There was a time when there was no Rusty Goat, though that time seems a long time ago. I didn't need him back in 'those days.' I was still a mere youngster barely in my forties, suddenly single, simply searching for a woman or two to fill some void I seemed to have in my life. As I told you in my last post, I'd happened across a talented dancer whom I coerced to show me the steps and as she faded out of my life, I made the decision that it was now and never. With my mind set, I eagerly stepped onto the dance floor and out into the world of dating.
If I recall correctly, the first woman I dated was an oil heiress living in a town just up the road. I didn't meet her in a bar, but on a dating site, which is the best place to start when you want to date someone. Or at least that was my rationale at the time. As hard as I tried, I just couldn't make myself click with her. As you might expect, when one has an opportunity to date an oil heiress, there is much one can overlook concerning that person. But she had this one little thing and looking back on it now, it was a small irritation I must confess. This slim, red-headed, wealthy woman never opened her mouth...never. Well yes, she talked and as most women, she talked quite a lot. But always through clenched teeth, her upper lip curled beneath her dainty nose. And it annoyed me to no end. To this day I still see all those oil trucks on the road, her last name painted on the door, and now and then I ponder if I was perhaps a bit hasty in my retreat. But why would a suddenly single man settle down for the first woman to come along? And so, I moved along.
There may have been another woman or two before I met Psycho Sherry. I don't recall. But I do recall the night I met Sherry. As early in the night as it was, I was feeling invincible, having spun at least a dozen pretty girls around the dance floor. I spotted her in the furthest, darkest corner of the bar and decided she looked a tad lonely, so I ventured up to her table and asked her to dance. I'll never forget her response. It started with an F and ended with You. I was up for a challenge so I invited myself to sit down beside her. After a dozen beers, she warmed up to me somewhat and finally stepped out onto the dance floor. It was right there that she fell in love with me...which was not what I expected. But that long legged little filly with brunette hair sweeping her butt as she swayed to the music convinced me to give it a whirl. For a month or so that became a full blown ride on a tilt-a-whirl. Drama was her middle name and her initials were F.U. Everything went sour when I started to retreat and it became crystal clear that there'd be only one way to break it off with Sherry. I'd just have to piss her off. I mean royally piss her off.
So, there was this school teacher. Sherry caught the two of us together at the bar. She took it better than I thought she would, waving goodbye with a lifted middle finger as she slithered out the front door. I had some reservations that she may resort to violence, but no...that would come later. I really liked the school teacher and she apparently liked me somewhat. Our Friday night dates grew into Tuesday evening concerts in the park, midnight movies, and Chinese food on the living room floor. It was beginning to look like a sure thing with this girl and, not wanting to jump ship as hastily as I had in the past, I threw caution to the wind. There one thing that puzzled me about this school teacher, though. She would be really into me for three weeks at a time and then simply disappear for three weeks. But, sure as shooting, she'd come back around in three weeks...every time. When the Eagles announced they were coming to town, she begged me to buy tickets, which I did at a hundred and twenty bucks a pop. And I starved for three weeks afterward. But hey...I really liked this chicklet. Three weeks before the concert she disappeared, right on schedule.
I went to the bar alone that Friday night and happened to come across a man who I knew lived in the same town as my school teacher. I casually brought her up in conversation and asked if he had seen her lately. He laughed and replied,
"Ah, that girl is so screwed up. She doesn't know if she wants to divorce her husband or keep him. He's an off-shore driller. Works three weeks on and three weeks off."
As he spoke, my eyes focused on a little cowgirl across the bar. She was wearing a yellow rodeo jacket and a white hat. I excused myself and made my way toward her.
She eagerly jumped from her chair and followed me to the dance floor. I held her up tight and smelled her sweetness, feeling her breath against my neck.
"Do you like the Eagles?"
She squealed, "I love the Eagles! I wish I could go to their concert!"
"Well, this is your lucky night, little sister..."
And here I am at the end of the page. There are so many stories to tell. I've not mentioned the preacher's wife. That is quite a tale. Then there was the little Italian girl...and Baby Doll, who truly misrepresented herself on the dating site. Thankfully Psycho Sherry rescued me from that nightmare, even though she loosened a few teeth in the process. I danced with hundreds of women...dirty danced with a couple. That almost made the front page of the news. My ex broke up with the well digger that she had run off with and well, as I said, I'm out of space.
It would be seven years later before the man known as the Rusty Goat would make his appearance. That man who would step through the door on a Saturday night and all eyes would turn toward him. Women at every corner of the bar would secretly hope he'd ask them to dance before the night was through. And likely...he would.