Dirty, Sexy, Dangerous

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I was sitting at the bar in a western saloon alone. My husband would not be back until the next day because he was leading a pack trip into the High Sierras with some other cowboys. It was about ten o’clock at night and I had been nursing the same beer for the last two hours while I idly chatted with the bartender. I felt a rush of air from the opened door and glanced around behind me.

The man who had walked in had almost waist length tangled black hair, dirty jeans with a knife strapped to a holster on his leg; he needed a shave and he was the sexiest man I had ever seen in my life. The guy was big, well over six feet, and slim with lots of muscle. I think, along with every other woman in the place, I held my breath for a moment there.

He walked over to the end of the bar and got a beer and went over to a table. With his back to the wall, he slowly scanned the room for something that might interest him. It seemed nothing did. A very attractive young woman, (maybe on a bet from her girlfriends) approached him and it looked like she asked him to dance. He smiled at her, shook his head no, and she walked away with kind of a silly grin on her face. She had at least approached him.

I paid my tab, left my beer and went upstairs to my room. Who was this man who looked so, well, sexy, dirty, and dangerous? Guys like this must do something. You know they are not accountants. Nor would they be lawyers or cops. They might be a trucker or a drug dealer. What they do is never that important because it’s really not who they are.

For just a moment there, I thought about throwing my clothes back on and going back down for a nightcap. I smiled to myself and pulled the covers up over me a little snugger. It was a cold night to sleep alone.


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