ROGAYO

Landon Dixon

The tall, lean man strode down the tunnel and into the tiny office located deep in the bowels of the Wyoming sports arena. He wore crotchless, cheekless cowhide chaps, a ten-gallon white Stetson, a pair of polished red cowboy boots, and nothing else. His hung cock swung along to his ambling gait, his big, shaven balls bouncing; taut, tanned, mounded buttcheeks clenching and unclenching.

“Well, looky who’s here!” Clint Adams, boss man of the Wyoming rogayo, exclaimed, looking up from the paperwork piled atop the small desk in the cramped room.

There were three other cowboys lounging around, getting their registrations in order. They were all displaying hanging cocks and dangling balls, their hard, round, thrust-back buttcheeks in various stages of partial Western dress. They all turned their handsome, cowboy-hatted heads and looked at the new man who’d just strolled into their midst.

But he wasn’t new at all, not to the rogayo circuit. “Hiya, Clint,” Chad Crowder said, extending a large, strong hand to the seated promoter. “It’s been a while.” His clear brown eyes briefly surveyed the other competitors. He didn’t recognize any of them. He looked back at Clint.

“A while? More like goin’ on eight years, Chad,” the big, bluff, flamboyant man with the sunburned face and neon-red suit said, sizing up Chad’s muscle-cleaved chest, tan nipples, and clean-cut cock with appraising, admiring eyes. “Looks like you kept in shape, though. What brings you back to the rogayo circuit? You already won it all.”

Chad’s full lips pouted a grimace. “And lost it all, too.” He’d left his domestic partner of six years behind, their home broken and Chad dead broke. Living and loving and working in one place just hadn’t sat well with the free-range cowboy.

Wade Brubaker laughed. Chad and Clint stared at the man.

“This here is Chad Crowder, boy,” Clint growled at the offending young cowboy. “The best ball-busting, bear-riding, man-roping, stud-wrestling gay cowboy there’s ever been. Three-time champion.”

Wade pushed off from the filing cabinet he’d been slouching against, and stood tall in his black leather boots, his cock bobbing up. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you,” he sneered at Chad. His bright-blue eyes traveled over Chad’s body, not with admiration, but with contempt. “A little past it, aren’t you, pops?”

When Chad turned, his cock came a second behind with him—riding up fast and hard, obviously still willing to take on any challenge. “I guess we’ll just see about that,” he snarled back.

The two men’s penises eyed each other, long and hard and heavy, their pecs flexing, buttcheeks locking up in back.

“Boys, boys,” Clint intervened. “Save the ridin’ for the stampede ground. You, uh, know that Duff Blocker is here, too, don’t you, Chad?”

Chad jerked his head back toward Clint, his sultry eyes gone wide. “Cowboy?”

“Stockman.”

Chad grunted.

“I guess maybe he’s even more down on his luck than you are, Chad,” Clint observed. “Used to be one of the best toppers in the business—good as you, almost.” He cleared his throat like a horse coughing. “So, uh, what events you goin’ to enter, Chad?”

“All of ’em,” the veteran cowboy replied.

Clint and the other two men blew out their cheeks. Wade grinned at Chad, hitching his hips and cock up even higher.

The four main rogayo events were modeled after the four main rodeo events. Bronc-busting became ball-busting, the objective being to straddle a man’s shoulders and ride the bucker for eight seconds, if possible, no hand-holding of any kind, points awarded both on the technique of the rider and the bucker. Bear-riding was similar to bull-riding, except the bull was replaced with a hairy man-bear, the cowboy’s objective to ride atop the bear’s bucking back for eight seconds, again no hands holding on, again with the same points system. Calf-roping became man-roping, a cowboy trying to lasso a running man with a velvet rope, truss him up as fast as possible, points awarded for bondage technique also. And stud-wrestling was a variation on steer-wrestling, the animal replaced with a stockman again, the objective being to wrestle the stud down to the nonstick sand surface of the arena floor and pin him cock-to-cock, the quicker the better.

There were the cowboys and the stockmen. All participants in the events were almost totally naked, all boasting prodigious saddle horns and skill with their hands. Prize money was awarded on both sides, though the cowboys roped the lion’s share of the haul.

