Cowboy Artists

Saturday, Apr. 27, 2002 - 11:30 am
Ap�sl�min ida corbalanyrtne 'ls�o rohl'daathi�m v� nen�a iroyss�rd.

Last weekend, I was shoving horses around, in one of my professional capacities. I may not be able to sit on a horse, but I have a real talent for pushing them around. My lack of equestrian equilibrium is not a handicap to my career as a premier horse-mover. And my appreciation for horses, and my love of horsemen, makes it a happy job for me. Last weekend, I was wrangling for the Spotty Horse Rough Riders at a Wild West Show and Shootout. This gang of cowpokes takes great pleasure in the wild-n-wooly sport of Cowboy Mounted Shooting. Which means they shoot at targets while racing their horses around barrels and flagpoles in a rodeo arena. Gymkhana with guns. And they do this while dressed in period Western costume, circa 1850 to 1890. The Riders put a lot of effort into making their whole get-up, including the horse's tack, the guns, and even their hairstyles and beards, as historically accurate as possible. And yes, their horses are spotty. Their horses are all registered Ishocs. (I'm almost sure that Ishoc is an acronym for either International Spotted Horse Of California, or International Sport Horse Of Color. Or both.) The horses themselves are not as historically accurate as their riders. I'm sure there were plenty of paints and appaloosas trotting around the Old West, but I doubt there were any Knabstruppers struppin' west of the Great Divide.

Most of the spotty horses ridden by the Spotty Horse Rough Riders were bred by a genial fellow whom I will call Lord Riley, for no good reason. He was born in England with vaguely aristocratic antecedants; when he was very young his family moved to California, where he grew up among cowboys, learning the cowboy ways. You can't get even a whiff of Merrie Ole England off him now. He doesn't even watch PBS. He owns a spread in northern California where he breeds odd-colored horses (including Knabstruppers) and raises gourmet beeves. Not impressed with his own importance, he calls his operation a "boutique ranch" but he's a real cowpoke. The man looks like he walked straight out of a Louis L'Amour western.

"This cowpoke had the classic cowboy tan: face, neck, hands, forearms were the color of mahogany. He had that handsomely rugged look going for him, more than a bit like Sam Elliot. When he smiled, his face pleated like fine leather. The rest of his body was Ivory soap white, skin as delicate and smooth as a baby's. His cock was just as pale, a lovely bone with a few veins showing faintly blue. Girth to length was in perfect proportion. (I'm rather turned off by thin cocks. If a guy has a long dick, I like to see it have a corresponding thickness too. However, short fat cocks are fine with me, in fact, I think they're kind of cute.)"

I wrote that. Yep, I've seen him naked. And yep, he's seen me naked. Which happily provoked a complimentary reaction:

"When my cowboy's cock becomes engorged and steely, all that blood causes it to blush charmingly to a bright red. Only then do the thickened veins stand out. And the glans, which is a pleasing arrowhead-mushroom shape, deepens to a dark cherry red."

Did I mention that his ranch is also a sex ranch? Don't misunderstand me, the ranch is a real working ranch, but as a sideline Lord Riley runs a kind of resort, or retreat, for horsy people with a certain bent. Lord Riley has a rather illustrious reputation within certain S&M communities. I once spent a summer working on his ranch and I've been meaning to write about it. How I Was Sold Into Slavery For My Summer Vacation. Maybe I can put the piece together for a future episode of this journal.

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Ap�sl�min ida corbalan� 'lse nesgla ugar�-cham sa cru ogrulho bat�oltha al�mv�sde.

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