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Another fearsome sounding slap, another feminine gasp echoing across the parking lot.
“They been at it a while,” Kenny Pooley sniffs in complaint, looking at the bottom of his empty glass.
“I thought you knew how to count, Kenny. It's been about six so far. Always goes to ten,” Earl says, grabbing his glass to fill it up from the tap, spilling a bit from filling on the wrong side of the bar.
“I wa'n't drinkin’ Miller lite,” Kenny complains, but he sips it anyways, knowing that on Tuesdays there ain't no backup barkeep at the Duck Tape. You either order a double or two beers before Miss Ophelia Grace gets off her shift at the Grocery Castle, or you risk having to pour your own while Clyde Logan gives her what for on the front porch of the Duck.
If'n you need to cash out, well, you'd better hope someone's watching the happy couple because that seems to be the only thing that'll rush them along- little miss seems to have an affinity for being watched, and Clyde has an affinity for whatever his lady likes.
Earl wasn't there the first night they started, but Shelley Fogg said that Miss Grace was having a little too much fun riling up the one-armed bartender before he'd had enough and came around the bar to fetch her. Said he carried her like a sack of potatoes out to the porch and apparently only gave her the one swat that night before bending her over the railing and letting everyone in earshot know that one arm was not a handicap where lovemaking was concerned.
Earl was there the next Tuesday when Miss Grace came storming into the bar with her bad day written all over her face, leaned over the bar top and did not whisper the request that Clyde give her another seeing-to outside.
Earl got free drinks for a half an hour, the curious and still-young-enough to want a vicarious thrill all crowded the front windows and watched Clyde Logan pull down her skirt and underthings in one go and then paint that sweet girl’s behind bright, bright red.
Then, judging by the half scandalized, half excited whispers, Clyde unzipped and apparently put Miss Grace’s legs on his shoulders.
Earl wouldn't know- he had a fresh bowl of salted peanuts and free reign at the tap pouring himself the fanciest beer the Duck carried. Anyway, the racket was about as pornographic as Earl’d ever heard, and he'd been to the X-rated theater over in Manila in his youth.
In a place that trended as conservative as Boone County did, Earl wondered how many complaints there were going to be down at the station the following morning. Bound to be a few, the way some of the married men carried on like tom cats.
Sure enough, the next Tuesday, the Sheriff did stop by. He was a mean little man, and it was apparently ancient history that he was once sweet on Miss Grace. He laid his hat on the bar and gave a scowl around the crowd. Some were frightened off and paid their tabs on the spot. Others likely felt they could escape his impotent rage by simply not being Clyde Logan.
Either way, Clyde rounded the bar, took one look at the Sheriff and said, “What'll it be?” like he was there for a drink. It pissed the Sheriff off, because nearly everything did, and he snapped that he was on duty.
Clyde shrugged and served another patron, going about his job business as usual. Made it perfectly tense ‘til the Sheriff hollered that he was there to talk to Clyde about indecent exposure.
“What indecent exposure?”
“Don't play dumb. Got a couple calls last Wednesday. Said the past two Tuesdays you've been hosting some kind of sex party.”
“That don't sound right. Sorry, it don't ring a bell.” Clyde shook his head, racking a few glasses.
“Then you haven't been fucking Phee on the porch outside every Tuesday?”
“It happened twice. She asked for both of ‘em. Well, begged the second time. Wasn't rightly a party seeing as no one else was invited.” The Sheriff got heated, his face turning bright red, almost like his cheeks had been spanked.
Then Miss Grace walked in and it got real quiet. The jukebox went on through the silence and then Clyde poured his lady a drink, leaned over the bar to give her a kiss and asked how her day was. The rest of the bar pretended to move on with their business, but the Duck never saw more pool scratches and darts outside the board than it did that evening.
“Darlin, why don't you go grab my lighter from the office? I'm fixing to have a smoke break once I finish talking to the Sheriff here.” Miss Grace didn't argue, she waved at the men as she went and all eyes were back on them.
“Sheriff, look, unless you're here to arrest me, it's going to happen again. Do you know what the town's gonna say if you stay here and watch? Don't matter if you haul me in and file charges after. The important thing’ll be that you watched.”
Sheriff might be a sonofabitch but he wasn't dumb- he took a moment to consider the facts. Chewed his own cheek and then ordered a whiskey. Clyde obliged, said “it's on the house,” and when the Sheriff finished he picked his hat off the bar and left without saying another word.
Earl shuffled to the front porch as he left, pulling a smoke out of the front pocket of his shirt. He sat in the empty chair on the porch of the Duck Tape, ashing into the wind when the door swung open and Clyde was leading Miss Grace onto the porch. Marched her down to the end of the porch near the wheelchair ramp, kissing and carrying on.
Earl paid it no mind, but couldn't help but watch curiously as Clyde unstrapped his prosthetic, sticking it under his arm to fix the fingers until they were lined up in a flat configuration. Didn't become apparent why until Clyde yanked his girl's pants down, pulling her lacey underwear along with it. She bent forward, looking back to give Clyde a coquettish look and a quick nod before facing forward. Clyde got a hold of his prosthetic and swung it, spanking his girlfriend's bare behind.
Earl smoked his cigarette while Clyde had her count the spanks, then he hauled her up and kissed her with the vigor of a man in love for the very first time.
Earl liked that for Clyde. Liked to see him with some swagger, even if it meant he got to see more of his friend and his girl than he really ever wanted to. Clyde bent his girlfriend back over the railing and shoved his jeans low enough to sink his cock inside her. Earl vacated the porch to give them a little privacy.
