There Ain’t No Sure Thing

The Only Real Thing, Is There Ain’t No Sure Thing
By Stephen A Abell.

Number of Words: 1000

The blue’s chord cut through the stale air as the song started to play. Though it was a might slower than previous tunes the woman didn’t retreat from the dance floor; they shook their badonkadonks for all they were worth. I didn’t mind because as the song states, “We hate to see her go but love to watch her leave”. Besides, my gal was out on the floor with the rest of them cowgirls… and my eyes were lovin’ every minute of it.

I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been. I mean, I ain’t no oil painting and she’s as sensuous and alluring as Botticelli's Venus. Okay, so I know a little bit about art. Don’t go judging a cowboy by his stetson… and before you ask, it ain’t about the size of his gun, it’s about his aim… Amy has that strawberry blonde hair and light alabaster skin that just makes me miss a breath each time I see her. Then when I get close enough to smell her sweet skin and those malachite eyes my heart misses a beat and the butterflies take flight. I feel like a damn teeneager again.

The music’s kicked up the pace and some of the girls are line dancing. Thought that went out in the nineties. It’s remarkable that she feels the same way about me and that we have so much in common. I love the music and she loves to dance to the music. The way it brings her alive is amazing. Her body moves so perfectly to the rhythm I think she may have danced before she walked. Even her long silky hair flows and twists in syncopation. When she dances, she’s a masterpiece in movement.

We’ve been dating for three weeks now, though with the day jobs we’ve only seen each other six times. Every weekend, though we’ve kissed… she has the fullest and softest lips… her lips taste of cherry lipbalm, they’re so red naturally she doesn’t need lipstick… Though we’ve kissed and petted pretty heavily, our clothes have stayed on. I’m hoping that changes tonight.

Bobby Bare finishes telling us that there’s no such thing as a sure thing - yeah, right, he should have my life right now; there’s nothing surer than Amy’s and my love - and her she comes. Damn, she sure does move well.

Now this is one of the things I love about this girl, the way she spins the chair around and straddles it so she can lean forward on the back of the chair. She takes a chug of beer from her glass, grabs me, pulls me close, and mashes our lips together. There’s a sweet sweat and muskiness floating off her and it’s affecting all the right parts of my labido.

We stay in the bar until eleven then mosey out to the car in the parking lot. The chill November air hits us and Amy pulls in closer to the warmth of my body. In the car, I crank up the heating and slip a CD into the slot. Clint Black’s deep rich tones sing Desperado. I can almost see the Savannah Plains stretching out before us instead of the dark and dreary wet English city.

It was my father who ignited my interest in country music. I had thought the scene dead. If it hadn’t been for Amy, I’d have been at home with the CD’s playing. She was like a hunter chasing her prey. She dug through a hell of a lot of websites to find these last remaining pubs hosting Country and Western nights.

It’s a two-hour drive back to her house and as I glance across I see she’s slipped into dreamland.

I nudge her awake as I turn the engine off. She stirs grudgingly as I say, “Madam, the horses have brought us home.”

The coldness slaps her awake as soon as I open the door for her. I see her hand is ferreting away in her handbag as she jogs to the front door. A smile creases my lips at the sight and I think, I bet she’s wishing she wore more than those short cutt-off jeans. She’s in the hallway before I catch-up and she’s holding the door wide beckoning me inside. Yippee-ki-yay.

No sooner does the door thud into its doorframe than she’s in my arms; our lips locked in a hungry kiss. Moving through the hallway, I lose my coat. In the doorway to the living room, my shirt goes and her blouse opens. Within a couple of steps I’m starting to stumble… I’ve never been good at walking with my trousers round my ankles. Amy’s on the couch in just her underwear. Oh my god, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. She quickly reaches out and grabs my arms spinning me around and throwing me backward onto the cushions. This is amazing and wonderous. I never imagined life could be so great.

Amy leans forward, her breasts stroke my face as she pushes my hands above my head. I give in to the moment…

Wait.

Something’s wrong.

There’s something around my wrists and I can’t pull my hands down.

As I look to see what’s keeping me bound I feel Amy’s weight shift. I look down but it’s too late she’s hogtied my legs like a rodeo rider. Oh, Christ, what the hell is going on?

I open my mouth to argue but she rams a gag in the awaiting orifice. Only a muffled plea can be heard in the silence.

Now I’m bound and rendered immobile I notice my surroundings for the first time. Amy is walking around the room and lighting candles. Lots of candles. Black candles. A cold chill runs up my spine, and it’s nothing to do with the heat.

I hear a draw being opened and closed. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.

Amy strolls back into vision and I see the long curved blade as light glimmers off the steel.

As she straddles over my prone body I can hear the song from earlier tonight. As blade makes it’s fatal journey all I can hear is a voice singing, “There ain’t no sure thing…”