By Bradley Baddley
I awoke on the windswept prairies of rural Nebraska, in an out of date one story motel that looked like it could have been the scene of a 1950s black and white science fiction movie, and your faithful narrator was in possession of a severe grain alcohol hangover … as well as a sore little bootyhole. I passed on coffee and went straight for the leftover Budweisers in my room’s mini fridge … the beer that made St. Louis famous – and though it seemed rather decadent pouring beer into a mug half full of spicy hot V-8 juice, I enjoyed two unremarkable “red beers” and two ibuprofens for breakfast, and then belched heartily and walked bowlegged out to my trashy Honda Accord … I felt so mid-western!
I was dressed as Brad, in my Missouri farm boy get up and I headed west on U.S. 34, upstream on the Republican River. I felt like this was just a little bit too far out in the boondocks to dress as Becky; I certainly didn’t want to become a backwoods crime statistic or anything like that, so I decided to save the mini skirt and shaved avocado flashing for Denver …
Just past Benkleman, I abandoned the Republican River and headed due south on highway 161, back across the state line bound for Bird City, Kansas. My 200 mile detour had made the unending boredom of my journey far worse … Talk about Bum Fuck, Egypt! I was way past the sticks, out into the bucolic nothingness of the Western Great Plains. Flat as a pancake and nary a tree in sight … the drive was long like my fully erect schlong … and I had my blue jeans down around my ankles whacking it hard, all the way to Bird City and beyond … if the Highway Patrol pulled me over, what would I say? “My balls are itchy?” or “I was so horney after being butt fucked by five Nebraska football players last night, that I just had to whip it out and stroke my jism pole behind the wheel?” Could this be a good way to meet hung gay cops? … or maybe end up back in jail alone with another inmate packin’ a 9″ Big Italian Salami? It was hot as an oven by noon, and I felt so footloose and fancy free, soon I was driving completely naked with a thicker than average well lubed butt plug stuffed up my once tight little fartbox … my “once tight” little fartbox that just makes a “whoosh!” noise now after that last gang bang in McCook the night before …
Bird City was close to non-existent – blink and you miss it – and now I was driving down Highway 161 towards Goodland, Kansas, naked as a jaybird … having sex with my lubed up right hand. The road was almost empty – another car would pass in the opposite direction every few minutes or so … a cop passed and looked at me suspiciously, slowed down, and kept going – a lucky break? I lost my little 5″ stiffy in a heartbeat and decided to pull over and put my pants back on …
I picked up I-70 in Goodland and drove for Denver. It started to feel like I was moving in slow motion even though I was going 80 because the scenery was so dull and repetitive across Eastern Colorado … and then finally, just as the sun was beginning to set, I spied mountains slowly rising on the horizon – it was the Colorado Rockies in all their splendiferous glory …
I reached the Queen City of the Plains at about 9 P.M. and was rebuffed in my first attempt at renting a motel room for the night in East Aurora. I thought the Middle Eastern dude in the turban behind the desk was exceptionally rude and he told me in broken English that he couldn’t help me because I was under 21 and he even threatened to “confiscate” my Mastercard because it was in my Mom’s name. What an asshole! He gave me a dirty look as he stuck a no vacancy sign to his side of the bulletproof glass and then went back to reading the Koran … The neighborhood did look a little on the seedy side and seemed to have a rather oppressive resident odor … Hmmm, I drove another 20 miles or so and stopped this time near Lakewood, just west of Downtown Denver, where I found much more friendly desk help – a heavy metal chick dressed in black, a brunette loaded with leather and audaciously heavy make-up … she looked sort of like Mallory Knox in Natural Born Killers and I just had to tell her I was gay. Her name was Trudy and she said she would absolutely die to see me dressed as Becky …
“You’ll love Denver, Bradley – it’s so gay!” said Trudy as she ran my Mastercard and wrote up a receipt.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” I said, “anything would be an improvement over Kansas, though McCook, Nebraska is much gayer than most people would ever suspect,” with my right hand cupped over my still aching turdcutter …
It was an O.K. room though fairly expensive for an economy level motel. I liked the brand new carpet and TV and the room had an outstanding view of the downtown Denver skyline from a pleasantly large window. Hmmm, maybe I could spend a couple of days in the Big D I thought to myself.
I took a shower and decided to give my new friend Trudy an eyeful. I put on a jet black mini skirt this time – no undies of course ( ! ) … and a black Metallica t-shirt with my long blonde locks combed out full … fire engine red lipstick and just a little too much dark mascara…
“You look just like Britney Spears with no tits!” exclaimed Trudy when I walked back over to the front desk, “you need a B cup bra and falsies …”
“You think?” I said, and when I returned with tits a few minutes later, Trudy was beside herself …
“Goddamn you look hot, Becky! I get off of work in 10 minutes – you want to smoke a bowl and go shoot some pool?”
“I would love it!”
We rode in Trudy’s ramshackle Ford pick up to an ordinary looking neighborhood bar with three pool tables in the back. My first impression was “hairy” … and I don’t mean hairy like dangerous … I mean hairy like hairy balls and hairy pits. Have you ever noticed how older guys will sometimes call themselves “hairy bears?” … but what they really mean is overweight and unmanscaped? (Did I really just say that? No offense, guys …) Hmmm, Trudy seemed to know quite a bit about the hairy “gay scene” in Denver …
“The best gay bar in downtown Denver is the hairy bear bar,” said Trudy, “it’s called The Wrangler and it’s usually packed with hairy muscle studs … wanna go check it out?”
“With you, Trudy? That sounds so deliciously risque’ … I will just have to say yes.”
“Let’s do it tomorrow night – you do want to stay another night, right Becky?”
“How could I say no – you’re such a gracious hostess,” was I getting a “gay boner” for Trudy?
For me, playing pool with Trudy was more like watching Trudy run the table … game after game after game … damn, could that girl shoot some 8 Ball ( ! ) … there was a half open door leading out to an alley where three hairy dudes were smoking weed and acting boisterous and the hairy bartender looked as if he could care less … I was standing there watching Trudy drop ball after ball after ball, checking out Grindr and Scruff noticing the grid was full within just a couple of miles … very interesting … and so many of the dudes looked so dark and … so hairy … a common local trait? … some were no doubt hung like horses too … and are there always more bottoms than tops? … definitely in St Louis … but here in Denver too?
To Be Continued …