BULLSH!T: Ride Me, Cowboy! (Mature)

ATTENTION: 1. The language of this story is itself one of the main characters. The language is a Texas dialect; the story without the special language would not be the same story. This story is rampant with words spelled to reflect this Texas dialect. Local gringo lingo. Scilicet: liberal use of ' -in' ' instead of '-ing', e. g. 'askin' ', 'git' = 'get', 'agin' = 'against' or 'again', 'thang' = 'thing', 'thank' = 'think' or regular 'thank' as in 'thanks'. YEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!!! = Ye-Haw!', 'Texas' = 'TEXAS!.' Sometimes a word like 'fer' is used in dialog and the regular 'for' is used in the same sentence "I'm lookin' fer a hottie for a good time.". It is confusing, but it is real, just like especially here in the Big D Dallas area speakers spatter from Texan to regular English to Spanish or Hindi all the time.

I hasten to add that as of this very week, Sept 24 2026, an all-time record has been broken when Ella Langley's hit song "Choosin' Texas" topped the the Billboard Hot 100 for a 23rd week: an all time record. Please, listen to her song(s). They are rich with the vocabulary and grammar found in this story, Again, scilicet, the use of the words 'thangs', ' I'mma', et cetera. Please do yourself a great musical favor and listen to Ella's record breaking songs. Of course "Choosin' Texas" is rated the best, but "Be Her" is the most toe-tappin' happy song you'll ever hear (hint on the music video: clap clap), and on a most personal note "Broken" is the saddest song I have ever heard in my life.

Any attempt at spell-check or grammar check will overload your word processing program. However, even given the outrageousness of the writing, I think it is punctuationally correct.

These Texas characters are not blatherskites. So saddle-up! Let's ride!

2. Conversely, I am a logophile so you've already been introduced to 'scilicet' and 'blatherskites'. You will also see exquisite words like 'harken' and 'connive', When seen in context their meanings are discernable.

3. Some Texas story characters seem to draw out, I could say "drawl out", the hate in readers. Some readers just don't like Texas or Texans. I'm just funnin' ya with the characters. I mean no offense.

4. I do my own editing and am far from perfect at it. I become blind to even obvious errors. Mea culpa. I beg your indulgence.

5. There is NO underage sex in this story, neither stated nor implied. That's against Literotica's guidelines. Git it?

6. There are three versions of this story. Each version is independent of each other even if the names are the same. All of them have a main character named Tanner aka 'Cowboy'. All three have a beautiful lady named Bella (Bellissima). In one story Tanner is her father (The T/I story). In another version Tanner and she are simply two people who meet up (The Mature version). In the third story Tanner is an unrepentant womanizer and Bella is his prey. (The Loving Wives version). If some are in a category you don't typically read, please give those versions a try. 'Vive la difference'!

Enjoy this Texas tale!

LET'S RODEO!

YYYYYYIIIIIIPPPPPPPEEEEEEE!!!

BULLSH! T: Ride me, Cowboy! (Mature version)

A New Day, A New Life

Life can be wonderful. I mean, sometimes life just gives you its all; hands you blessings by the bucketful.

We're gonna tell about one of those instances. Wanna get a grin on yer face? Set a spell; We'll spin our tale. A tale of old'un - young'un love. Old meets new. Old meats new.

I'm the male half of "We're". You'll meet the female half here in a shake.

I'm Tanner, from down here in Tejas or Texas, depending on your preference. Texas works for sure, Tejas is fine with me too. I'm a good lookin', hard workin', hell raisin', fun lovin' proud Texas son of a bitch. Proud and loud. Is there any other way a Texas man could be?

I'm quasi-successful when it comes to money. Rich? Hell no. Comfortable? Yer gettin' warmer. Scrapin' by: nope: ya done gone too low. I guess a bit above paycheck to paycheck, enough such that I don't give money any worry. I work at a feed store down here in boomin' North Texas, around, mostly North, of Big D. Dallas to you non-Texans. I split my time between mannin' the store and out doin' deliveries and helping the customers do chores. The hours can be long, the work hard, but it don't gimme no nevermind. I'm happy. I'm happy helpin' make other folks happy.

And my life is full. Full of happiness.

Kinda. I fall short. I'll speak more to that here in a bit.

One aspect of my life is particularly full. One that matters a lot. A great deal.

One that separates me from most other males. From most other people.

I am a handsome man. I'm not quite talkin' movie star handsome, but desirably handsome to the females. I'm fit too. Gruff, and leather tough. I'm not wrestler- bodied. I don't pop the buttons off my shirt, but I do pop the eyes out of the ladies. I'm male eye-candy. Women see me and want me.

I put them at ease with my smile. They see in me a handsome, friendly cowboy they'd like to rustle-up a good time with. The words I most often hear about myself are friendly, sincere, confident, and genuine. I'm their best friend.

And that's the dusty trail to their hearts. And their naughty bits. Ta-tas and vacoochie.

I'm their best sex partner.

And we are both happy with that.

THE most-heard phrase I hear from the ladies: "RIDE ME, COWBOY!" Yes sir or ma'am. Dang near every time, dang near every day. And night. Mostly night.

A long while back a famous Okie named Will Rogers said "I never met a man I didn't like". We'll, I never met a woman who didn't like me.

I mention... no I proudly boast... that I am a cowboy. A real cowboy. Not a wannabe or dress-up department store cowboy. I wasn't raised on a ranch but I worked on one damn near my whole younger life. I did rodeo gigs for a short spell; I have a few championship belt buckles to show off.

And I live that cowboy life daily while I'm out on the ranches doin' cowboy-ish duties for other cowboys and ranchers.

And that cowboy persona is what the ladies love. It, when combined with my good looks, taut physique, and outgoing gregarious personality, provides me with all the fillies I want. That and a not-so-secret advantage.

That's my life. That's my life now.

It wasn't always this way.

I was married for a spell. Happily married. My dear wife Cara and I had a great marriage.

We met while I was cowboyin'; rodeoin'. She loved to go country/western boot-scootin' with me. We went C/W dancin' purdy near every weekend. I could rodeo and I could Texas two-step with my Missus. Life was a feast of goodness.

Back then, way back when, I knew and lived a very different life with a very different means of happiness for a bit. A happiness not so much self-centered but wife-centered.

Yes, as a young runt in my twenties, at the pinnacle of my life as every man's and every woman's dream, this mustang got roped in and tamed.

Bridled. Pun intended.

Cara did the impossible. My love for her was hotter than blue blazes. Something about her... I reckon her big beautiful eyes and luscious lips, not to mention her tits and ass, got past my heads (upper and lower) and branded my heart as hers. It started out as a slight pang of my first love, then grew into full-fledged love. Yeah, I'd already fucked more ladies than Hell has sinners, but I never felt love for any of them.

Cara. She was pretty. She was cowgirl pretty, and much more. She was stunning. And wild. She was a female me. And that was the big deal: I had a big opinion of myself. I knew I was a ladies'man. A ladies dream. Cara was my comfort. Cara was my equal.

Did you know another word for fornication is 'swive'? Well, Cara put the wifey in swivey.

We lived a simple life, we had planned for kids and a ranch of our own (read that a small house). But it wasn't to be.

As happy as we were, Cara up and found greener pastures. Greener pastures up in God's good Heaven. The Lord called her back to him when she was merely twenty-six. Colon cancer it was.

My life went from wonderful to woeful. My equal done departed. I was broken hearted.

I hurt. I was lost. My will to go on done got up and gone.

I continued with my life. Continued to go to work each day. Plodded and trudged from day to day, week to week, year to year. Alone.

No, don't let me lie like that. I wasn't alone by a longshot; a country mile.

Directly after Cara, my dearest Cara passed, I didn't do anything socially. But I retained my handsome looks, and after a while my spirit warmed up, such that I did start seeing fillies again. I tried to put Cara behind me.

Oh that hurt. It still hurts.

I went to some of the old C/W honky-tonks we used to go to. I effortlessly met and hooked up with lady after lady. I wasn't houndin' for sex, the ladies hounded me. I just complied. Satisfied. I had a reputation.

