Mariette And The Cowboy (Western Night Series 2) (60 page)

Thoroughly, Pamela removed the pleasantly smelling white residue from her body, every little and not-so-little cushion jiggling pleasantly while she was doing so. After it was done, she tossed it onto the pile of dirty laundry that littered a nearby corner, all while approaching the large, obscured mirror.

Not bad looking, are we?
The woman asked herself, seconds after wiping the condensed water from the reflective surface. The face that stared back into her was beautiful, that much was beyond a doubt, with a rounded, fair-skinned face, framed by locks of dark brown. Her eyes were dark blue, piercing through the soft features that housed them.

What truly made Professor Pamela Greene stand out, however, was not her face; it was her body. Fantastically sized in both the breast and bottom areas and with a comparatively minor belly, her every little move was sexuality incarnate. Outside, constrained within normal clothing, one could only catch a glimpse of this splendor, but here, nude as she was, the woman was divine.

Too bad no one gets to see much of it these days,
Pamela grumbled silently, turning back toward the living room while wrapping the towel around her head. Within no time at all she was there, faced with a serious case of the munchies.

Which fast food place will we speed dial tonight?
  Ecstatically, the plump woman danced toward the spot where she left her handbag, bending over enticingly in order to lift it up. Slowly, she unzipped the purse before letting her hand slide in where her cellphone usually rested, but instead coming upon a large piece of folded paper.

What the…?
Surprised, she pulled her hand back out of the bag, and the intruding object with it. It was colored, printed and decorated from both sides, that much was easy to make out.

Letting her purse drop straight to the floor, Pamela hurriedly unfolded the paper, soon finding herself staring into some kind of leaflet. The header was typed out in a stylized font, and consisted of but one word: Primal. Below the heading was printed a picture: that of an unremarkable two-storied building, with nothing to distinguish it other than a somewhat larger parking lot.
What is this? Some sort of roadhouse?

There was no description, no catchphrase nor explanation; merely its assumed name, picture, and an address and phone number printed on the bottom of the page.
Curious,
the professor thought as she further inspected the paper, flipping it on its other side in an attempt to learn more, but the effort was wasted. Besides the other side sharing the same dark green coloration, all it had to offer was some sort of logo, appearing as a stylized bear’s head.

Why in the world would this be in here?
Pamela couldn’t help but wonder. Just as she was about to let the paper fall onto the floor though, the answer immediately leapt straight at her, practically punching her in the face.
Marie must have slipped it in somehow, back when we were face-to-face.

Goddamn it,
the professor grit her teeth. She had taken a stand out there and was played for a fool.
Wait a second, she didn’t…
Quickly, the woman reached back down toward her bag turning, it inside-out and examining every little piece she knew it should have contained. To her surprise, it was all there.

Phew. For a minute there I thought that she managed to steal from me again.
Relieved, Pam allowed her attention to drift back toward another, more innocent and pleasant time, when the two of them were all but inseparable. Parties, dress-up, late-night talks, there wasn’t a thing any one of them did that the other didn’t partake in in some way.

Sadly, Marie took that a bit too far when she slept with the boy Pamela was seeing at the time. Then, after the ensuing fallout, the clack-haired girl responded by eloping with the young man for areas unknown, vanishing without a trace.
The thick-headed little tart didn’t even stick around long enough to graduate from high school.

After that, for all intents and purposes, Marie was a ghost story. From time to time, someone would mention having seen her here and there, but the literature professor didn’t have that displeasure.

The displeasure that, I promise, will be all hers,
the overly curvaceous woman told herself as she paced across the room, straight toward the telephone. Having forcefully pulled the handset out of its stand, Pamela proceeded to dial the number featured on the paper.

The monotonous ringing that followed only served to enrage her more.
I swear, I am going to give her such bad mouthing at whatever place that is that she’s gonna have t-

“Primal,” a voice spoke from the other side, coarse, deep and masculine. “What’ll be your pleasure, stranger?”

“I…,” the tone of the voice seemed to contain a certain trait she could not quantify, “Yeah, hello. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

“Anything for a hot-sounding little morsel such as yourself,” the man from the other side replied, his disposition significantly improved after he noticed that the caller was female.

“I am looking for information about a person,” the professor said, trying to find the best possible way to do what she had intended without immediately making her intentions clear. The man from the other side was just about to say something when she continued. “Sir, do you know a woman by the name of Marie Jackson?”

“Indeed I do. Marie is one of our waitresses. She is not in today, though. Day off, you see. Is there a message you would like me to forward? I’d be happy to
please.
”

The way he said that last word sent shivers down the woman’s spine, and she wasn’t completely sure if it was in the good or bad way. Regardless, she was not going to back down. Marie had something like this coming for a long while now.

“That will not be necessary, thank you. I would, however, like to form an official complaint about your employee’s behavior.”

“Go on,” the voice from the other side responded after a short pause.

“I’ve known her for years, you see, but we’ve had a falling out. I haven’t seen her in a good while, not until today. Earlier this evening, you see, Marie came to see me at my job, harassed me for no reason at all, and even slipped one of your leaflets into my purse while she was at it. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against your place, but actions like that are illegal, and I don’t want her to do that again.”

“I see,” the man replied, apparently in deep thought. “That is unfortunate. Sadly, I cannot do anything about that based on a phone call alone. Do you have anything concrete to back up your claim?”

“The piece of paper is still with me, I guess. I don’t think there is anything else.”

