Hog Heaven

My aunt begged me to go out with her Saturday night. I was still hurting from Friday night's festivities but I obliged. My aunt has always been drawn to the biker crowd so we hit up a local bar I knew that drew the Harley-driving types she'd love.

We walked in and we were pleased to hear a band playing rather than a crappy oldies DJ. We chose our spot at the two remaining bar stools and ordered some beer. Beers in hand, we turned around to watch the band rock out to covers of everything from Elvis to Kenny Chesney. Even with the flame shirts, camo shorts and sweatbands galore, they could sing a mean rendition of "When the Sun Goes Down."

In between songs, I noticed the group of people to our right were quite drunk and getting pretty rowdy. An older man in the group turned to talk to my aunt. He was stocky with long, slick, gray hair and a short gray beard. I immediately stereotyped him as a biker and dubbed him Slick. He asked her if she would be kind enough to save his seat and followed the request with a promise to buy her a drink. She agreed. What woman passes on a free drink?

Slick returned, delivered a fresh beer as promised to my aunt and upon seeing me, put one in my hand as well. Good deal. The minute an empty bottle hit the bar, Slick rewarded us with another. This old guy kicked ass! I noticed that he was greeting almost every person to come to his corner of the bar. He even disappeared out to the kitchen a few times. I had feeling Slick wasn't just any Joe Schmo, he was probably the owner...all the more reason to schmoose.

With my aunt flirting shamelessly, Slick stood and talked to us for a short while. His attention was diverted when a group of jacked guys wearing Harley t-shirts walked in. They were all pretty hot but the guy with the praiseworthy, Levi-sporting ass got my attention. I watched them as they each greeted Slick with what I guessed was a biker secret handshake. I kept my eyes on Nice Ass hoping Slick would introduce his fellow HOGs (Harley Owners Group[ies]) to us. To my dismay, the HOGs stayed clustered in their own group talking amongst themselves. Still, I was content watching Nice Ass (and realizing he had nice arms as well).

Snapping out of the ass-induced trance, I noticed that Slick disappeared again. When he returned, he was toting an armload of black t-shirts. He pulled out a pocket knife and cut the short sleeves off one. He motioned for one of the HOGs with arms bigger than both of my legs. Slick then motioned for my aunt and held out the newly cut tank. She stood up and grabbed the shirt. She obviously knew more than I did. She turned to Big Arms and held the shirt like she was going to dress him. He availed by removing his shirt revealing his GINORMOUS pectorals. I watched as my aunt's eyes grew wide. She slipped the cut-off shirt over his head and helped him put it on.

Watching this huge, muscular man submit to my aunt and remove his shirt cracked me up. That is until Slick looked in my direction. He held out another newly cut shirt in my direction. I shyly shook my head but my aunt pushed me off my barstool. Apprehensively, I took the shirt. Slick motioned for another HOG. I turned to see who and lo and behold, Nice Ass was standing before me. My face flushed as I held up the shirt. He took off his shirt and I felt myself grin. I held the shirt over his head as I helped him into it. He flashed a white, toothy smile and thanked me.

This ritual continued for each of the four HOGs. My aunt and I took turns helping them out of their shirts and into their brand new cut-off tanks. Each one smiled shyly and thanked us while Slick looked on laughing his ass off. After each guy was fully re-shirted, they received a huge bear hug from Slick and an ice cold beer. My aunt and I returned to our stools laughing and me secretly hoping Nice Ass would come chat. Slick came right over and congratulated us on a job well done. He pointed out three of the HOGs we had just re-shirted as policemen. Note to self if ever get pulled over! Just then and to my horror, the HOGs waved at Slick and left the bar. Dammit.

My aunt asked Slick if he had any women's shirts he was willing to give away. He told her he'd rummage around to see what he could find and disappeared. I was bummed that Nice Ass left so I went back to watching the band soak through their sweatbands. I had just started singing a horrible, off-key version of "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" when Slick appeared with two red tank tops branded with the bar's name. He held them up and as we grabbed for them, he pulled away. His mouth formed an enormous devilish grin and I had a feeling what was coming. He stood back and motioned for us to stand. My aunt obliged and Slick held the shirt over her head, waiting patiently. Without hesitation, she removed her white tank top revealing her lacy, white bra. He slid the tank over her head and she put it on. Just then I noticed all eyes were on us. Slick turned to me. Was he really serious? He stood there waiting as I contemplated. I heard some male voices egging me on. I couldn't let my 40-something aunt show me up at a bar, could I? Without another thought, I peeled my t-shirt off. I stood there helpless in my pink bra feeling the stares bore holes in my bare skin. Slick held the tank over my head and I quickly helped him pull it down. He stared for a second and then shook his head. It was on backwards. He hoisted my arms in the air and pulled it off again. He turned it around, taking his sweet time and then allowed me to put it on. I shook my head at Slick and sat back down, avoiding the lustful stares of the sweaty, old men surrounding the bar.

Midnight rolled around and my aunt's eyes started to look like two piss holes in the snow. We thanked Slick for his hospitality and he reciprocated with a kiss on each cheek. He told us we were welcome in his corner of the bar anytime. My aunt and I walked (ok, she stumbled) our brand new tank tops out of the bar and back home. We never told my mother how we ended up with different shirts on than when we left.