We are about 15 strong when we enter the bar. We come in all shapes and sizes and every shade of sexy. We feel distinctly different, this social group of sorts. We are like a travelling bowling league, but our sport is not bowling. We are a band of sex positive gypsies, married, single and swapping.. My mission for this evening is absolute. I. Will. Ride. The. Bull.
* * *
It had been some time over cocktails the night before, when I first heard mention. I had a desperate need to quench my lusty thirst after a long drive and as such, I was late arriving to the party. I fell into the booth with my messy hair and afterglow, sipping a Budweiser and marvelling at my life and my social circle. My girlfriend across the table announced “They have a mechanical bull next door you know”..
I snapped to attention!
You could’ve seen the twinkle in my eye clear across the border. With a belly full of courage, a long running fantasy and some sexy encouragement from the table, I announced my intention to ride that bull. I went to bed both drunk and excited.
* * *
As I wait patiently at the gate I think back to when my bull riding fantasies began. I remember first seeing a mechanical bull in a movie while visiting my grandmother. A large, muscular man had taken to the bull full of confidence. He was tossed to the ground in mere seconds, and my first thought was “I could’ve stayed on longer”. Next a beautiful young woman with sharp curves and and long dark hair took the reign and put him to shame. My first thought was “Damn! She’s strong and sexy…” So here I am, with my desire to face the bull all wrapped up in bucket lists and deep adolescent sexual fantasies.
I am fortunate to have an accomplice in my efforts. He has ridden such a beast and he offers me quick counsel. “Get as close to the rope as you can, and hold it tight. Throw your other arm straight up in the air for balance” and with a demonstrative swish of his arm, he is off. He rides before me and I am glad to have a chance to watch him first. The closer it gets to my turn, the more I start to panic about how hard I might come down off that bull. When the moment of truth arrives, I turn to the Bull Master and say “Be gentle” with my flirtiest smile.
Chalk it up to primal instinct.
I’m suddenly worried about how badly this can go.
I open the gate and stride quickly toward the machine. I am unprepared for how daunting it is once I’m standing beside it. The inflated floor shifts beneath my weight as I approach and I sink. Instantly, I am struck by the sheer height of it. The former gymnast in me quickly activates and I throw my hands on top of the bull like it’s a vault, with a small hop I thrust myself upwards, pushing up on my shaky arms until my groin comes to rest against the side of the bull. With a swing of my left leg I am up and over in one motion. The bull is smooth and my bum slides easily across it.
Every good swinger dresses for the occasion, and tonight was no exception. My pants can only be called spandex and come equipped with pleather patches down the inner and outer thighs, in a sexy tribute to the folks in uniform. They do exactly as I had hoped, and I squeeze my thighs tightly around the machine as I pull the rope into my crotch. I anchor it as securely as I can manage around my right thigh and with a lurch, the bull starts to move. I quickly throw my left hand in the air and find my equilibrium. The bull starts slowly and I have no trouble staying astride. I am sure that the Bull Master is going easy on me for my shameless flirtation.
I find that the more the bull changes direction, side to side, forward, back, the more I am able to predict its next move. Or so I think. With my thighs of pleather firmly planted, I am unshakeable. At first it dips and spins slowly. A familiar sexy rhythm that doesn’t scare me in the least. And then just when I expect it to dip right, I am spinning backwards. I hear the chants and cheers coming from our group of sexy misfits.
‘”Ride that bull girl!”
With my right hand I pull the rope furiously into my crotch. It becomes more and more difficult to keep my arm high and my body upright. I spread my legs wider and grip into the bull as tight as I can. It changes direction suddenly, going into a spin and I am tossed off. My first ride lasts 48 seconds according to the video evidence.
I pause for some vodka encouragement and to calm my trembling legs. I am shocked by the absolute exertion of it all and secretly start plotting to invent some bull riding apparatus for fitness. After a second drink, I see the line up of Bridal parties and bridge kids from across the border starting to grow. I decide it’s now or never and I slink quickly through the crowd to find my place near the gate. Since my last attempt at riding the beast, several drunken enthusiasts have failed to mount this champion. Some surrendering before ever getting on it, others pulled by the arms and pushed by the bum until finally arriving atop. My arms are tired from the last ride and my legs have settled into a soft gentle vibration rather than a tremble. I approach the bull a second time. I take a deep breath, loop my right hand through the rope and then place both hands palms down in the centre. I mount it like I mean it, and I know the Bull Master may not be as kind the second time around.
It goes much like the first, except when I lose balance and my arm comes slapping down hard across the bulls ass. With one hand on its rump and the other through the rope, I manage to hang on like that long enough to get centered again, before getting tossed with a final hard thump.
The second ride is not timed but the consensus of the group is that I stayed on longer for the sequel. Towards the end, he gets determined to shake me off and I have no doubt that being such a top in my sex life has paid off in spades when it comes to riding the bull. The group finishes our drinks and slowly we trickle back to the hotel to engage in our true sport which is not bull riding, but fucking. Not strictly fucking, also lots of naked lounging, hot tubbing and conversing. I wake up the next morning with mementos scrawled across my inner thighs in bruises. Proud souvenirs of a sexy weekend. .
I can’t deny I’m plotting and mapping the mechanical bulls in my vicinity. There are two within an hours’ drive of me. This has new hobby potential….
Minx Cowgirl xoxo