Pullin' Up Stakes

Part 29 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo

Saying goodbye's always one of the toughest things when it comes to a traveling rodeo/wild-west show. Some of the cowpokes have found new girlfriends and just got settled in when it's time to leave. But it affects everyone. It’s like saying goodbye to a loved one, like your dad when he goes into the service and has to report at such-and-such hours on a particular day. You’re afraid you might never see him again, which happened just like that in some of our more deadly wars.

Plus, rodeo folk are very emotional, going from place to place like that, never having a permanent spot to call home. They get used to the fans and especially the ones who are real autograph-hounds; they love that kind of devotion, which should probably reach across a lot of different occupations but always seems to center on the personalities performing in a big show, a major production.

But the calendar, while wide open on the days ahead, is very finite when it comes to particular spans. If you’re in a place two weeks, those days are frittered away before long and finally complete. It hardly pays to unpack because as soon as you do you’re packing again. Life calls us, though, everyone of us, to a bumpy ride of today, tomorrows, and the days of the far-flung future. What we’re doing today will soon be over and another span of time will open up, its vistas barely known, at least in their fullness. Getting fairly emotional here.

I remember way back, that’s the way it was with the traveling rodeos and carnivals, what have you, when I was little. And gypsies, which there were plenty of back then. What ever happened to the gypsies? I don’t know. They were very social people, so it could’ve been that one fell in a hole and the others were obliged to follow. I don't want to be spreading rumors, and I hope there’s no truth to that, but my mother really believed it, or maybe she just wanted to discourage me from ever being one. Whatever she thought, though, I kept to the straight and narrow, maintaining the path without fail.

Rodeo folk are folk just like us, though. And it’s easy to imagine that they’d like to have a piece of God’s sod that is theirs alone, a place to bed down at night and a place to wake up and see the same patch of sky everyday. There really is something about seeing the same patch of sky everyday, although I guess it’s not for everyone. Maybe for some of the more sentimental rodeo performers (and management), whereas any who are hardened or just have a tougher, more unsentimental bent it’d be different.

I remember waving goodbye as a kid to the traveling rodeo. We stayed almost till the bitter end, then I'd feel like I was going to cry and embarrass myself if I stayed another minute. So over the hill I went, then crept back a little bit later and they were gone. It was sentimental and they were fine folks, don‘t get me wrong, but they vanished so fast there wasn’t so much as a goodbye.

Me and Two Strippers

For personal reasons, finally I feel comfortable revealing a little more about myself. Which includes many visits to watch strippers ply their trade. And believe me, I saw the best in the business. Those who had worked their way up from Amateur Night to at long last be Headliners.

One of my observations in all those forays, on hindsight, was keen. They didn't start out stripped, but stripped methodically, one key piece of clothing shed per song. The rest of the act was very sensual gyrations, extremely distracting to someone (then) of my exceedingly boisterous hormones.

But this post isn't about how worked up I became, nor what an easy challenge it was for them to leave me gasping on the floor for air. This is about the time I almost lost out on a free steak dinner, just because, indeed, I was very easy to distract. You might learn something from my troubles, mostly how easy it is to go hungry if you let strippers get your goat!

OK, the lounge had a farewell dinner lined up for one of the bartenders. This guy also used to mess with my head. One of his things was to pretend like he didn't know me, then he'd card me repeatedly just to piss me off and get his jollies. I can't remember his name, but for some reason I want to say Tex.

So the place was packed for his farewell dinner. Because I was a regular, and this is a great honor, I was invited. Like I said above, they had steaks, with baked beans, potatoes, homemade rolls, various pies, etc. You would've thought you died and went to Heaven, that's the only way to describe the scene. Plus the full roster of dancers was on duty. We called them girls in those days, but with my consciousness since raised, they were full-fledged women. They were so full-fledged they spilled out everywhere. And even though I'd literally seen them nude a hundred times, there was something even sexier about them just barely spilling out.

This part, following, is where I lost several key elements of my free steak dinner, which was Tex's farewell. (It might've even been actual Texas beef, which if true would've been a nice touch. Regardless, it all tastes the same, depending on how it's fixed.)

Be all that as it may, a couple of the girls -- now women -- came out strutting their stuff for Tex. Fully clothed. But I happened to be toward the front and they had decided to mess with me. Supposedly my libido was a topic of conversation in those days, since I no doubt resembled a hayseed from the country who'd never seen strippers, etc. True, but I had a close brush with them even at the age of 12, and was given some details on their show by older guys, whose description still haunts my imagination. I can't tell the whole story, but it included some late high schoolers, a wrestling coach, and some seductively dropped pubic hairs... 'Nough said!

Anyway, back to the steak dinner. These girls came out, one on my left and one on my right. I thought, "How can I avoid appearing to be full of lust for them without looking like an idiot who's more interested in his food than them?" See that? Caught in a flummoxing situation! Which turned out to be the exact conundrum they had counted on! Because as I'm gazing at Sally over here, Florentine on the other side is stealing my salad. Then as I bend forward to appraise Florentine's midriff, Sally's busy making off with my pie. (I learned this minutes later.)

I'm completely distracted! You can't imagine how embarrassing this turned out to be. And it's actually because I'm such a nice guy; I didn't want either chick to get the wrong idea, again, that I was more into food than ogling them. The song switches, and by now Sally's draping one out (use your imagination), and perking it up something fierce -- about the size of a shot glass. I'm thinking that has to be a world's record, and all the while Florentine's doing a vanishing act with my potato! Then Florentine, to top that, has somehow procured a spray can of whipped cream -- I found out later it came from the kitchen -- and was leaned up against the stage, panties around her knees, spraying the whipped cream to beat the band. That's when Sally relieved me of my steak!

By now everyone's laughing and whooping it up, and they come over, waving their hands over my table, and I can see that somehow I've been deprived of my entire meal! What can I do? I turned red, but with the stripper lights no one could tell. Folks, I know better than to act pissed off. No one likes a bad sport. When people you know go to all that trouble to make you look like a complete fool -- even a lecherous horndog -- you simply take your lumps and laugh it off. You can live anything down if you're a good sport. But if you're a bad sport, no one will ever fully respect you again.

They're going "Speech! Speech!" like you'd imagine they would. And I thanked everyone for coming out, called Tex a member of the family, a crotchety uncle, said to laughs, and told them they were the greatest gang of folks anywhere, the regular patrons there, who then applauded me. Lastly, I had Florentine and Sally stand next to me, and I pretend-scolded them for being very very bad girls. Then, naturally, as any sentimental guy like me would do, I let them kiss me on the cheeks and told them none of us would have it any other way!