"Come on! Faster! Come on you devil! Get up!"
Pat loved riding her steed. She called him Diablo. He was a three-year-old black stallion. She felt the wind streaming across her face. Her hat was hanging on by the strap.
"Come on, Diablo!" she shouted.
The cool prairie air made her feel good this morning. After Diablo's run, she slowed him to a walk. She stopped to open the corral and led him inside the barn and to a water trough.
As he drank, she thought about her life. Her boyfriend, Beau, was a miserable pencil-dick urban cowboy. That was all she could find in this small West Texas town. The railroad once ran through here, but now it was a sleepy and decaying town with two bars and a dance hall.
She removed the saddle and bridle and sprayed water over Diablo's back and combed him down. Giving him a slap on the haunches, she watched him gallop out to the pasture.
Pat was a 32-year-old cowgirl who lived on a ranch west of Austin. By day, she ran a saddle and tack shop in the small ranching community of Little Prairie. Pat was a country girl, but she wasn't from Texas. She grew up in New England. After graduating from a prestigious New England college, she came to Austin, Texas, and migrated west. She loved the land, the fresh air, and the open spaces.
There was only one thing she missed from college. It was cock, especially black cock. She shrugged and breathed a sigh. For now, she would have to be satisfied with white boys. Diablo was the only black male in her life now.
***
She removed her clothes and turned on the shower. The warm clear water felt good against her 33C breasts. She was five-foot-two and very buff. Working around a ranch, running 10 K's, and honest work as the owner of a saddle shop made her fit.
Her hand slowly moved to her cunt and began to massage her clit. It didn't take long to bring herself to a controlled orgasm. She finished her shower and dried off.
Pat looked in the mirror and saw her slim waist, tight abdomen, and nice full derriere. She had the kind of ass that is said around here to be "two hands full"! She couldn't say that about her tits. She wanted them bigger; but on her frame, big ones that might be out of proportion. She combed her light brown hair. It was wavy. She had it cut into a "Meg Ryan" look. If she let it get long, then it would get curly. She didn't want to bother.
She leaned close to the mirror and applied her light red lipstick and admired her full, pouty, very inviting lips. She imagined them closing around a black cock and sending its owner into never-never land.
"
That's my strong point
," she thought. "I know how to suck cock."
The ride into town in her Chevy pickup was bumpy but short. She entered the saddle shop and was greeted by that smell of tanned leather. She loved it! She flipped the window sign from CLOSED to OPEN and waited for her first customer.
She no one was around. She picked up her cell phone.
"Hello!" It was Laura, her best friend and alter ego.
"Oh, my gawd! I'm so glad you picked up!"
"Oh, sweetie! I always love to talk to you."
"I feel like a wildcat in a cage! Beau just isn't getting it done for me, Laura."
"Oh, I'm so sorry it's not working out."
"It's not that it is not working out. He just doesn't excite me, Laura."
"I know what you mean. I have quit dating the local cowboys. Look! It's Friday. Let's go to Austin and hang out."
"OK!" Pat said excitedly.
"OK. We meet at the usual place?"
"Yes."
"Bye."
"Bye, Laura." Pat hung up.
All day long as she greeted customers she had that trip to Austin on her mind.
***
It was a trendy club called the Midnight Rodeo for the twenty-something urban cowboys and cow chicks wanting a wild ride. Neon advertising signs littered the walls giving the inside an eerie glow. The music was loud and country. A band in the corner had a guitar player, a drummer, a fiddler, and sultry blonde singer, wearing boots and a cowgirl hat.
Laura ordered a shot of straight tequila at the bar. She turned and leaned her back against the bar and put her left boot on the foot rail. Her long blonde hair swept over her face and down her back. Her black, low riding micro-mini flared out showing a black lacy petticoat underneath.
Pat was wearing red camisole under a black leather vest that exposed the inside of her breasts. Her low-riding denim mini-skirt left her midriff bare. Her hemline stopped eight-inches above her knees, exposing her lacy-top black hose. She ordered a margarita and turned toward Laura.
"Do you know anyone?" Pat asked.
"No, but I expect to real soon," Laura said confidently. She downed her shot of tequila and ordered another one.
A tall cowboy with handsome western attire stepped up and introduced himself to Laura. Pat noticed that his boots were dirty. "He's real," she thought.
"Want to dance?" he asked Laura.
Laura downed her shot of tequila.
"Why sure, cowboy!" Laura said looking up at his eyes. She offered her hand, and he led her to the dance floor. Pat watched has Laura whirled around letting her skirt flare out, revealing her hot pink thong. She had everyone watching her. Pat took another drink of her margarita and smiled.
"Wanna dance?" a geeky-looking urban cowboy asked. She always referred his ilk as "ur-boys". Laura almost said no, but she had to do something. They walked out on the floor. She soon learned that he was no dancer. In fact, Pat had to take the lead. She breathed a sigh of relief when the song ended. She noticed that the bar was crowded now. She noticed that Laura was dancing another number with the "real" cowboy. Pat wandered to the back patio and looked around.
"Can I buy you a drink?" another "ur-boy" said.
'Sure!" she responded. "What the hell," she thought, "It's a free drink. That can't be that bad."
"What do you do?" Pat asked as they danced a slow number.
"I go to the university," he said and launched into a long dribbled about calculus.
"Excuse me! I got to go pee," Pat said and hurried to the restroom. It was the only excuse she could think of to get away from this "ur-boy", she thought. She washed her hands and looked at her makeup. It was fine. Then she wondered how she was going to get away from him.
As she exited the restroom, she saw him. He was coming out of the men's room at the same time, and he was black! She inspected him with her elevator eyes. He was wearing so-so boots, old faded jeans, and a black western style shirt. She looked up at his face. He was black! Pat's heart leaped! He was lighting a joint.
Pat stopped. He took a deep toke and held it for a moment. Then he exhaled slowly.
"Want a toke?" he said.
"Yes!" Pat took the joint and drew in the smoke. She held it, feeling the pleasure sweep over her. She handed it back, letting her hand lightly touch his black hand.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Pat. What's yours, cowboy," she said coyly. She tilted her head down and to the right. It was a natural coy look for Pat.
"Harlon," he said and offered her another toke. Pat took it. He let her hand touch his hand longer.
"What do you do?" she asked.
"Ride broncs," he said.
"Do ya ride 'em hard?" Pat said teasingly.
