The Chain of Life – Chapter One
Wes walked into the “Dixie Chicken” on Friday night looking for few Shiner Bocks and a good time. The “Dixie Chicken” was pretty much what one might expect from a Aggie-kicker bar just outside of College Station, Texas. The floor was wooden and covered with a thin layer of sawdust to soak up the spilled beer while the walls were decorated with garishly-colored, neon Beer advertisements beside old mementos of A&M. A highly-polished old fashioned mahogany bar ran down the left side of the room which was adorned by brass boot railings with matching spittoons for the patrons who chewed.
As he walked up to the bar to order a Shiner Bock, the heels of Wes’s Nubuck-colored Durashock lace up ropers ground softly against the clean sawdust, releasing a bright piney woods aroma that countered the melange of tanned leather, stale beer, old tobacco smoke and masticated chaw mixed with the “sunshine” fragrance of clean denim jeans dried on a clothesline under the Texas Sun with a gentle breeze.
Wes ordered his beer, paid as it arrived and turned around to look at the patrons as he leaned his slim torso against the smoothly curved edge of the bar and brought the chilled, heavy glass mug to his lips to sip the dark bock that was made in Shiner, Texas. Since it was early in the evening, the “pickin’s” among the gals were a mite on the slim side, but he had no doubt he’d find a pretty girl to dance with before the end of the night. Wes was a good-looking Texan, born in Houston and was a Junior in Agricultural Engineering at Texas A&M. He stood six-foot, one-inch tall and had blonde hair and blue eyes who’s outer irises were baby blue and became deeper shades of blue as they progressed down to the pupil. The overall effect of his eyes was stunning; the blackness of his pupil seemed to be an extension of the intensifying blue as one peered into his eyes. To stare into his eyes invited the observer to fall blissfully into an unending midnight blue tunnel of peaceful meditation and silence.
Unfortunately for Wes, not a single girl he had dated in High School or at the University was perspicacious enough to gaze lovingly into his eyes. They were too interested in being seen and admired to pay proper attention to their date. Wes was frustrated by the flighty immaturity of the girls he had dated. At twenty-two, he was still a virgin. Wes sighed and finished off his beer, then ordered another. When he turned back again, he caught a glimpse of a woman down the bar who was smiling at him. He slowly cranked his head back like a tank turret and pointed his nose gun towards his target for analysis and ranging.
“Hot Damn!”, he thought to himself, “She’s a looker!”
The unnamed woman looked like she was somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-five, Wes couldn’t be sure. She was wearing tight Rocky Mountain jeans and a black silk shirt that had been heavily embroidered with large red roses over her bosom. Wes guess-timated that her proportions were 40-24-36 and that her height was about five-foot, eight-inches. She was wearing enough makeup to look beautiful under the harsh lights of the bar, but she had cleverly refused to accede to the excess makeup demands of fashion to preserve an innocent youthful look. Her long tresses of blonde hair fell freely over her shoulders and down her back beneath the black felt Stetson embellished with a handmade Navaho silver and turquoise band that she wore tilted back on her head. Her feminine cowgirl boots were black ostrich although the beauty of her fashionable boots, like the beauty of her lithe legs, was hidden beneath her tight-fitting jeans. Wes noted that she wore matching turquoise bracelets and rings on the wrists and fingers of both hands, although her wedding ring finger was bereft of a wedding band. She returned his interested gaze with a smile and began advancing towards him.
Wes began to sweat, even though the bar’s air conditioners were going full blast in anticipation of the body heat that the Friday night crowd would release into the room. The temperature at that point in the evening was barely sixty degrees Fahrenheit where Wes stood. Nevertheless, he felt his forehead soak the sweat band of his four hundred dollar straw Stetson hat. Wes was careful in his appearance; his hat was an exact replica of George Straits’s hat, and his waist was adored by a large oblong silver belt buckle circumscribed with a gold trim with the letters ATM surrounding central medallion depicting an A&M “thumbs-up, Gig’em” motif in gold. As belt buckles went, it was rather large and reflected Wes’s intense pride in his University. It was approximately six and one half inches long or about two of Wes’s fists put together end-to-end. His shirt was a plain button-down Western motif, which gave him the air of honesty and integrity (as well as a certain hint of innocence).
