The Outlaws - Part Two Read Free

dreams.
     
    ***
     
    “To be the object of someone's obsession is horrible.”  ~Tippi Hedren
     
    The next day, I woke up before dawn, unable to sleep, having fitful dreams that kept me tossing and turning all night.  Finally, I gave up and made coffee and sat at my computer, trying to write about everything that had happened in the last 48 hours.  The words flowed out of me like a dam had burst.  Before the sun rose, I had written ten pages of notes, mingling fictional events with the delicious real events that had occurred and putting them down on paper as a coarse outline for what would later become a very saucy story.  I was pleased and satisfied as I made another pot of coffee and spent a few extra minutes getting ready. 
     
    I pulled on one of my favorite dresses, the tight red floral one that my dear Mama had told me looked too slutty when she first saw it.  I made a point not to wear it after that, but I was feeling a little extra boost of confidence, and a girl never knew who she was going to run into, you know?  So I pulled it out of the back of my closet. It hugged my curves perfectly, showing off every inch of my rounded hips and full breasts. I added a pair of black suede ''fuck me'' pumps that I had bought on a whim years ago and hoped like hell that nobody walked into my shop today and wanted their hair cut.  Standing in them all day would not be easy.  Actually, I would be extremely lucky if I didn't break my neck.
     
    And then – I spotted the wig.  I had a long, blonde wig in the very back of my closet.  A friend had given it to me as a prop for a Halloween costume, and I had kept it for years.  Surprisingly, it looked very real.   As I was tucking my long, black curls into it, a new plan started to form in my mind. I applied my makeup to match my new hairstyle, and I took a few minutes to admire myself in the mirror. 
     
    I looked like a completely different person.  A sexy person.  And that was exactly how I felt, as well.  I had felt dead sexy since my encounter with the bikers.  If this is what being a slut felt like, I liked it!  And today, I even looked the part.  If Jackson saw me like this, and he still didn't want me?  Well, then I was sure I would find someone else who did.  Why did I need to spend my life alone?
     
    So, that was it.  I decided to go to work looking like this. No more frumpy clothes for me!  If I was lucky, I wouldn't be the only one who got a chance to appreciate my new look!
     
    Walking into my shop, I couldn't help but stare across the street to the motorcycle shop.  It was early, and everything was very quiet over there.  As I turned on the lights and the radio, my usual routine, I looked around at the changes I had made the last time I was here.  I hadn't been in since I followed Jackson home, and to be honest, I hadn't given the shop much thought at all.  Sure, I had moved some furniture around and done some extra cleaning, but it was still pretty boring.  What I needed was a sale or a brand or some sort of marketing ploy to lure customers in. 
     
    Maybe I could give out coupons for a shave, a cut and a beard with a free blow job to Jackson and his crew?  I giggled at my silly thought, even as I felt the wetness seeping out of me.  I had neglected to put on underwear, a secret reminder to myself to embrace my sexiness. 
     
    I knew I should do something soon to drum up business, but it was honestly the last thing I could focus on.  Throughout the day, I kept finding myself standing in front of the window, staring yearningly across the street for any sign of Jackson.  He didn't show up until well after two in the afternoon, and I jumped up anxiously from my chair as I heard his motorcycle roar down the street.  Before I knew what I was doing, I had flung myself out the front door and began frantically waving at him.
     
    Frantically waving like a damned lunatic, that is.
     
    He drove past me as if he didn't even seen me,