“That was some riding, kid,” I said, with a wink.
Jason wiped the snot from his nose. “Really?”
I nodded and tousled his hair. “Sure as shootin’.”
I wasn’t certain he understood the compliment. Not that it mattered, though, because all of a sudden his father came driving up from our left, another mare from our right, both sides quickly converging on the pair of us.
“Looks like the cavalry is a comin’, boy,” I made note.
He giggled. “Too late, um, Mister Cowboy, sir.”
I shrugged. “Better late than never, I s’pose.”
The father came to a screeching halt by his son’s side and hopped out of the car fast as lightning. “You scared the filly,” he snarled, staring my way as he helped his boy off his horse.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re welcome,” I said in reply.
He hugged his boy as he set him down in the car. Suffice to say, I never got my thanks. Not even a tip. Instead, he handed me my cash and stormed off, muttering that he should never have listened to his wife. He and the boy drove away, leaving me in a cloud of dust.
Well, not just me, really.
“I dunno,” said the stranger, who’d galloped up to see what all the fuss was about, once the dust settled. “I kind of liked your singing.”
I squinted his way and sucked in my breath as my eyes landed on his, on so much blue you could just about take a dip in them, the sapphire orbs sitting atop an aquiline nose, plump lips below and scruff-dense cheeks that would’ve made the Marlboro Man jealous. A wave of amber hair flowed out from beneath his Stetson and a matching down poked out from the collar of his denim shirt.
“Um, thanks,” I managed to reply. “Sorry you missed my encore.”
He laughed; the sound like the wind whipping through the prairie grass. “Oh, I reckon I caught it, mister.”
I held out my hand as I trotted over. “Mark.”
He took my mitt in his, flesh meeting up with flesh as a white-hot bolt sizzled up my spine. “Jesse,” he informed me. “Pleasure.” And talk about your gross understatements. “I caught your act, by the way. Where did you learn all them rope tricks and fancy riding?”
A flush of red worked its way up my stubble neck. “Daddy was an all-state rodeo champion three years running. Granddaddy topped him by a year.”
“And you?”
That blush of mine widened. “Just the one, but that was a bunch of years ago.”
It was then I noticed that his hand was still in mine, the horses nuzzling each other like old pals. Reluctantly, I released my grip as I again stared into those mesmerizing eyes of blue. “Care for a ride?” he asked.
I laughed, nervously. “I think I already had one.”
He nodded. “This one will be gentler,” he replied. “If that’s how you like it.”
The words were innocent enough, but they certainly didn’t come across that way. In any case, my nod echoed his and the horses took off, side by side, at a slow, easy trot.
The land stretched far as the eye could see, cattle in the distance, a few rugged hills here and there, green on top of green, if you forgot about Jesse’s sea of blue. Which, of course, was impossible to forget. “This your ranch?” I eventually asked, pushing down on the stiffy that had formed in my tight jeans the moment I laid eyes on him.
“Nope,” he replied. “I manage the place.” He glanced over just as my hand left my crotch. He grinned and then stared back out into the distance. “Five hundred acres, by the way, give or take.”
I blew an appreciative whistle. That much land for a ranch was a rarity these days. “Big property.”
He nodded and mimicked my hand gesture on his own crotch. “Big,” he replied, again looking my way, the smile wide, white, and beguiling, dimples appearing within the scruff.
My grin matched his, my hand back on my denim-encased prick. “Big, huh?”
His nodding picked up steam as the horses rounded a bend, the path blocked on three sides by rough terrain and rocky hillsides. “Mighty big.” He pulled back on his reins, his mare stopping in place, whinnying as she did so. “And gettin’ bigger by the second.”
My own horse came to a stop. “I reckon we’re not talking about acreage no more, are we?”
He slowly unzipped his fly. “Wanna make a bet on that?”
My cowboy was going commando, his cock, with great effort, extricated from inside his jeans, the mighty steed rearing once before coming to a wobbling halt. I licked my lips as I stared at the glistening head. “I think I might’ve already won it.”
