Cowboy Writing Novels & Stories

VOLUME SIX: A COWBOY AND HIS SWEET SPOT Carter's ass bounced on the hard seat of his banged-up pickup truck as he drove across the state line into Wyoming. Man, he was tired, and his butt hurt. Riding fourteen hours on the back of a horse was much more comfortable than six on the worn-out seat in the truck.

“Wait, did he give you that heater? No, wait, that's from the outsiders. What do cowboys call their revolvers? Pops?” The security guards drew closer as Tyler stared at Daniel like he was an alien speaking another language. “Who's a cowboy?” Tyler demanded weakly. “Why do you keep asking me these questions?” "I don't know, Tee. You seem like a fascinating character. I've always been intrigued by the 1800s, and you strike me as the perfect person to shed some light on that era. Did you ever journey along the Oregon Trail? I've heard tales of the devastating dysentery that plagued travelers. And if your wagon's axle snapped, that was pretty much it, wasn't it? A broken axle meant certain doom.

“Is that a real thing?” “It’s a very real thing. His first collection of poetry, The Grass Is Never Greener - Contemporary Cowboy Poetry, he published under J. P. Gorham became an international bestseller the first week it was published. His personal appearances are standing room only events and his chap books, artwork and audio CDs always sell out. Unfortunately, Henry wouldn’t even consider publishing poetry, so we didn’t sign him and John started his own independent press. He’s doing really well. I’m happy for him.”

He even liked it that she lived above the saloon, since it meant a game was handy if he felt like playing. Since the Hat Creek outfit had been gathering cattle and getting ready for their drive, games were handier than they had been for a while. Several cowboys drifted into Lonesome Dove, looking for work; some of them had enough snap left at night to wander in and cut the cards. A tall cowboy named Needle Nelson showed up from north of San Antonio, and a cheerful cowboy from Brownsville named Bert Borum. At first Xavier was cheered by all the new customers, until it occurred to him that they would only be there for a week or

I yearned to breed my cowboy. His pleasured howling filled the wide-open spaces, filtering out over acres of corn. Sweat beaded over his hunky, muscled body, as he bucked against me, and then I felt him tighten around my dick, screaming, "Yeah...yeah...Rob, fuck me...fuck me...use it...use my ass...yeah...yeah...yeah...cumming...fuckkkkkkkkk!" I slammed my hips against him, enjoying the tight bounce of his ass cheeks. The spasms grew, and he showered the bed with a hot, milky rain...it was beautiful to watch.

Every so often, the sharp crack of his bullwhip would resound through the air, a stern reminder for the cattle to stay in formation. Alexandra watched him, admiration swelling within her. His cowboy gear fit him perfectly, enhancing his ruggedly handsome features. His hat sat comfortably on his head, casting a shadow over his intense eyes. His work boots were worn and weathered, much like the man himself, bearing the marks of countless days under the sun. She admired him not just for his good looks, but for his dedication and work ethic. He handled the cattle with a calm assurance, his every move revealing years of experience. He was a man in his element, a cowboy through and through.