Chapter 1

I arrived at the Columbus Mississippi airport late Friday afternoon and was told that my flight had been canceled. There would be no flights out ‘til Monday. Having just spent the week working with Woodcrest Cabinets in Arkana, I wasn’t looking forward to spending the weekend in Starkville, the home of Mississippi State University. Checking at the Marriott for a room I was told that this was the weekend of the Mississippi State/Ole Miss football game. “Every accommodation in town was fully booked.” Frustrated, I drove the short distance to “the Bully,” where I’d have a couple of beers and a barbecue dinner. The Bully was a college hangout that was named for the Mississippi State mascot, the bulldog. I could have some barbecue and beer while I figured out what the hell I was going to do and ogle some of the beautiful southern gals that were co-eds at the university.

When I got there the place was jammed. Because I’d been a regular customer over the years the manager moved me ahead of another couple and had me seated him at a table for two that had just opened. Just as I was sitting down at the table, I noticed four sorority girls having beers at the table just across from mine. They were all real stunners, but I knew I was out of my league, I was fifty.

I ordered a pitcher of beer and was peeling a plate of boiled shrimp when I heard a peal of raucous laughter from their table. Looking up I saw that each of the four girls was looking at me while they were laughing. I thought they might be laughing at something I might have done which made me uncomfortable. One of the girls—sitting directly opposite me seemed to be stifling a laugh. She was looking down and blushing ... like she was embarrassed. I saw her mouth something as I looked at her, seemed like she was saying, “I’m sorry.”

I figured one of the girls said something questionable to me—probably that I was “an old turd” or something. Though smarting that I was the butt of one of their jokes I sucked it up and figured they would have their fun and get tired of it. But I felt bad for the girl who was obviously uncomfortable about the whole thing and silently mouthed back, “No problem.”

She blushed again, gave me a demure smile, and mouthed, “Thank you.” I didn’t want to embarrass her further and with a further glance, I noticed that she was much more attractive than the other three girls. Jesus, I thought, you’re a doll.

They talked and giggled for a while, making fun of some other slob. I was just finishing peeling my shrimp and getting ready to start dipping them in the chili sauce mixed with horseradish. I heard their chairs scraping and glanced up to see them getting ready to leave. But the girl with whom I’d been lip-synching just stayed in her seat as the rest of her friends were walking away, laughing, and shaking their heads. They kept looking back ... seeming to be making fun of her.

A couple of fraternity guys walked up to her. She was pretty in an innocent kind of way, just as you might imagine a demure southern belle would be. When the guys started to sit down at her table she shook her head, said something to them, and nodded in my direction. Both fraternity guys looked at me, laughed, and looked back at the girl. One of them said, “You’ve got to be kidding Darlie.” Shaking their heads in disgust the frat guys walked away. As they passed, one looked at me with a hateful smirk and laughed derisively.

I didn’t know what had gone on other than the fact that the girl had rejected the two guys. It was loud and boisterous—college kids getting hyped for the big game the next day. I was just trying to finish my shrimp and deal with where I was going to stay around this crazy town.

Through the noise I heard the clearing of a throat followed by a soft-voiced, “Do y’all mind if I sit down?”

It was the damnedest thing the girl at the table was standing right next to me. She was dressed in preppy college clothes: a white blouse under a red cardigan sweater, a flaring knee-length black pleated skirt, and saddle shoes with white anklet socks; she was looking down at me. I was trying to figure out why she wanted to sit down; she felt bad about the girl’s making fun of me and wanted to apologize. She was twenty-one or twenty-two, stylishly attractive with long dark hair, blue eyes, and the kind of pouting lips that begged to be kissed. I remember thinking, I would love to have a daughter like her. “Not at all,” I said, standing and pulling out a seat for her, “I’m just a little puzzled why you’d want to.”

When she sat down, I had the damnedest feeling that she was flirting with me but thought I’m fifty, I could be her father for Christ’s sake, and said, “You have the pick all these young, college men young lady, why would you want to sit with an old guy like me?”

Sitting down she said, “None of these boys would have bothered to tend my chair like you just did.” With a mock look of shock, she put her hand over her mouth and giggled. “They might pull it out from under me. But not in the gentlemanly way y’all have.”

Like a proper young lady, she folded her hands in her lap and said, “When I first noticed y’all I was hoping you would be just such a gentleman.”

What the hell is going on here? The way she said it was so southern: Chair (sounded like chay-a), gentleman (pronounced “gentlemanyan”). instead of saying “you” she said it the southern way, “y’all.” I had to stifle a laugh as I thought she sounds like she was right out of Gone with the Wind.

Reaching across the table she properly extended her hand and said, “My name is Darlie, Darlie Culbertson.”

As I shook hands with her, I realized how soft her hand was, yet quite firm, the way I would like my sons to shake hands.

“I’m Brady Damron, Darlie Culbertson. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Her mouth glowed with a fresh-toothed grin as she batted her eyes. She was gorgeous. Clearing my throat I said, “May I ask you, Darlie Culbertson, what interests you in sitting with a man who is old enough to be your father?”

In her captivating southern drawl, she said, “I deeply love ma Fatha, sir. He is a true southern gentleman.” She flashed a confident smile. “Though y’all are a Yankee, Mistah Damron, y’all carry yoahself like a gentleman. I’m partial to gentlemen. I hope ya don’t mind.”