I hopped off my horse and ambled over to his, my ambling impeded by my rigid prick begging for its own release. Jesse hopped down and closed the gap between us, his hands around my waist, yanking me in as his cock pressed up tight against my belly. “Howdy,” he rasped his lips on mine in a dazzling flash, that ocean of blue at last spread out before me.
The kiss made my knees quake and my belly rumble. The fact that my zipper held was testament to one Mister Levi Strauss. When our lips at last parted, I breathlessly echoed, “Howdy.” I then popped open my fly and managed, with rather great difficulty, to release my impossibly stiff prick, adding with a relieved sigh, “Better.”
He stared down. “Much.” His grin returned, even more seductive than before. “You ever get ridden sidesaddle, Mark?”
I grabbed a hold of his tool. It throbbed and pulsed and promptly leaked in my grip. “’Course I’ve ridden sidesaddle.”
He took hold of my crowbar of a cock. My eyelids fluttered upon impact. “Not ridden. Get ridden.”
He stroked as I stroked, while his words swirled around my head, soon enough lining up like the tumblers in a slot machine’s. “Wait a sec,” I finally replied, gazing downward as our thick tools got mutually worked. “You want to fuck me while we ride?” I scratched my head. “Sounds dangerous.”
“Says the man working a child’s birthday party.”
“Good point,” I allowed, squeezing the head of his bulbous prick as I breathed in the musk and sweat of him. “Good point indeed.”
He reached into his back pocket and retrieved one lone rubber and an equally lone small bottle of lube. “And that point’s gonna be buried far up that pretty little ass of yours soon enough.”
I moaned at the thought. “You do indeed come prepared.”
“That’s my motto,” he boasted, releasing my prick so he could get undressed.
“I thought that was for the Scouts.”
He shrugged. “Cowboys, too.”
“Yep.”
“Yep.”
And, nope, it didn’t take two randy cowboys all that long to undress neither. Meaning, one minute we were in jeans, cocks poking out (like way out), and the next we were stark naked, hard as granite, covered in a sheen of sweat and making out until the cows came home, which, judging by the fiery orb in the sky, wouldn’t be for hours yet.
He hopped on his mare, legs dangling over the side, beautiful dick pointing sky-high. I stared up and smiled at the sight of him. “You do this to all the cowboys around these parts, Jesse?”
He shook his head in earnest. “Just the singing ones, Mark.” And then he reached his hand down and helped me up, until the two of us were riding that mare sidesaddle, back the way we came, this time heading farther away from the main house.
“Not what I imagined when I started the day,” I freely admitted as I watched him stretch the rubber down the length and breadth of his meaty prick before lubing it up but good.
He laughed, cock swaying from side to side as he did so. Me, I was already sidling over and up, aiming my portal at his wide expanse of dickhead, all while balancing on the horse, who, for her part, ignored our shenanigans as she moseyed on along. Wasn’t easy, no, but well-trained cowboy that I am, it didn’t take too long for his cock to be up my ass, one hand wrapped around my dick, the other balancing backward on the mare, with me holding on to both as best I could.
I ground into
him and let out a howl. “Now that’s some fancy trick riding if I ever saw it.” I moaned in delight as he pumped my prick and my ass, all of it aided and abetted by the bouncing ride below.
The horse whinnied, I grunted, and Jesse panted, while we rode and fucked, fucked and rode, my ass and dick getting a mighty fine workout. I’d ridden in every conceivable position before, for money, for fun, for work, but this, this was something brand-spankin’-new.
“Fuuuck,” I panted, balls bouncing as I rode him like a bucking bronco.
“Yeah,” he whispered in return, his mouth on my neck, sucking away, the come building as he jacked and jacked and filled my throbbing hole until I was sure his dick would come popping out the front of my mouth.
When the mare took off in a trot that was about all she wrote for us. By then, he was battering up against my farthest reaches something fierce and I was… “Close, Jesse. So. Fucking. Close.”
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Come with me then.”
