Read Online Western Swing by Tim Sandlin - Free Book Online Page B

She’s a year and then some younger than me, but her daddy wasn’t a manic gynecologist, so Roxanne started her smoking, drinking, life-in-the-fast-lane period way before Dessie or me. Not only did Roxanne get lucky at fourteen, but she claims she had regular orgasms. I doubt it.
    The reason I doubt it is because Roxanne’s supposed Big Os came off rodeo cowboys. Even older women complain about short rides and losses of concentration on the rodeo circuit. Bull riders and calf ropers are just too horny. I can’t conceive of a kid cowboy lasting more than eight seconds, but I guess that shows a prejudicial viewpoint picked up later after several years of working honky-tonks.
    Looking back, I find Roxanne’s pastime really amazing. I mean, knowing her rich and easy background, hanging out with cowboys was a lot more rebellious than the early sex, but then, Roxanne didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of her cowboy fetish. She said a limp turned her on.
    Rox’s cowboy that winter was an older, browner guy named Neb—which I think was short for Nebraska. Neb had a face like a muddy teardrop and knees farther apart than his shoulders. He chewed and spit. I thought he was repulsive, though I never have figured out Roxanne’s tastes in butt.
    Along about Thanksgiving, Neb gave Roxanne two tickets to a New Year’s Eve concert by something called Conway Twitty and the Twitty Birds, his obvious plan being that I should drive Roxanne to the concert so he could get her drunk and hump her. I didn’t cooperate.
    â€œNo.”
    Roxy pleaded. “Every Christmas Ron gets drug off to his grandma’s in Wichita Falls and every New Year’s Eve you sit home watching TV. It’s time you had some fun, Lannie.”
    â€œI can’t stand hillbilly music. Twitty sounds like twang and twang stinks.”
    â€œI bet you never even heard any real country music.”
    â€œI heard it and I hate it. No.”
    â€œMaybe Neb can bring a friend for you.”
    â€œI’m not going to pop my cherry with a smelly cowboy in a pickup truck. Besides I’m going steady. Why should I screw a stranger if I won’t screw Ron?”
    â€œBecause Ron doesn’t know how.”
    â€œThat’s possible.”
    â€œYou don’t have to screw Neb’s friend. Just pretend you might and he’ll buy you some drinks.”
    â€œForget it.”
    Roxanne bothered me the whole week after Christmas. Part of her problem was that I was sixteen and could drive and she was fifteen and couldn’t. If Neb picked her up at home, they were afraid her parents would call the police.
    I finally gave in. You can ask Loren. Or Ron, Ace, or Mickey. Persistence is my weakness. I’ll give in to anyone who’s willing to beg awhile.
    We told Mom and Dad we were going to a slumber party at Brenda’s with Dessie. Dessie and Brenda were glad to cover for us. It made them look less suspicious also. I wore my pink sweater and jeans. Roxanne wore a skirt and cowboy boots. She looked like Dale Evans pretending to be a teenage hooker.
    We ate Mama Burgers at the A&W before driving downtown, but the night almost collapsed right there because Roxanne tried to steal her root beer mug and we got caught and the man threatened to call the cops. He only let us go because she cried.
    We each drank a beer while I drove Daddy’s car downtown. Roxanne had taken us two apiece from her parents’ refrigerator. I said they’d find out, but she said they wouldn’t. Her parents were throwing a New Year’s Eve party and they’d never miss four Lone Stars.
    â€œHere,” she said, handing me a straw from the A&W. “You get drunk quicker if you suck it up.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know why, but everyone says it works.”
    The concert was in the old Baxter Hall on Second Street. We got there early and sat in the car, drinking beer out of straws and looking at