Because It's Country!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A crass young man feels conflicted with himself as he slowly comes to terms with his true feelings for an enchanting but annoying woman who he thought he hated.

Submitted: February 22, 2015

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Submitted: February 22, 2015

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Because It's Country!

By John Null

 

I completely loathe Robin Willoughby.

 

We usually call her by the nickname “Sunny,” really. You could just take one look at that goofy grin on her face and instantly hate her. Where does she get off? Who does she think she is? Smiling like that. It should be illegal. She makes me sick. What does she have to be so happy about all the time? Is it because she's pretty? Gets good grades? Has a bright future? Oh, yeah, I bet she's going to make tons of money becoming a kindergarten teacher. How is she going to support her family on thirty thousand dollars a year? What is she, a saint? Give me a break. Dumb bitch.

In autumn I went over to her house one weekend because she wanted to have a “double date” for her family's annual hootenanny in their big, red barn. She and her boyfriend and me and my girlfriend. Her boyfriend is kind of like a fat Rick Moranis who wears wolf shirts. You know, shirts with wolves on them. He's a total pud and definitely doesn't belong with a girl like her. His name's Norville.

My girlfriend, on the other hand, is way hot. Well, she's okay looking when she tries, anyway. She kind of dresses sloppy a lot of the time, like she thinks she's pretty enough to get away with not having to wear decent clothing. She isn't...So I guess maybe she isn't really “way hot” after all. Nevertheless, she looks nice in a dress on the rare occasion she wears one. Her name is Bayleigh. She's a bitch, though. Oh yeah, mine is Dan.

...Aykroyd. Yes, my name is Dan Aykroyd. No relation. Let's move on.

Sunny lives in this old bed and breakfast her great-great-grandpappy built like a hundred years ago and has been working ever since she was old enough to walk. She made us this great big meal before the festivities started which was better than anything else anyone had ever made for me before. Bacon and eggs making a smiley face, seasoned sausages, orange juice, cereal, grapefruit, chocolate chip pancakes and maple syrup from Canada, French toast, and everything else you can think of. Man, her cooking was so good. I wish Bayleigh could cook like her. Whatever, Bayleigh is good at other things, if you know what I mean. I can't believe she hasn't dislocated her jaw yet.

After we finished eating the scrumptious meal she made for us and I took a big shit, we went to the barn to prepare things. Sunny was wearing this pretty little sundress, cute little cowgirl boots and sexy little pantyhose. Plus she had that stupid bow she always wears in her dark red hair, which doesn't quite reach her shoulders and ends in this perfect curl, like it's the '70s or something. She had on an old jean jacket to top it all off. After doing a little bit of tidying up in the barn, she sat down with us and stretched.

“Isn't this just a super-duper day?”

Yeah, like we really needed an observation like that. How astute of her. Oh, it was only 70 degrees and the leaves on the trees were as red as her beautiful hair. Yes, Sunny, it's a “super-duper day.” Stupid mick.

“Of course, dear,” Norville replied with the enthusiasm of Ned Flanders as he fiddled with some speaker cords. He is such a candy ass. I bet he actually pauses movies to read the FBI warning.

I detest happy couples. Look at me and Bayleigh, we hate each other, but we're both hot so it's okay. Well, I am, anyway. She sometimes is. She's got a nice body, you know? She isn't one of those whale-sized women who says they're “curvy.” Let's call them when they really are: “lumpy.” Nevertheless, I'd say she needs to lose a few pounds...of make-up. It looks like her face has frosting on it half the time. Like she's a cake.

Bayleigh accidentally knocked her beer over, but tried to grab the beer itself as it spilled, not the bottle. She's a regular Al Einstein.

“Gee whiz! It's okay, Sweetie, I'll take care of it,” Sunny said with that stupid smile and those dumb dimples as she started to clean it up with wet wipes from her purse. Yes, wet wipes. Idiot bastard.

“Sorry. It wouldn't have slipped outta my hand if ya'd given me a dry bottle instead of a wet one from the cooler,” Bitch replied. I mean Bayleigh. Whoever. She better learn to watch her mouth before it gets knocked right off her face. She can't talk to Sunny like that.

“You're right, I'm sorry.”

