|
 |
The Mysterious Cowboy
by Leigh Anne Jasheway |
 |
"What's
a nice girl like you doing in a pair of low-rise jeans like this?,"
I asked myself as I walked into the dance club. I should be
ashamed of myself, dressing so brazenly at my age. But being the
good girl all my life hadn't been all it was cracked up to be, so
there I was, forty-something, dressed like a teenager and
nervously glancing around to see if He was anywhere in sight.
He wasn't. My heart sank. It'd been three weeks since I'd last
seen the Mysterious Cowboy with his Indiana Jones hat and tiny
golden earring. At first I had thought it was the hat that got my
pulse racing- after all I've had a thing for Harrison Ford for as
long as I can remember. But it wasn't the hat, it was the whole
package - the tight jeans, the broad shoulders, the smoldering
eyes that felt like they were drilling into me … Every time I saw
him, my imagination went wild with the possibilities.
But three weeks had passed. Maybe he left town. Maybe he'd
fallen in love. Maybe he spent long sleepless nights fantasizing
about me like I had about him. But the band started playing and
suddenly I was out on the dance floor, dancing song after song
with a different guy. Apparently the jeans weren't a mistake
after all.
Two hours later, as I sat sipping my 7-Up and taking a breather, I
felt another tap on my shoulder. "Do
you want to dance?" I turned around and it was him!
Just try to stop me!
He was the most incredible dancer. Most men dance like you're not
even there. The Mysterious Cowboy's attention was focused totally
on me. And his hips moved so sensuously there was no doubt he was
great in bed. Not that I'd probably ever know, but a girl's got
to have a fantasy life. And those eyes. There they went again.
Not blatantly undressing me, but stripping me emotionally bare and
leaving the rest of me in a puddle on the floor. A bead of sweat
ran down my back and rolled beneath the top of my jeans. It
wasn't the dancing that was making me hot.
Too soon the music ended and I returned to my table and the
Mysterious Cowboy to his dark spot at the end of the bar. Seconds
later another guy was at my side asking to dance. "Okay,"
I said, without much enthusiasm. At least if I was dancing, I'd
get a better view of Him. I made sure we danced in a spot where I
could see my fantasy man and he could see me.
Two songs and two guys later, a slow song started. Avoiding the
guy headed my way, I stood up and caught the Mysterious Cowboy's
eyes. He smiled and headed toward me. I shivered with the
anticipation of finally getting to feel the heat of our two bodies
interlocked on the dance floor.
He took one of my hands in his and put the other gently on my
waist. His hands were rough and strong. I leaned into him. As
we danced, his hand touched the bare flesh exposed above the top
of my jeans and I could feel my nipples harden against his chest.
One of his fingers slid slowly into the back of my pants, landing
on that sensitive spot right above my tailbone. I couldn't hear
the music over the sound of my heart pounding.
Too soon, the song came to an end and we pulled apart. The place
where his finger had been was still tingling. "Thanks,
that was nice," he said shyly as he made his way back
to his barstool. "Nice," was an understatement. Is the Great
Wall of China a nice fence? Is Mt. Everest a nice hill?
I sat back down at my table and noticed it was midnight. Damn
it! Time to go home.
As I put on my jacket, I was overwhelmed with the urge to go say
goodnight to my Mysterious Cowboy. I planned to nonchalantly walk
up to him and ask him his name. That's not what happened. I got
to him and before I could stop it, my mouth said what my libido
was thinking, "Can you tell me
your name so tonight when I'm fantasizing about you I can call out
your name out over and over?"
He stammered. "Uh, Brad."
I think. I was running out of the club in humiliation at the
time. My face flushed, I ran across the dark parking lot thinking
I'd never be able to come back here again.
I put my key in the door, when suddenly he was there beside me. "Why
fantasize when you can have the real thing?" he
whispered. His hand slid down the back of my pants and his tongue
into my mouth. I guess he wasn't as shy as he seemed.
Somehow I got the door opened. My brain screamed "You can't do
this. You're not a hormonal teenager. You don't know anything
about this guy." But the rest of me yelled back, "His name is
Brad. His hand is in your pants and you want him now."
Brad sat down in the driver's seat and pulled me into his lap,
facing him. Somehow his tongue never left my mouth until he
decided to circle my right nipple through the sheer fabric of my
blouse, his left hand unbuttoning my pants. I could feel him
spring to life beneath me. It didn't matter if my car was an
automatic; I shifted into overdrive.
He removed my shirt and took my left breast into his mouth,
flicking his tongue gently across my nipple. I writhed and
moaned. Suddenly the horn honked. And I jumped. It was my own
horn. I had bumped it with my ass as Brad was pulling my pants
down.
Well, two can play this game, I thought as I unzipped him and put
his stick shift inside me. He pulled me tight to his chest and
slid both rough hands under my cheeks, pulling me up and down,
over and over, like I was some kind of erotic bareback rider.
Finally, we both exploded with pleasure. Soaked and spent, I
noticed the windows were steamed over.
He kissed my swollen mouth one last time and said with a sexy
grin, "That was nice." |
|
|
 
 |
