WARNING: Simple one here folks – homos 'n cussing. I would rather make these two boys straight than delete one little swear word out of this so if you don't dig it, beat it jive-turkey!

Papa Was a Rodeo

Papa was a rodeo - Mama was a rock-n-roll band.

I could play guitar and rope a steer

Before I learned to stand.

Home was anywhere with diesel gas - Love was a trucker's hand

Never stuck around long enough

For a one night stand.

Before you kiss me you should know - Papa was a rodeo.


It's dark out. I'm scrunched along the backseat of my car...

...And someone's fucking tapping when I'm goddamn-hell-ass trying to fucking sleep! Christ!

I look up. I can't tell if it's a chick or a guy 'cause the window's all fogged up.

"How much?" They ask. The voice is muffled but it's a guy. I don't remember the last woman that picked me up at a truck-stop – not many women into that habit.

I rub at the red fabric-marks on my cheek from the seat. The guy waves at me - what an asshole. "Finally! I said 'how much' Sleeping Beauty?" Asshole asks in his truck driver voice. I sit up but my head spins and puke burns my throat while I try not to chuck in the car. Opening the door I vomit on Asshole's boots. His foot kisses me hard in the face trying to flick the sick off. I'm awake now and I need to take a slash.

"Jesus Cinderella, someone spike your punch?" Waist-down I'm still in the car and I push up from the ground, pissed because that was actually pretty funny. I try to get a look at his face but his gut is round and it eclipses his face; his breath fogging behind his planet-size belly.

You would think yakking guts on his foot would turn a decent guy off. Unfortunately, besides being a smartass, Asshole don't seem to qualify for much of any sort of man. He puts a small hand under my pit and pulls me up roughly - "How much faggot?" It's dark but I can tell he's ugly. I feel gawky like a doll so I let my eyes roll back. Christ, why are they always so ugly?

"Sorry," I say in his face. I'm making my voice breathy so the smell of the vomit rolls out from the back of my throat. I don't need him. I have enough cash to last 'til Tuesday. "I'm not working today -" I look down pointedly at his boots "Called in sick."

He laughs.

"Whores don't get sick leave."

"I know, Christ, look do you have the time?" He checks and the light of his cell makes his face glow..

"It's," he pauses, his slack jaw slipping under the menal slog "…what's 22 in 24-time? 10? It's ten, just past ten." I thank him and, as a second thought, I chuck the attitude. Maybe later this week? Come look for me. I'm cheap and hot. My name's Jonathon. You won't be sorry. I promise. I wrap my jacket hard around my waist and start towards the dive.

10 pm. Time for breakfast.


Mostly, you know, a bar is a bar is a bar is a bar is a bar.

That bar was just a bar, a truck-stop bar, but a bar nonetheless. It would have remained just another bar if she wasn't in it - but she was. She was sitting at the bar swinging her stockinged legs. I found out later that she liked to wear stockings 'cause he didn't like to shave.

I hiked up onto a stool a few seats down, dipping my elbows in the puddle on the countertop. The stools were the normal kind: red, round, swivel-y. She was blowing bubbles in a tall glass of water scratching at the hair-line of her wig. A few fat men were sitting in the corner drinking and blinking slowly and the bartender was a young guy who lazed around leaning his lanky-ness against stuff like a limp puppet.

So the locals were freaks? I didn't care. I needed a drink as much as the rest of the animals at the watering hole.

I hadn't sat for a second before she was creepy-crawling along the seats between us. I ordered a glass of something cheap from noodle-boy.

"I'haf been expecting you." Her voice was puffy with a shite Russian accent. She was leering at me. She looked stupid.

"I'm not buying you a drink Pussy Galore." The fingers that were walking along the bar towards me flopped. She slouched in her seat pouting then she grinned.

"D'you think I could be a Bond girl?" She looked at me with owl eyes, but, like, an owl on drugs. I thought about it. Her eyes looked really big when she used to line them. It took her fucking ages but it looked good, real sexy. She has long legs too.

"If you were actually a girl? Maybe. But even then you'd need to suck a lot of executive cock."

"I can do that." Her natural, un-glossed lips quirked as she knocked back a mouthful of my drink. I hadn't realised it had been served.

I decided to flirt back, and, although I didn't know it, it was then that the spider caught the fly.

"I bet you could." I smiled my nice smile. I remember doing that – just a little bit of teeth because my canines were stained.

"What's your name?" I asked her. She had me now.

"Mike." she grinned.

Jesus. Of course it was.


I order him a drink and I watched him drink it. We move to the two-seaters after more men come in, and a muscle show breaks out over our virtue (Ladies, gentlemen, can I buy you a… Fuck off…cocksucking no-good faggot ass brats). When we run out of money he dashes out to the dark lot, and runs back in twenty minutes later with a fifty. When we go through that (we go through that fast) it's my turn. I return in less than ten minutes, but he's sitting in the booth lolling his head from side to side.

