When Alan stepped into the dimly lit, smoke filled bar, his first thought was what in the hell was he doing there? He knew he should be home, diving into the books and getting some homework done. As it was, he faced losing his scholarship because his grades had slipped the past semester. But the preppie was sick of school, sick of having no friends, and was determined to change his life socially. It was a Friday night, and he by God intended to get out of the dorm.

A passed out drunk snored as drool mixed with what looked like vomit dribbled down his double chin. Alan stepped over the splayed legs plunked in the middle of the aisle, and sought out a small table at the back of the seedy room, hoping to appear inconspicuous. He wasn't anxious to draw attention as his tall thin frame shrugged into a wobbly chair. A crying-in-your-beer song whined in the background, something that Alan wasn't familiar with. His youthful appearance, coke bottle glasses, and expensive clothing definitely set him apart from the handful of bleary-eyed truckers and tattooed bikers slamming down beers at the bar. More than one surly glare was cast in his direction, and he cowered even further into the darkness while avoiding eye contact.

It seemed like an eternity before a busty, lipstick-smeared waitress asked for his order. He couldn't help but notice the tracks running up her arms, and the dark blotches beneath her eyes. Pounds of foundation and bright blue eye shadow didn't hide the fact that she had to be at least forty years old. She smacked gum and tapped a pencil on the order pad.

"C'mon, sonny. I don't have all night here."

Alan cleared his throat and fiddled with his glasses.

The waitress rolled her eyes.

"Today, sweet pea, today!"

"Ahum," he began. "Would it be possible to get a menu of your beverages, Miss?"

The waitress burst out laughing. Several men swiveled, checked out the boy and snorted, then flipped back to their beers. Alan blushed.

"You're kiddin', right darlin'? We got beer, whiskey, some sodas, and a mixed drink called the Ass Kicker. That's about it. Now, what'll it be, sweet cheeks?"

"Could you tell me what's in the Ass Kicker?" He whispered his reply.

The waitress leaned against Alan. He could smell cheap perfume mixed with sour breath that reeked of something he probably didn't care to know of.

"Could you speak up, sugar? I'm a bit hard of hearin'."

Her lips looked like red oily bear-traps.

Alan jerked away.

"What's in the Ass Kicker?"

"Ah, the Ass Kicker--straight from a keg of dynamite. Good choice, stud. That's one Ass Kicker coming right up."

The waitress clomped off as Alan waved at her in frustration.

"Miss, wait, I'm not sure if that's what I..." She never heard him.

The front door creaked open, and everyone observed the newcomer. Alan expected another degenerate of society. The room hushed as a young debutante entered. She was incredible. The minute she saw Alan she approached his table.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" she asked.

Alan was speechless.

The doe-eyed girl sat next to the gaping boy, perky breasts in angora brushing his arm as she did so. She snuggled close, and the heavenly scent of peaches and cinnamon engulfed Alan's senses. He wanted to swallow her whole.

"I'm sorry for being so pushy. But this is my first time here, and you looked like the only safe person to sit by."

After a moment of uncomfortable wriggling between them, the young girl touched Alan's thigh.

Alan thought he was going to die with ecstasy as he held his breath. There was no doubt in his mind that the touch was deliberate. Not only was an incredibly beautiful girl sitting next to him, but she was also making a move on him, too. He couldn't believe his luck.

"Like, my name is Carrie. What's yours?"

Alan wet his lips. Finally he took in another breath, savoring her sweet aroma.

"I'm Alan."

"That's cool. Like, why are you here, Alan?"

Her fingers fluttered upon his thigh, and he felt himself growing more aroused. He glanced around to see if they were being watched, but the regulars were more interested in small talk with the waitress while getting drunk. Wads of money slammed onto the bar over a heated bet.

"I, uh, decided I should do something different for a change."

"Like, what do you mean different? Don't you normally come to bars?"

The touches crested upward, closer to Alan's crotch. He caught himself quivering, and stopped.

"Actually, no. This is my first time."

There was a hint of a smile upon the debutante's full lips.

"This is my first time, too. Like, I'll bet you've never touched a girl sexually before, huh?"

This last comment took Alan off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Like, I'll bet you've never touched a titty before. If you wanna touch mine, go ahead."

Alan was stunned, but not stupid. His hand trembled as he reached for the soft voluptuous mound. He thought he would explode the minute he touched her, and as his fingers made contact, his world came apart.

The young debutante suddenly turned on him, screaming and ranting as she scooped up a chair and beat him unconscious. Once his limp body was dragged outside behind the bar, the girl stomped him hard in the ribs and chortled.

"There, you son-of-a-bitch! You wanted an Ass Kicker. You got one."

Alan moaned as she stormed back inside.

"So, you really beat the crap out of that kid, Darlene," said the older waitress as she met her in the back room. The regulars out front were laughing and arguing.

"Well, the asshole went for it. What do ya expect? How much did we make?"

"A whopping' hundred. We've done better, darlin'. But there's a shit-kicker out there that just stepped in. He looks like a cow humping' virgin if I ever saw one. Kinda reminds me of your daddy."

"Really! Let me at the baby raping creep!"

The waitress patted the young girl's cheek.

"Better get on some western duds first, darlin'. I'm betting' he'll order the Ass Kicker, and then you can have all the fun you want."

"Okay, mama. You take the bets, and I'll take the hick."

Both women laughed.