I nodded and gulped, sweat flinging off my forehead. “Gladly.”
The mare hopped over a log, and that was that. Come flew up and out, drenching the ground beneath us. In fact, it would take weeks for me to regain my protein store. As planned, he came as I came, his moan joining mine as both our heads flew back and the charger beneath us suddenly halted in her tracks.
I chuckled as he shook the last vestiges of spunk from my steely prick, my entire body trembling now, legs quaking as he teased my now-sensitive head. “Well,” I managed to squeak out, “that was some ride.”
His laughter joined mine. “Plenty more where that, pardon the expression, came from.” He paused and rubbed my belly. “If’in, I mean, you’re looking for some real cowboy work.”
My heart nearly leapt to my throat. “Singing included?”
He shrugged from behind me. “Optional, I reckon.”
Then it took some wrangling, but eventually I was behind him instead of on top, my arms wrapped around his waist as we galloped off into the sunset (or what would eventually be just that). My cheek was pressed to his broad expanse of back as I sang Gene Autry’s “Back in the Saddle Again.”
Seemed befitting, all things considered.
NEON COWBOY
Adrik Kemp
This city is my city. It’s where I’m meant to be. The streets are long and crowded and never quiet. The people are loud and rude and in it for themselves. And the way it lights up at night is like Christmas year round. I have to see the city whenever I’m done with my gigs. I like to go up to the rooftop restaurant, when Billy’s the only one left cleaning up, and take a bottle of vodka from behind the bar, saunter over to the edge, and plonk myself down. I always drink a little on my own before Billy’s done and comes to join me.
Tonight, as every night, the city is scattered beneath my dangling legs. I’m still wearing the diamanté-studded, red-vinyl and fake-furred cowboy boots from the gig. The rhinestones catch the city’s neon signs and traffic lights and refract them over my bare legs. The wind is warm over my skin and the vodka helps heat me up from the inside. My Y-fronts are grimy; not from age but from all the men and women touching them all night, from the crusty bills stuffed in the elastic, and from the spilled alcohol that always gets down the front. I only ever wear them once.
I glance back at Billy, wondering when he’ll be done so we can drink the night away, but he’s still mopping the floor. He’s wearing a tight black T-shirt and black jeans like always, a little gap of his freckled back showing as he runs the mop over the floor. His auburn hair is long at the front and flops over his sweat-sheened face as he works.
Between my legs, the casino looms beneath me. Lights run up and down the entire length of the building in every color that technology can provide. As I’m chugging from the vodka bottle, the thick, clear liquid glows red, yellow, orange, and all the colors of the rainbow before it hits my mouth and burns down my throat. I swallow and grin at the night, put the bottle on the ledge beside me, and stretch.
It feels good to stretch after a night of dancing. My back cracks and my arms tense, muscles popping as I flex and relax, flex and relax. I put my hands behind me and lean back to look at the sky. Billy’s right behind me, hair hanging over his face still, smiling into my eyes.
“Hey, cowboy,” he winks at me, “room for one more?”
I pull the bottle up and gesture for him to sit down.
Billy puts a hand on the ledge and sits facing the bar instead of the city. He always does this. He’s afraid of falling. I put one hand on his thigh and bring the bottle to my lips with the other to have another swig of multicolored vodka.
Billy grabs the bottle from me and takes a swig of his own. The lights from the casino shine over his back, but he is more of a silhouette than me and the vodka stays clear while it enters him. He gasps and wipes his mouth.
“How’s your night?” Billy says.
I shrug, “Same as always. The guys wanna try a new routine next week, so I gotta work on that tomorrow….”
“Still cowboys?”
“Still cowboys. Chicks love it.”
“And dudes.”
I grin. “And dudes.”
Billy pulls a soft pack of smokes from his front pocket. He knocks one out and slots it in his mouth. He’s always used matches instead of a lighter because the sulphur tastes better than lighter fluid. He lights a match, glances at me, and sucks the flame back through the cigarette, exhaling to blow the match out. The smoke is thick in the air and clouds around him in bluish puffs. He offers me the pack but knows I don’t smoke. I do like watching him smoke though, the way his lips meet around the filter and the smoke drifts from his lips and nostrils when he’s contemplating whatever it is he thinks about between drags.