“You won’t need it,” the voice replied. “This’ll be enough. lady, would it trouble you too much to drive here tonight so you can file a complaint? I’d understand if it’d be a problem for you, seeing how it’s such a relatively minor infraction, though…”

“Not at all,” the professor responded, “My privacy had been disturbed today, and I won’t stand for it.”

“Alright, then. The address is on the piece of paper, as you’ve likely seen by now. You come here any time you like, and you can file a complaint about little Miss Marie. Do that tonight and we’ll throw in a drink on the house. How does that sound?”

“Just perfect, thank you. See you soon.”

“You take care, lady. Drive carefully, please. We’re looking forward to meeting someone as pretty-sounding as you face-to-face.”

“Yeah, the feeling is mutual, thank you,” Pamela replied before ending her call. Elated, she stepped toward the bedroom, ready, willing and able for an interstate drive.

                                                                                    ***

Oh well, could have been worse,
Pamela noted while she observed the interior of this place they called “Primal”. The smell of tobacco was a bit too powerful, the music too loud, and the floor too dirty, but that was not unexpected for a place that catered to bikers and truckers. Given the shape of some similar establishments, this one was not shabby at all.

Ah, the salt of the earth,
she mused while passing by some of the patrons, none of whom were too busy to miss the sight of the attractive, voluptuous woman as she passed them by. The way some of them looked at her, it was different from what she got back home. Pity, ridicule, even thinly veiled amusement, the professor was used to these kinds of reactions. Here though, everyone peered into her as if she was some kind of
prey
. It was somewhat unpleasant, but also alluring in a way she could not explain.

Pamela wasn’t even dressed provocatively, although she did put effort into looking as good as she could: with a brown, skirted business suit that perfectly matched the tone of her hair, and wearing trace amounts of make-up. A pair of thin glasses, mimicking the shape of cat’s eyes completed the look, giving her an intellectual vibe in a place where something like that appeared anything but common.

“Looking good, baby!” One of the men turned on his chair to comment, raising his pint in the air before downing it in one gulp. He was of the larger sort, but more on the muscled than soft side, and hairy all over, from the top of his head down to his forearms. Not really knowing how to react to this, Pam merely gave him an awkward smile before continuing her pace toward the counter.

“Can I get some service here, please?” the woman raised her voice after noticing that no one was there to take her order. The rest of the people here all had their drinks, so
someone
must have been on the job here. “Hello?” she yelled again, her voice barely managing to break through the roar of the amped-up music.

“Excuse me, lady,” a voice spoke from behind her, easily recognizable even with this much racket going about. It was the man she spoke with earlier today. Enthusiastically, the literature professor turned around, eager to finally see the face of the individual whose voice had such a profound impact on her. Even now, in its distorted state, she could feel the electricity as it built up in between her legs.

“The body needs what the body needs,” he explained his absence by vaguely pointing toward the entrance to a nearby bathroom. He was attractive in an uncouth sort of way, tall and lean, and sporting a combination of long dark hair and cowboy moustache that appeared to be common within these parts. His choice of wardrobe only added to the effect he seemed to be going for, consisting of a plain red shirt on top of a heavily worn pair of jeans.

“Now may I help you, ma’am?” He asked, staring deep into Pamela’s eyes with his own pair of dark brown ones.

Stricken by the combination of the man’s appearance and voice, the woman’s difficulty in controlling her thoughts now doubled. She tried to answer, but her nether region interfered, trying to put its own words into her mouth. In protest, she brought her legs together, as if to shut “her” up.

Finally, after several seconds too long of a break, she finally managed to reply. “I’ve talked over the phone with you. I wanted to file a complaint about your waitress, remember?”

“Ah,” he responded, his expression now changed into one of profound interest. He scanned the woman’s body out in exquisite detail once more, before finally continuing with his sentence “Well, your voice was darn pretty and everything, but nothing could have prepared me for meeting you in the flesh.”

Pamela could feel herself blush unintentionally as she unsuccessfully tried to form a witty retort to this man’s obvious compliment.
Come on, think of something, stupid.

“But you didn’t come here for compliments but for business, I guess,” the man spoke again, as if he could feel Pamela’s distress. Like a predator circling its prey, he went around the plump woman’s immense body, observing her assets again before settling into the general area of the counter. “We’ll get down to that soon enough, ma’am. But here in Primal, we like to say
pleasure before business,
if you catch my drift.”

“I’d really like to get that unpleasant part of my day over with, if you don’t mind, Mister…” the professor finally managed to compose herself enough to give a coherent answer.
What is wrong with me? I’m not usually like this!
She could not put her finger on it, but there was a certain quality to this man that turned her brain off and put her crotch in charge.

“Ah, Griff’s the name, lady,” he replied, extending his hand toward her over the counter. “I can’t keep calling you “lady” all the time, though. Mind introducing yourself?

Reluctantly, the woman responded in kind, sharing a warm and powerful handshake with the barman. “Pamela Greene, pleased to meet you,” said after a while, giving her best to ignore the goose bumps that the touch of Griff’s hand sent through her body. It was rough and strong despite him being lean, and what little of the man’s right bicep she could make out through the shirt seemed to possess some kind of a tattoo.

“This you’re looking at, pretty lady?” Griff uncovered his right arm as soon as the handshake was over, exposing an intricate tattoo in the shape of a stylized bear head.
The logo from the back of the leaflet, I see.
“Most everyone has it right here. Sort of a brotherly mark, if you will,” he pulled the shirt back over it as the sentence was nearing its end. “But that’s still business, Pamela, and I’d like us to go straight for the
pleasure.
”