A reputation for sex.

Not a reputation for bein' happy.

I wasn't glum with my partners, I was just... unenthusiastic. Unfulfilled.

All the ladies wanted to sex me, but not necessarily date me. And the feeling was mutual.

You'd think :"Hey, if you were gittin' all the pussy you wanted, why weren't you the happiest stud on earth?'

I regained my reputation as a ladies man. With scant effort I rustled up plenty of ladies to have sex with. I guess my good looks and charm could only get me so far.

So I considered myself alone. Alone until someone gave me a new reason to live.

It was because my heart was not a part of the attraction, part of the sex, part of the companionship.

In those respects I was alone. When I reached my fifties I had settled for a life of debauchery. All the ladies wanted me, sexually. But I had become numb to them otherwise. My heart wasn't in it.

Then one day I was called to deliver some goods at a ranch I had never been to before. It really wasn't a ranch, it was a nice home out in the country.

It turns out a lady lived there with her husband. Well, used to be husband. He too, like my wife, passed. They had some money; life was comfortable for her now. But her life was solitary. Even as a couple she rarely left her home. She seemed a trifle on the quiet side. Until she let her hair down with me.

But OMG why? She was beautiful. She was stunning. Like Cara was. She was my equal.

That someone was Bellissima. Bella. 'Bellissima' is a more modern Italian word from the Latin 'Bella', meaning 'beautiful', but with the feminine singular superlative suffix '-issima' (like our suffix '-est'), creating the meaning 'most beautiful'. Legally it is 'Bellissima', but she goes by 'Bella'.

She had, as I said, a beautiful face with big dark eyes and big luscious lips.

She was built like a European model: a little on the thin side. Not taut and tight, but svelte: lean.

Bella had little buds for tits, I reckon' full A's or regular B's. They stuck straight out from her chest, even at her age which I reckon'd to be in her thirties or forties. Only the slightest downward curve. I cannot call it sagging. They were crowned with pointy nipples, like tits on tits. Masterpieces!

Her hips and bottom were likewise small and firm. Marvelously exquisite!

Her torso and legs were long and lean. Her feet? Who knows. I never gave them no peek.

The moment we met we both were attracted to each other. It turns out she was always beautiful and had plenty of suitors and one of them latched onto her during college. She and he had an unremarkable marriage. Their sex was satisfactory but not spectacular, which surprised me because fucking her would be like fuckin' a right famous beautiful movie star.

Once he wed her he hid her at home. She was his pride and joy. His private pride and joy. And she went along with that. She socially didn't git out much.

That was her life from her twenties until he passed. A quiet life for a ravenously beautiful lady.

Now I was at her home meeting her for the first time.

We were about to initiate a new stage of our lives.

All my life, before I met and married Cara, while I was married to Cara, and afterwards, I thrived on sex. And I am great at it. So great that I, in addition to my great looks and personality, developed a sexual style remarkable and hotly demanded for by women. A style of sex few other men can manage and pull off.

How would my sexiness, but lack of happiness, convolute with this new lady?

And with that teaser, I now hand this story over to my dear Bella. Bellissima.

How-do, Ya'll! I'm Bella, yes, I'm also a Texas talkin' native. Hell, I talk Texan moreso than Tanner. Lucky you!

My history is that I have always been pretty. When I was younger I had boys like picnic food has flies. But my parents bred in me not just my beauty but also a special respect for it. They, myself, and everyone treated my good looks with caution and respect. I became, as some would put it: unapproachable; like I was too good fer any guy.

I didn't mean to put out such a vibe, but I did. It kept thangs (yes, 'thangs') from gettin' too busy fer me.

I made it through high school a virgin, and mostly through college. Then I met and married Guy, yes that was his real name, Guy, and we devoted our lives to ourselves. Only each other.

I don't know what done drove me to marriage; why I didn't mess around more first. Dang, I coulda had a wanton wild life! I coulda done all kinds of crazy stuff. But once wed I settled into a life of leisure.

Not a life of excitement.

We, me and Guy could not have kids of our own. That was on me and my lack of fecundity.

We had sufficient sex during our twenties, and into our thirties. Our sex was very vanilla: yeah, missionary, various other positions, oral, but nothing extraordinary. My pulchritude and frankly my sexuality was wasted for all those years. FUCK!

I certainly did love Guy. He was a good provider, an ample partner, a kind companion.

He was everything a man should be. EXCEPT A MAN.

Whoa now, Nellie! What's that outburst yak all about.?

As a beautiful, lusted after girl and woman, I knew that some of the more 'manly' males wanted to 'get to know me', as in fuck my purdiness right out of me. Fuck my purdy smile right off my purdy face. Fuck me like I was a whore, not an untouchable goody-two-shoes straight-laced cold-hearted queen.

Guy and I would sometimes watch porn together. He thought it was disgusting and urged that if I 'had' to watch it I could do it without him. Well, I did 'have' to watch it and I did 'do it' (as in masturbate) without him.

Guy could 'get it up' but not 'man it up'.

I was the one who initiated almost all the sex. I would rub his neck, his back, his chest, stroke his cock. Pull down his underwear and begin sucking him to erection. Sometimes during sex with him I would say to myself "Pffffft. This is just him pokin' his dick in me. So he can bust his nuts. He's not even tryin' to please me."

We had sex, barely.

I wanted sex, roughly, as in rough manly sex. He couldn't MANage it.

Of course I was sad that he died so young. I had no idea what my future was going to be like.

After a year or so of solitude I did go out with a few guys a few times. I know for a fact I am as Bellissima, as beautiful, as I ever was. I was, am, astonished at the calibre of the men I met and went out with. All of them, young and old, especially the younger'uns, were overly attracted to my beauty and ended up acting like boy-men. Men who didn't know what to do with a beautiful, spirited, woman.

I purposefully played low-key. I purposefully acted more subservient and pliable. I didn't want another Guy, another boy-man. I gave them every chance, every hint, that I would be theirs if they would man-up and take me.

None did.

My fault? My doin's?

Let me be crystal clear about this: I know I'm comin' across as possibly a scorned, envious, downtrodden, older hag, but any honest observer would tell ya: physically I am top tier, in my thirties, and socially I am a fun, appealing, feline to be with.

Like I said, I was hurt and uncertain ponderin' life sans Guy. After my year of respecting his passing and dating and hookin' up a few times I started becoming lonesome for good, friendly companionship. And sex too, yes. There was work that needed to be done on our property, like fence fixin' and clearing some brush.

I'd seen on a sign on the side of a truck that frequented around here the phone number of a friendly cowboy at a feedstore that would come out to help for a fee. I called the number and made arrangements for some work.

Over the phone he sounded perfect. Even just over the phone he came across as a manly man. I couldn't wait to meet this stud.

I wasn't disappointed when we did meet.

He pulled up in his not-so-new pickup truck. He was sportin' an 'I love Texas' T-shirt and worn-through jeans. And even more worn-through boots. And of course a tattered cowboy hat, which he politely tipped at me as he stepped from his truck.

Hot dang, he was Cowboy Man Texas from the brim of his hat to the pointed toes of his boots.

Gawd, he was as hot as a Texas summer day, Scorchin'. He was as handsome as I was gorgeous. We were cut from the same breathtaking cloth.

I'd always had the knowledge of what it felt like when the opposite sex lusted for me.

Now I was the one doin' the lusting.

And he had the most welcoming smile. It utterly stole my heart and made my panties get wet at the same time.

I wanted him to be all mine: not only 'all' as in exclusive of others; 'all' as in every inch of him. And I in turn would give him every inch and orifice of me.

My mind was unleashed. Uncontrolled: This Cowboy, and that was going to be what I call him: 'Cowboy', would get me in his bed and ravish me. He would show me his manly love, his sexual prowess, and proceed to please me just as fervently as he pleased. He would not withhold anything. He would do everything.

Cowboy did the work I requested. My mouth watered and my mind raced as I watched him complete his manly chores.

"Need some water? A beer?" I posited. I was the one who needed a proper dousing.