The arena stands were packed Saturday night, the (fully-clothed) crowd whooping and whistling and hollering, getting into the spirit of the thing. As the cowboys paraded out into the arena in their erotic nudity and rustic Western finery, they waved to the crowd. There were twenty-five contestants, a mixture of circuit regulars and local yokels. A special cheer went up for Chad Crowder when Clint belted his name out over the loudspeaker. Chad picked up his cock and waved it in acknowledgment, setting off another roar.

“Enjoy it while you can, old-timer!” Wade yelled in Chad’s ear. “You’ll be flat on your back before you know it!”

“You wish!” Chad answered.

The first event up was ball-busting. Chad watched some of the yokels get bounced off the bucking, shrugging, plunging shoulders of the professional stockmen. Then it was his turn. He straddled the smooth, padded railings that corralled the snorting, standing stockman. Chad had drawn Jesus, a short, stocky, dark-skinned man with broad shoulders and a surly expression.

“Buck off!” Jesus jeered at him, over the anticipatory cheers of the crowd.

Chad looked down at the naked man between his legs, nodded, then dropped down onto Jesus’s shoulders. The bell rang and the plastic gate swung open and they were off, Chad squeezing his thighs tight to the man’s unshaven face, hooking his calves into the man’s damp, unshaven armpits.

Jesus ran out onto the sanded stampede ground and dipped and twisted. Chad hung on with his legs, his left arm straight out and wildly bucking, his right arm raised high and violently waving, his cock pressing hard into the back of Jesus’s hairy, sweaty head. The crowd went wild, wilder when the horn sounded signaling eight seconds and a standing ovation erupted, the fans stamping their feet on the makeshift metal bleachers to the tune of their smacking hands.

Chad slid off Jesus’s shoulders and flopped down onto his back on the soft sand surface. Jesus dropped to his knees with Chad, in between the cowboy’s spread legs. The stockman grabbed on to Chad’s cock and pumped it, stuck the cap into his open, gasping mouth, and sucked.

The crowd let loose again. Raw sex was one of the rewards for a good ride, if both cowboy and stockman were willing. That was one of the reasons rogayos had to be held indoors, in front of adult-only audiences.

Both men were more than willing; Chad’s cock had already rubbed erect against Jesus’s head during the brief ride aboard the man’s shoulders. Jesus pumped Chad’s solid shaft and sucked on Chad’s swollen cap, then dove his head down and ate up half of Chad’s cock. He sealed his red lips tight and blew all he could, fisting the rest. Chad waved his right hand in mock surrender, pumping his hips to Jesus’s suctioning. The crowd swelled with more than excitement.

Chad drew Tiny in the bear-riding competition. Tiny’s name was the only thing small about him. He was a huge, barrel-chested, muscle-plated man with a coat like a brown bear, and a beard to match. Down on all fours in the pen, he twisted his massive head up and glared at Chad. “Better enjoy riding me while you can,” he growled, “‘cause I’ll be riding you soon enough.”

“That’s bull, bear,” Chad responded calmly, legs spread and boots poised on either railing, cock hanging down sure and weighty.

He dropped onto Tiny’s hairy back, and hooked his legs tight around the burly man’s chest, just as the bell rang and the plastic gates burst open.

It was pandemonium—eight seconds of bucking, leg-kicking, rearing, spinning, and whiplashing. Chad was flung crazily backward and forward, jerked to and fro, his arms akimbo and flailing, head and neck snapping, cowboy hat sailing. Until the horn went off and Chad jumped off over the top of Tiny’s bald head, the crowd screaming and applauding.

Now, the hard-breathing, sweaty, and hair-bristled stockman was in for another kind of cowboy taming. As Chad ambled in behind Tiny, his hard, bobbing cock leading the way, the bear compliantly knelt down on his hairy forearms and upraised his hairy ass.

Chad studied the bulls-eye, lubing his prong, a smile on his studly face. He waved his gleaming cock at Tiny like a matador waves a red cape at a bull, much to the crowd’s delight. And then he hit the bear hole, and filled it, ramming his cock balls-deep into Tiny’s accommodating chute.