Plus, free beer.
It became a thing. Not always Tuesday, but usually. Earl didn't bother ordering doubles, mostly because he knew it wouldn't matter once he saw Clyde's shoulders relax just enough to clue him in that it was Phee Grace walking up behind him.
“Evenin’ Earl,” she started to greet him real nice, though she only ever had eyes for Clyde. She'd greet him sweet as pie, squirming on her stool until Clyde topped everyone off. Earl waited and then finished his beer as they stumbled out, giggling like the lovebirds they were. Then Earl got to drink the primo beer for free.
Like tonight, how Clyde seems content to take his time spanking Miss Grace, possibly celebrating that the Sheriff ain't been back since he scooted away with his tail between his legs that one night.
Earl finishes his second fancy beer and then heads for the john. He's craving a smoke and he wants to get home before midnight so he figures he'll kill two birds with one stone and give the happy couple the audience that'll make things come to an end sooner rather than later.
The screen door of the Duck bounces just as he hears a shaky gasp of “ten!” and sure enough, Clyde drops his prosthetic on the card table that sits in the corner of the Duck's porch. Earl lights his cigarette and Clyde nods at him in greeting before getting back to the matter at hand, slipping his hand down between his girlfriend's legs. If the noise she makes is anything to go by, she really likes that. Clyde gives her a little spank with his palm and tells her to settle down.
Earl doesn't have a glass of high alcohol content beer, or a bowl of fresh peanuts, nor any television blaring sports or news- so he settles in to watch what some of the other regulars never seem to tire of.
“Actin’ up because you saw we have company and you got excited, ain't you honey?” Clyde slides his hand across her backside before he presses a couple fingers inside her, testing if what he's said is true.
Earl's about ten feet away and can hear that it is and smirks around his cigarette.
“Don't tease,” Miss Grace pleads, her hair hanging in her face from where she's perched bent over the porch railing. Clyde nudges her feet wider apart, pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades.
“Aw, it's ok, Phee. Not looking to tease you. Just want to see how wet we can get you before I gotta go back to work,” Clyde says in a lower register, bringing his hand up to his mouth to suck on his fingers.
He hums appreciatively and bumps the bulge in his jeans against her hip, an unsubtle hump while he slicks his fingers up. When he's done, Clyde reaches down and gives her pussy a little slap with his fingers. Slides the pads up and down her slit while she quivers appeallingly but doesn't move otherwise.
“Fuck, you feel good. I know I ain't gonna last. What can I do to make it good for you, Phee?” He says, already dropping to his knees on the dusty porch.
“Oh, god!” She nearly screams out into the night at the way he dives right in, licking deep into her pussy. He's making a racket of slurping and sucking, holding her against the rail so he can slide his tongue back and forth over her clit. He is thorough, licking up to the pucker between her cheeks and giving it attention while his girlfriend squeals and shivers.
“Mmm,” Clyde responds, slurping noisily all the way back to her clit, where he latches on. It would be quiet, except he seems to be well on his way to giving Miss Grace an earth-shaking orgasm. At least, she's holding onto the railing for dear life and her legs are quaking fiercely.
“Good girl. Nice and loud, just like I like you,” Clyde says before straightening up and swatting his hand across both her cheeks. He leans over to grip her chin and direct her into a messy kiss.
He backs off, effortlessly pulling the end of his belt until it disengages and falls open, jangling as he pops open the button on his jeans and unzips his fly.
Earl isn't surprised to see how big Clyde is, almost pities little Miss Grace seeing the difference in size between her and Clyde as he lines up his cock and starts to slide it inside her spanked-red and glistening pussy.
“Fuck,” Clyde curses, stepping in ever closer to his girlfriend. Gives one quick thrust of his hips before slowing down. His breath hisses out at the apparent challenge of staving off his own climax while watching the way her pussy grips him, seeing proof of her arousal all over his shaft.
Earl exhales an amused snort at how caught up they both are- it's almost like watching porn, except there’s no contrived reason for them to be fucking outside on the Duck's porch. They just want to fuck where anyone can watch.
“Phee, inside or out?” Clyde grunts, gripping her hip as he speeds up his thrusts.
“I-inside!” Miss Grace moans, tossing her hair back fetchingly. Seems to be the spark of red that Clyde needs to turn into a bull in a China shop- he seemingly loses control and exhales heavily and then really starts giving it to her.
“Gonna cum real pretty for our audience, baby?” Clyde manages, boots scuffing as he hammers his hips against her backside. Near as Earl figures, Clyde doesn't know or care if anyone is watching, but his girl does, because that tips her right over the edge.
Earl stubs his cigarette and goes back inside, letting the lovebirds get decent and exchange their gooey, post-coitus utterances.
Few minutes later, Clyde swings the door open, leading Miss Grace back inside with their fingers linked. He helps her up onto a bar stool and their exchanged look over the soreness of her behind is not lost on Earl.
Also not lost on Earl is that Clyde closes tabs and refills drinks with his belt still jangling loose around his hips.
“You fixin’ on having a second round? Better hire another bartender soon,” Earl jokes, handing Clyde a twenty for the tab he had before Miss Grace went out on the porch and Clyde followed after her like a cartoon character floating on the air for the scent of freshly baked pie.
“You can have the job for all that free Stella you been drinking,” Clyde says, but still gives him change on his original tab.
Earl laughs and leaves a big tip. Waves to Phee on his way out, who blinks the stars out of her eyes long enough to wave back.
They never do hire that other bartender.