“You look like that sign.”
I know the one he means.
“The cowboy one, out the front of a bar down the street a bit. Neon blue jeans, red shirt and yellow cowboy hat.”
I look at my bulging Y-fronts and sparkling boots and snigger. “You never see me in more than this.”
“No, but I imagine.”
“What do you imagine?”
Billy leans forward and kisses me, cigarette dangling between his legs. He smells like sweat and old beer, tobacco and perfume, old denim and the city. I kiss him back, our tongues working together while his stubble rubs tiny tracks in the baby oil covering my face and body. He pulls back and grins, wiping his hair back. He’s got perfect eyebrows, half arches that give his brown eyes a brooding quality he uses on all the boys. His nose is small, faintly freckled, but you can only see it in the UV in the bars, and his lips are full and the color of a peach in the sunlight and blue-gray by night. He bites his bottom lip on the left. Looks like it might burst, so I pull him closer by the thigh and kiss him once more.
Billy runs a hand over my thigh and over my Y-fronts. He doesn’t stop though, just keeps exploring the six-pack above and the chiseled pectorals and pink, oiled, hair-free nipples that are the very least a dancer like me needs to maintain. His touch is different from the screaming, clawing, grabbing talons of the men and women in the casino. Billy doesn’t rub his money over my nipples and shove it down my oil-slicked chest to my Y-fronts. He doesn’t try to grab my junk, even though he can and does all the time. He always holds out as long as he can. He pulls back and blushes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Want another drink?” He passes the vodka.
I hold his gaze for a moment, wondering if he’ll say it today; tell me I’m beautiful and perfect. I wonder if he’ll look at me the way he does sometimes, the way that keeps me coming back here night after night, like I’m the only thing he can see. But he looks instead at the city. I take the vodka and swig a couple of shots down. The city is blurring, spinning beneath us. I pull back and sit against the ledge, booted feet firm on the rooftop floor. Billy touches my spiked, blond-frosted hair. He told me once I looked like a boy band member only bigger. I guess I’m used to being larger t
han life.
I reach up and pull Billy down by the back of his neck to kiss me upside down. His nose tickles my chin and his hair falls on my neck. I guide him to a sitting position on top of me and pull off his shirt. For a moment, his face is hidden and all I can see is his chest reflecting red lights from the city. His athletic build is covered in soft red hair that trails from the center of his chest out to his dark-pink nipples and down his abs to enter his jeans. As usual, he’s not wearing underwear.
Then his shirt is off, the lights have changed to blue, and he’s leaning down to kiss me. His cock is pressing against the inside of his jeans and grinding against my own. His chest touches mine and our nipples graze as he kisses me like it’s the last time we’ll ever kiss. My body always runs hotter than most but with Billy on top of me, I become a furnace. I pull him down and press against him as if I’m trying to force our bodies to fuse. He has one hand at my neck and one at my thigh, rubbing a thumb under the elastic of my Y-fronts. I lift my crotch up and pull us both up to stand over the city. In the distance, under the wind, traffic drones endlessly around us.
I grab for the belt around his waist and have it off in seconds and then pop open his fly and pull down his jeans. I let them stay around his ankles and admire the cock that bounces out over shaven balls. It shines in the light, glistening at the head. I drop to my knees, calves touching the backs of my cowboy boots, hands on each of Billy’s thighs, and his cock rammed in my mouth. Billy’s thickness fills me completely, better than any rainbow vodka I could drink. He thrusts along with my strokes, and dribbles of saliva drop to the concrete beneath us. I grab at my own cock and flop it out beneath. It’s long and thick, hair pruned the same as Billy’s. I don’t often take it out at shows but I need to be ready just in case. I start pumping it, feeling my balls tense below me and the irresistible urge to come rising almost instantly.
Cowboy Up Page 7