FEELING NO PAIN
then saunters into the smoky road house.
She pushes her way up to the bar, muscles her five foot two, hundred twelve pound frame between four hundred eighty pounds of pork, and orders a diet cola. She begins counting down from ten, but the first hit comes at seven. "Gosh, little lady, don’t you
think that's a bit strong?" She endures the mindless laughter that follows, and waits for the second hit, reminding herself that she did not come for the brilliant repartees. "Are you gonna need a des-ig-na-ted driver to take you home?" She is actually bored by the
obligatory pelvic thrust that accompanies, "I'll drive you, honey!"
She takes a sip of her drink and decides that it is time to make some money. "I'm sorry, but my apartment lease does not allow me to bring home animals." She scores nicely with that retort, garnishing several hoots, a half dozen guffaws, and one swig of beer spit out down a shirt. Of course, the shirt is so filthy that one more stain does not matter. But most importantly, she has hooked a big fat fish. Now all she needs is a challenger.
She scans the crowd and picks out three or four possibilities, while Porky tries to put enough words together to form a reply. Before his ears have finished turning red, she has selected her challenger. But it really doesn’t matter. It is time to bring the "ladies" on board.
As Porky is about to bellow something in reply, she holds up one finger, which sufficiently befuddles him into silence. She seizes the moment to set the hook a little deeper. Using the finger which was so effective in silencing him, she pokes Porky twice
in his ample belly and informs him, "Besides, maybe those cows over by the pool table enjoy playing with marshmallows, but I like a strong partner."
The use of the word "cows" has the desired effect, as the entire herd turns its attention her way. The leader of the herd, a large leather clad apparition, takes appropriate umbrage. Masticating a large wad of chewing tobacco cud, she treads over to encourage
the intruder to vacate the premises, or, preferably, to stomp her upon her refusal. "Why don't you get your city ass out of here before it gets whipped real good?"
She laughs derisively, grabs Porky's belt, and taunts, "My city ass could take twice the whipping of your fat, worthless ass!"
Leather Cow spreads her bovine legs apart, raises her fists and replies "Oh, yeah," which she finds almost unbearably mundane. But she has work to do, and if she is going to make any money, now is the time.
"Sure, I challenge you to a duel. We take turns bent over the pool table, and alternate taking cracks with Porky's belt. Five bucks a swing says that I can take twice as many swats with Porky's belt as you can. Before each round, each one has to ante up five
bucks." She opens her purse, and takes out a small roll of crisp, new, borrowed twenty dollar bills that look like they were printed by Milton-Bradley. "Well now, tough gal. Just to make it interesting, since we need to use Porky's belt, we could put twenty bucks in to start and let Porky take half a dozen cracks as a warm up. What's it going to be?"
LC is confused. But Porky and the rest of the gang are thoroughly enamored with the idea. While LC is deciding, the gang clears the pool table, making the decision for her. LC would prefer to just beat the prissy little bitch to a bloody pulp, but is outvoted by the gang. As expected, when LC protests that she does not have any cash, the gang opens their wallets.
She walks through the gauntlet to the pool table and waves to LC. "Are you coming?" LC, recognizing that there is no way to back out, lumbers over to the arena. She is worried that the removal of the belt may cause Porky to lose his pants. The thought of Porky's pants down around his ankles is an image so horrifying that she is tempted to back out. But she needs the money, so decides to take the risk. She bends over the pool table. "Any time you're ready, Porky."
Porky, practically drooling, already has drawn and doubled his thick leather belt. He plans to teach her some country manners as he draws back the belt and snaps it forward with alacrity. It connects with a loud crack. She smiles and tells him, "Any time you're ready, Porky. Oh, I'm so embarrassed. I guess that was one." The gang roars, LC is curious, and Porky is humiliated. She is quite pleased.
Porky lays on two more vicious cracks in rapid succession. She calmly counts off two and three. After the fourth, she makes a point of covering her mouth politely while she yawns. Five and six only serve to raise the level of the gang's derision two more notches.
She rises, straightens her dress, and turns to LC. "It's your table."
LC is not happy. The little bitch never even made a sound, and it sure looked like she was getting a good whipping. LC is tempted to concede the twenty, but she is not ready to go find herself another gang. She sets her cud in the left side of her mouth, and out of the
right, sneers, "No problem, bitch!"
Porky, determined to make amends for his embarrassing performance in the first half, unleashes a blistering smack across LC's ample, jean clad bottom. Despite her resolve, LC grunts. After two more algesic cracks are met with hisses and clenched teeth, LC
rewards Porky's fourth attempt with a loud "Shit!" She is equally appreciative of cracks five and six. Her face red and her rear throbbing, LC seizes the belt from Porky and resolves to make the little bitch pay.
"Not so fast. We have to ante up." She takes five dollars out of her purse and lays it on the pool table. Another five covers it. "Five bucks says that she can't get a sound out of me in either swing. Any takers?" There are eight. Another eighty dollars forms a second pile on the pool table as she bends over and takes her mark. LC takes a step back and takes aim. She snaps the belt forward, connecting squarely with the paisley posterior. Of course there is no reaction. Infuriated, LC lashes downward, without apparent effect.
She smiles and pockets the side bet. "Five bucks says I can get a sound out of her. Any takers?" Twenty-five dollars hit the table. She covers it, and motions for LC to bend over the table.
She paid close attention to Porky's handiwork, and knows that LC took the brunt of round one on her left cheek. She does not want to end the game too quickly, but she wants to take the side bet. She lays the first stripe across the center of the left cheek,
causing LC to hiss out "Fuck!" She picks up the side bet, holds out a five, and inquires politely, "Another round?"
LC rips the belt away from her, "Get your ass over there!"
She smiles, "Five bucks says she can't get a sound out of me. Any takers?" There are none. "What's the matter boys? How about two to one?" Twenty dollars hit the table. She covers it with forty and bends over. "You may fire when ready, gruesome."
LC is already beyond livid, so the taunt is wasted. She rears back and mercilessly slashes the little bitch's behind. Like the prior taunt, the effort is wasted, as the bitch remains silent. A second furious assault also fails to elicit any response.
She pockets the side bet and gestures to LC. LC stands fast, but is finally goaded into position. She does not even bother to call for side bets. Without ceremony, she delivers a fiery submarine swat that catches the tops of LC's thighs, causing LC to let out a screech
as her hands fly back to rub her blistered backside. LC concedes, albeit less than graciously.
She scoops up the pot and is about to take her leave, when Porky offers her double or nothing that he can get a sound with the next swat. She puts the pot back on the table, but Porky tells her that he means all of the money, including the side wagers. She smiles and
places the night's receipts on the table. She licks her lips as the gang matches it. With the confidence of a sure winner, she bends to her mark.
Porky smoothes her dress, taking great pains to cop several feels. She is tempted to kick him in the groin, but she wants the money. Eventually, he takes his mark. He smiles and nods to the gang. He takes the belt by the end and lets the heavy Confederate belt buckle hang down. With a feral grin, Porky whips the belt forward, slashing the buckle across her ass, and gouges a two inch rip in the dress. Porky nearly chokes as she merely nods, rises and pockets all of the wagers.
As she walks across the parking lot, she feels the dress sticking to the back of her leg. She knows the son of a bitch cut her, but she cannot feel it. She sighs, and thinks that normally, her analgesia is a real pain in the ass, but not when the rent is due.
KC Copyright 2007; Moral rights to be identified as the author of the foregoing story asserted worldwide (including in Great Britain in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988)
"Feeling No Pain" can be found in: