Mandy's First Adultery
"Mandy's First Adultery"
by J.D. Savanyu
October 18, 1992
Mandy McAllister Cooper was getting horny on a muggy night in Medford. Waiting for a babysitter to arrive so she could take Georgie out for a romantic candlelit dinner, followed by an epic fuckfest with her husband at the Medford Motor Inn.
She tossed her pretty blonde bangs while gazing out her kitchen window at a bunch of kids playing on the street. They had to play outside, because most of their families couldn't afford cable TV, a Sega Genesis, or a personal computer. Even if they could afford a Tandy PC, the internet was too primitive to have much fun with it. Only a few hardcore geeks like Sheldon Cooper were surfing the world wide web. That annoying boy genius left for college at Caltech six weeks ago, after his father kicked the bucket. Leaving the rest of his non-genius family behind in a fading backwater Texas town.
Meanwhile, CeeCee Cooper started crying in her crib. Mandy turned away from the window and comforted their eight month-old daughter.
"Aww, there-there. Hush little baby, don't say a word, Momma's gonna buy you a mockingbird," she cooed, but the baby kept wailing away. "I never understood that song. Why would anyone in their right mind want to buy a mockingbird?"
"Beats the hell out of me," Georgie grunted. "I don't understand why she's crying. We just fed her, and changed her diaper."
"Babies can always tell when their parents are about to go out somewhere and leave them behind. They're great at reading body language, according to Doctor Spock."
"I wish you'd stop worshiping that liberal quack. He's about as qualified to raise your kids as Commander Spock on Star Trek. 'Live long and prosper,' my ass."
"Damn, honey. You're starting to sound like Sheldon," Mandy chortled.
"Wow. I really miss that motor-mouth brat. I really miss my dad, too."
"I know, babe." She patted her husband's shoulders reassuringly. "This is a tough time, but we'll get through it just fine."
Their emotional bond was still strong, but their physical bond had gradually loosened since their baby was born. They used to have wild sex every single night, but now she was lucky if Georgie fucked her once a week. If he wasn't too tired after working super-long shifts at McCallister Auto and Tire, barely making ends meet. They really needed this night on the town.
Just when CeeCee finally stopped crying, the phone rang in the living room, making her cry all over again.
"Aww damn, I ain't answering that," Georgie grunted. "It's probably another Bill Clinton tele-campaigner. Ain't no way in hell I'm voting for that fat womanizing commie hillbilly."
"It might be your mother, or my mother, so I'll answer it," Mandy growled, picking up the receiver. "This is the McCallister residence. What can I do you for?"
"Hey Mandy, this is Linda Carson, the babysitter you hired for tonight. I'm afraid I have some bad news. My mother fell down our front steps an hour ago and broke her hip. We're at the hospital right now."
"Oh my god, that's terrible."
"Yeah, we're all in a tizzy about it. So, obviously, I won't be able to babysit for CeeCee. And the office said there's no one else available on such short notice."
"That's okay, don't worry about it," Mandy replied, barely concealing her frustration. She wished the Carson family well, then hung up the phone and broke the bad news to her husband.
"God fucking damn it," Georgie groaned.
"Mind your French, honey," Mandy murmured, covering her baby's ears.
"Every time we try to have a little fun, something always comes along to fuck it. Sheldon ain't around to cause trouble anymore, so I guess god Himself is picking up the slack."
"I know, it sucks big time. I was really looking forward to doing the 'Boot Scootin' Boogie' at Bubba's Roadhouse."
"Me too. You're an awful dancer, and I love showing you up with my killer moves," he remarked, providing comic relief as always.
"Hell, I guess we'll have to stay here and watch L.A. Law, like a bunch of white trash losers."
"Naw, babe, you deserve better than that. Why don't you go ahead to the club, and I'll stay home with CeeCee."
"Really? You sure, Georgie?"
"Damn sure. You been working a lot harder than I have, raising that hellish little angel."
"Thanks a million, honey-bunch. I'll show you a great time when I get home. The bedroom boogie."
"Yee-ha! I'll sure be looking forward to that. In the meantime, don't get too friendly with all them cowboys."
"Don't worry, Georgie-boy. I won't drive my Chevy to their levee... if you catch my drift."
