Under the Western Sky was one of these. I heard a song by KC and the Sunshine Band that I used to listen to as a teenager, and all of a sudden, the first lines were in my head, demanding to be written down. I did so. What followed was a story I’d never anticipated, and I love it.
I grew up in Western Nebraska, though I wasn’t born there. I lived there the formative years of my life, from the time I was nine until I graduated from high school. The places in this story are real, though the events are not based on any true events. The character of Libby is, very loosely, based on me. I never had anything very exciting happen to me, but honestly, I’m not sure I’d want this much excitement in my life!
The first scene, in Toni’s basement, was also loosely based on something that happened when I was playing pool with a good friend of mine. A couple of our guy friends dropped by and they were openly admiring us. That was back in the days of hot pants and no bras—something every teenage boy enjoyed.
While this scene didn’t happen this way in real life, I did have to scold one of the guys for not only staring at my ass while I took my shot, but goosing me with the pool cue. He’s lucky I didn’t jab him in the nuts.
Under the Western Sky
Libby Marshal leaned over the pool table, slender hips twitching to KC and the Sunshine Band. She hummed distractedly as she lined up her shot.
Bobby Menendez stood behind her, enjoying the view; his hands tingling to touch her.
“Touch me and die, Roberto Hermida Menendez.”
“Man! How did you know?”
She made her shot, long distance across the felt top, nearly nailing him in the balls with her pool cue when her arm drew back.
“Shouldn’t stand so close,” Danny said, across the table from her.
“Oh, man, the view!”
Bobby held his hands the width of her hips apart. He bit his lip as she faced him, a frown on her face. Her green eyes flashed at him. With a toss of her short, blonde, curly hair, she moved away from him with a glare. His dark brown eyes followed her, longing in his well-tanned face.
“View’s damn good over here, and safer,” Danny grinned.
He’d been looking down her top as she bent over to shoot. He loved the fact that it was 1976 and even in this small, conservative, western Nebraska town, girls were liberated, freeing them from the confines of establishment undergarments. The no-bra look was great! And Libby had such perky tits. Bobby could have his dangerous ass view, Danny went for tits every time.
“Boys, behave,” Toni’s father said from his office behind them.
Funny thing how Toni’s old man always had work to do when the boys came over. He would casually follow the four of them down to the pool room in the basement and sit in his workroom fiddling with some electrical components while they played pool and listened to music. He didn’t mind them coming over, but they weren’t going to be unchaperoned either.
“Yes, sir,” they chorused.
They stepped back, snapping to attention, not quite saluting. Each with military fathers, it was hard not to when he talked in that tone. He’d been fifteen years as a Marine before a shell shattered his right leg. Everyone in town called him Captain Cristo. Only the very brave called him Grant.
© Dellani Oakes