He inquired about the loss of my husband and extended his sincere condolences. He too told me of Cara's passing and I expressed my sorrow for his loss. Tanner asked about life in general and my social life in particular and I seized that opportunity to make my desire for him known. I told him yes, I saw some guys every now and then but they always disappointed me in every way.

I bee-lined to sex.

"I've been with guys. I've done more than kiss. I've had sex with a few. Only one time each. The guys these days, they watch porn but aren't able to actually perform sexually when the chance opens up right in front of them."

I giggled. I had opened up (my legs) in front of them often. They flubbed the invitation.

"They are duds. Dude duds."

I pouted my lower lip and looked down in pantomimic sadness.

"Dud dudes, eh? Tell me what a typical date night is like with my special, beautiful Bellissima angel." he asked, genuinely interested.

" Ugh! A waste of time. We usually don't go anywhere. I go to his place and he'll order some cheap gross grub and then want to watch something on TV or play videogames on the computer. Then as the evening winds down, so does he. No build-up for sex. No exciting 'Wham bam thank you ma'am ' sexplosion. Just 'Ho-hum, wake me when you're done'... stuff. Bleh."

"No Fun? How could any man git a beautiful mare like you in his stable and not... well... oops... I'm gettin' carried away thinkin' 'bout what someone might... could?... do with... do to you."

Cowboy's words and voice showed concern and politeness. His eyes did not betray how he really felt: He wanted to tell me what HE would've done to me if given the chance. There would be nothing polite about it.

"Pffft." I answered in disgust. "If pfffting is fun, then I guess you could say we had fun. Making the pfffft noise is fun."

"Pfffft!" He made the onomatopoeic interjection sound too.

That made us both laugh.

He picked up on my lead.

"Good men, real men, treat a woman right. I need to write a book on how to do that. It would be a best seller and a real pleaser."

"You are a real man, Mr. Cowboy Real Man." I gave him a seductive look.

"Yes ma'am, young missus. That I am. Always have been and proud of it. Mighty proud of it."

"Why don't you lasso me for a date, Mr. Wonderful Omnipotent Real Man? Mr. Cowboy?"

Tanner was cool as a cucumber. Not cold as ice. I was a woman, and he loved all women; present company especially.

'Y'know what, Sugar Britches, I'll do the right and proper thing and show you an especially pleasant full evening. I'll show you what a good... no... a great time is when a man and a woman go on a real date."

"What kind of thang you got in mind for a great mate date?"

"Ooooohhhh listen to your teasin'. Mate? Is that the noun or the verb?"

"It's both for you. If you want it to be." I turned beet red.

He surpassed my bright red beetness.

" I ain' t agin' it." he smiled at me.

I stumbled.

"Hey, I just whupped up a joke." I said. "What did one cow say to the other cow at the cowded -- I mean crowded -- feeding trough?"

(pause)

"Mooooove over."

"Hot dang that was corny!' I said slapping my knees, suffering my own joke.

"Now hold on there Sugar Patch. Did he say 'mooooooooove over' (extra long drawl on the 'moooooooove' part) AND say the trough was corny like it had a lot of corn in it?"

"Your messin' with Texas, Cowboy. Now shush!"

"Well then, Miss smarty britches, where did the term 'cowboy' come from?"

" I dunno. Like the Greek Minotaur, Bull's head and man's body? Cow + boy?"

"The man was bull-headed?" quipped Mr. Quick-wit.

"Now you're the one messin' with Sasquatch."

"No. 'Cowboy ' came from the time a young'un took his prize cow to auction and the auctioneer said to him 'that's some cow, boy.'."

"Is that true?" I questioned.

"Is an August day in Texas long and hot?" Tanner replied.

(brief pause)

"Gotcha! I just made that up!" Tanner hollered.

We both laughed.

"Long and hot... you got a way with yer words, Cowboy." I fidgeted in my seat.

"Ya know what, though? You called me Cowboy. I used to be a real honest to gosh cowboy. Ropen' and ridin' and all kinds of bull stuff. Ya like that? 'Bull-stuff. I got some rodeo belt buckles to prove it. Me and Cara used to go dancin' sometimes. She always loved it. We had a hoot.

"What say we go on a date to go country-western dancin' together? I can't do it often enough and you ain't done it ever."

He was right.

Tanner's eyes got serious. He was reflecting on his more youthful times and endeavors.

"Dancin'." he murmured, as if in a trance. "Dancin' is pure magic. It puts a spell on the two people doing it. The beauty of the music. The words of the songs. Touching your partner in a way that is just short of sex. Teasing the sex to come.

"They say dancin' is two people doing vertically what they want to do horizontally." He winked at me. "But when you're dancin', and touching, there is still that spark, that excitement, of the unknown and uncertain. The anticipation of what could be right around the bend."

He nodded his noggin in agreement with himself.

He continued his soliloquy: "Dancin' draws two people together in a strong attraction. They lose inhibitions they have. They open themselves up in an honest and risky way. It is the fraternal twin of sex: in sex too the couple expose themselves fully to each other, literally hiding nothing. Everything about them is literally laid bare."

He paused. A gentle, kind, loving smile curled his lips. His eyes lost in thought.

"Whatcha thankin', Cowboy?"

He awoke from his daydream.

"Wha-... Oh. Oh, Sweet Cactus, I was just, as you would say, 'thankin' about dancin' ".

"Yeeeeee-Haw! Let's do it!" I gleefully offered.

"Woo-Hoo! Hot lady, would you join me on a date to go fandango?"

"I would, Cowboy!"

"We'll Texas two-step the night away! We'll boot scoot our way to each other's heart!"

"Weeee-Doggy! We'll drink and dance and drink and talk Texas funny and drink and meet other people and drink and...."

"That's a lot of drinkin'. You really thirsty for somethin'?" Tanner pointed out.

"I'll be careful." I added. "But not too careful. I am thirsty for somethin' tasty."

"I'll take good care of you." Tanner promised.

Tanner got up to leave.

We were both smiling like two schoolkids. Our excitement was mutual and it was as real as a a bull's horns

I had a few days to investigate and prepare.

This dancin' date, my first real manly date, was turning out to be daunting.

First and foremost: Dancin'. Dancin'? I didn't know squat about dancin'. Any dancin'. And once I started looking into it it turned out there was a tremendous amount to it.

On the western dancin' videos there were a few different types: Texas Two-step, Line Dancing, Country waltz, West Coast Swing, and even Polka. There were dancin' moves called 'do-si-do' and Texas Star. Without a doubt the two I liked and saw the most of were Texas two step and Line dance.

Now I'm no dancer. Never pole danced, never modern danced, booty bounced or scootied my booty. I never danced nuthin. Well, maybe a twerk or a twirl at one time or another.

But Glory be to God I had dancing in my blood. These dances are very well choreographed. There are proper steps which if not done correctly will make you look like a buffoon. Like a king or queen clutz. Especially the line dance. You don't want to be the sole clown in that circus.

I practiced and reckoned that I was at least as good as a beginner (as opposed to a stiff, rigid statue) and might could do well enough.

I'd have to make do with what innate and newly acquired ability I had.

Now... what to wear. OMG the possibilities were endless and all over God's kingdom: Regular button down shirt, western shirt, long sleeves, short sleeves, the Second Amendment 'Right to Bare Arms' no sleeves (Also known as the infamous redneck 'wife beater' shirt).

Tank top, t-shirt, halter top, camisole with no bra (hey now!). By all means: flash some boobage! God gave you udders for more than milkin', my dears. They are succulent, yes? Titilate! Free them thar nips! Show that flat belly! Tease to please.

Long skirt, medium skirt, short shirt, micro flirt skirt. Don't be shy. Barely cover yer honeyhole. Yer Honeyholes. Show your camel toe, Honeypot! A sneak peek at your undies will do more to attract males than any of the dancin' moves you'll do.

