Tango Bitches from Hell: Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farms

               Rebecca finished her shift at Sunnybrook Farms Veterinary Clinic located just outside the New Mexico town of Farmington. It took all her strength just to make it to the end of the day with her sanity intact. Being the on-call vet for a busy animal hospital and living right behind the medical facility it was not likely that she would have an event free workday just before a weekend dancing tango in Albuquerque. 

               Menopause was not helping the situation.

               She was in the middle of having a hot flash at 3 a.m.  when John Rogers and his son, Tom Rogers, a couple of in-bred locals living in a trailer park in town, began banging on her door, the younger Rogers brandishing a shotgun.

               She’d heard stories about these two and their female Bullweiler, a bulldog/rotweiler crossbreed. Her Aunt Miranda had theorized the father and the boy were sexually involved with the animal and her Aunt Jane concurred. At twelve, Princess was ready for ‘the needle’, the term Rebecca liked to use for the process of euthanizing an animal that was too old or too sick to crawl off into the woods and die an honorable death.

               The tense situation lasted just a few moments after she shook off the sleep and got a grip on her modified Taser M-18 stun gun, capable of delivering 36 million volts of static electricity: four times the legal limit. She opened the screen door and lightning flashed out the front of her stun gun and into the head of the man wielding the double-barreled weapon.

               Her thick mane of grey hair unfurled like a luminescent blanket in the wind as she rushed into the surreal predawn moonlight. She grabbed the shotgun as the dark-haired young man fell to his knees and then to the ground, his left ear smoking from the electrical discharge. Instinctively she felt for the safety switch. It was off! Those mother-fuckers meant business, she thought, then she pointed the metal cannon at the dog being held by the collar in the old man’s hand and put an end to its misery.

               The taser blast was infinitely silent when compared to the sound of the 12 gauge shotgun’s explosion. Seconds later lights appeared in the buildings surrounding the hospital compound. Her ears rang and she noticed that part of the blast caught the old man in the hand that he was now holding against his red flannel shirt. She could see the whites of his eyes as he stared in horror at the now lifeless mutt.

               She straddled her Harley-Davidson XR1200-X and had no regrets as she recounted the day’s events.  She remembered hearing the gun firing once again as she tended to the younger man who had been tased. The father had taken his own life and his child was still in shock when the police arrived fifteen minutes later. All he could say was, “ Pappy and Princess, both dead. Pappy and Princess both dead.”

               Shortly after the police left she received a callout to the Walmart farm where a poorly maintained cattle herd was being loaded onto trailers by a young ranch hand she knew by the name of Mike. The livestock were headed for the slaughter house and the owner had left it up to the strapping blond-haired teen to assist her upon arrival in determining the physical condition of a particularly large piece of living beef with an unusual growth in its abdomen.

               “Will the slaughter house take this one?” He asked boyishly.

               Eyeing up the black and white Holstein, she told Mike to look away as she sliced open the cow’s innards with a laser scalpel and dislodged a full-grown jack rabbit and its nest from the bovine’s bowels. She could tell he was ready to puke while she hastily stitched up the animal, not being too careful since it would be dead soon anyway.

               She wondered how a full grown rabbit could get inside that cow as another hot-flash swept over her.  She sewed away, contemplating a sexual encounter with the young man. She remembered him looking her over as she shed her jacket to reveal her thin body clad still in her night garments. To her chagrin he was too shy to make a move and she knew better than to force his hand onto her body. She needed sex but she also needed her lover to handle her with the skill and attention necessary to a woman in her predicament.

               With a roar she turned off Rt. 64 in Bloomfield and onto Rt. 550 headed south. It was five p.m. and the hot summer sky was bristling with clouds, threatening to rain, but she knew it was a veiled threat, there was only lightning and fire in those dark grey masses of water vapor.

               With 100 miles of the arroyo, the high desert, behind her, she stopped at a McDonald’s in Cuba, the only town on this 200-mile stretch of desert highway. The town seemed barely big enough to sustain a franchise of this size but she knew there would always be a line inside. She waited her turn, ordered a McFlurry with sprinkles. This would have to sustain her until she reached the snack table at the milonga, a place where tango, and only tango was danced, later this evening.

               It took only a few brief moments for her to ingest the frigid, super sweet cream, then she was back on the blacktop that was almost melting in the 100° heat beneath her tires. As she traveled at speeds equal to the heat index, the wind offered no relief from the high temps but the ice cream in her belly was sufficient to keep her cool until she reached her destination.

               She stopped at the bridge in Bernallilo and jumped into the Rio Grande River where she soaped off the thick sweat of a working gal who’d just ridden a couple of hundred miles through a fiery wasteland. She didn’t bother to towel off as she emerged from the river, strode to her bike and withdrew a clean pair of underwear, cutoff jeans and a revealing t-shirt.

               On her cellphone safely stored in its cradle permanently mounted on the handlebars of her bike, she texted a friend. She called him ‘Blond Juan’ as there were several men that she knew with the same name. He answered back that he was just completing work on a new house frame in a nearby development. Plugging his coordinates into her GPS she peeled out of the sand and back onto the highway, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake.

