© Copyright 1998, 1999
Friday night is bar night for us single yuppies, and, I was out trolling, as usual. Mostly, I go home alone but sometimes I let a man pick me up. This Friday, I was working my way through the crowd, stopping to talk to everyone there. The men all looked the same in their tight pants and lacquered hair, the yuppie crowd on the prowl.
Then, I saw him sitting alone at the end of the bar.
He was unique in this urban setting of twenties and thirties. I guess he was about fifty. His face was heavily tanned like leather from the sun which emphasized his sky blue eyes. He wore a long sleeved western-style work shirt and a straw cowboy hat pitched back on his head. He was drinking a beer with his whole hand wrapped around the bottle's long-neck. His eyes watched lazily, seeing the crowd as if he were watching a herd of cattle from horse back.
Suddenly, his blue eyes were piercing me and he smiled slowly, showing white teeth that sparkled against the dark face. He tipped his hat. I looked away but, subconsciously, worked my way to him. He stood when I approached and took off the hat, showing longish black hair streaked with gray. Of course, he was wearing boots and jeans. The jeans were skin tight and his legs were thick, heavily muscled, like the rest of him.
"Hi, Cowboy," I said gaily.
"Good evening, ma'am," he replied in a drawl. He offered me the stool and I sat, allowing him to buy me another drink.
"Well, cowboy, what brings you to this watering hole?" I asked, trying to be cute but sounding a little brittle.
"I'm not really a cowboy," he said slowly. "I'm a horseman, raising and training horses. I came to town to find a new mare." My heart was pounding as I studied his face. He has just a light twinkle in his eyes as if teasing me and trying not to show it.
"I love horses," I told him.
"Doesn't surprise me. Horses are beautiful and sensual creatures," he replied. The horseman and I talked. He was very close to me so we would not shout to overcome the din. He smelled of leather and, well, dirt, an earthy, masculine smell. He did not paw me as men try to do in bars. When he finally touched me, he rested his hand on my thigh. It felt warm and natural there.
Finally, he said, "Let's go out to my ranch."
Ah, the come on line. I have heard a million but it is always interesting to hear another. And, the answer often determines if I spend the night with a guy or let him drop.
"What do you have in mind?" I asked.
"You are beautiful little filly," he answered, "I want to exercise you a little and then put you in the stall with my stallion so he can mount you."
Holy smokes! The vision of me being a mare mounted by a stallion made me reel and I got wet. I was almost dizzy. The horseman was watching me with a hint of a smile, enjoying my response.
"Okay," I croaked and downed my drink for courage.
He drove a working pickup several years old, not a dude truck as I expected. The windows were down and the wind blew my hair. His "ranch" was really a few acres outside of town with a small barn, corral and open area. I put on some sneakers he offered. Although they were too large, they were better than high heels. He quickly showed me around.
There were two horses in the barn, a mare and, yes, a stallion. The stallion was a big red horse with a star on his nose. He whinnied when he saw us. The horseman pulled some sugar from his jeans which the stallion nuzzled from his hand.
"Is that the stallion that is going to mount me?" I giggled in a high, squeaky voice.
"Only stallion I've got," he replied evenly. As he dragged me away, I could not take my eyes off the giant beast.
He stopped at the tack room and got a bridle and bit. It seemed much too small for the horses and the bit was leather, not steel. We walked to the middle of the corral. It was relatively dark but the stars were shining so I could see him as he began unbuttoning my blouse.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Horses don't wear clothes," he replied. If this man did not have a devilish glint in his eyes, I would swear he was being honest because his voice was unemotional. I waited impatiently while he removed all my clothes but the sneakers and panties. His hands never left me. When he put his thumbs in the panties, I pulled away.
"Whoa, girl," he said. "Easy now."
He stroked my face and I felt his palm over my mouth. It was a sugar cube! I... well, I nuzzled his palm and took the cube in my lips. His hands were actively stroking my back and flank, gently pulling on my mane, calming me as he would a horse. How can a man's hands both calm and excite at the same time?