markwildyr.com,
Post #94
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| Courtesy of Pixabay |
Apparently
kissing booths aren’t big with my readers. Readership fell off sharply with the
last week’s story, TY. Maybe this one will fare better.
*****
SIX-SHOOTER SEX
The hair on the nape of
my neck bristled as I rode under the brace of Texas Longhorns crowning the gate
of the immense Rocking Bar Ranch, and the ride up the half-mile wagon track to
the ramshackle ranch house didn’t make me rest easier. As a troubleshooter for
the local Grange, I was in enemy territory.
Buggies and hansoms and
riding horses littered the front of the place. Old man Jemsen was throwing a
hell of a party, and now that I was here, I wasn’t sure why. After dismounting
and ground hitching Blue Blazes, my blue roan, I shook a finger at him.
“Don’t wanna have to come
looking for you.”
The horse rumbled an
answer.
A shout pulled my
attention to a man walking toward me. “Rowley Cooper, as I live and breathe.
Ain’t you pressing your luck?”
I eyed the good-looking, blond-headed
cowpoke, happy to see a familiar face, even if it belonged to a Rocking Bar
hand. “Hell, Sandy, the invite says everybody’s welcome.” I referred to the
crude handbills stapled to every fencepost in the county announcing the rancher’s
blowout.
Sandy Peters extended a
hand and gave me the eye. “You figure that includes farmers? And I doubt the
invite was meant for a hired Grange gunman.”
“Sandy, I ain’t a hired gun
no more’n you. I ride the farmers’ fences and try to head off trouble.”
“And you’d pull that
six-gun you’re wearing fast enough if you seen any.”
I nodded. “Just like you
would. And we’d both have a hell of a time hitting the side of that barn over
yonder. You gonna jaw all day or do you want me to buy you a drink?”
“There’s drink aplenty
inside.
“Hell, Sandy, I ain’t
talking ‘bout candy-ass wine. I got hard liquor in my saddlebags.”
“Wouldn’t mind a little hooch,
but we gotta be quick. All the gals gonna get taken, we don’t hurry. Sandy eyed
the bottle I pulled out. “Don’t wanna share with a passel a cowpokes, we better
go down past the barn a piece.”
We took turns swigging
from the bottle as we skirted the social activity livening up the pasture back
of the ranch house. Aware of a sound behind us, we turned. Blue Blazes stared
at us through big, innocent eyes.
Sandy gave a soft hiccup.
“Thought he was hitched.”
“Is,” I replied. Ground
hitched.”
“Don’t look like it. He’s
following us.”
“Ground hitched don’t
mean he can’t follow us. Where the hell we going?”
“They’s a hot spring down
in that copse a oaks. Good grassy spot. We’ll polish off the bottle and go look
us up a couple a gals.”
I laughed. “They all took
by now. They’s ten feller to ever gal in this county.”
We staggered down to the
stand of oaks where Sandy looked up the neck of the empty bottle and addressed
the problem of women again.
“Rowley, I figure I’m the
best-looking poke in this countryside, and you’re the second best. That oughta
count for something. What the hell happened to all the whisky?”
I marched back to Blue
Blazes and retrieved another bottle. “You drunk it up. Don’t be such a pig over
this one. And whatta you mean you’re the best looking? I got you beat by a
mile.”
“No way, and I’m the best
hung, too,” Sandy said, groping his crotch.
“Hell, you say! I got the
biggest one in the county. The state.”
“We’ll just see about
that,” Sandy said, unbuckling his holster and draping his six-shooter over
Blaze’s saddle horn. Before I could blink twice, he was standing there necked as
a jay bird. “Well, come on, shuck ‘em and let’s measure.”
In minutes, we faced one
another buck naked, our peckers pointing like aimed six-guns. Half-drunk—or maybe
whole drunk—we argued over who was biggest.
“Close,” Sandy admitted, “but
I can make mine bigger.” He grabbed his thing and started pumping.
“No fair!” I complained,
grabbing my own equipment and skinning the pole.
A minute later, we were
going at it seriously, neither one of us worrying over who was bigger than who.
I watched the good-looking cowboy while I worked, noticing that he was taking a
good gander at me, as well.
He got off a shot first,
but not by much. After a bunch of grunting and groaning and oohing and aahing,
I caught my breath.
“That was passing
strange,” I said. “You ever done that with a man before?”
“Y-yeah,” Sandy panted,
closing his blue eyes a moment. “Coupla year back me’n Willis Handy drove a few
cows up from down south, and we done it one night. You?”
“Hell no, just women. When
I can catch one.”
Sandy looked me full in
the eye. “That was right nice. How come we never done this before?”
“I-I don’t know. Thought
about it some but didn’t know how. What… what do we do now?”
The blond-headed cowpoke
standing in front of me, gave a smile that made him look like a big, lanky imp.
“They’s a sink hole over
there full of hot sulfur water. What say we go take a warm bath? We can work on
the bottle while we soak. No sense hurrying back. All the gals is took for sure
by now. ‘Sides, I can show you something else me’n Willis done.”
*****
I wonder
what Willis taught Sandy? Any thoughts on the answer. Looks to me like the
ladies are going to be denied the attentions of the county’s two best-looking
studs from now on.
Another
plug for my Okie buddy: Don Travis’ next BJ Vinson mystery series novel, The
Voxlightner Scandal has been scheduled for release on November 19, 2019.
The following is a buy link: http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c
Now my
continuing plug (read plea) for my own work. Amazon permits you to read a short
passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published
River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and
Medicine Hair are still up. I sure
would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from
readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email: markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
Twitter: @markwildyr
The
following are buy links for CUT HAND:
And now my mantra: Keep
on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and
third Thursdays of the month.
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