               In minutes she was in the barren landscape of a new housing project under construction. She spied her friend on top of a platform that would one day be a nice home for somebody. She climbed a ladder and joined him. He was married but she didn’t care. It didn’t take her long to seduce him, dressed as she was, her lust nearly dripping like drool from her chin. She rode him like a bull at the rodeo, their bodies silhouetted on the platform in the setting sun.

               A police car driving by spotted the copulating couple, flashed its lights but did not stop. They both laughed and then she departed, satiated for now.

               She parked her Harley in front of a warehouse in the manufacturing district near the old part of town.  Reaching into her saddlebag she produced a flimsy black dress and a bright red shoe bag. It was quiet and dark as she walked to the entrance and opened the door. When she did this, tango music escaped from inside and made its way into the warm night air of New Mexico’s largest city. Once inside she darted into the ladies' room and made her conversion.

               Heat swept her thin frame once more, her nipples hardened in response to her biological transformation. She frowned as she saw them poking through her dress in the mirror. She worried they would convey the wrong information to men she had no interest in. Reluctantly she departed the lavatory and made her way through the warehouse's labyrinth of hallways to the dance chambers.

               The room was expansive and the ceiling high. It was too dark to see the roof. Huge fans hung from steel cables extending from the pitch black above. The center of the space was well lit where a large wooden dance floor accommodated a crowd of dancers, milongueros, people who danced tango, Argentine Tango.

               Most of the women wore sexy dresses and high heels. Nearly all the men wore black shirts and black pants; a few were dressed in jeans and t-shirts with logos, one sported a fancy suit with an outrageous tie.

               Around the perimeter of the dance floor, where it was not so brightly lit, were cocktail tables and chairs. She went to one and took a seat, crossing her long legs, making sure she did not make eye contact with anyone inadvertently.

               A tall, dark-haired man appeared next to her. She looked up and laughed, it was Roger McLane, a free lance writer. She could tell her laughter made him feel awkward but he didn’t back down from his offer. She was glad to be so far away from this day’s poor beginnings and hoped for a fantastic finish. This Roger, she thought, was nothing like the two locals with the same surname that she dealt with earlier.

               Argentine Tango is danced by a couple to a group of songs in the same genre rather than the usual custom of one encounter per melody. This group of songs, or tanda, was of the genre called ‘vals’, Rebecca’s favorite style. Vals, however, was not Roger’s forte, none of the styles were as he was merely eager to be the first one to approach this lovely woman with the pert nipples protruding beneath the fabric of her attire.

               She could tell he was distracted by her condition, and that he didn’t realize her appearance in no way was a response to his efforts or beauty. Still, she was glad to be on the dance floor and moving to tango music with a man who was interested in her. There were far worse places to be, she surmised.

               Nearly ninety minutes of tango, vals and milonga tandas with a myriad of suitors passed before she allowed herself to take a break and check out the snack table.  There was not much selection. She settled on a plate full of swiss cheese cubes, white grapes and strawberries. She also poured herself a glass of wine and tried to make it back to her table with a bottled water tucked under her arm. Fortunately a man named Nate came to her rescue and helped carry her bounty to safety.

               Not wanting the good deed to go unrewarded she invited the tall blond man of Danish descent to dance and he accepted. She was surprised at her luck for Nate was quite a skilled tanguero. She felt comfortable in his arms and he in no way seemed to be affected by the hardness of her nipples. In fact, he seemed quite disinterested and his aloofness soon piqued her desire to have his attention.

               With deft and dexterity she managed to ‘accidentally’ brush his pelvis with her thigh, plough her thick grey hair into his cheek and feign delighted exasperation a multitude of times during their encounter. He invited her to a second tanda where she continued her feminine onslaught upon his seeming disinterest. By the end of the third song she was pleased to see a visible reaction beginning to break down his demeanor and she coyly refused his request for a third round.

               Quite happy with herself and all the attention she was receiving, she sat down and enjoyed her plate of what would have to do for supper. She devoured each strawberry with absolute joy and savored every cheese cube by taking multiple bites from each one in spite of their tiny size. Each grape she sucked through pursed lips with a pop before biting down into the oval fruit to experience a cool and sweet explosion upon her taste buds.

               It was well past midnight before she began to feel fatigue, yet the music inspired her, relieved her of her stress, her burden of being a doctor in New Mexico’s high country having to deal with in-bred locals doing unseemly things to their animals. She felt like a woman again. Her breasts had resumed their normal shape and the men had long since given up hope that she was a female on the verge of sexual surrender if they only could inspire her to give up her thighs to them.

               She had to admit to herself that she enjoyed the attention. As she sat there contemplating the night’s roster of invitations and revolutions around the room with various partners, she experienced a release that she’d come to expect from an evening of tango dancing.

               She was not done yet. She could tell that of all the men in her fan club one was still interested, one who refused to give up hope that her appetite included him as well as strawberries, grapes and cheese. She waited until he glanced her way one more time as she was certain he would, then she caught his gaze and held it for a few seconds longer than was appropriate for a respectable woman.

               She was not interested in being a respectable lady, however, and she knew she had set in motion a chemical reaction that would lead to a series of events resulting in a romantic encounter. Slipping out of her heels and into a set of black sneakers, she departed, not bothering to change as she made her way to the exit with a timid Nate not far behind…the weekend, she said to herself had just begun:-)