As the comely woman approached, Wes attempted to hide his personal apprehensions and fears under the shield of Texas courtesy and generosity. Wes touched his first two right fingers to his hat in deference to the woman who approached him and said evenly, “Even’ Mam! You’re sure lookin’ pretty tonight! May I have the pleasure of buying you a beer? Please don’t think I’m bee’n forward Mam…It’s just that it’s been a long week and look’n at you is like tak’n a long drink from a shaded spring after a long day’s ride in the dust. You sort of cleared my head.” Wes lowered his blushing gaze to the floor in virginal embarrassment from the quick glimpse he caught of the woman’s heavily black-laced bra as she moved towards him. He looked up again and said, “If you know what I mean, Mam!.
As she edged closer, she said, “I do indeed, Cowboy!” She pointed her finger down and said, “That’s a big piece of jewelry you’re wearing, Cowboy! I guess I can take it you’re going to A&M?”
Wes relaxed and said proudly, “Why yes, Mam, that I am!”
She smiled broadly and replied while holding her finger where it was before, i.e., pointing to the bulge in his denims created by his erect penis. She said smoothly, “You have a right to be proud of who and what you are!”
Wes glanced down and realized that she was referring to his manliness rather than his school or belt buckle. He blushed furiously as he realized that her compliment was only making him hornier.
The woman gently saddled up to Wes as he turned back to the bar to hide his shame. She said quietly, “I do believe I’ll take you up on your offer of a beer, Sugar! My name is Darla, what’s yours?”
Wes turned from ordering the beer and said, “The name is Wes, Mam. My full name is Wessley, but the name my friends call me is ‘Wes’.”
“Just like the middle name of the famous outlaw, John Wesley Hardin, right?”, she cooed at him. “Well! My name is Darla, and I think you look simply scrumptious! Would you dance with me?”
Wes was stunned! Everything was backwards with Darla! He should be asking her to dance, nor she to dance with him. He couldn’t refuse her request, but somewhere in the back of his mind alarm bells were ringing that Darla had aborted the normal ritual process of greeting and dancing. Even worse, was the sure and certain knowledge that she was about to lead him into a garden of earthly delights that he had only dreamt of all of his life. Darla pulled him by his right hand onto the dance floor as the Country Western Band began their set with the “Cotton-Eyed Joe”. Wes was both surprised and delighted by Darla’s enthusiastic response to the chorus, “Bull-Shit!”
After the “Cotton-eyed Joe”, the band played a slower and more romantic Tennessee Waltz. Darla lovingly sank into Wes’s arms, dropping her head onto his shoulder and let him carry her about the room until the Waltz was over.
When they finished, Darla asked that they sit at a table and Wes was happy to oblige. Another round of beers was ordered and the band played on. Soon Wes was laughing with Darla and it wasn’t long before the beautiful woman was sitting in his lap.
An unspoken agreement was reached between Darla and Wes that evening: They were going home together. They danced together all night, not caring whether the band was playing the Texas Two-Step or a Waltz. As the evening wore on, Darla indicated to Wes that she would like him to accompany her home for the night. Wes readily agreed, easily imagining the carnal delights that awaited him. They went outside and talked for a bit, making arrangements for transportation. From what Darla told Wes, it seemed that Darla’s father was extremely protective (Wes didn’t blame him a bit!) of his daughter and would drive out to her place in the countryside and see if there were any strange pickups parked in front of the triple-wide, prefabricated home where she lived alone in the country. Since her father carried a loaded double-barreled shotgun in his pickup, the two of them agreed that Darla should follow Wes back to his dorm parking lot and drive him out to her place for the weekend. When Wes heard the suggestion that he was to spend the next few days with such a good looking woman, he thanked God for His Blessings. Darla gently suggested that he run upstairs and write a note for his roommate telling him that he was on an extended holiday with a lady he had met and that he might possibly miss his classes on Monday or Tuesday. When Wes returned, he parked his “Harvest Gold”, 1999 Ford F-250 XLT SuperDuty , 4×4 , 4-door Turbo Diesel, 6 speed manual with large tires, 4 KC Daylighter lights and painted with a baked-on powder-black midnight finish, and a tubular Brush-Guard protective frame in the dorm parking lot for safekeeping and rode off into the night with his newly-met paramour in her pickup.
The End of The Chain of Life – Chapter One.
The story originally came from: https://littleab.com/story.html
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index