Mandy left that little house and cruised through Medford in a clunky '82 Celebrity. Passing the laundromat that Georgie's grandmother Connie Tucker used to own, along with the illegal gambling den in the back (until she finally got busted.) Mandy heard many rumors about Connie's crazy sex life. That slutty redhead banged lots of random guys right in her office, including Nick "The Rocket" Rafka, an 18 year-old quarterback for the Medford Wolves. Nick was #4 on the all-american football prospects list, and now he was the leading Heisman contender with the Texas Longhorns. Handsome as hell, and dumb enough to fuck an old bag.
"Way to go, you ginger golden girl," Mandy mused to herself, tossing her blonde bangs. "If I'm still giving that many blowjobs when I'm 70, I'll get down on my knees and thank the good sweet lord!"
She stopped at Lulu's Corner Cafe and had a four-course candlelit dinner for one. Savoring Lulu's famous chicken-fried steak while reading To Tame a Cowboy by Katherine Arthur. A delightfully corny Harlequin romance novel, with enough "heaving bosoms" to tip over a Longhorn bull.
She had a delicious cherry cheesecake for dessert, then she hopped back in her car and cranked up the volume on a local country station. "There Ain't Nothing Wrong With The Radio'' by Aaron Tippin. She entered the countryside with her head in the clouds, feeling like the wild weathergirl she used to be. Forgetting all about the stress of the past two years, with so many things going wrong. But she also found her soulmate Georgie; getting married and settling down to domestic bliss with a little bundle of joy.
"Domestic bliss" came at a steep price, leaving her starved for action. She needed to get laid, bad. What good is having a soulmate if he won't satisfy your earthly needs too? (Pastor Jeff would beg to differ, but screw him!) Mandy's mind drifted back to her previous boyfriend Kyle Labonte, the station manager at KRJZ in San Antonio. A hot thirty-something son of a cowboy who really knew how to please a woman. He used to fuck her right in his office, after she gave the weather report in tight dresses that flaunted her rockin' 34-24-32 body.
"A warm 30 MPH breeze is hammering in from Mexico today," Kyle grunted on a tuesday evening, fucking her fast and hard on his desk in the standing missionary position.
"Colliding with moist unstable air from the gulf, generating powerful thunderstorms over Bexar County," she moaned while working her clit.
"Big lightning bolts, baby. With baseball-sized hail," he growled, spanking her tight heart-shaped ass.
"Fuck yeah, spank me harder! Hit me like an F5 tornado."
"It's a twister, bitch!" he growled louder, spanking and pussy-pounding her real good. (She liked her beer cold, and her men rough.) "I'm gonna rock you like a hurricane, all over your face."
Kyle shoved her down on her knees and busted his nuts right on her big blue eyes. Mandy could almost feel that hot creamy splooge oozing down her cheeks and onto her perky tits.
They had a lot of crazy fun back then, putting the "broad" in broadcasting. But it was too crazy to last. He dumped her as soon as a younger prettier blonde crossed his path. Mandy sunk into deep depression, quitting the weather business and fleeing San Antonio with her tail between her legs. Moving back in with her parents in Medford, starting over with a clean slate. She fucked a few more losers around that dead-end town, until fate dropped Georgie right in her lap.
The upbeat country song wound down on the radio, and she pulled into the parking lot of Bubba's Roadhouse, full of pickup trucks with hay bails. She entered the club with a wry grin on her face, feeling like she was back in college at Texas A&M, on the hunt for southern hunks. The smoke-filled honky-tonk reverberated with the twangy guitar licks of "No One Else on Earth" by Wynonna Judd.
No one else on earth could ever hurt me... break my heart the way you do...
Mandy already missed Georgie's comforting presence, and his genial aw-shucks "good ol' boy" attitude. He always made a lady feel special, just like his father. She sat down at the bar, underneath a big neon sign in the shape of Texas, bathing her in a mysterious blue glow. Enhancing her tight blue cocktail dress. A TV over the bar was tuned to a college football game, Texas vs. LSU. Nick Rafka of the Longhorns heaved the ball high in the air, connecting with Joe Driscoll for a fifty yard gain.
"Hey blondie. Mind if I buy you a drink?"
Mandy turned to her left and immediately recognized "Pistol" Pete Tibbs, a thirty-something musclehead who used to play quarterback for Medford High. He dated her during the last three months of their senior year, when she was a cheerleader.
"Sure thing, Pistol Pete," Mandy replied automatically, completely forgetting that she was married. He bought her an ice cold Lone Star Light, and gazed at her big sea-blue doe eyes.
"Great to see you again, Mandy. We had some awesome times in high school."
"Sure did. Prom King and Prom Queen. It don't get any better than that."
