Humpin' Like a Dirty Dawg

Wednesday is popularly known as hump day... yep, midpoint and downhill to the weekend. Of course, ‘hump’ also has its own naughty use as a description for the sex act... at least, back in my day.

Never being into the whole *humpster doin’ it thang*, I’m not up on the latest and greatest usages for HUMP. Maybe, you all can enlighten me.

Still, the other day I was lamenting the lack of spitfires out there in media landia. Except, for those intrepid, fiery-tongued heroines in our romance novels... well, where the hell are they hiding these days?

Where is Scarlett O’Hara? Where is the sassitude of Katherine Hepburn as she takes on Spencer Tracey? What happened to the blazing battle of the sexes? Remember John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara? Gee, even Doris Day had ear-steaming, *I’m gonna get him* spunk that had Rock Hudson desperate to earn her love.

Anyway, it got me thinking, always dangerous... or, it got me inspired to begin one more WIP... always dangerous because I’m wading in them. At least, I’ll never be without a story idea.

So, here’s as far as I’ve gotten in my western futuristic...

Humpin’ Like a Dirty Dawg

April 03, 2027

Dawg Remington stalked inside the Buckaroo Blue, a lightweight honky-tonk bar and the town’s only thirst-quenchin’ establishment. He thumped his denim-clad, dusty ass down on the nearest bar stool, and waited. Around him, the dancing crowd gathered in anticipation of the local band, Outlaw Crew.

Once his parched throat was good and wet, a spin on dance floor with a couple of the ladies was to his liking. And, if anything consensual developed, well, his cock stirred, a bronc wantin’ to bust out for a woman wild enough to ride him the way he was partial to, at times.

“Dawg, what’da want?” Crow Sun hollered. “Got a shipment of Black Dew Ale, if you have a hankerin’.”

Why not go with his taste buds? He could afford it now. “Yeah, shoot a bottle over, Crow. No, better. Slide a mug over, too. Foam being as tasty as it is.”

In moments, he gripped the cool bottle and Crow gave his famous arm-swing sliding the mug along the bar’s slick surface.

“Coin or tab?” Gayle called out, Crow’s better half, once he’d seized the mug.

Deciding he didn’t want to concern himself with paying a tab in case he got fucking lucky, Dawg dug a silver coin out of his shirt pocket’s inner pouch. Placing it atop his thumbnail, he sighted Gayle. “Comin’ your way, sweetheart.”

“Ready and willin’,” Gayle returned.

Dawg flipped the large coin toward her. With ease she caught it, deftly trapping it between her palms. “Your eye is as good as ever,” he complimented.

“Your coin is as good as ever,” she sang back sassily.

Before pouring the premium ale, he swung his gaze over the crowd, habit because a man could never be too careful about who might be gunnin’ for his hide. And, he hoped to spot a few frisky females.

“Hell,” he muttered under his breath. She was here. Miss Smart Mouth. Talk about gunnin’ for him. Every time she got a chance she shot him down verbally.

Course, to be fair, he’d given her good cause in the beginning. He’d done the unforgivable, mocking her when she’d been thrown from a young horse she’d been training. His funny bone had gotten the better of him, since she’d gone sailin’ through the air, and landed square in a rose bush.

Oh, he’d tried giving her a private apology for his lack gentlemanly manners. She’d stuck up her nose, turned on her heel and sashayed away from him as if he talked about stealing her virtue. The war over the roses, as he thought of it, was on then. A true lady would have accepted his apology.

Uncapping the ale, Dawg poured with ritual deliberation, thoroughly enjoying the dark amber liquid flowing down the side of the glass mug. A thick head of foam was his reward, along with the appetizing fragrance of hops, malt, and the fresh robust smell of wheat and oats.

It had taken about a decade, but some of the niceties of life had returned, one of them being Black Dew Ale. Raising the mug, Dawg took an appreciative swallow. Yep, damn fine way to whet his whistle. He’d spent the day teaching others how to fly the small planes they’d been able to salvage, and were now in the process of manufacturing.

Since he also had business in town, and with sundown streaking across the far horizon, he figured some relaxation was in order. Taking his time he savored a few long draws before taking a hopeful look over his shoulder. The band had arrived and were setting up. As always, many of the youngest ladies stood in a horseshoe shape ogling the three renegade-looking types.

A few more women entered the bar. Suzie gave him a wave, her gaze inviting. He saluted her with the mug. He’d never been with her biblically, given she and one of his buddies, Grady had an on and off lust-hot romance. Must be off, if Suzie gave him the eye-flashing come on. But, Dawg was leery of wading into those sweet female waters.

Grady had one helluva a right hook and besides, his engineering skills were crucial to their plane manufacturing venture. Dawg had rarely stepped into another man’s territory when it came to women or anything else, and he wasn’t about to start now. Swigging down more of the ale, he felt its mellowing affects.

