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Cowgirl's Real Story

Date: 8/21/2015, Categories: True Story, Author: iqtpy, Rating: 36.8, Source: sexstories.com

is yours, Good time Charlie. You earned it. Maybe we will run into each other under different circumstances.” “Do you like to fish?” * “There is a rodeo in Montana and one in New Mexico?” I flip a coin. “Phoenix it is.” Plenty of athletic tape to hold down these balance busters. Having big tits is a bonus except for eight seconds, check. Western riding saddle, check. Bronc saddle with leather halter and rein, check. Bull rope, check. Three lariats, my Powerline, my Mach III Heater, my GT4 Rattler, check. If anyone tows there car this time with one of my lariats again, they best run. Run like they are on FIRE! I jump in my truck, Grey-Boy, and head west. “Jesus Christ Arizona is fucking hot! I'm not even half there.” I pull over off the road to change my clothes, from jeans and Western shirt, to a flippy miniskirt and a tank top. I grab a bottle of water from the ice chest. I crack the lid and pour it over my head. “God Damn, a waterfall in hell!” I crack the top off another, pouring it over shoulder to shoulder. I wanted to be good and soaked. One more bottle, I chug half of it and wet my bandanna with the rest. I fold the bandanna in a triangle. I tie the ends behind my head, tucking in the free end making a semi due rag. Right now, being on a motorcycle naked with the wind blowing all over me sounds dangerous, but it’s reckless that kills. I’d take the risk, I do it for a living. Sitting on the gas tank, looking backwards, I can see where I have been. The only place I ... haven’t been is myself. I put my Cheeta framed sunglasses back on. Looking in the outside door mirror, I push on the bridge of my sun glasses. “Who loves you baby.” I throw up some gravel getting back on the road. I had been driving for a day and a half, it was almost dusk. I could have driven longer but I was tired of the scenery and eating Spagettio’s, fish assholes in a can. Up ahead I see a shabby motel. Two truck and trailer rigs, a car and myself, not much more. I wonder if they are headed to Phoenix also. I reach into the back of my truck and throw my duffel bag over my shoulder. I ring the Bell. "Hi, what can I get for you?" The manager asks. “A room please.” “How many guests will there be?” “Just one.” "That will be seventy-one dollars.” I hand him a hundred dollar bill “Fill this out.” I have always been curious why they ask, “How many guests will there be?” I paid for the room. I should be able to have as many guests as I want. Well….They should collect a five-hundred dollar deposit though, I would. Our kind know how to have a great time, even when we lose in the official rodeo arena. While I fill out the card, I think back to the last rodeo I was with most of my cowboy friends. The shit we pulled, it’s a wonder we didn’t get red flagged from some hotels. My cowboy friends, if assholes could fly, this place would be an airport. Memories are good, when you are alone. As I am walking to my room, memories flood me. We’d go out to the nearest tavern and lick our wounds, ...