Saturday, January 12, 2013

Shake Hands With Beef!
by lakrfool

October 23, 2006
My worst date ever was with a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader...I know it sounds like an oxymoron, but let me explain.
The summer after I graduated college in Dallas was a windfall of snatch for me. Me and my best friend were running a dive bar by SMU (Yale Ice House) and every night it was a parade of drunken coeds showing off their tans. Yes, these were indeed the salad days.
It seemed the coup de gras came one night when another buddy of mine Tony, who was dating a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader (that lucky dog), came in with his trophy gal, and another one in tow (about 6', platinum blonde, all the assets…a real Nordic beauty). As a point of information, the summer before, I had dated Miss Highland Park (a real snotty bitch, but she was smokin' hot and loved my weiner) and I recognized this other girl with Tony as Miss Irving from the same Miss TX USA pageant. So my segue for small talk was all set. I walked over and said hi to Tony, and was introduced to Carolyn. I said that I remembered her from the previous summer, and she remembered me as well (fuckin sweet..I made an impression) And as it turned out, Carolyn too was a DALLAS COWBOY CHEERLEADER (ohmigosh! no way!!)
She wasn't much for the talk though, and I was getting discouraged. I kept sporting her drinks in hopes that it would get her more socially lubricated, but that plan didn't seem to work... I was just getting 1-2 word answers. When the gals excused themselves to the ladies room (going in pairs as females are required to by law,) I told Tony I didn't think this was working, but Tony said that she had said earlier that she liked me, and in fact had requested that they come to the Ice House because she knew I worked there (?!). Tony said that she was just generally demure and not to read into it too much. Cool.
The bar started getting busy and I had to work, but I kept feeding her drinks. When I took a break, I pulled her aside and asked if she wanted to go out sometime. She gave me a big smile and a yes, complete with a half hug and a peck on the cheek. Yes…it seemed the drinks had finally taken effect. I got her number and said I would call later to set it up.
Of course to play the game properly, I waited almost a week to call her in order to get her all hot and bothered. I even got a call from Tony as to why I hadn't called (I guess she wasn't accustomed to that sort of treatment.) When I did call, I arranged a low-key dinner/drinks type of affair, trying not to appear too anxious or pretentious. She was such a fucking dud socially though, when we were out it was never more than one sentence at a time, zero sense of humor (with what almost seemed like a 'courtesy chuckle' at my immaculately timed, skillfully executed jokes.) But all of that really didn't matter because she was a fucking DALLAS COWBOY CHEERLEADER, and they aint made for talkin', just for lookin'. When I took her back to her apartment, she invited me in and we had a good mash session on the couch, but she was being a sex goalie and cut short all of my handsy advances. This was OK though…she was, after all, a DALLAS COWBOY CHEERLEADER, and I was willing to put in some time... a sex project of sorts.
We continued to go out 2-3 times a week for about a month, and it was pretty goddamn sweet. Every place we would walk into, I immediately had the upper hand knowing that she was usually the best looking woman in there, and she was with ME. Men envied me, and women loathed her natural beauty...we were hated equally by members of our own was truly glorious. And better yet, every time I dropped her off, a few more clothes would hit the floor by her couch. Everything was going as planned….simply excellent.
Then one night, I decided to lay it on pretty thick, and we went to a 4-star Italian joint (The Grape.) I wasn't skimping on anything tonight, especially the red wine. Over time I had found red wine an excellent tool to lower a woman's inhibitions, a real leg spreader if you will. Again, the plan was working…we had mowed through 2 bottles, her cheeks were aflush and she was rubbing my leg under the table. Tonight would indeed be the night I assured myself.
We left the restaurant, and mashed a little bit in the parking lot. On the ride home, she was rubbing all over me and up in my ear…I was having trouble staying between the lines, but this was a good sign. When we got back to her place, as soon as we got through the door there was a flurry of disrobing and groping...the plan was really coming together. She was down to a thong, and I was in my boxers, when she straddled me on the couch and was giving me a really good grind. The finish line was in sight….then it happened.
