COWBOY
Rita Rollins
I’m in the forest and I’m getting nailed up against a tree—no, I’m at the beach, lying down in the sand. The grains of sand are massaging my back as a man’s rough hand is touching my smooth legs, and…where did his hand go? Maybe it’s a woman. Yeah, a beautiful woman, the woman of my dreams, she is rubbing my leg. She moves her hand up my thigh—oh, no…the beach could be cold or rainy or windy, it’s…impractical. Start over. We’re in a hotel room. Okay, that’s nice. It’s a nice hotel room with clean satin sheets, and we’ve just finished off some champagne. The woman of my dreams starts to lick between my legs. A man comes up to deliver more champagne. He watches her eating me. He drops the champagne. He unzips his pants, and we both want to suck him off at the same time. But we want to tease him first. I take off his tie so I can use it to bind his hands together. I shut the door.
I come, and I’m all alone, the fantasy left unfinished. I want to know who these dream people are, when they will come and release me. But now it’s getting late, and I have to go to work.
I venture out onto the busy Friday-night sidewalk, past the jazz clubs and pizzerias, and I stop at the address, 1313 Rochester. It’s my home away from home. It’s where I go to help other people dream. The red and black lights inside the club create perfect, inexpensive angels. Twenty dollars is all you need to get a private dance. I slide past the dancers and into the dressing room. I drop my light suitcase on the table and prepare to primp. Who will I be tonight?
Sometimes I am dark: dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothing. I am here to punish you. Sometimes I am light: blonde, amused, innocent. I am here to serve you. Sometimes I am here to indulge myself, and I put on fishnets with seams, and clothes that have tassels on them, and I dance to swing and pretend I am from a simpler time. You can watch if you want to, if that’s what does it for you. Sometimes I barely dance: I just roll around the stage, grind myself against the pole; fuck my image in the mirror. My small pale breasts are reflected back at me. I watch my long, toned dancer’s legs move. I see my dark-chocolate hair tangling and tumbling down my shoulders. My gray eyes are always smiling cruelly, as if I’ve got a secret. I cast a brief glance over my shoulder to look at a customer. I smirk and romance my own image again. Some men are most enticed when you ignore them. They can fill in the blanks; fantasize about me however they want to. I never involve myself too completely. That’s the first rule of stripping.
I am surrounded by them now, as I dance and they watch. I am surrounded, but I am alone. I am a fish and they are outside the bowl.
I try not to feel so lonely. It’s bad for business. I put on a cute smile and bat my eyelashes like a naive kitten. Here I am: I’m all yours. Dollar bills line the stage, and I think about my next shopping spree. That always cheers me up. A man at the end of the rack is watching me intently under the rim of his cowboy hat. He seems to be signaling me with his inky green eyes. He is as handsome as a real cowboy. I saunter over to him.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Nico,” I purr.
“Your real name,” he says, with mock exasperation. His eyes have a friendly twinkle in them.
I giggle. “Not believable enough?”
He shakes his head. My eyes trace his face and land on his square jawline. His face is chiseled, and freckled with stubble along the edges.
“It’s Rose,” I say in all honesty. I don’t know why I’ve surrendered my secret to this man with the wry smile.
“I like it. Rose,” he says, tasting my name like candy. His lips look full and soft. They are a rosy pink and seem at odds with his masculine physique. I am seduced by the way he licks them slightly, bites them. I am all his. “Care to dance?” he asks.
“You want a show?”
“No,” he says, stubbing out his Marlboro in an ashtray. “I want to dance with you.”
“I can’t,” I explain. “It’s against policy.”
“I see.” He looks around at the bodyguards and security cameras. “Well, how about a show, then?”
I lead him to the VIP area and show him to his seat. This room is even darker than the main room. Only our eyes are bright white. “Tell me a story,” he suggests as I stand before him, lifting my skirt.
“I can’t,” I begin.
“Is that against policy, too?” he asks.
“No, it’s just…I’m not very creative,” I say, fingering one of my nipples softly through my shirt.
“Tell me what you would do to me, if, you know, it was allowed,” he instructs.
“Well…I could try, but I’m going to have to charge you extra for that,” I say nicely.
Without another word, he whips a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket.
“Are you sure? That’s an awful lot of money to pay for something that isn’t even the real thing,” I warn him.
He stares into my eyes, and says, “I just have this feeling about you. I know what I want.”
Now I feel slightly under pressure, but I stumble into it anyway. “I would start by taking off your shirt, licking your chest.”
“That’s good,” he whispers.
“I would lick all the way down to your waist, and would kiss every inch of skin above your pants.” I pull down my top and rub my breasts as I continue. “Your hands would desperately try to push my head down, yet you would try to be as gentle as possible, and I would fight you. I would continue to tease you.”
“You are a bad girl, aren’t you?” he says with a chuckle.
“Yes, I am.” I move a few inches closer to him, but I can hardly dance now. I am too excited, too caught up in the story. “Finally I would unzip your pants. I would take your cock out and rub it all over my skin. I would blow on it and lick it softly. I would make you want a blow job more than you have ever wanted one in your whole life.”
He moaned softly, and I was amazed at my ability to draw him in. He was being a perfect gentleman otherwise. His hands were at his sides, and his cock was in his pants. It was only my voice and my story that brought him his pleasure.
“I would take you into my mouth suddenly, and completely. I’d take you in so deep that I could feel you in the back of my throat. I would slide my lips up and down your shaft, slowly but firmly. Just before you’re about to come, I would pull away and stare up at you. Then I would stand up and push you over onto the bed. I would lift my body slightly over yours, and put my pussy on your lips. I would tell you to lick me, and you would lick my clit hungrily.”
He smiles, and lets out a deep sigh, and it’s enough to drive me crazy.
“I would try to restrain myself, but I would eventually just begin grinding my cunt into your face. You’d slap my ass for being so bad. I would continue to be bad anyway. You would go on spanking me. Finally, I would come all over your mouth.
“For the finale, I would sit down on your lap and slowly begin to fuck you. I would stay still for a moment, once you were inside me, so we could linger in that first moment where our bodies feel that ultimate pleasure. Then I’d move swiftly up and down your shaft, fucking you hard without warning.”
I drop my skirt and continue.
“You would tire of my games and pick me up, push me over the bed and start fucking me from behind. I would feel you so much better that way. I would lose control and you would fuck me hard, holding my hair with your hand, pulling it a little bit. You would let me come, and then pull out just in time to spill yours all over my back.”
Beads of sweat are on both our faces. We stare at each other for a moment, not wanting to break the spell. Finally he stands up and hands me the bills he owes me. “Thank you, Rose,” he says kindly. “You made my night.” He tips his hat at me warmly and smiles as he heads for the door.
I smile back and then close my eyes. I try to burn his smile and his cowboy hat into my memory. I try to hold on to his sea-green eyes and muscular body. I tuck his money into one of my stockings and gather up the rest of my clothes, very pleased with tonight. It’s not just the money. I have a new story, to be used whenever I see fit. And now the blurry man in my fantasies will have defined features and character. And a cowboy hat.