CHAPTER 1: Danielle “Danny” Robicheaux

I’d had sex with only two men in my twenty-four years on good old planet Earth before the Wolf brothers sauntered into my diner and charmed their way into my bed.

Most recently, with Randy Savoie, my good-for-nothing ex-husband who still came into the diner every night expecting free food like it was part of our divorce settlement.

The other was Davy Boone, my high school sweetheart. Davy joined the navy the day after graduation and hadn’t been heard from since.

His mama died three years ago from cancer and he didn’t even come home for the funeral. Everybody just figured he died in some war somewhere overseas and the government hadn’t gotten around to telling us about it.

My three shithead younger brothers even made up a song to taunt me with when he was leaving.

Davy joined the navy! Danny’s goin’ crazy!

I know, stupid. I told you they were shitheads.

It just showed you what people would do for fun in Bellegrade, Louisiana: population 1,043 souls, at least until somebody died.

The population never went up in Bellegrade, only down.

I mean, why would it go up?

Who the fuck would ever want to move to the armpit of the Louisiana bayou?

But I digress…

Randy and Davy couldn’t have been more different in the lovemaking department.

Davy was my first and only true love.

We started hanging out when I was fourteen (my daddy wouldn’t let us call it dating).

I let Davy get to first base on my fifteenth birthday.

He made it to second a week later.

The next week he rounded third base without stopping and slid into home before I even knew what hit me.

I just remember feeling him push the crotch of my panties to the side and a minute later, BAM!

That’s not your finger, is it, Davy?

No, ma’am, it’s not. You want me to stop?

I reckon not…

I dug my nubby fingernails into his back and scissored my legs around his skinny waist and gritted my teeth through the shock and pain of his pecker sliding in and out of me like a jackrabbit.

What was a pecker?

It was what we called a man’s penis here in the South: a pecker, like a rooster’s beak. Roosters pecked around the ground looking for something to eat. Men pecked around looking for something to stick their pecker in, and then they pecked till their toes curled.

Anyway, that was how my mama explained it to me.

Welcome to sex education, southern style.

Davy, being a typical teenage boy with a raging hard-on and no clue, was so ecstatic he’d found something to stick his pecker into that he thought my screams were from pleasure rather than pain.

Looking back now, I was glad he didn’t stop.

It didn’t last more than a minute, and once I got over the initial shock and pain of having a foreign object invade my body, I kind of enjoyed the ride.

In fact, once it was over, I immediately wanted to get back on.

We were parked out by the lake in the middle of winter in his daddy’s old pickup truck. We steamed up the windows real good, and I left a bare footprint on the side glass without realizing it.

When Davy’s mama saw it, she went and told his daddy.

When his daddy saw it, he spat tobacco juice on the ground between Davy’s feet and shook his head.

Davy laughed as he told me the story.

“You need to stop puttin’ it to that little Robicheaux gal in my truck, Davy boy,” he said with a smile. “Your mama don’t seem to like it.”

Over the next two years, Davy and I had sex as often as we could, wherever we could, whenever we could. It was only by the grace of God and sheer luck that I didn’t get knocked up.

Deep down, I kind of wish that I had gotten knocked up and had a baby. At least I’d have something to remember Davy by.

Babies never crossed our minds.

We liked to have sex a lot, and we got really good at it.

Davy was a creative boy with a long pecker and a strong back. I was a skinny girl with long legs and a spine as limber as a noodle. He could lift me up and turn me this way and that, and I could wrap myself around him like a hot salted pretzel.

I loved Davy more than words could say, and I knew he loved me because he told all the time and showed me every day.

He was supposed to be gone for three years, and then he was coming back to get me. I got one letter from him six months after he left and nothing since. That letter was still in my nightstand at home.

I hadn’t seen him in six years, and not a day went by that I didn’t hope he walked into the diner.

When it came to Davy, hope was all I had left.

A year after Davy left, I married Randy Savoie. I’d known him my whole life and knew what a worthless sack of shit he was, but there weren’t a lot of available men under the age of sixty to choose from in Bellegrade, Louisiana.

I went into the relationship thinking that something was better than nothing.

Boy, was I wrong.

Randy started sweet talking me and buying me little gifts and keeping his tab paid to impress my daddy, who ran the diner back then.

Keeping a tab current at the diner wasn’t something most patrons did. Most folks were always a week or two behind. Mama used to say that daddy extended credit to more folks than the Bank of Louisiana.

Daddy would just shrug and say, “Folks gotta eat. It’s a sin to turn away a hungry man just because he ain’t got a dollar in his pocket.”

Daddy’s heart had always been a size or two bigger than his brain.

Daddy was duly impressed that Randy paid his bill every payday just like clockwork, and he quickly became a fervent member of Team Randy.

To impress me, Randy got a job working on an oil rig out in the Gulf and promised to buy me a new trailer for Christmas and a new car for my birthday.

I never got either one.

I was a stupid girl who fell for his bullshit - hook, line, and sinker.

So, I said I would marry him the tenth time he asked.

I think it shocked both of us.

Randy was not a romantic like Davy was. The term “making love” just made Randy snicker. He was more of a “get in, get out, get a beer, get in the boat” kind of guy.

We dated for a year and were married for two. I could count the number of times we had sex on both hands without reusing a finger, and the number of times I had an orgasm on one hand with fingers to spare.

As long as Randy got his, he wasn’t too concerned about me getting mine.

After a while, that was fine with me.

I just wanted him to get it over with and roll his sweaty body off me so I could take a shower and wash away his stench.

He always stank of oil and cigarettes and whiskey and sweat.

The day I booted his sorry ass out and filed for divorce was one of the best days of my life.

He didn’t contest the divorce or give me much crap over it.

He knew better.

Randy was a tough son of a bitch, but he knew I’d kill him in his sleep if he messed with me too much.

I wasn’t a girl who’d take too much pushing around.

So, long story short, it was pretty slim pickings when it came to men in Bellegrade.

I didn’t even think much about sex after Randy.

When I did, I had ten fingers and a vivid imagination.

I was fine being on my own.

Or at least I thought I was until they strolled in the door.

Tony and Terry.

The Wolf brothers.

Every time I thought about the day they walked into the diner, it got me flowing like the Pearl River during a hurricane.

Those boys knew how to make a woman feel special.

They didn’t have peckers.

They had cocks.

Big, long, hard, stiff, thick cocks.

There was a difference.

Trust me.

I knew.