"You felt like you were in heaven, wearing that cheap plastic tiara and waving like a hick version of Princess Di. What have you been up to lately?"
"Oh... not much," she replied awkwardly, pushing her husband and daughter further out of her mind. "I used to be a weather girl in San Antonio, and now I'm makin' it rain in Medford."
"Makin' it rain? You a stripper or somethin'?"
"No way," she giggled. "I'm just praying for rain, to end this major drought we're having in Dixie County."
"We all need some relief. Damn, girl, you're still cute as a button. I wish I could have seen you giving the seven day forecast. Partly cloudy with a chance of love."
Mandy giggled louder, tossing her blonde bangs. Their old high school magic quickly rekindled, making her feel warm and tingly all over. She took a heavy swig of beer while admiring his bulging biceps. Much bigger than Georgie's wide receiver guns. Pete described his ill-fated college football career at Oklahoma State, fizzling out as a second-string quarterback. He was currently living on a horse farm twenty miles west of Medford, and he still hit the barbells every day, keeping his body in prime NFL condition.
Mandy's clit buzzed pleasantly under her little blue dress, recalling how hard Pete fucked her under the bleachers in her cheerleader outfit, twenty minutes after he led the Wolves to a commanding victory over the Frisco Falcons, 47-5. She had three orgasms against the metal bars, and three more in the back seat of his Ram 3500, before he finally gave her a nice creamy facial treatment.
"No One Else on Earth" faded out on the speakers, and "Achy Breaky Heart" faded in.
"Oh my god, I fucking love this song!" Pete beamed.
"Me too!" Mandy lied through her teeth.
"May I have this dance?"
"Sure, why the hell not?" she replied giddily, ignoring the warning voice in the back of her mind. They hit the floor with twenty other men and women. The other ladies all wore cowgirl hats and halter tops with high-cut Daisy Dukes. They strutted joyfully to a god-awful Billy Ray Cyrus tune that was topping the charts, turning millions of boring white-bread suburbanites into Stetson-sporting, line-dancing, pickup-revving poseurs.
Don't tell my heart, my achy-breaky heart, I just don't think he'd understand... and if you tell my heart, my achy-breaky heart, he might blow up and kill this man...
That song always made Mandy want to blow up her radio, but she did a good job of fooling Pistol Pete. Wiggling her sexy body like a diamondback rattler, with a wide grin on her photogenic weathergirl face.
"Damn, blondie. You still got the moves of a Dallas cheerleader."
"How 'bout them Cowboys?" she uttered seductively, getting hornier and hornier.
"Troy Aikman would love to get his grubby hands on you. Debbie did Dallas, but you're doin' Medford better."
Pete grabbed her by the waist and swiveled his well-toned hips in her direction. She swiveled her wide child-bearing hips just as eagerly, in harmony with the boot-scootin' rhythm. They kept dancing like hell, with repressed desire pouring out in a delirious torrent. "Achy-Breaky Heart '' finally faded out, replaced by "What She's Doing Now," a heartfelt romantic ballad by Garth Brooks.
"May I have this dance, Miss McCallister?" Pete uttered suavely.
"You sure may, Mister Tibbs."
The former high-school all-american embraced his old flame with tender loving care. She rested her blonde head on his burly shoulders, and they swayed gently in the heart of the dance floor. Mandy felt like she was floating on a cloud in the middle of arid Texas longhorn country.
I took a walk in the evening wind, to clear my head somehow... but tonight I lie here thinking, what's she doin' now?
"This seems like a crazy dream, Mandy. I still think about you every fucking night."
"Me too, Pistol Pete. I should have followed you to OSU, instead of chasing that silly dream of being the next Willard Scott."
"I might have been the next Roger Staubach, with a girl like you cheering me on from the sidelines... and the bedroom," he added with a sly wink.
"You didn't score any touchdowns at OSU... but you can still score one with me, tonight."
Pete's grin spread from ear to ear. "For real, girl?"
"For real, boy. Fate obviously wants us to hook up again. Let's have one more roll in the hay, for old times' sake."
"Hell yeah, cowgirl."
She embraced him tighter, ignoring her screaming voice of reason. She needed to taste his big manly cock one more time, and feel it stretching her tight pussy. One more wild ride before she became just another boring Medford mom.
"Your place or mine?"
"Your place, for sure," she replied quickly. "I wanna see your old trophies."
They hurried out of Bubba's Roadhouse, jumping up into the passenger cab of his big-ass souped-up Chevy pickup. (Obviously compensating for his failed football career, and all the NFL cheerleaders he could have run the "shotgun formation" with.) He turned the ignition, fired up "Ramblin' Man," and rolled down Highway 41 while stroking Mandy's legs underneath her little blue dress.