Sunny is one of those darling little “apple pie girls,” that is to say, she's so sweet that people with diabetes can't even be around her too much or they'll die. The only thing you could say against her is that she's a pushover, and one of these days, someone is going to exploit that horribly. Poor Sunny.

We tried to enjoy our time together for awhile longer before everyone showed up for the hootenanny. I found it hard with Bayleigh there, dressed in a sweatshirt and pajama pants with crocs and a ponytail. She can be really pretty when she puts effort into the way she looks. That obviously wasn't this day. At least her boobs are like as big as her head. That's cool. Plus, she has such a tight turd cutter that you could shove coal down her throat and pull diamonds out of her ass.

But then look at Sunny. She's always ravishing.

We passed the time by going outside and getting some fresh air in Sunny's garden, sitting on the tire swing and laying on her grandmother's hammock. Her garden was the most beautiful in the world, even at this time of year. She grew flowers and fruit, including cherries, which were her favorite and mine as well. They're sweet, just like her, and red like her short little locks, which always make my knees weak.

Listening to Norville ramble on and on about the difference between catsup and ketchup and Bayleigh whining about how horrible her home life is and how her “fascist” parents make her take out the trash and empty the dishwasher would have driven me insane, maybe even outsane, if it weren't for Sunny's optimistic attitude and goofy grin keeping up my spirits.

“I think that's really neat, Pumpkin Head,” she said to Norville as she nuzzled his nose and ran her fingers through his thinning hair. What was she doing with this guy? Oh, so he treats her with respect and truly admires her, big whoop.

“So, Bayleigh, what are you going to school for?” Sunny asked as she and Norville snuggled together on the hammock while I pushed the whore on the swing.

She was sweet for asking Bayleigh about something so uninteresting. Bayleigh has no realistic aspirations for the future. She's a bum. “Wowzers, that's really neat,” Sunny would say every minute or two, nodding. I could not even begin to tell you how bored I was listening to Bayleigh talk on and on about who-gives-a-shit-what while Sunny had to sit through it and listen.

The bitch's babbling continued as she lit up a cigarette, A.K.A., a “square,” as she calls them. “I'm gonna leave Missoura next year to go to school on the East Coast, like Califarnia or Warshington. Prob'ly gonna do some kind of theatre or something so I can go and be a big Broadway star and get me a show on the TV like that guy Steinfieldand his friends.”

This hell continued, seemingly forever, until Norville finally interrupted.

“When is the ho-down?!” he asked in a way too excited tone.

“Just a little bit!” Sunny replied, ecstatic. “But it's a hootenanny, not a ho-down, you big goofball.” Sunny rubbed Norville's full belly like he was a big, fat Hotei Buddha.

“You're a ball of goof,” she added. Norville was the only one of us to laugh.

“Darlin',” he said, gently running his fingers along her blushing cheek.

“Yes, Sweetie-Plum?”

He continued, “Your cooking is just tops. That meal you made for us today was just about the best thing I've eaten since...the last time you cooked a meal for me, I tell you what!”

“Aw, well, a full tummy is a happy tummy,” Sunny exclaimed enthusiastically as she kissed his forehead, her pretty lips stamped onto it.

Bayleigh rolled her eyes. I could tell she never liked Sunny. Maybe because she knew she would never be as cool or as pretty, or maybe because I've banged them both.

Okay, I lie. I never did it with Sunny. I almost got to, though...You might find it hard to believe, but she and I had a thing once back when we first met about two years ago, but she caught me with another woman. I wouldn't have had to cheat on her if she were more willing to put out, though. Three dates is enough, right? How much longer was I supposed to wait? Is that even really considered “cheating” yet at that point? Anyway, she has been reluctant to go out with me ever since then.

I guess the karma of fucking over a good girl is the bitch you end up with.

Norville went into the house to get some lemonade for Sunny and left us three there. Like a triangle, kind of. An isosceles triangle. What kind of word is that anyway? I bet Isosceles was the Greek god of triangles or something. It's definitely a Greek name. Isosceles. I'll name my son Isosceles. I say “son” because I know my kid will be a boy since I like to do it standing up. Then again, my favorite Greek would have to be Play Dough. That guy was smart.

