by Calico
“Heyes, this has gotta be one o’ the dumbest ways o’ passin’ the time ever invented,” muttered Kid Curry.
“Shhh! I’m thinking!”
“Thinkin’ what? Thinkin’: Hey, Kid’s right! We shoulda stayed in the saloon.”
“Nope. I’m tryin’ to think of a good place.”
“The saloon’s a good place!” Dropping his voice even lower, “Right now, any place but HERE’d be a good place!”
“Shush! You’ll hurt their feelings. Got one!” Heyes’ pencil scribbled rapidly. He folded his paper with a smug grin and passed it to the brunette on his right who fluttered her lashes, coyly – or maybe make that brazenly – at the dimpled ex-outlaw. He turned to his left where his partner exuded wafts of proddiness over a five foot eleven inch radius. “C’mon, Kid, just write down any dang place!”
Scowling, Kid scrawled ‘any dang place’ on his own paper, folded it and passed it to Heyes. At once the blue-eyed lovely to his left shuffled closer and pressed her own slip of paper into his hand. She also pressed her thigh into his thigh and her – ahem – ample bosom into his upper arm, but that might have been accidental. It wasn’t – but it might have been.
“Am I crowdin’ you, ma’am?” flushed Kid, trying to shuffle over. Since Heyes was concurrently being squeezed Curry-wards by his neighbouring brunette who seemed to edge closer with every breath, Kid’s shuffling efforts failed.
“Now,” Heyes’ tone was patient, “write down what he said to her.”
“What who said to who?”
“Whom.”
“HUH?”
“It don’t matter! Just write some’n!”
More scowling. The papers passed right.
“Now – what she said to him.”
“For Pete’s sake!”
“Will you quit whinin’? No one dragged you here, Kid. I passed on the invitation and you jumped at the…”
“You said:” Kid let his face adopt a Heyesian quizzical grin with Hannibalesque wide-open ‘trust me’ eyes, “Hey, Kid, how d’you like to let seven gals buy us dinner then take us back to their fancy hotel for fun’n’games?”
“Well? Didn’t you get dinner? Isn’t this hotel pretty dang fancy? Aren’t you playing games?”
“Sittin’ in the lobby writin’ one dang dumb thing after another wasn’t the kinda game I had in mind!”
“What DID you have in mind, Mister Curry?”
“Tell us.”
“We like all kind of games.”
Kid Curry met a row of feminine – and, to be blunt, hungry – eyes. He realised his undertone had risen to – well, I guess to an overtone. The row of eyes leant forward – leastways, the women to whom they belonged did. Feminine breaths were caught. Feminine hands – what seemed like a half a dozen of ’em, but was, in fact, only three – rested encouragingly on areas on or around his knees. Make that on or above his knees. His eyes rose again to the banner fluttering overhead. ‘Ladies’ Appreciation Society, 40th Anniversary Get Together’. Not for the first time he wondered what exactly these ladies appreciated. The encouraging hands moved – encouragingly. Ah! That’s what they appreciated, huh? He glanced over at his partner. Heyes now had a cooing brunette clinging to each arm and a handsome blonde apparently checking his shirt buttons still worked.
“Let’s see what we have here,” silver-tongued Heyes, wriggling loose to unfold one of the paper slips.
“Two handsome ex-outlaws
met
Seven very appreciative ladies
in
The Brown Palace Hotel
They said to them:
‘Hey gals, come sit on our knees…’
And the gals said back:
‘Sure. Let’s see what comes up…’
And the consequence was…”
[Unfortunately the conclusion of this story breaches the board’s PG13 policy and has been censored. Guess that’s what you call Unintended Consequences, huh?]
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