Then there is the possibility of wearin' shorts. Regular, cut-offs, made of jeans, made of more stretchy material, but the favorite of shorts is the 'Daisy Dukes': they are usually tight fitting (but not always tight) with most of the leg part cut off so that your ass cheeks hang out. I call'em 'ass-shrieks' bcuz people shriek at the display of the flab slab of ass mass. "OH MY! Looky at dat ass! It wiggles. It jiggles. Gimme some dat bum!"

I'm tellin ya, when you watch the videos of the ladies dancin' at these country-western clubs a lot of them look like they didn't give a skunk's scent about attracting a mate. But other ladies, you can tell, gave attracting a mate paramount importance. Use those assets, ladies! If ya got 'em, flaunt 'em! I don't have no titties or ass. I'm flat up and down, front and behind, but I'm still gonna flaunt what I got!

I, and please don't hang me for this, did not own a pair of cowboy boots. Dag nab it! I didn't know Lucchese from Justin from Walmart.

I hightailed it to a nearby thrift store and they had beaucoup of boots. There were boots made of every skin that existed: the blah-bah cow/bull skin, pig skin, goatskin, the blase' eel skin, alligator skin, shark skin, ostrich skin, the less common hippo skin, elephant skin, toad skin, and even beaver tail skin (Ya'll don't touch my beaver!). I'd swear there was even space alien skin and one with what looked like human skin, complete with tattoos. I didn't see any Nike boots. C'mon Nike, you're missing a market!

I nabbed a cheap pair of scuffed fancy stitched leather boots.

I did, to my credit, own a couple of cowboy hats. I put one on and looked in the mirror at myself.

"You're a right purdy picture there, Missus." I said as I winked at myself. "Do I look delicious, Cowboy? Good enough to eat? Good enough to gobble?" I nodded and blew myself a kiss. Mwah!

I could not wait until date night. I tried to talk to Tanner twice but he only replied via text to let my anticipation simmer and fester and boil so that when the date finally happened it would surpass my wildest (horniest) dreams.

Date night:

I had ants in my pants all day. They crawled on me when I ate lunch outside.

No, seriously, I was giddy all day that Saturday. All Tanner told me was to be ready for the date at eight.

Eight sharp. Look sharp. Look as sharp as a Bowie knife.

It was like I was getting ready for the prom. I had never had a night like this before.

I treated myself to a long, lush, scented salt bath. I luxuriously ladled myself with the warm liquid. I pampered my skin to a cushioned softness with a youthful glow.

I put on makeup meticulously; eyeliner, eyeshadow, brow brush, blush, foundation, lipstick, the whole shebang. I was surprised how different I looked: Like a more womanly me. A more beautiful me. A painted face can transform a lady!

The garb. The clothes. Dang, nearly could say 'the costume'.

I did choose to wear underwear. No commando tonight. Not only to keep a layer between my skin and rough clothes, but to provide that moment of salacious near-nudity when he undresses me. I chose a white pair of cheeky-cut panties with hearts on them.

For a shirt I went with a thin material lightweight white camisole. It hung loose over my shoulders and my B-cup little baby boobies had ample playroom to jiggle around with my every move. Of course no bra. Free them nips! Let them par-tay! Lick-a-licious. My nips were obvious and were going to catch the eye of anyone trying to sneak a peak of my sweet treats, which would be everyone.

The camisole hung to just above my belly button. I hope I well conveyed, or made easily imaginable, how sexy that top was. It was like negligee, though not as transparent.

I was getting hot just looking at myself in it. I was ssssmokin'. Hell, I was sizzzzzlin'!

My shorts. Yup: Daisy Dukes. I don't have a phat ass, I have a petite little flat ass. But I do in fact have glutes, butt muscles, Glutei Maximi, but mine don't sag like most buttcheeks (ass-shrieks!), mine form a firm upward curve to give me a niiiiiiccccceeee little round ass.

Yeah, continue on down to longish lanky legs, and travel down to my thrift-store boots. The sexiness ends there.

Oh, and up top a plain cowgirl hat, which is another way of sayin' cowboy hat.

And of course my cross necklace. Every girl gotta wear one. Do I hear an "Amen!"?

I was primed for a good pumpin'.

Promptly at eight Tanner rang my doorbell. When I answered it he presented me with a bouquet of flowers. Such a romantic feller.

God, or may I say 'Gawd', he was handsome. Gruff for sure, but handsome.

He dressed for real, for who he was, not for show. What you see is what you get.

You want a fake cowboy? A wannabe cowboy? A dud dude? Someone who feeds you bull instead of rides one? He ain't it.

Sure, he cleaned up. Cleaned up well. Even put on some manly smell-good cologne. He carefully executed his appearance to exhibit who he wanted me and everyone else to see: Him.

Tanner has boyish looks for a man his age. Playful blonde hair. A gentle, warm face.

He exudes friendliness. Charm. Confidence. Maturity. Warmth.

He is no action hero muscle blob. He is healthily fit. Like a lean, not mean, not fightin' machine.

I guess only the lean part!

He wore a plain white collared button down shirt, like he would wear to work, except this one was extra clean and unwrinkled. No fancy western embroidery: it spoke to its own westernness.

He wore some nice fitting lighter-toned Wrangler jeans. Slim fit, I'm sure. He had a nice slim ass. Did he have a nice sized hog grazing within the front of those jeans?

His boots were a step above work boots. You could tell he wore them to go out socializing, and he wore them often. Back up top, Tanner had a nice cowboy hat. What I said about the boots, ditto for the hat. It didn't scream "COWBOY!". It flatly said "Cowboy'.

Let me end on the most noteworthy, the most spectacular aspect of his appearance (That was visible with his clothes on.): His smile. Gosh dang, his smile would conquer any woman. Anyone. His smile was him to a T. His smile cast a spell of kindness and trust.

Tanner looked at me in all my beautyishness. His gaze showed that first he was pleased, then confused, then disappointed.

"What's with all this rigmarole? Hey... wait... where is Bella?"

Now I was the confused one. "I... what do you mean?"

"Bella? Bella? I guess it is you after all, underneath all that makeup."

He was teasing me. Initially I was a little insulted; I assumed my makeup made me more beautiful. It dawned on me that the more makeup I used, the less of the real me shined through. I wasn't prettying myself, I was disguising myself.

"I don't want no make-up made woman looking like a Hollywood wannabe." he coached. He wiped away much of my makeup and said he wanted me to look more like the real me and less like a faux (fake) me. I took that as a great complement. "I love my beautiful Bellissima. Natural Bellissima. You don't need to diminish your beauty by adding to it."

I was back on cloud nine. My Cowboy done swept me off my boots.

The date of my life was back on track.

I left for a moment to clean off most of my makeup.

When I reapproached him he looked at my face for only an instant before his eyes dropped to my budding obtrusive bubbling B-cup boobies. He was stuck in a stare. Dumbstruck. Udderly hypnotized.

"My face is up here." I goaded him, breaking the spell.

"You know those are two sirens calling out to all males to admire them." Tanner said.

"Anyone can look at them, but only you can touch." I cooed.

"That makes me the luckiest man alive".

"You're the fuckiest man alive." Ay Caramba; why did I blurt that?

We both smiled. We both knew where we stood with each other.

"Well, my Cowboy, you make me the luckiest lady alive."

We held hands.

"I've given it a stockyard load of thoughts and this is what bucked out: we're going to BULLSH! T."

Now when I perused the C/W clubs in North Texas that club did pop up, but I didn't click on it.

It wasn't nearby, it was over in the stockyard district of Fort Worth. It wasn't a tourist trap C/W club, it was a local favorite. It was a Texas dancin', Two-steppin' country club. No, not the ritzy kind of country club. The honky-tonk kind.

A lot of Texans listen to country music. I don't. And truth be told I myself am no cowboy aficionado. I nearly don't know squat about cowboys. They are in a lot of old timey movies where they go around ridin' horses and killin' each other with six-shooter pistols I reckon. I remember watchin' "Walker, Texas Ranger", starring Chuck Norris, the modern cowboy who counted to infinity... three times.

I do Texas proud and I do 'Remember the Alamo' (I harken with head bowed).

I say this bcuz this crowd I was about to join was new to me. I didn't know the environment, the inhabitants, or the rules.