“You two look really cute together, you know that?” Sunny grinned from ear to ear and looked at me and Bayleigh. I couldn't make eye contact with that doll face. No way.

“You do too, Sunny, but what's with yer boyfriend? Norville, right? He hella ugly,” Bayleigh said as she flicked her cigarette butt toward Sunny's cherries and popped some gum into her mouth. She always knew the worst thing to say. Even I thought that was kind of a rude comment. She is a major Chef Bitchardee.

“I don't believe so, Bayleigh. Anyways, he's such a sweetheart. Plus he laughs at...”

“Laughs at all yer jokes. Mhmm, I noticed,” said Bayleigh, smacking her lips together loudly as she chewed her gum, which was turning her lips and teeth blue. She was trying to put on that whole sassy, ghetto persona that she uses sometimes, but frankly, she's about as far from the ghetto as you can get. Her neck is redder than a Blood's do-rag.

Sunny blushed and shrugged off Bayleigh's attitude. “I just think he's really nifty.”

“Well I just think he's too young to be balding so much,” Bayleigh spat out.

“He may be losing hair, but that just means he's getting more face, and I love his face so it doesn't bother me!”

Bayleigh asked, “Don't you at least think he's kinda chunky?”

“He isn't chunky, he's doughy,” replied Sunny, laughing. “Sorry, Bayleigh, but I don't think it's polite of us to talk about someone if they aren't around. He isn't even here to defend himself.”

She pulled her big, goofy spectacles out of her purse, put them on and looked over at me with her big ol' cartoonish eyes and shot me this dumb, friendly smile, you know, like she's my grandma or some shit. I tried to look busy so I scratched my ball sack and looked away from her.

That evening the hootenanny began. The whole county was there, and it was the same weekend as the fair, so there were lots of people in town. Old relatives and friends who have moved would come back home for this one weekend every autumn. Here, people were bringing food they made and having drinks with their friends and dancing to some live country band that was there. Or maybe it was western. I don't know what the difference between country and western is. Guess I need a gooder edumacation.

The mayor himself was there and announced, “This will be the most merry fair weekend the county has seen in its two hundred years, I do declare!” He had a sort of Creole accent and a funny mustache, not to mention he stood at hardly five feet tall, about the same height as Sunny, and was extremely rotund. “I reckon that this here will be a jolly time, I guarantee!”

At the hootenanny in her barn, the band was playing this song about a gun or a dog or a tractor or some country crap like that, I don't know. I thought folk singers were supposed to play at these things, not country. Or western. Whatever. I like folk. It's good. This, though, was garbage. Almost as bad as dubstep, even.

Bayleigh didn't want to dance to anything but some guy called Just N. Beaver or something, which I imagine is like Chuck E. Cheese, so I was left without a partner, except for this snaggletooth country bumpkin who kept eye fucking me from across the room. She was one of those girls who's so ugly that you can tell just by looking at her that she probably stinks like old Italian food. Upon seeing her, my first thought was “Holy shit, I bet she wishes she were never even born.” I'd rather be forced at gunpoint to sniff Sunny's sweaty boot feet for hours than walk within five meters of that wretched old goat. With girls like this grotesque harlot so common in these here parts, it's no wonder people in rural areas like this are always just having their way with animals instead. I would much rather bang out a sheep than stick it in this ogre.

Norville had changed into this whole cowboy get-up that made him look like a colorblind Marty McFly. It totally matched his purple truck. He probably banged Sunny in there all the time. I'm sorry, I mean “made love to.” Because they're so “in love” with each other. Looking at them dance together made me sick to my stomach. I looked at him and then back at her. Then at that snaggletooth girl again. If I danced with her, it would be no different than Sunny and Norville. One hottie, one uggo. I swear, this fat-ass's love handles hanging between her jeans and cow-print tube top made her look like an exploded can of biscuits, or perhaps rising yeast in the oven. Alternatively, it kind of looked like when you squeeze dough and it oozes between your fingers.

“Dan,” Norville said to me between songs, his hand on my shoulder. Sunny's kiss was still stamped onto his forehead, mocking me. “I want you to dance with Sunny for a bit. I gotta go drop the kids off at the pool, if you get what I mean! Y'know...Take the Browns to the Super Bowl?”