Chad groaned and Tiny snorted. The crowd cheered— everyone’s eyes fixed on the old-time, sensuous riding rhythm now taking place on the arena floor, cowboy sawing his saddle horn back and forth in stockman’s anus. Chad gripped hairy waist and churned heated, tight chute. Tiny buried his burning, bearded face in the sand and bounced his enormous, hirsute butt back on Chad’s penetrating prong.

The show went on.

After three events, Chad was tied with Wade Brubaker and a talented local yokel, Buck Skinner. The stud-wrestling event had separated the wheat from the chaff, the beef from the gristle. Chad and the other two cowboys had brought their stockmen down in near-record times, pinning them cock-to-cock, and then pumping, much to the pleasure of competitors and crowd alike.

It came down to the man-roping competition, where both speed and talent were required, points awarded subjectively and tellingly.

Chad watched Buck waste too much time chasing down and swinging the velvet lasso around his stockman’s chest, then knotting the man up way too simply in his panic to make up for lost time. The small, wiry African-American was all but eliminated.

But Chad, like the crowd, had to admire Wade’s skill. The big, bronzed, blond-haired man lariated his stockman quickly, efficiently, and sexily, lacing a cock-ring knot onto the trussing. The cowboy’s score was going to be tough to beat.

And then Chad was thrown—when he saw his stockman in the chute next to him. He’d forgotten all about what Clint had told him earlier in all of the excitement.

“Hey, Chad. How’s it going?” Duff Blocker asked through the padded railings.

Chad stared into the familiar deep, green eyes, now latticed with red veins. Duff was nude, his thin body pale, his brown hair wispy on top, and his pretty face more drawn than Chad remembered. “Wh-what happened?” Chad croaked.

Chad and Duff had been fierce competitors on the circuit a decade back, and fast lovers off the circuit. They’d been young, hung, and full of cum back then, neither one willing to back down, or bottom out. The match hadn’t lasted, burning too hot, scorching the both of them. Chad had left the show soon after. He hadn’t heard from Duff since.

Now, Duff looked earnestly into Chad’s eyes. “I guess I went too fast and too hard, and too high,” he admitted. “I lost my friends, my home, my money, and then I lost my nerve. I had to come back as…a stockman.” He shrugged and smiled endearingly at his former foe, friend, and lover. “I guess I learned a bit about humility along the way, though. I get by.”

Before Chad could digest it all, the bell suddenly went off. The chutes burst open, and Duff ran like hell.

Chad gave his head a shake, staring at those familiar twitching, taunting, tempting buttocks of his former buckle buddy—running away from him. He wanted them back, wanted Duff back. Chad slammed his cowboy hat down onto his head with his left hand and lifted the velvet rope with his right, and raced out of the chute, hot on Duff’s trail.

The crowd stood and roared at the top of their lungs, knowing it all came down to this.

Back in the day, Chad had never been able to outrun Duff. The lithe, lanky man had moved too fast and erratic. But now, time seemed to slow down, and maybe Duff, too. Chad felt himself flying, Duff’s quivering, humping asscheeks and rolling back and pumping arms coming closer and closer.

Chad swung the lasso and threw it, the brightly lit lewd scene crystal clear in his oft-jaded eyes. He couldn’t miss. And he didn’t. The velvet hoop dropped down over Duff’s shoulders and noosed his chest. Chad dug his heels in and pulled back, rearing Duff to a halt in the sand as gently as he could.

It seemed to take all the fight out of Duff, if there was any. He turned and looked back at Chad racing up to him, and his puffy lips broached a smile. Chad grinned back, skidding to a stop. Then he lashed the lengthy velvet rope around Duff’s chest, his cock and balls, and in between Duff’s buttcheeks.

It was an awesome display of bondage mastery, in record time, the results even more lovely to behold. Duff’s pale pecs and pink nipples stood out from the twin bands looping above and below, his balls bloated and his cock jutted thanks to the roping, and his buttocks were breathtakingly split and spread.

“Well, that’s it, folks!” Clint bellowed over the loudspeaker. “Chad Crowder is champion of the Wyoming rogayo!”

