I was at a bar when a group of women walked in. They were your basic almost 30-something drunk girls having a night out, maybe a bachelorette party or a 30th birthday party. One of them was much more mature and I was thinking this is the birthday girl’s mother. She had a fantastic butt. It did all the things that a great butt should do when it moves.
With each step her butt swayed, not shifted, swayed from left to right. Each cheek glided forward and backwards, and at the end of each step the cheek above the hindmost leg had a final lift to it, as if to say, “Pick me! Pick me!”
I was one of the regulars on Monday nights. It was karaoke night and as soon as I saw her I quickly told the KJ (karaoke jockey) to change the song I was going to do. He asked why, since we were friends and I didn’t do this very often.
“Man, you know that group of girls that came in a bit ago?”
“Yeah, the birthday bunch. The birthday girl has a nice rack.”
“But her mom has a really fine butt. So, I want to dedicate the song to her.”
“Her husband will hunt you down and kill you.”
“I didn’t see ring, or a scar or a tan line.”
“Ok, it’s your ass.”
“Not yet, but I have high hopes.”
I walked over to the woman, who was staying out of the mayhem, but watching carefully as many men hit on all of the girls.
“Are all of those yours?”
“Only for tonight. The birthday girl is my daughter.”
“How did you get an eighteen-year-old in here?”
“Thank you for that. Very smoothly delivered.”
“You are welcome. How old is she?”
“My baby is turning 30.”
“Then your daughter’s only a couple of years younger than my daughter and the same age as my son. I would’ve never thought that you could be my age.”
“Again, very nicely delivered.”
“Since I seem to be doing good, so far, may I buy you a drink and we can chat about what I’m going to do next. We can sit over there and watch the girls. I’ll talk to the door guys and see that they keep a special eye on the girls to make sure none of the hounds in here get to them. OK?”
“Are you the owner?”
“Nope, just a regular who knows that if women stop coming to this place, the guys stop and the place goes belly up. What would you like to drink?”
“I’m the driver, so a soft drink would be nice.”
“We also have hot tea and coffee.”
“That’s what I usually drink, green tea.”
“I’ll have that, if you are.”
I walked her over to my seat next to the KJ and introduced him to her.
“I’ll leave you in Bart’s caring hands and be right back.”
I was back a few minutes later and she gave me a very curious look as I handed her the hot cup of tea. I looked at Bart and he smiled that smile that says, ‘I am in so much trouble.’
“What are you two up to?”
“Bart here has been telling me how you sing and how you wish these kids would bring in their mothers so that you would have someone to talk to and what your next song is.”
“So how much trouble am I in?”
“I’m a ‘Spinal Tap’ fan.”
We sat and chatted, while she kept a weather-eye on the birthday party. The women were dancing and having a good time. Once in a while some brave guy would try to break in and get shot down. She and I shared our basic bios and likes and dislike. We had a lot in common, including cheating spouses. After about 30 minutes, Bart called me to sing.
“Let’s get Big Mike to the stage.”
The crowd cheered. I took a step and stopped and looked back at her.
“Don’t fuck up.” She smiled.
“Oh shit! I am gonna die. Oh! What is your name?”
I took my spot at the mic and the song started up with a loud heavy bass line.
“I would like to dedicate this song to my new friend, Gretchen, for what I think are obvious reasons.”
She blushed and walked to the front of the stage to be joined by her daughter and the others in her party.
The bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin’ That’s what I said The looser the waistband, the deeper the quicksand Or so I have read