"Damn, I love The Allman Brothers," Mandy cooed while stroking his hand over her thigh. "This instrumental tune always reminds me of the good ol' days, before the factories moved out and little cities like Medford got shot to hell."
"The best days are right now, baby," he replied suavely. "I'm in-between girlfriends right now. I'm guessing you're in-between boyfriends?"
"Totally," she lied awkwardly. "My last man couldn't get the job done in the bedroom, or any other room." Quickly changing the subject, she grabbed his crotch and uttered: "Let's see if you can still get the job done."
She slowly unzipped his pants and pulled out his penis. Even thicker than she remembered, and it wasn't erect yet!
"Are you fucking serious right now, blondie?" Pete chortled with his hands on the steering wheel.
"Hell yeah, Pistol Pete. I'm giving you a BJ in your kick-ass pickup, just like I did back in '81, in a pink chiffon prom dress."
She jerked his cock up to a full eight inches, groaning in admiration. She couldn't wrap her fingers all the way around it!
"Holy shit. Those Dallas Cowgirls would be jealous as fuck if they knew what they're missing!" she remarked. "Michael Irvin would be even more jealous."
"Fuck Michael Irvin. Suck my big white dick!"
She shoved his thick Texas sausage deep in her mouth, groaning loudly. It was Mandy's first adultery. She couldn't believe it was happening, but she couldn't stop to save her life. She kept whipping her head up and down that huge dick, slurping like hell, reaching under her dress and masturbating through her panties. Feeling better than she ever did with Georgie. The sense of danger greatly enhanced her pleasure.
"Fuck yeah, weathergirl!" Pete moaned triumphantly. "You really can make it rain!"
She giggled with a mouthful, and took him deeper, gagging against his curly black pubes.
"Awww yeah, deep throat me like a porn star, you slutty fucking blonde. 'Mandy Does Medford.'"
She giggled louder, then she pulled out and looked up at his face while stroking his shaft. "My favorite porn star is Christina Angel. That busty blonde really taught me how to blow."
She dove back down and ate him up, slurping and gagging loudly at 60 MPH.
"God fucking damn," Pete groaned, struggling to focus on the highway. "You're way better than Chrissy Angel. You're a devil in disguise."
She twisted her head up and down his shaft for another minute, then she yanked out his hairy balls and devoured them greedily. Lapping up every millimeter of those frumpy fleshy folds, soaking his sack with plenty of spit. Just like she did to Georgie.
She jammed his johnson back in her mouth, sucking some more while massaging his prostate. Pete grabbed her blonde hair with his right hand and made her go faster, growling fiercely over the dueling guitars of that classic southern rock band. He slowed his truck down a minute later, took a sharp left turn down a long gravel driveway, and soon ground to a halt.
"Here we are, Miss Mandy. Home sweet home."
She hopped out of his truck and looked right at a bunch of horses behind a fence, on a pasture that stretched toward a star-studded horizon.
"Damn, you got a big-ass ranch and everything. Living the cowboy dream."
"Ain't too late for you to live the cowgirl dream," Pete replied in a smooth Texas accent.
"No thanks, Pistol Pete. One roll in the hay is all I can handle."
"In that case, I'll make it more than you can handle."
He scooped her up in his burly arms, making her laugh giddily. He carried her into a big two-story ranch full of vintage Wild West décor and his old Medford football trophies. He set her down in the middle of his living room. They got naked real quick, and then she sat down on a black leather sex swing.
"You naughty little cowboy, with a grown-up swing set for all those slutty cowgirls."
"You're hotter than all those bitches. Spread your legs, nice and wide."
She gladly obeyed his order, tilting her torso back and stretching her legs upward in a wide v-shape, grabbing a pair of chains attached to the main leather-wrapped chains of the swing. Pete slid them into a pair of stirrups that also dangled from the leather-wrapped chains. He dropped to his knees on the hardwood floor and buried his face in her golden pubic hair. Devouring her cunt with renewed youthful energy.
"Oh my god, yes!" she shrieked, with a surge of electricity radiating from her clit. He mashed his face hard against her sweet spot, generating an incredible amount of friction.
"Oh shit, oh shit! You suck my pussy so much better than... anyone," she grunted, almost uttering her husband's name.
"I learned from the best. Ron Jeremy, baby."