“Dawg,” a sweet little voice trilled his name. He turned on his stool, meeting Maisy’s dark brown eyes. Not only that, her gal group accompanied her, including Miss Smart Mouth, otherwise known as Skylar.

Maisy smiled, a woman trying out her wings. “How did Ben do with his flyin’ lessons today?”

“Passed with flyin’ colors, Miss Maisy. Your brother is a right good pilot.”

Dawg ignored Skylar’s irritated glare.

Maisy cozied up to him, her hip touching his knee. “You in the mood for a swing around the dance floor once the music begins?”

“Oh for gawd’s sake, Maisy, he’d older than dirt.” Skylar crossed her arms, her gaze scorching, and Dawg figured he should be smelling his own cooked flesh. “Not only that, he’s grime from head to toe.”

“Good honest dirt is appealing. Besides, I like him the way he is,” Maisy shot back.

“Suit yourself. But I hear tell, he’s a bust ‘em, then leave ‘em high and dry kinda cowpoke.”
Skylar mockingly emphasized cowpoke.

Truth to tell, Maisy wasn’t his kind of woman, and not just because of her relatively tender age. But if it was going to ruffle Skylar’s feathers, well hell, he’d give her a whirl or two.

“These boots are made for dancin’, Miss Maisy. Once the music gets going I’d like stepping the beat with you.”

Maisy smiled widely, her gaze glimmering with hope. Damn, he hadn’t meant to give her the wrong idea. Even if was achin’ to be with a woman, it wouldn’t be her.

“Why don’t you act like a real gentleman and go wash up?” Skylar arrowed her voice. “Oh, and don’t forget to shave. That grizzle your sporting has to be several days’ growth.”

“Skylar, you must be hurtin’ his feelings, carrying on like that.” Maisy spun around eyeing her friend. “I told you I like him all... well, grizzled and mature.”

“What did you expect? You know we get along like feuding skunks.”

“I’ve never even seen feuding skunks.” Maisy planted her fists on her overly slim hips.

“Well, I have. They were having a stink war over who was gettin’ under the Smith’s porch. Yup, turned right around like drawing gunfighters. Only they lifted their tails threatening each other.” Halting, Skylar drew on him, aiming her irate gaze. “This is your fault, Dawg breath.”

Something snapped inside him like a machine belt tearing apart. Somewhere deep inside, and Dawg figured he was about to do something he’d regret for a long, long time. Most probably. That didn’t stop him from letting go of his mug.

“Dawg breath?” He arched his brows. Calm as when he’d faced down the enemy during the battles to protect their Colorado river territory, Dawg stood, facing down his adorable little nemesis. “Darlin’, I’ve about had it with that mouth of yours.”

She didn’t back down an inch. If anything her chin jutted out farther. “Humping Dawg, that’s all you are. Why don’t you tell Maisy the truth about yourself?”

Heck to hell, were those actual sparks leaping out of her eyes? He damn well intended to find out. Dawg gently lifted Maisy out the way, then strode toward Skylar. Quickly, her friends parted, giving him a direct path to the smart mouth spitfire, who appeared ready to give him the fight of his life. If she’d been wearing her pistols, she might have drawn on him.

“Humpin’ Dawg?” He halted. Towering over her, he bent over until they glared face-to-face.

“Damn humping Dawg,” she paused, then delivered the coup de grace, “A humping dirty Dawg, if you prefer.”

Good God, why hadn’t he noticed her ripe-for-the-taking lips? He did now. Using his arm like a steel band, he trapped her against him. Swooping down he claimed her mouth good and hard.

Pure shock kept her still, at first. When she started to struggle, he wrapped his other arm around her. He’d intended to kiss her fast, then let her go. Not now. She tasted sweeter than heaven. More, his cock strained against his jeans, and fought like a beast to get inside her sweetness.

He’d always been attracted to her physical beauty. He’d had no idea how much until now. And, he sure as fuckin’ hell wasn’t letting her go. She fit him like no other woman. It was time for him to tame himself a spitfire. Or, she could tame him. Dawg didn’t care.

He knew what he wanted. Her. Skylar, the smart mouth.

He ground his lips on hers in a kiss that finally had her responding enough to give him hope he’d awakened a mustard seed’s worth of desire in her.
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HAPPY HUMP DAY!

Savanna

Savanna Kougar

~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Author of ~

All Shades of Blue Paradise
Red Lioness Tamed
When a Good Angel Falls ~ In Print
Tangerine Carnal Dreams
Murder by Hair Spray in Gardenia, New Atlantis ~ In Print
Black Cat Beauty
Her Insatiable Dark Heroes ~ In Print
Stallion of Ash and Flame ~ In Print ~
Branded by the Texans ~ Coming in August 2010 from Siren-BookStrand
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