Chad and Duff weren’t hearing it, though, the earsplitting announcement and the deafening cheers. It was just the two of them: older, wiser, less egotistical—and more in love.

Chad took Duff in his arms and brought him down to the sand, their lips locked together in a tender kiss. Their hot, damp skin pressed together, their hard cocks squished erotically. Chad pumped and Duff pumped back. Not cowboy and stockman, champion and also-ran, but equal lovers.

Chad broke his lips free of Duff’s soft, wet mouth and dipped his head lower. In the shade of his cowboy hat, he swirled his tongue around one of Duff’s engorged nipples, then the other one, shining and swelling the rubbery pair still more. Duff moaned and shivered.

The crowd fell silent, sensing they were witnessing something more than the usual post-rogayo celebration.

Chad engulfed a nipple with his lips and sucked on it, gazing up into Duff’s glistening eyes. He moved his head over, gently and urgently and sensually sucking on Duff’s other nipple, feeling it blossom even more in his mouth. Duff moaned and undulated his hips, pumping his hard, bound cock into Chad’s ridged belly.

That’s where Chad went next, down to Duff’s cock. He trailed a wet line of fire along Duff’s stomach with his tongue, then lifted his body away so that he and the hushed crowd could see the huge erection Duff was sporting. The man’s roped cock thrust rigidly into the air, vibrating.

Chad nuzzled Duff’s tied balls, making the man shudder. Then he licked Duff’s shaven sac, tongue-teased the pair of nuts. And then he licked up from the balls, along the underside of Duff’s towering cock. The man and the crowd sighed.

Chad licked up from the velvet rope lashing the base of Duff’s cock all along the straining, swollen shaft, around, up and down, stroking, painting, caressing Duff’s prong with his moist, loving tongue. Duff spasmed and shot his cock up even higher. Chad jumped his head up and caught the bloated tip of the beef-stick in his mouth.

A few in the crowd clapped. Others just held their breath, hands clasped to their mouths. Chad briefly sucked and chewed on Duff’s hood, then began the long, stretching, sexy mouth-plunge down Duff’s cock.

More raucous applause, then, Chad’s lips kissed up against the ropes binding his lover’s base and balls. He lifted his head high, and brought it back down low, sucking on Duff’s entire inflamed length of cock, his nostrils flaring and cheeks and throat bulging with amazing erotic effort. Duff squirmed in the nonstick sand, watching and feeling his cock get consumed and suctioned over and over.

Finally, Chad lifted all the way up. He greased Duff’s raging erection and his own rump, getting ready to mount.

The crowd chanted, “Ride ’em, cowboy! Ride ’em, cowboy!”

But Chad and Duff, gazing into each other’s shining eyes, knew this sexual event was no contest; both men were winners. Chad straddled Duff’s waist and lowered his ass down onto Duff’s cap.

Duff’s cock slid inside Chad’s anus slick and quick, finding a familiar home. Both men groaned, Chad rearing his head up and reveling in the stuffed-full feeling of meat in his ass; Duff rolled his head in the sand, ablaze with the superheated tightness enveloping his cock embedded in Chad’s butt. To the whoops of the crowd, Chad swept his cowboy hat off his head and rode Duff’s cock, bucking up and down. As Duff thrust his hips up to meet the rugged rogayo motion, despite tied-up arms, cock, and balls, far from tamed.

It was a spectacular showstopper, well worth the price of admission and more.

For Chad and Duff it was an open, unabashed renewal of their lust and love for each other, on a more mature basis than before. Chad grabbed his jumping cock and fisted, his anus getting searingly reamed. Duff bounced his gleaming body up and down, pounding his surging cock into Chad’s chute. Their mutual orgasmic semen outburst was the sizzling brand to mark them officially as romantic lovers again, for a long time to come this time.

Chad’s cock erupted and his body jerked and gyrated like he was going to be thrown, semen spouting out and striping Duff’s humping body. Duff spasmed and spurted as well, repeatedly, shooting deep into the cowboy’s convulsing anus. Their lusty cries were echoed by the packed house.

The two men drove off into the Wyoming sunset in Chad’s pickup, their rogayo rewards right there in each other’s arms.