He jammed his tongue all the way up her vagina. Her slender back arched upward in sharp arousal.
"Holy fuck, yeah! Keep tongue-fucking my tight little twat, just like the good ol' days," she groaned. He slurped up a storm while squeezing her tits, pushing her steadily toward an amazing orgasm. He pulled his head away, and she pointed at her perky b-cups.
"Suck my titties, Pistol Pete. I know you like these perky numbers better than all those fake porn star boobs."
"Damn straight, Miss McCallister. I prefer down-to-earth ladies with genu-wine golden hair and genu-wine hooters."
He shoved her left nipple right into his mouth and sucked hard while squeezing her right breast just as hard, making her feel so fine.
"Yeah boy, nurse those hooters real good. They haven't changed since senior year," she beamed. Quietly thanking herself for bottle-feeding CeeCee with Similac from day one, and jogging off all her baby fat, leaving no evidence of pregnancy. (That was an unplanned accident with Georgie. She had zero desire to squeeze any more of those horrid screeching things out of her hoo-ha.)
"Oh my god, that's so good. Oh fuck, I can't take it anymore. Fuck the shit out me, Mister Quarterback."
"With pleasure, Miss Cheerleader."
He lifted her legs out of the stirrups, and she went over to his shelf full of gleaming trophies. state champions for '77, '79, and '81, national champions in '80, national runner-ups in '81, and the American high school football MVP award in '80 and '81. She braced her arms against one of the oak shelves and bent over horizontally, wiggling her heart-shaped ass and dripping wet cunt in his direction.
"Pound my pussy against your trophies, Pistol Pete. Play action, spread combo!"
"Whatever you say, coach," Pete chortled. He grabbed her ass cheeks and feathered his thick cockhead lightly against her labia.
"Blue 80! Blue 80! Gun bunch, strong 324, Z post!"
"Hut-hut!"
He slammed his big cock all the way up her tight pussy, sending a literal shockwave up her spine, rattling the hard-earned hardware on his shelf. Making her scream with submissive pleasure. He kept ramming his rod up her hot bod, with his well-toned hips smacking loudly against her soft pliant ass cheeks.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck! Just like that, Pistol Pete! Pop my cherry all over again, just like under the bleachers."
"You fucking loved that, you slutty blonde bitch. Doin' the nasty on the dirty ground."
He smacked her ass nice and hard, making her yelp in delight.
"That's right, keep spanking your naughty cheerleader. I'm such a bad fucking girl!"
He spanked her heart-shaped rump with both hands, over and over in a rapid blur. His trophies rattled like a 5.8 earthquake with every thrust.
"Ra-ra, sis-boom-ba," Pete growled in a mock cheerleader chant. "Man-dy fucked the whole damn team. Five, six, seven, eight, who do they app-re-c-iate?"
"I wish I did fuck the whole damn team," she growled back.
"Even the punter?"
"Especially the punter," she snickered. "Fuck me in the ass, boy!"
"Sure thing, coach. A back-door jet blitz."
He lubed up his massive manhood and shoved it through her anal sphincter, making her shudder in perverted ecstasy.
"Oh god, that's intense. Oooooh fuuuuck! Tear my ass up, Pistol Pete!"
He pounded her asshole even harder than her pussy, knocking over his Texas football MVP award from '79. She worked her clit with one hand while bracing the other against the shelf. So many nerve endings in that tight little orifice, driving her mad with every thrust of that huge fucking prick. Twice as long and thick as Georgie's average pecker. Her husband refused to do any anal stuff, because "that's too damn unmanly."
Pete spanked her ass about twenty more times, until she reached an epic climax. Screaming at the top of her lungs, squirting all over his brown shag carpeting.
"Ooooooooh god! Hooooo fuck, that's better!" she roared deliriously.
"You're still a major league squirter, even with a dick up your asshole instead of your pussy," he chuckled while batting his big dick against her sphincter. "Come on, cowgirl. Let's see how well you can ride a well-hung stallion."
Pete scooped her up in his quarterback arms and carried up a flight of stairs to his master bedroom with more wild west décor. He tossed her onto a queen-size mattress, making her laugh louder. He plopped down next to her, with his big stick pointing straight up toward a whirling ceiling fan. She got up on her knees, straddled his rock-hard thighs, and squeezed that rock hard cock through her tight shithole.
"Oooh shit," she growled gutturally, with another intense wave of perverse pleasure rushing through her naked body. She bounced up and down on his huge rod, making a squeaky spring symphony in the middle of a cowgirl fantasy.