This was serious adult-type fun. Not generation-whatever silly mush. You'd think everyone livin' in Texas did this western stuff every night and knew everything about it. Not so. Not even close.

We almost all live in the city and suburbs just like regular people. Yeah, you see a lot of cowboy hats down here. A lot of blue jeans. Yeah, our football team is named the Dallas COWBOYS.

But back to the issue at hand, I was nervous about this dancin' date night gig. This was real. The chance I might make a dadgum fool of myself was troubling.

Tanner could see the concern on my face.

He stood before me and held both my hands. He leaned forward and gave me a smooch.

"You're brave, Darlin'. You're mine, Darlin'. Everythang's gonna be alright.

"Can I quote one of my favorite Shakespearian sayings? It addresses fear of the unknown. It's from "Julius Caesar", spoken by Brutus before he goes into battle: " O, that a man might know the end of this day's business 'ere it come! But it sufficeth that the day will end, and then the end is known."

"Shakespeare Cowboy!" I said with glee. "May I quoth some more Shakespeare back at ya? From Shakespeare's play "Swordfight at the O. K. Corral", where Sir Wyatt Earp says to his more demure brother Sir Quiet Earp: 'Let's ride, Cowboy!' "

"Geez sweet Louise. Listen to us rabbleing." Tanner said. "Indeed; let's go ride, my cowgirl. Hey, I want to give you a fun cowboy test. I'm gonna ask you somethin' that may or may not surprise you about horses. Ya ready?"

"I'm ready, Cowboy. A bitch is not a female horse though, right?"

'Technically it is a female dog, fox, wolf, or ferocious otter. Well, the otter doesn't even have to be ferocious. And no, you are not a bitch, my Bellissima."

"You, Mr. Poindexter Cowboy, go ahead and test my equine wits.'

"OK now: here's the question: is a baby horse called a pony?'

"Hmmmmm...." I pondered. Of course a baby horse could be and is called a pony. "Yes! A baby horse is called a pony!"

"Oh dear Bellissima!. No, a 'pony' is a breed of small horses. A pony has nothing to do with its age."

"Yer bullshittin' or horseshittin' me, ain't ya?"

"'Fraid not, darlin'. I share that with you so's you can share it with others later." He put his arm around me.

Tanner's old work truck looked right at home in the dirt and gravel parking lot of BULLSH! T.

"You know we cowboys drive pickup trucks so we can pick-up the ladies" He winked.

"And that explains the bed in the back all trucks have." I reckoned.

"I use the second row seat for the flirtin' and courtin'" he winked. "It's more comfortable."

BULLSH! T was a large watering hole built for Texans to come to for fun and fellowship. Drinkin' and flirtin'. Hopefully a man or woman might find a cure for loneliness, or a spot for dancin' exercise, or somewhere to quench a thirst, or just somewhere to spend some time.

" I'm sure you'll see and feel that this here establishment qualifies as a lek, so you will be gawked at by all the men, especially being as purdy and provocatively dressed as you are."

"A Lake?"

"No, a 'lek'. A gathering place for males to attract females."

"Cowboy, you teach me something new every day." That's some smarts you hide 'neath yer cowboy hat."

"Just trailin' your sophistication, Bellissima." he said with a kind Texas smile.

Tanner nodded.

BULLSH! T was like a humongous barn. It had a giant well-lit Texas flag adorning the parking lot. Weathered wooden wagon wheels and a complete wagon were in the front. The large wooden doors were usually kept open and the music rattled outside far and wide. Native Texas wildflowers, scrubs and cacti were the foliage.

There were simple strings of lights leading from the parking area to the front and side doors, but no real fancy outdoor lighting. Even the BULLSH! T main sign was low-key: painted metal with blinking light bulbs around its periphery, and more lightbulbs spelling out the letters. The! exclamation character blinked too.

There was a decent sized fenced-in area with a few longhorn steers in it. They gave the place a real Texas flavor, no pun intended, and a distinct Texas smell.

Once inside, the atmosphere was bustling. It was downright loud, everyone competing to talk louder than each other and louder than the twangy live band. The long wooden bar, which stretched from here to El Paso, was packed with patrons vying for drinks. All the tables were taken. There were lassos, branding irons, barbed wire samples, all kinds of authentic and well-used cowboy paraphernalia hanging on the walls.

There were even kiosks selling cowboy gear such as hats of various types, T-shirts, flowers for the ladies, et cetera. Although BULLSH! T was most popular with the locals, it had its share of tourists.

And the dancefloor: Lordy mercy it was lively and full. A sea of undulating dancers. An ocean of cowboy hats moving about like a layer of lily pads on a wavy pond. I've never seen so many people having so much fun. They were moving like synchronized robots, or a single pulsing organism. During line-dancing they looked like a multilegged dancing centipede!

Some of the dancers were standout. They embellished the standard choreography with quirks of their own. Some of the dancers were really not very good. But bless their hearts they were tryin'. They were puttin' it all out there for all to see.

I gotta express... the dancin'.. ya'll, when was the last time you actually went dancin'? I mean, in real life? You gotta realize: like Tanner alluded to a few days ago: live dancin' is something almost none of us actually do. Hearing live music is nothing like hearing recorded music. The difference is like day and night. The sensation of dancing is nothing like watching a movie or playing a video game. Dancin' sets your soul soaring. It opens your mind to the beauty of life and living. It allows, it arranges, a true literal physical closeness with your partner. When you are dancing, touching your partner, moving in unison or coordinated moves, while both of you take in the live music, there is or can be a melding of your souls. An emotional entanglement. Lust. Love. Lusty love. Loving lust.

Some of the patrons stood around like tree stumps. Not two steppin'; they were tree stumpin'. Like they had molasses stuck to the bottom of their boots which prevented them from moving. They were too afraid to take the chance; to make the leap, to join the dance and better themselves. Woe to them. They belonged on Boot Hill with the rest of the dead folks.

I saw old folks behaving like young folks. Moving and acting out as they did in their yesteryears. I saw people behaving like they were alcohol-possessed. Wild and care-free and uncoordinated. Swiggin' a gulp then swaggin' across the dance floor. I saw couples closing in for the love connection, or at least a hook-up for the night. Or longer.

I took a moment to observe the dancing. I was jealous of the better dancers. I couldn't wait to join them, to join their pack. They were having a blast, each and all of them.

I noted how the ladies were dressed: All of them were dressed to address their willingness or ambition to meet up and/or hook up. And a goodly number of them dressed to sexily impress: to leave no doubt regarding their inhibitions or lack thereof. They were flashing their flesh for all to see, hoping some cowboys would take their bait.

The tops of breasts and side-boobage beckoned for spectators. A nipple or two grappled to freedom and visibility. Ass cheeks hung from shorts and short skirts like saddlebags. And anyone who was caught stealing a glance was met not with a scowl but with a smile, or at least an acknowledging smirk.

The men too showed their wares. Bare muscled arms, tight shirts.

Tight jeans. Oh yeah, tight jeans. I could window shop!

That reminded me: could I determine what Tanner was packin'?

I did a furtive glimpse glance.

OMG! Yessir, a fine large hog wallered just inside them jeans. A mighty tasty sausage to assuage me. I'll be in hog Heaven. He can pork me anytime! He was porcine and all mine!

Tanner was well known and well liked at BULLSH! T.

A group hollered fer us to join them at their table. There weren't seats for us all. They became available as one or the other of us vacated a seat to dance. But at least we all had a place to set our drinks.

We were just about to do our first dance when the live band announced it was a break time. At first the crowd got louder as it continued the conversations amongst the patrons.

But next a lady, a sassy middle-aged barmaid named Patty (as in BULLSH! T Patty) patted a handheld microphone to get our attention. She was about to put on a popular audience participation ritual.

BULLSH! T has this fun gig: Patty would quell the music and announce on a carry-around microphone that she was glad to see us all at BULLSH! T and wanted to know how we were doing that night.

She approached the first patron and asked how he was.

"I went to my truck to go to work this morning and the damn thing had a flat tire!"

