and the girls lined up at the bar. Putting their arms behind... Read More