RavenShadow Read Online Free PDF

eitherred or white.” I could say, “I got stale spinning the top forty fads of the month, many of which I never bothered to listen to. I became the master of razzmatazz phrases that said nothing,” and similar truths. But all that seemed … I was too drunk, and probably too cowardly.
    “Don’t worry!” I cried. “I’ve got money! I could buy rounds from here to Christmas!” I started on about the bucks I would get from the sale of the house, the severance pay, the unemployment checks, but then I saw I’d lost Sallee’s attention.
    “Let’s dance!” I said to her, holding out my hand.
    She looked at me appraisingly, took the hand, and we walked to the juke box. “Into the Mystic,” she punched, Van Morrison, and off we juked. The dance floor was the size of a bathroom stall.
    Rosaphine put some quarters in the juke box. Up comes Bonnie Raitt all fast and funky. Rosaphine hands me another beer, chugalugs her own, and joins us. Sallee is an elegant dancer, using the whole body without emphasizing sex, almost in a virginal way, but very sexy to me. Rosaphine looks like she’d have done well in burlesque—make them tits spin, grind that bottom, bump your partner’s ass, and with a sultry look bump your pelvis.
    I am just drunk, only half dancing, half lurching, on the edge of stumbling.
    Rosaphine bumps toward me with a provocative look on her face. She spins and backs up to me, her big bottom jutting out. I bump her butt with mine, we sidle around each other, and bump two or three more times.
    I whirl away and look at Sallee’s face. She’s dancing, but her eyes look strained. Oh, what the hell, nothing wrong with a little fun. I spin back toward Rosaphine, and she goes into her shimmy.
    A shimmy on a roly-poly, five-foot body is hard to describe. Her head tilted slowly from side to side, her smile stayed fixed like a beacon, her eyes gleamed wild, and her tits begunto move. I mean shake. I mean wiggle and wobble. Flip and flop. Dive and soar. At the same time her belly began to quiver, just quiver. Her hips began to rock. And roll. Sometimes one went up and the other down. Sometimes one went back and the other front. Sometimes both of them humped back and then BANGED front. And all at the same time her big thighs quivered. It was somethin’. I mean, it was SOMETHIN ’. I guess my eyes about jiggle-jangled out of their sockets beholding Rosaphine’s shimmy. Maybe the room was dark, but I was seeing fireworks.
    I glimpsed Sallee watching us from the bar. Well, that was good. I wanted to give my own show, the Blue Crow Crawl, or the Blue Crow Sound and Light Show. I prayed, O God of Booze, flow in me!
    Rosaphine was sailing, and I sailed my six-and-a-half-foot body into its performance. I couldn’t rightly say what my body did. I strutted. I pranced. I spun. I did freeze-frame. I stilted. I pretended there were strobe lights and jerked from posture to posture. I did a dizzy, drunken, dizzied, drunken, dizzying, drunken dance.
    Near the end I caught Rosaphine’s eyes. We segued into the grand finale. We bopped, we banged butts, we flopped, we flipped, and wrapped it up in an orgy of boozy woozing.
    At the end I fell flat on my back. Thinking to save the moment, I raised one leg straight up, and then let it slowly, slowly droop down, like a wilting cock.
    From the back came three claps of mocking applause.
    Rosaphine helped me up, snuggled against me and held my hand. I said, “Where’s Sallee?”
    She wasn’t on the bar stool. Up close we saw her purse was gone. Her glass was empty. She’d even taken her celery.
    The car was gone from the parking lot.
    Rosaphine turned into me, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me full, with plenty of tongue. She pulled back, grinned, said, “Looks like I’m stuck for a place to sleep,” and kissed me again.
    Not only did I kiss her back, giving as good as I got, but pushed hard against her down below, so she could feel what was up.
    Since my divorce in