She popped upright, shouted "NO!!" relinquished my tool, sprinted to her bedroom, charged into the bathroom and shut the door. I was hoping that maybe she had forgotten her diaphragm and was REALLY into birth control, but I didn't think that was actually the case. She returned about 5 minutes later in a bathrobe, all bleary-eyed, and sat down on the couch.
"Are you OK?" I asked, mostly out of courtesy as I surmised that I wouldn't be getting any.
She just nodded her head yes.
"Do you want anything??" I then inquired, still secretly hoping the words 'your schlong buried inside me' would pop out of her mouth. But she just nodded her head no.
Well this was the limit. I had played the game well, done everything right, been patient, wined and dined this witless social mummy the best I knew how, and here's what I get…a big blubbering NOTHING. She obviously had some issues, and I could have probed further and appeared to care about them, but fuck dat. I silently and quickly slid back into my clothes, told her to call if she needed something (to which she stared stone faced at the response) and I hit the road Jack, not to come back no more. Wotta psycho cockteaser.
And it's one thing to get blueballs from your average cocktease, but it's another thing to get blueballs gradually over the period of a month from a smoking hot chick who shows you the goods, then slams the door on your extended junk. Damn that was an angry walk back to the truck…I was probably walking in circles from the wind resistance due to the full-on raging boner pitching a tent in my pants. It's also entirely possible that I might have blacked out and jacked off a couple of times in the parking lot, possibly even strangled an innocent passerby or two.
I suppose I was being a bit greedy, as I was getting some on the side from sorority trollops while I was working on my long-term sex project, but it was the principle of the whole thing. I had put in my best efforts for more than a month, basically entertaining myself while saddled with that beautiful fucking mute, just so I could someday make the grand proclamation that I HAD SEX WITH A DALLAS COWBOY CHEERLEADER!!! Possibly even get a t-shirt printed with those words emblazoned across the front, and "ASK ME ABOUT IT!!" on the back, but lo, it wasn't meant to be.
Unfortunately, in the fantasy world of men, my name would NOT be displayed on The Ring of Honor alongside the names of other men who had actually banged a Cowboy Cheerleader (I hear Troy Aikman has a 24K gold ziggurat there for his work over the years.) And in this world, there's no such thing as "almost getting laid." That's pussy talk, like "almost won the game," or "almost finished my beer"…you either do it, or you don't. Or, as the Sex Jedi says "there is no try, only do."
On the subject of Troy Aikman and sex, here's another story from that same era. It was spring and the PGA Byron Nelson was in town at Los Calinas. GTE sponsored the tournament and my buddy that worked for GTE got some passes.
These passes encompassed the whole 9 yards, including the hospitality tent that housed icy buckets full of longnecks just there for the taking. And in addition to employees and the media, tourney organizers had comped passes to what could be considered local celebrities.
Among those celebrities in attendance this day was a young Troy Aikman, fresh off either his first or second season with the Cowboys. He was in the tent with a throng of people around him, and he really seemed to be enjoying himself as evidenced by the fact that he was double-fisting Coors Lights all afternoon.

Anyways, my buddy and I were doing our best to watch golf and get drunk (not necessarily in that order) and we were alternating trips between the fairways and the tent, shoving our backpacks full of beer and sandwiches and whatever they offered from the home base.

During one of the late afternoon beer-runs, my buddy passed nearby Troy Aikman's posse, and Troy had them huddled close, telling them a "secret" tale. The only problem was, Troy was already wasted, and his 'tell a secret voice' was above the appropriate volume. He was using his 'inside the red-zone huddle voice' and passersbys could hear.

So as my buddy passes near, he hears Troy proclaim:

"So I have these two chicks, naked on my couch."

And that was all he heard, but it was enough. Wow. All of the depraved, funky-sexed, Minnesota Vikings boat ride shit that hear about pro-players/celebrities is most likely true.

Still, Troy Aikman became my idol that day, in a special way that he hadn't been before. Word has it that Troy was quite the "player" in his younger years, mowing through young ladies like a hayfield during harvest time.

The fact that he led the Cowboys to 3 Superbowls was just icing on the cake, he was already a legend in my book. Sex with multiple partners simultaneously is the stuff of rock stars, and the privileged that can afford it.

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