A handful of Scott's friends were staying with us for before a fishing trip. These particular friends live out in the country, all married with children, hardworking, sweet and, well, good ol' boys.
Working late, I came home to find them all strewn about our living room, beefy and lumberjacky, flanked by a couple empty brown bottles. The screen flickered with sports highlights, the room smelled like socks. Respectfully jumping up to say hello, we caught up and I, respectfully, gave them their space and remained on the periphery.
More bottles were opened, the chatter became louder and markedly more informal. The guests stared longingly, somewhat sorrowfully at the endless beer ads showcasing women who apparently lust for sports, beer, brauts, bikinis and an insatiable craving for sex 24-7. RAWR! I could almost see their brains at work...she's perfect.
Our crazy calico cat decided to make a cameo. She was new to our household, as she had just recently adopted us (by following us home one night). She's precious, small and at the time still very much a kitten. She presented herself to the macho audience, demure and unaffected by the loud sports outbursts and primal conversations. Aw, cute kitty, some mused.
She lowered herself to the ground and slithered her way over to them. She started to moan and writhe, swaying from side to side. The conversing slowed. She did not. The moaning increased and her tactics became more aggressive... she crawled over to the biggest of the bunch, lifted her tail and backed right into him...exposing her newly realized lady-business. She wanted action--and how. And immediately. She was in heat. The men sat upright: "What is she doing?!" They slid away from her. She carried on, hungry and unsatisfied, backing up to anyone. The large men looked absolutely terrified at the small thing, purring and wiggling--determined to get what she wanted.
I went upstairs chuckling. We've all seen it happen with humans: Randy, outspoken, beer-braut girl may be too much for a lot of the macho fellas.