There are some things a man can't change. My bein' a babe magnet for one...
-Jimmie Joe Johnson

"Jimmie Joe Johnson, you no good whore dog you!"

My head shot up from between Sally Norton's naked, jigglin' breasts and I turned to look behind me. Lynnette Randall stood in the open doorway of the Dirty Duds & Suds Laundromat, her eyes big and round like slices of summer ripe watermelon and just as red. The only thing missin' were the seeds. Though I reckon them beady little black centers in her eyes could be considered seeds.

"It ain't how it looks," I attempted to explain as the over-sized washer we were leanin' against kicked into spin cycle.

Her gaze dropped down to the floor, narrowin' as it went. "And I reckon you always do your laundry with your jeans bunched up around your ankles. You piece of shit! You shithead! You no good shit-"

"Can we talk about this later?" I asked with a growl. I mean, hell, I was one thrust away from bein' dick deep inside of Sally Norton. That meant I wasn't exactly in the mood to discuss how many kinds of shit I was in Lynnette's book.

"In my bed?" she asked, crossin' her arms.

"You'll have to take yourself a number," Sally said, squirmin' restlessly beneath me. "He's fixin' to service me right now."

At least I had been before Lynnette came in. "I ain't so sure that's a very good idea," I told Lynnette. That woman spent too damn much time ridin' the P.M.S. train.

"So you'd rather be doin' her?" she demanded, pointin' an accusin' finger at Sally.

At the moment, yeah. And damned if it didn't turn me on to have Lynnette lookin' on while Sally and me were doin' it. Or almost doin' it, seein' as how Lynnette's arrival had sort of stalled my motor.

"Jimmie Joe," Sally groaned impatiently.

I looked down at her with an apologetic smile. "Just give me a sec while I handle this."
 
"I'll give you more than a sec," Lynnette shrieked, her ear-splittin' screech followed the clickety-clack of the rickety old laundry cart.

The next thing I knew, the cold metal basket on wheels slammed into my bare ass with enough force to push the breath from my lungs.

Sally cried out. Or, hell, maybe it was me. I wasn't real sure. All I knew was my ass felt like it had just been clamped in-between a waffle iron.

"Son-of-a-bitch," I somehow managed through pain-clenched teeth.
 
"You sure are," Lynnette replied with a scowl. Then she spun around and stomped back toward the laundromat door in her three-inch spikes, her long dull brown ponytail trailin' behind her.

My ass throbbed in rhythm to the sound of Hank Williams Jr.'s - A COUNTRY BOY CAN SURVIVE - comin' outta the speakers above me. I wasn't so sure my ass would survive.

Lynnette stopped in the doorway and turned to face me. "You know, Jimmie Joe, just 'cause you got eyes the color of a blue slushie and a cock as thick as a tree trunk don't mean you can always weasel your way outta things!" Then, with another whip of her ponytail, she was gone.

"Are you alright?"

I barely heard Sally's words through my pain-wracked mind. "Hell, yeah. Couldn't be better."

Not only was I a son-of-a-bitch, I was a lyin' son-of-a-bitch, considerin' my ass was still attached to a laundry basket.

I stood there, tryin' to figure out how I'd gone from bein' just a thrust away from makin' use of that neon green condom I'd pulled from my wallet to havin' no cock-a-doodle in my doo. What a fuckin' waste of fifty cents!

"Jimmie Joe?" Sally whined.

"Sorry, Sally," I said, backin' away. I dragged up my jeans and tucked in my flaggin', neon green sheath-covered willy. The show was over.

She sat up, her oversized Happy Bunny t-shirt settlin' back down over her bare breasts. "Ah, come on, Jimmie Joe. You ain't gonna let Lynnette ruin the little party we had goin' on here, are you?"

She already had. My ass was achin' like a bad tooth.

"Hey, Jimmie Joe."

My gaze shot up to the doorway where Baylee Jean Brown stood smilin' and lookin' sexier than any female had a right to in bib overalls and hikin' boots. Baylee Jean Brown was a natural beauty with an inner wild streak I remembered all too well. She was also one of a long line of witches. She lived deep in the woods on the outskirts of Possum Hollow with her younger sister, Randi Lynn, and their spell-castin' aunt, known around these parts, but not to her face for obvious reasons, as Crazy Callie Rae.

"Cat got your tongue?" Baylee Jean asked with a sassy grin. "Or did you leave it parked down Sally's throat?"

My tongue might as well have been down Sally's throat for all the good it was doin' me. I was so shocked that Baylee Jean had actually spoken to me, somethin' she'd avoided doin' for years, that I couldn't shake any words loose from my mouth.

I silently cursed Callie Rae, somethin' I'd done daily for the past ten years. As far as witches went, I used to think she was pretty harmless. All venom and no bite. So I ignored the threats she'd made to keep me away from Baylee Jean. When them threats didn't work, she got into my head, finally poundin' the truth into me. I was a boy, soon-to-be man, who was genetically destined to be ruled by my cock instead of my heart. Baylee Jean deserved better than what I had to offer her, so I backed away.

Now I knew that I'd taken Callie Rae's threats too damn lightly back then, seein' as how my cousin, Lyle, had recently gone missin'. He'd gotten himself tangled up with Callie Rae who was four years older than him, my cousin havin' a thing for 'cougars' of the two-legged kind. Hell, at thirty-one years old, you'd think my cousin would have a few more smarts in his head. Lyle was happy as a cock in a hen house for about six months. That's when Crazy Callie Rae caught him sittin' in his truck with Trixie Perkins and cursed him for the lyin', cheatin' varmint he was. Lyle claimed he hadn't done anythin' wrong, but he had the same hound dog blood in him that I did. Not long after he and Callie Rae split up, Lyle disappeared and no one had seen hide nor hair of him since.

"Jimmie Joe and me were in the middle of somethin' if you don't mind," Sally muttered impatiently, bringin' me from my thoughts.

Baylee Jean's gaze dropped to the fly of my jeans.

Even though I was free to diddle with any female I pleased, I felt like I'd been caught doin' somethin' I shouldn't have been doin'.