“Tight,” I smugly said and shrugged. As I approached where she was in the middle of the barn, the sight of her made the world move in slow motion. Her gorgeous red hair and big green eyes were more luminous than the sun itself on a cloudless Spring day. Her porcelain white skin and rosy cheeks made my blood rush to my face. Her succulent heart shaped lips were the most exquisite I had ever seen, especially when pursed into that lovely smile of hers, framed by deep, sweet dimples. The bow on her head tied her whole entire being together like a gorgeous gift with beautiful, bright wrapping, like a Christmas gift or candy. She looked so sweet.

Then it moved.

Of course, I didn't mention that to her, but I knew I was going to have to rub one out to her image that night. I suppose the romantic thing so say would be, “Her unmatched beauty will be forever ingrained in my fond memories of her,” but no. She's totally J-worthy, dude. If the whole kindergarten teacher idea doesn't work out, she could definitely be in porno if she wanted. Those women make good money. I mean, who wouldn't toss off to her? Only some kind of a gay queer. She gave me blue balls so bad, I swear that by the time I got home they were each as big as my fist. I shot a load so gargantuan it could have filled up a cup. In short, she's a real nut buster.

Anyway, I walked right up to her, grabbed her tiny hands and we slow danced for the first time since we started college, since we were together two years ago. Elvis' Can't Help Falling in Love and other cliché romantic hits had replaced the energetic country tunes that had been playing before. Western. Whatever. It felt like the last scene of Pretty in Pink...Which I've only seen because she made me watch it with her on our first date. Duh. Because that's a girl movie.

My palms were sweating and my heart was beating out of my chest as she laid her head on it. She could probably hear it louder than the music. I really hope she didn't feel the other thing, though. That would be embarrassing. I have never smelled such an amazing scent coming from a woman's hair before, either. It smelled so clean and fresh and reminded me of flowers, which only made me hold her even closer, the corners of my lips curling up into a small smile.

“Robin”, I said to her, having seldom actually called her by her real name before. “I remember the first time we met, you introduced yourself to me and then asked me what my name is and I said 'Dan Aykroyd.' When I told you that, you were the first person I had ever met that didn't make a joke about it. You just smiled at me and said 'Pleased to meet you' and I knew right then and there I always wanted to be with you.”

“Danny, don't be a simpleton! You and Bayleigh make a wonderful couple. You both hate all the same people and complain about all the same things,” she said, somehow in a very sweet tone. I know she meant no sarcasm. “You two will be married one day.”

This thought struck terror into my heart, shivers going down my spine. I got more goosebumps from that remark than I ever have from any old R.L. Stine book. I looked over to where Bayleigh had been from across the barn, but she was gone. I had no idea where to, but I didn't care. She's a stupid wench. What kind of name is “Bayleigh” anyway? Isn't that a dog name? That's like naming your son “Hunter.” That's definitely a dog name.

Going in circles with Robin slowly, holding her hand and waist, I felt like I was in high school again, 14 years old and with twenty other freshmen, all of us with a few bucks apiece, putting our money together to rent a limousine to go to homecoming or something like that. She made me feel young again. Well, younger, anyway. At 21, I was too young to be as bitter as I was. But Robin made me feel good.

“Don't say that, Robin,” I said, almost choking. She chuckled a tad bit. I had to ask, “Do you dislike me? You know the only reason I tease you is because I like you, but I feel like I'm a bit too abrasive toward you a lot of the time.”

“Nope, you're not bad. You just have a lot of gumption is all!”

I laughed. “Let's just enjoy this dance together,” I told her, squeezing her even tighter. In my head, she was my girlfriend. My wife, even. It was only with her that I ever felt what some folks call “love.”

Norville reappeared, but I held up my finger to tell him to hold on. Norville was an okay guy. He stepped off and waited. He can be a bro sometimes. A straight-up G, yo. That's what we call people like him in da hood. I think several songs went by, but I don't know, I wasn't listening. I just remember going in circles, holding that little apple pie girl and not wanting to ever let go, knowing it would be the last time I would ever be able to have a moment like that with her, the one that got away.

 

I completely love Robin Willoughby.


© Copyright 2020 nulljohn. All rights reserved.

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