"Too long!" He breathes out, "Some fucker tried to have at me! Too long! I missed you baby. Did you miss me?"

I say no and smile when his blissed out face melts into a pout. I ask him if he wants more of the same. "Abso-fuckin'-lutly."

He grins a lot.

Regularly, he asks questions about me like:

"Why do you wear sunglasses when it's fuckin' dark?"

I tell him something about being a drifter and looking mysterious.

"It's really stupid, you know." I slowly rake my eyes over him, eyebrows raised. He sighs like the princess I am starting to suspect he is. Rolling his eyes, "Cross-dressing ain't stupid.", he figures.

I tell him it is and I flick my sunglasses up real quick, flashing him my black eye. I see his face up close.

"Is that stubble? You're not even fucking trying!" I cackle and he punches my chest pushing me away. "Do you even have a drag name? Mike? You make a terrible girl."

"I make an even worse boy, trussst me."

We go through the night yelling "another!" and "another!" at the dead-weed bar-keep and somewhere in there he falls into my lap. I don't push him off but I think I accuse him of being a slut.

"Correct! Hey! If we sleep together do we break-even? Costs covered by income?" He'd been saying shit like this all night. I think he's younger than me.

I tell him no because, surely, I charge more than him. He squawks, his face up against my ear. "Wait, wait, Mike, Mikey maybe but -"I gather him up pressing him closer. I haven't got so shit-faced in ages. My smile must be mega-watt, "You think it'd be tax deductible?"

He howls, his head thrown back, his body spazing. He turns into my face, snorting,

"Like, like, a business expense?"

"Yeah, a one-night course taught by a pro-fess-ion-al in the field of fellatio."

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuu-ck. If that's what he looks like laughing...

People must have been staring. The deer and the antelope and the lions all watching amused, annoyed, turned on, most likely disgusted by the skinny drag boy sitting on the dirty hustler's lap in the back booth of the bar. Two little monkeys screeching like parrots.

They must have been staring.

I see his eyes watering and I tell him as I laugh:

"I'm not a happy person!" He shakes his head, shrugging as he wipes at his make-up.

"Neither." He fucking giggles.

Soon I'll ask him 'what are we doing in this dive bar?' And when he shrugs I'll stand up, pulling him up with me. I'll grab his hand in mine. I'll take him away. We'll run. And we'll find a motel room for the night.


When you're doing something frantically, you're probably either scared out of your fucking mind or doing something cowardly. At the ass-crack of dawn the next morning, behind the very motel room I'd spent the night before in, I frantically packed my shit into my car.

I wasn't afraid of him (well, actually, I was) - but more than that I was most certainly doing something cowardly.

Thank-god I wasn't the only the only one.

Ducking behind the boot I was hiding in the shadow of the car, trying to escape the morning light, when Mike tumbled out of the bathroom window. He didn't have any bags, his dress falling off his shoulder as he picked himself up off the dirt.

"Mike?!" I dropped my bag and, forgetting my promise to ditch him quick, I started towards him. "You wanker! Sneaking out before I woke up? You absolute wanker!"

Now I've seen a deer in headlights and they didn't look anything as fucking ridiculous as he did then. He soon noticed the gym-bag half-stuffed into my boot though.

"Fucker!" He shrieked, pointing to the car. He met my furious storm towards him and kicked me fair in the shin. "I thought you were aslee--! you stuffed the fuckin' bed?! What are you? 16?!

"You just fucking crawled out of a motel window! What are you?!" I was shrieking at him, fuming because he was standing there looking like a ridiculous Shakespearian boy-actor. "A cheating husband? Got twin girls at home Mike? Huh? Got Susie fuck-ing Home-Maker waiting for you?" He growled at me, a deep throaty pit-bull growl. But then. There was something other than the shifting and shimmering of anger in his eyes.

I spent the next minute of my life weighing up my options: Could I take him with me?

Could I, somehow, possibly, for the life of me, manage to leave him behind?

"Right. Fuck this. Get in the fucking car."

"No!" a spray of outraged spit splattered me.

Try harder.

"Get in the fucking car…please."

He softened. His heart beat for me then. I know 'cause mine beat for him. That moment and every one after that.

"You better not screw me over."

I held open the door for him and quietly inhaled when he brushed past me.

"Likewise." I mumbled

What a coincidence. Your Papa was a rodeo too.

AN: If you know the song you'll know that they have a happy ending. If you don't then, I dunno, imagine them riding off into the desert for the rest of their happy fucking lives...

These characters are based on a song with the same title as this story. I take no credit for any lyrics and copyright is squarely owned by the great Stephin Merritt.

Please review if you enjoyed it!