My Karaoke Queen

Ty may have found true love while at a bar on karaoke night. Jessie strikes him as beautiful in many ways except one. She is the worst singer he has ever heard in his life. Still, even that has its own charm, as it takes a lot of guts to stand in front of a hostile or non-caring crowd and perform. He decides to buy her a drink and see where things go from there.

Warning! This story contains graphic descriptions and depictions of consensual sex between adults. It is intended only for mature and adult readers over the age of 18.

Excerpt:


Although she was devastatingly beautiful, she had to be the worst singer I had ever heard in my life. Saying “pitchy” would be polite and constructive, but the truth was: she was horribly out of tune and off-key, and the high-pitched nasal qualities of her voice could be described as “grating.” Yet, I was instantly in love, because she obviously didn’t care. She threw herself into her songs with drunken gusto and passion, and although the rest of the bar winced with every note of Tammy Wynette’s “Stand By Your Man” and Patsy Cline’s “Crazy.” I had no choice but to be enthralled. After all, who goes to karaoke night to be entertained by actual singing ability? Even the most talented of would-be divas would become throaty after a night of beer, mixed drinks, and shots of tequila. Karaoke usually seemed to be more about letting loose, having fun, and being comfortable in your own skin. And that’s what this woman struck me as: confident and comfortable in her own skin.

When she wrapped up her screechy rendition of Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You,” she handed the microphone back to the DJ. One person clapped in the whole bar, and that was polite at best. I realized that I had to muster up the courage to talk to her and buy her a drink. It was tough at first, partly because she was so attractive; I assumed she had a guy with her or a boyfriend at home. So, for a few minutes, I just drank my beer and watched her out of the corner of my eye. She wore tight black jeans, a leather vest over a white tank, and woven cowboy hat with a braided leather-and-turquoise band. She also had brass belt buckle shaped like Texas, and it was roughly the size of the state, too. Her straight brown hair hung in a loose pony tail beneath her hat, and her smile was infectious. Clearly, she was having fun with the girls she was out with, but even they groaned and rolled their eyes each time she got onto stage. When one of her friends went to the bathroom, and the other got on stage to do Britney Spears, I saw my opportunity and seized it.

I walked over to the barstool next to her and took a seat. The bartender walked over, and I ordered a draft beer. When he set the full plastic cup in front of me, I simply tilted my head towards her and said, “Whatever she wants, too.”

“Vodka sour,” she said. Then, she turned to me. “So, what have I done to deserve this?” She seemed to take a long look up and down my body. I literally could feel her eyeballs on my arms, shoulders, and hands – as well as my tight blue jeans, and my plaid shirt with fake pearl snap-on buttons.

I smiled at her. “Does there have to be a reason?”

She sipped her drink through her straw and batted her eyelashes at me.

“Are you going to deprive me of a pick-up line? Shouldn’t I at least get one of those ..."