'BULLSHIT!" the crowd roared, relaying their opinion.

"That's a tough way to start a tough day, partner A dang workin' weekend!" Patty added.

She ambled to an older couple. "How's ya'll's date night going?"

"Howdy-Doo, Missus Patty!" they said in unison.

The lady of the couple politely reached for the microphone and said,

"This hunk's ALL MINE."

The crowd : "Aaaaawwww." (As in" Aaaaaawww that's sweet")

"All mine... ALL NIGHT." She said with a sly wink.

"BULLSHIT" we all guffawed.

They gave each other a nice, warm smooch-a-reeny.

"Well bless your hearts."

Patty took the mic to a table with a middle-age group. "I hear, pray tell, that you'd better wash the dirty dishes in the sink first when you get home before you hanker off to bed. What say you?"

The group, both men and ladies, looked at each other and clamored with gusto: "BULLSHIT!"

"Uh-huh. I see. Ya'll got more urgent business than dirty dishes back home."

The crowd laughed.

"Dirty bitches over dirty dishes!" some guy yelled.

"Now be respectful." She replied. "It takes two to do the dirty dance.

"Ya'll think they're gonna wrinkle them sheets later tonight?"

"BULLSHIT!" we opined aloud.

She moseyed over to a table of younger roughneck guys and gals.

"Anything you want to wrangle with us?" She queried.

"The Dallas Cowboys are going to the SUPERBOWL!" One of them exclaimed loudly.

Patty looked at the floor and shook her head as she held the microphone in the air and signalled a response from the crowd.

"BULLSHIT!" we shouted.

Patty went to a table with what looked like two shy newbies. Wannabees. The girl was cute. She wore western garb you could tell were freshly procured for this occasion.

"And who do we have blessing us with their presence here?"

"I'm Kimmi. Kimmi with an 'i'. Two 'i's I mean. K-i-m-m-i has two 'i' s. And two 'm's." said the young thang, smiling so purdy.

Patty played along. "Holy guacamole. What did you even say? Something' about 'I got two eyes. And MMMMMmmmmm'."

She raised the mic into the air.

"BULLSHIT!" we roused.

The young male came to Kimmi's defense. "She was saying her name had two 'i's, the letter 'i' as in " 'I' love you." He beamed at Kimmi as he spoke.

"I love you too." she replied with a peck to his lips.

"AAAAWWWWW!" we sympathetically added.

"What is that thang tied around your neck, cuttin' off the bloodflow to yer head?" Patty quizzed him.

"It's my bandana!" he responded.

"Your banana?!"

"No... No... You wear a bandana. You eat a banana. Right?" he corrected Patty.

"I eat steak and taters." said Patty.

Everyone laughed, even the young'uns.

"But I see what ya mean." Patty continued. "You can't wear a banana around your neck, and bandits can't conceal their identity by wearing a banana across their nose. But then again you can't eat a bandana. You young'uns, we enjoy havin' ya. Let's buy these two lovebirds a drink."

"BULLSHIT!" the crowd mockingly disapproved.

"Put it on my tab." Patty winked at them.

Patty then spotted us. She knew Tanner as a regular.

"Well now. Here's a tall cool glass of Texas water. Who might you be, Mr. Cowboy Tall Dark and Handsome?"

Tanner politely tipped his hat to her.

"He might be your wannabee dream date." I interjected.

Patty playfully stepped back, as if snake bit.

She gave me a long look from the top of my cowgirl hat to the bottom of my boots.

"You got that right, Princess. He's been my dream date many-a-times. But only in my dreams, that is."

The crowd OOOOoooooood. They weren't expecting a catfight.

I immediately regretted coming off as such an ass. I had to make up for it.

Patty came back at me. "You like our pet critters out front in the pen?"

"Them are some pretty cows. They're cute." I was pretty sure they were male steers, not female cows, but I wasn't certain. Patty homed in on my uncertainty.

"Would you like to milk one of them cows for us, Sweetheart?"

"Well, I'm not for sure. I...." I was purposely playing the part of a fool. I let her regain the upper hand.

"Sweetness, there are a lot of men who would pay to watch you milk those cows. But you promise to be careful of them long horns. And be mindful of what on them yer strokin', and pullin' and sqeezin' 'til they spurt their milk. You gonna steal a taste of that milk? You name the date. We'll sell the tickets."

Everyone laughed.

I blushed.

Patty enjoyed her victory. She was gracious

"I'm just funnin' ya honey. If you're with my good pard Cowboy Tanner, you're a good pard of mine."

"Tanner told me all about you and your fun show. It was my distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance, Patty." I held out my hand for a handshake.

"She done worked in the word 'stink' somehow, but it is my pleasure too to meet you. Am I supposed to shake your hand or kiss your ring?"

"Your castle, your rules." I said with a smile bigg'r than all Texas.

Patty bypassed the extended hand and went for a heartfelt hug. "Luv ya. You're so pretty. I'm jealous. I'm so happy fer ya." she whispered in my ear.

"Yer quite a purdy pony, Missus." She winked at me.

"You know, a pony is not a baby horse, a pony is a small breed of horse, regardless of age!" I excitedly informed Patty.

"Yer dern tootin'," Patty replied. "How'd you know that?"

" I got a real Cowboy teacher. A fine man." I looked Tanner in the eye as I spoke, and clutched his hands.

"This here Cowboy teacher? Yep, he's the best there is."

I damn near cried. I was all teary-eyed.

"Yyyyyyaaaaaaayyyyyy!" The crowd roared. What a show Patty gave us. Love her. Gotta love her.

The band had returned to the stage. "Ya'll ready to scoot yer boots? Let's prance, dance, and move them pants! Let's rodeo!"

Gawd dang I was itchin' to scoot my boots. I was itchin' like a fleabag dog.

"Filly... Bella... I've been waitin' and dreamin' of this all week. You are my Bellissima, the most beautiful. You are my prize mare. I can't wait to show you off." He looked deeply into my eyes. Then he couldn't help but lower his stare to my little proud titties.

" I'm still up here, Cowboy." I loudly snapped my fingers and motioned to my face. "Concentrate!"

" Oh, I was concentratin'." he said like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Well, let's git to it. Let's romp our rumps!".

I stood up and he took my small hands and moseyed to the dance floor.

Holy guacamole I was stunning. My long hair flowing out and down from my cowgirl hat; My barely-there camisole that let my pert little nubs dance free-range. My Daisy Duke shorts that framed my round firm tiny ass. Ass-shrieks... yeah I heard the shrieks.

When I danced with my arms above my head my body resembled a slithering snake; a devilish seductive serpent. I was pure evil. I hoped Tanner was too.

I was a little nervous. I was still as straight and thin as a board: No big breast bumps or ass-burls, Just straight and narrow.

As the band began their live music, and Tanner still clutched my hands, the magic engulfed me.

It overwhelmed me. Overpowered me.

There is Heaven on Earth. You dance your way into it.

My only thoughts were of Tanner. The world shrank to just him and me. I fell into tunnel vision. Tunnel focus. Tunnel sensory. The music had a life of its own. A world of its own.

Everything was good and beautiful. I gave no thought to dancing. I flowed with the rhythm of the beat: It was effortless. My feet, my legs, the movements of my body were all on autopilot. I was hyperaware of feeling joyous. I exuded glee. I was giddy. I was in honky-tonk heaven.

We Texas two-stepped with the best of 'em. We done each other proud. Our line dancing was flawless. It was as though every one of us was simultaneously in their own private world yet connected to all the other dancers... like quantum mechanics or quantum force or whatever.

But what really set my mind to burnin' was the dancin' we did as a couple. We would spin around each other, he holding my hand above us whilst I spun and moved beneath. I twisted and gyrated my skinny ass. I beeped and bopped my agile hips, up and down, side to side. I twirled, I whirled. Tanner dipped me. We both beamed with love and pride.

But then the touching. It was like adding a blowtorch to an already scorching hot summer day. To feel Heaven's exuberance on earth was beyond description, but even it doesn't compare to when it is combined with physical human touching.