"Yee-ha, ride 'em cowgirl," Pete grunted, spanking her thighs over and over with both hands. "Giddy-up, bitch. You know I like it fast and hard."
"You know I like giving 'em what they want," Mandy grunted, picking up the pace. Smacking her soft ass cheeks against his NFL legs in a steady pash-pash-pash-pash-pash-pash-pash. Her first anal encounter in nearly a year, ever since Kyle stopped screwing the brains out of his favorite weathergirl.
"Come on, blondie. Ride that horse the right way. Get my big fucking dick back in your pussy!"
"Whatever you say, coach," Mandy giggled. She switched tracks on his freight train, boarding the Pink Express to Tunaville.
"That's fucking better," Pete growled. "Giddy-up, cowgirl. You better squirt all over me!"
"Yes sir, cowboy!"
Mandy bounced up and down in a rapid blur, and he spanked her hips even more. She pictured Christina Angel riding a random hunk next to a big-ass swimming pool in Beverly Hills. Combining her wild sex fantasies with her wild celebrity fantasies. This was the definitely the best fuck of her life. The pressure between her legs grew unbearably strong, but she kept building it up more and more. Reaching for the stars in the Lone Star State.
"Oh my god, I'm gonna cum so hard. Oh shit, oh shit, aaaaaaaaWWWWAAAAAAAAAHH!"
Another mighty geyser burst out of her cunt, soaking her old flame from head to dick.
"Awww yeaaaah! Good fucking cowgirl!" he cheered loudly. "Get down on the floor, bitch. I'm gonna cum all over your face."
"Fuck yeah," she growled eagerly, hopping off the bed and kneeling down on a rug full of blue Dallas Cowboy stars. He grabbed her blonde hair with one hand, and jerked off with the other.
"Shoot me right between the eyes, Pistol Pete. Just like under the bleachers."
"Damn right, you naughty fucking cheerleader. You made it rain back then, and you're still bringin' it now. Hooowaa, hooowaa, hoooooooWAAAAAASSH!"
Her vision was instantly clouded with a thick white haze. She stuck her tongue out and tasted the hot dripping clumps of jizz. Working her clit with one hand, and finger-fucking herself with the other. Moaning pleasantly in complete satisfaction. By the time he finally stopped cumming, her face and tits were totally plastered. She grabbed that big dick and shoved it back and her mouth, sucking hard to drain him dry. Making this wild fling last as long as she could.
"Great job, Mister Tibbs," she sighed as her head hit his pillows, collapsing in sheer exhaustion. "That was one hell of a roll in the hay."
"Making up for lost time, in grand style," he snickered, rolling over and squeezing her perky b-cups. "You sure you don't want to make this more than just a one-time roll in the hay?"
"For sure, babe. I'm more of a city girl, doing city stuff every week and cheering on the football team every weekend."
"That's what most girls want," he sighed wearily.
"Besides, high school sweethearts who try to keep it going after high school usually end up miserable."
"Yeah. Like my aunt Katie and Uncle Joe."
She reached down and stroked his shriveling dick, hearing a symphony of crickets and a few whinnying horses. The afterglow gradually faded in the moonlight, replaced by guilt over her blatant adultery.
Mandy imagined Sheldon Cooper suddenly materializing in Pete's bedroom, beaming over from Caltech like that goddamn Commander Spock he wouldn't shut up about. Her bratty little stepbrother sneered at her in his mind, and she could almost hear his annoying monotone voice:
"For shame, Mandy. For shame!"
After hearing about Mandy's babysitter cancellation, Georgie expressed his frustration, mentioning their missed opportunity to attend Bubba's Roadhouse and do the "Boot Scootin' Boogie". Mandy suggested that he stay home with their daughter, allowing her to go out and have a good time.
Later, at the roadhouse, Mandy's old flame from high school, "Pistol" Pete Tibbs, approached her and bought her a drink. They reminisced about their past, and Pete complimented Mandy's appearance, mentioning her time as a weather girl in San Antonio.
During their conversation, Pete suggested they dance, and Mandy, feeling the old spark between them, agreed. They danced enthusiastically to a Billy Ray Cyrus tune, before swapping to a more romantic number by Garth Brooks, where Pete shared his ongoing feelings for Mandy.
In one of the sentences, we can see some overlap between the given words: 'Billy Ray Cyrus' and 'Achy-Breaky Heart' are mentioned in the context of their dance at the roadhouse. However, fitting in more of the words given would require a significant rewrite or expansion of the text.