Realty told me that any kind of involvement with a woman her age was out of the question. Hell, she’s barely even a woman. It’s not that I hadn’t screwed around in my life. But I’ve always been more comfortable with older, more mature women—Tess McBride for example. Tess is the receptionist at Woodcrest Kitchen Cabinets in Arkana. She’s a woman of around fifty ... knows all about the pleasures of her body, and what it has to offer a man of my age. She’s always had the patience to wait for and enjoy each sensual spot being explored by a man who knows how to open such sensual locks. Tess had come to my cottage at Oktapotomi once during the last week.

Then there was Wilma Dillard, Assistant to the President of Woodcrest Kitchen Cabinets. And what an unusual woman she is. We spent much of Tuesday night together. I doubted that this young woman across from me would have the patience of an older woman like Wilma. Besides Wilma’s a pro. If I should be so lucky to spend the night with this beautiful young girl, she’d y want some fast and easy thrills. But HELL, her body is the pinnacle of perfection. I had to chuckle when I thought who the hell do you think YOU’RE kidding?

Just as I was about to excuse myself and wish all the young studs in the Bully “Good luck boys,” I said, “You’ll probably be going back to your sorority house, Darlie Culbertson, and getting ready for the big game tomorrow.” It had been ridiculous to even have thought about it. I was biting the bullet and getting ready to drive back to Arkana and reclaim my room at the Oktapotomi Inn. It was too far for any of the football crowd to stay.

I was stuck here for the next couple of days. With Tess’s husband back from hauling lumber downstate, I had accepted that I would be spending the weekend alone. Wilma will be working her night job at the reception desk of the Oktapotomi. I laughed and thought, who would even believe me if I told them why the Assistant to the President of Woodcrest was doing that? I could only shake my head and laugh about the funny stuff that goes on down here in the deep south.

With a trifling smile, Darlie absently toyed with a lock of her hair and said, “To tell you the truth Mr. Damron I’m not as wild about football as most of the students at State are. I’m rather enjoying the pleasure of y’all’s company.” Gently clasping her hands, she placed them on top of the table, demurely cleared her throat, and added, “That is if y’all don’t mind spending a little more time with an inexperienced sorority girl like me.”

With a shudder of anxiety, I started to feel like I was being set up for some kind of college prank. What one of the other girls at the table said, ‘You can’t be serious’ stuck in my mind.’ I was fifty, still not capable of a stiff dick but the prospect of at least a substantial soft-on had its merits. Stabbing at something to say I laid it out, ”My plane developed engine trouble Darlie Culbertson, and I’m stuck in Mississippi until Monday morning. How would you advise me to spend the time if you were me? Darlie?” The moment I asked that question hope got the best of me, and my heightened pulse started smoothing out the wrinkles of my limp dick.

I thought hard about voicing what was on my mind and with a chuckle, I said, “But I don’t expect that you’re talking about spending that much time with THIS older man.” Having called her bluff I expected to see a change in her bearing that would indicate that I misread her meaning. I looked around the restaurant to see if her sorority sisters were lurking but saw no trace of them, so I figured that she wasn’t just playing with me.

Pouting she said, “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Damron.”

On the edge of embarrassment, I tried to act like I hadn’t said something outlandish. But by the way, she was looking at me, I knew she saw the surprise on my face. I started to respond, “I...”

Quickly reaching across the table she touched my lips with her index finger and said, “I’m such a terrible flirt Mr. Damron ... may I call you Brady?” I shrugged and nodded. “I guess I’m a bit of a tease Mr.—I mean Brady—but these boys are hitting on me ALL the time and in such crude ways. They ask me crude things like ‘Darlie do you want to fuck?’” She rolled her eyes.

The expression on her face was as if she might have been talking with her therapist rather than a stranger. “Excuse my language Brady but they SAY things like that. Or they’ll say, ‘How about giving me a little head,’” Her cheeks turned pink on the way to bright red. “Too many college boys don’t know what acting like a gentleman is.” She tilted her head and shrugged her shoulders. “I shouldn’t even have repeated such coarse language, it’s getting terrible. And you have to be thinking that Darlie Culbertson is terrible to be saying nasty things like this.”

Squeezing my hand, she said, “Y’all just suggested, a sophisticated suggestion I might add. And I feel compelled to say to y ‘all Mr. Brady Damron that the mature way y’all are approaching me appeals to my sense of romance. It appeals VERY much.”

Amazed at how cool she was she went on before I could comment, “I told y’all that I prefer the company of an older man Brady, a man just like y’all.” She turned my hand over like a palm reader and sensuously traced my lifeline with her middle finger.

Damn, I thought as I felt a tingle in my groin, that’s suggestive. And it tickles like HELL.

“I told ya Brady how much I adore my Daddy. And y’all remind me so MUCH of him. What could be better than spending um ... a little more time with a man like y’all, who is a little like my Daddy?”

The signals were unmistakable. Though the mention of ‘Daddy’ made me uncomfortable enough to clear my throat and say, “All of the rooms in town are sold out for the game Darlie.” She wrinkled her brow. “But I’ve been spending the week at the Lake Oktapotomi Inn in Arkana. I know the room is still available, but it would take about forty-five minutes to get there.” Realistically I thought she would turn the offer down flat. But because of the way she had been talking with me, I thought I might have a chance.