The band began playing a slow song. A belly-rubbin' song. I was engrossed with adoration of Tanner. Deep affection for him. When he put his firm manly hands about my slim waist I felt mesmerized. When he wrapped his arms around me, pulling my entire body against his, I felt as though I were melting into him, like warm butter is melts into hot toast. I felt every millimeter of my small breasts flatten against his taut torso. I felt his hard cock pressing against me through his jeans. We were cosmicly a singular being. A singular soul.

We slowly moved about, gently swaying to the music. I buried my head in his chest. I prayed the song would never end.

When it did Tanner did not fully release me. He loosened his grip enough to allow me to raise my head and meet his mouth halfway for a kiss. It was indescribable, and it can never be recreated exactly again.

Time stopped for us.

I danced forever with Tanner. He encouraged me to dance with a few other guys too. They just didn't do anything for me. I only wanted Tanner. He did not dance with any of the other ladies, although tons of them begged him to. I did dance with a few ladies too. We had a fun time smackin' each others' ass, hootin' and hollerin' like whores. All of us smilin' bcuz we knew we were gonna get fucked by studs tonight. Hell, when the Texas sun comes up in the morning some of us will be still be enjoyin' our sexy ride!

Oh, we had a terrific time dancing. I just don't remember anything except complete superlative joy. The two-steppin', the line dancin', were more fun than I can relate with words. The comradery of dancin' with my newfound friends was amazing. I danced 'til my feet ached. Tomorrow I'll pay for the agony of de-feet. Elation. Exuberance. Exhilaration. A nearness to our ultimate and most exposed being.

Dancin' was terrific fun, and I didn't want it to end until I did: I suddenly remembered that the date, the dancing, was just the appetizer. The succulent main course was the real cause celebre.

It really and truly is the most fun you can have movin' with someone, touchin' them all over, with your clothes on.

I was jilted into a new purpose. Dancin' was funtastic, but now my mind was solely set on the next phase of turning fantasy into real funtasy.

Sextacy.

"We gotta giddy up and giddy outa here." I said, extending my hand to Tanner.

"Gotta giddy?"

"You heard me Cowboy. Time to ride." Oh yeah: "Ride me, Cowboy!"

I was growing horny from the recall of why we really wanted to git together tonight.

We said good-bye to all, swigged our last swigs, and hit the trail.

We didn't say hardly nothin' as we departed. We didn't need to talk. We could read each other's mind.

We both sashayed to the driver's door of his pickup. "You gettin' in the same side as me?"

"It'll save me from haven' to scoot over to you from the other side, Cowboy."

"Yer a bright filly, Bellissima."

He bowed his head with his cowboy hat atop and gave me a wet smooch.

"Yer bright like the moon and the stars. Tonight they are ours."

"Poet Cowboy...." I was fightin' to hold back the tears of joy. "Poet Cowboy...."

He didn't let me finish. He kissed me again. " 'Nuff squawkin', My Bella."

We didn't travel far down the road before Tanner pulled his pickup over behind a secluded building. It wasn't private; cars still went by every now and then, but it was hidden.

His pickup, like nearly all trucks now, was a 4-door with seats in the front and seats behind us. I was hangin' on his arm and couldn't wait for the action to commence.

Even before he could put it in park I was all over him. I had already taken off my cowgirl hat and I dislocated his hat when I moved from my seat to be next to him and ambushed him with kisses.

Goddammit I hadn't been fucked in a while. And here I was was about to be ravished by Cowboy, a man amongst men. We were two wild animals.

We were about to sexplode. Give a whole new meaning to 'blowjob'.

Tanner all but ripped off my thin camisole. It was loose enough that with one single motion and my cooperation he disrobed me of it easily. My small titties were hard. He could, and did, flick and maul my nipples roughly. It barely hurt at first, but any pain swiftly turned to greater pleasure.

"OOOhhhh. Go! C'mon, Cowboy Baby. Yeah.... rub 'em'"

I begged him to ravish me. To hold nothing back.

He moved his face to my titties and licked and lapped them. He sucked my nipples hard. As he did he moved his hand to my shorts. He roughly squeezed and pushed my pussy through my clothes.

"Take 'em off." he commanded.

"Show me your little tight pussy."

I pulled my shorts and panties off.

"Rub your pussy. Show me rubbing your pussy."

I ran my fingers all about my pussy. In and out of it, around the lips. I flicked my clit. It was engorged and standing proud, ready for a pounding.

My cooch has a nicely trimmed thick carpet of hair forming a short landing strip.

"I like that hair on your pussy. Keep rubbin' it. Get your pussy juice on your fingers and lick your own pussy juice."

I did so.

"You like the taste of your pussy juice?"

I nodded as I swiped my fingers in and out of my pussy then licked the juice.

"You ever taste another girl's pussy juice?"

I nodded "Yes. Once or twice." It was true.

"Fuckin' A. You're a wild 'un."

Tanner's voice was gruff.

"Git on the back seat."

I was naked as I climbed between the two front seats and lay on the rear bench seat. It was large and quite comfortable. I continued rubbing my pussy. I had my first orgasm.

"God Damn!" I yelled as I bucked my pussy against my hand.

Tanner got out of the front of the truck and opened the rear door.

"Git yer pussy over here in my face."

"Lay right on the edge of the seat. Git your fingers and play with that pussy."

I closed my eyes and furiously finger-fucked myself. I knew what felt best and I did it.

Tanner dived face-first into my pussy. He was a masterful pussy-eater. He worked his tongue over my clit, around my labia, and into my pussy. He dove deep.

Slurpling, pinching with his lips, chewing my lower lips.

My pussy was drenched. I could feel it secreting volumes of warm liquid.

He lapped in an upwards motion, guiding pussy juice to my hair patch, then stickin' his nose in my bush while probing my cooch with his tongue. He noisily inhaled my soaked hairy place while gulping my 'gina.

I wrapped my legs around his neck and grabbed the back of his head and mercilessly ground my puss into his face. If I suffocated him, it was for a good cause. He should die happy.

After he knew I came for the second time he removed his face from my vacoochie and told me to step out of the truck and git on my knees. I was nekkid but I didn't care.

Tanner grabbed a folded blanket from the truck and laid it in front of him.

I sank to my knees, my eyes level with his cock.

He undid his belt buckle. He took my hand and put it on his zipper.

I unzipped his jeans and pulled down his underwear.

His cock sprang to life in front of me. It wiggled with each heartbeat. It waggled with joy.

My mouth was watering like a dog's. I wanted to suck his dick so bad. I stupidly gave it a playful kiss.

"Suck it!"

I wasted no more time. I opened my mouth and worked his cock all the way to the back of my throat. He knew what felt best for his cock. He grasped the back of my head this time, forcing his cock as far down my throat as it would possibly go. He didn't fuck my throat in long strokes; he kept the stroke only about two inches long, just enough to keep the sensuous underside of the tip of his dick constantly mashed against the warm wet base of my tongue.

I groaned. Groaned in pleasure that this handsome hunk was fucking my face.

"You like suckin' guys' dicks? Are you a fuckin' cum whore?"

"Here I come Babe!" he grunted as he shot gusher after gusher down my gullet.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" he clamored in wild delight.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I echoed, equally pleased.

We both took a breather. And sat in the back seat. He had left the truck running with the air conditioning on.

"You good at swallerin' gobs of cum?" Tanner teased.

"I'll git good." I answered.

"That's my girl." he smiled.

"That pussy ain't done yet." he winked.

"Neither is that thang." I said, holding it to my face, then inserting it back in my mouth.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm." we both harmonized.

Tanner was hard again immediately.

"Time to drill. Pump and drill." Tanner got on the seat. I had to duck my head, but I easily climbed on top of his lap. I guided his steeled shaft into my wet snatch.

As it first glided in, and my vaginal walls separated, I put my arms around his neck.

"RIDE ME, COWBOY!!!! YEEEEE-HAAAAAAAWWWW!" I yelled with great exuberance.

He bucked and grunted and ground me and busted my pussy with wild abandon. He grabbed my hips and used my pussy as a fuck toy.

"God damn, Cowboy. Fuck that pussy!"

"Your ass. I'm gonna come up your sweet tight ass." he grunted.

I actually had never been fucked in the ass before. I knew it was popular, but I'd never done it. In porn the ladies all seemed to love it, so what the Hell. When in Rome... or on someone else's ranch.... or truck... wherever.

My pussy was slathered in pussy juice. My snatch was like a rabid dog's mouth it was so lathered. I had no qualm about using some of it to lube my poop-chute-tube.

I climbed off Tanner and opened the truck door and bent over as I held the seat for balance.

Tanner went behind me and joined my hands at scooping liquid from my puss to my asshole.

He lowered his head behind me and spread my ass-shrieks with his hands. Next he put his mouth near my sphincter and spit on it. He stuck a finger, then two, into my ass.

I felt like he was stuffin' a giant watermelon up my derriere. It was the most pleasurable discomfort. His fingers alone gave me my first ass-gasm.

He stood erect behind me. He put the tip of his cock between my asscheeks and I guided him into my puckered asshole. As he pushed his way into my virgin colon I was crazed with the feeling of fullness. It felt like fuckin' King Kong Dong was stuffin' me. And the feeling that what he was doing to me was so foul. So dirty.

My asshole cinched and my colon encircled tightly around the entirety of his mantulus.

In synchronized rhythm we pounded against each other, my ass pounding against him, his balls slappin' my pussy and pubic bone. My tight lil' round ass was in Heaven. Cowboy Heaven. Actually it was Cowboy Heaven that was in my ass!

"Shoot them ropes in me, Cowboy!" I screamed. I know it sounded silly, but hell I wasn't thankin' what I was sayin'.

"Here cums again!" he extolled, pushing and pulling his cock all the way in and out of my ass in long powerful strokes.

"WWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Doggy! " was his triumphant call.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!! was my reply as I ass-gasmed a second time.

My knees were weak. I had taken a palpable sexual pounding.

"C'mere." Tanner said, handing me my clothes to cover with. Not to put on, but to simply put atop my body.

"You were great. You're a real firecracker."

"A real nutbuster." I rephrased.

"Yes ma'am. That you are."

"Oh Cowboy." I weezed, out of breath. "Ya done broke this filly. Ya done spunkified all three of my holes."

"Well, then I only added to your young beautiful natural spunkiness." he looked at me proudly.

"We were made for each other." He said, toying with my hair. "You and me. We done found a partner to move on with."

We gazed at each other. My cowboy was so handsome. Every woman's dream. He was fit. He was great at sex. I was happy, I was honored to be fucked by him, as any and all women were.

He fucked me rough. I loved him sexing me all unladylike. He was a special experience, an experience I planned to have often.

"You made this lady's dream fuck a reality. How was I in the sex department, Handsome?"

"Me and you got a lot in common, Missus. You are a young pretty thang every man wants to fuck."

"Aw, shucks." I said mockingly. Then I got a little serious. "Ya know, you being as handsome and physically salacious as you are, I've spent a lot of time wantin' to be one of the ladies that experienced the marvel of you, You, my Cowboy hero Romeo! Now you're a notch on my belt, Mr. Ride-me Rodeo Cowboy!"

"Well shoot, Miss sexy boots. You and that camisole, lettin' you little titties bounce around like Mexican jumpin' beans, and those cowgirl shorts, showin' off that fine flatish round firm girlie ass of yours. And that treasure trail of beaver hair you're packin'. My Gawd, you're fuckalicious! I want to fuck you every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Just to be extra nasty!

"But seriously: I love you, Bellissima. Most beautiful. No other man deserves you, you being so beautiful, except me. I alone can match your pulchritude with my handsome virility. My magnificent manliness. I wish you had called me years ago. We've been missin' out on a lot of toe-curlin' orgasmicious spurtin' squirtin' sex."

"Oh my! That's the best kinda sex there is! Gimme a smooch, Cowboy."

"My pleasure, Darlin'."

We sat silently for a few moments

"You know, Honeybritches, we'll be ridin' each other lots now."

"I'm countin' on it." I started getting horny again. But then I had a great thought come to the forefront of my mind.

Now I gotta break some info to you here. I got some 'splainin' to do.

Remember back yonder while Tanner was doing the yakkin' he closed by enticing :

"All my life, before I met and married Cara, while I was married to Cara, and afterwards, I thrived on sex. And I am great at it. So great that I, in addition to my great looks and personality, developed a sexual style remarkable and hotly demanded by women. A style of sex few other men can manage and pull off.

And with that teaser, I now hand this story over to my dear daughter Bella.?"

Well, now that I've done the dirty with Tanner I know what his secret is, other than his handsomeness. What is Tanner's 'sexual style that was remarkable and hotly demanded by women. A sexual style few other men can manage and pull off.'?

Does it mean he has a giant Godzilla foot long dong swaggin' between his legs? The answer to that is easy: No; his cock is more than enough but not no legendary monster cock.

The key word is 'style'.

Tanner, when it comes to mating with women, is the epitome of blunt. He is the archetype of cocky, of confident, of self-assured and self-centered. Women want a real man. A manly man. Not a wuss.

Tanner revels in bearing the burden of making sure the sex is great. He orchestrates the activities, relieving his mate of decision making. All she needs to do is follow his lead. Do as she is told.

A lot of times a lot of us women just wanna go with the flow of sex. We want to be MAN-ipulated. If we're having a great time, having great sex, working towards our own 'Big O', it's fun and easy to let go, to focus on our own increasing pleasure. Don't wait for ya'll to vote and debate what to do sexually, just let him take the lead. That's the way it works with dancin': It works best with only one person leading. If he's happy, you'll be happy too. With the right type of man. He'll make sure you end as sated as him.

Tanner is that special type of man. He knows what women want and he knows how to give it to them. He doesn't ask; he acts. He delivers.

What I liked most about Tanner's style of sex is that he mans up; he takes control.

I like that. I want that.

He didn't make love to me. He ravaged me. I wanted him to do it without me having to ask. And he knew it. He knew that's what I and most women want: to be controlled, to be freed from decision making and relegated to subservience, to pleasing him and measuring my pleasure by providing his.

He didn't ask " Do you want me to lick your breasts?". He mauled and sucked them ferociously. He didn't ask "Does this feel good?" as he stroked his mantulus in and out of my pussy. He just pounded it, savagely, deeply, forcefully, as a wanton animal.

He didn't ask "Want me to cum in your mouth?" Or "Do you swallow?" as he fucked my mouth. He instead deepened his strokes and stuffed his cock deep down my throat.

Being treated like a lady is great while out in public; being shown respect and affection by your partner is a tremendous turn-on. But in the privacy of sex, when it's just us and our drive to fulfill our basest animal desires, to hell with politeness: give me my fucking buildup and toe-curlin' orgasms!

I was crazed for his sex. My want of orgasms was my sickness and his cum was my cure. I wanted him to cum in my pussy, shoot his load in my ass, let me taste his load in my mouth. Let me feel the heat of his loads splatter across my face.

When he finally did finish with me I was like a rag doll. I could barely move. He did ravage me. He completely wore me out and drained me via so many and such powerful orgasms. And assgasms!

I beamed with pride that I was able to satisfy such a macho cowboy man. We pleased each other even as we were nothing but two beasts having natural animal copulation.

"It's gettin' late, Lovemuscle Cocky Cowboy." I said as I rubbed his shoulders.

"Go ahead and put yer clothes back on... for now. Until we get to yer place." Tanner warmly said.

"You gonna put yer boots by my bed tonight?" I asked.

"Right next to yours, I reckon."

"We'll roll in the hay some more tonight, then watch a new bright Texas sun come up tomorrow." I was ready to get some more on his luvin' on a proper bed.

"You know, that big 'ole Texas sun is ours alone. Feel like sharin' it with the rest of the world?"

"There is no rest of the world, Darlin. Just we two. We's got each other, and we's got a new life together in front of us. and that's all that matters."

WWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE doggy!

HAPPY TRAILS, YA'LL!!!