Page 17 of The Cowboy's Cabaret

He loudly proclaims his stage name as “Wet Wes,” the moistest man on this side of the Hudson. I’ve done enough laughing tonight to last me a lifetime, and the warm feeling settling in my chest comforts my scared heart.

We’re nearing the city,the tall glowing buildings coming into view, when I realize I spent a lot of the ride talking about me. “Wes, you let me yap so much of this car ride. I feel like I hardly learned anything about you.”

“I’m not all that interesting. What burning questions do you have for me? Fire away.” I can’t help but wonder if his lack of self-talk is purposeful, but I toss him an easy question anyway.

“Alright, Cowboy, what do you do for fun? After a long day of yeehaw-ing, how do you unwind?” Obviously, I have to poke fun at him a little.

“Not much. I listen to music or watch TV. I’m boring in my old age.”

“Okay, Grandpa. You’re what, three years older than me? Give me a break.” I decide to push a bit more, I want to know everything about the man currently taking up an annoying residence in my head. “What else? Hobbies?”

Wes runs his hand over his beard thoughtfully. “I dabble. In the arts. Um, I sketch or draw stuff sometimes.”

My interest is piqued at his sheepish reply, it’s not that strange of a hobby. We’re pulling up to my apartment before I know it and he idles near the curb.

“I’d love to see sometime, you’ll have to send me some pictures.”

“Maybe. You could come by the farm one day and I’ll show you in person.”

My eyes light up at his words. “I’d love to. I want to see all the horses. I bet it’s so pretty there.”

“Definitely, Dahlia. I’d like that a lot.” His face twists in an uncomfortable way, contradicting his offer to show me his art. Ever the gentleman, he rounds the truck to open my door.

“I had a lot of fun tonight, thanks for coming along. Some big shows coming up soon. Maybe we can try to get tickets for the Birds of Prey tour?” he asks, leaning against his truck.

I love how he wants to keep hanging out and doing shows. Whether this bodes well for my festering crush remains to be seen. We agree to look at the tickets soon and say our goodbyes.

I run through the mental list of reasons to protect myself from love and a relationship. The glaring fear of emotional devastation if we break up is another reason to stay platonic. Yet, the twinge of hope for more is a thread I’m desperate to pull. He’s a good guy, truly, and a great friend. Especially so, because he sends me the car selfie we took earlier, with a message to text him when I’m safely in the apartment.

When I get up to my apartment, his truck is still downstairs and I shoot him a text to let him know I’m behind locked doors and wish him sweet dreams. Only then does he pull away from the curb and drive away, maybe taking my heart along with him too.

TWELVE

baby, call me anytime

Wesley

Time fliesand drags ass at the same time in the weeks following mine and Dahlia’s road trip to the Sinning Saint’s show. My mind is preoccupied with thoughts of big brown eyes and more often than I care to admit, it’s those eyes I picture when my hand is wrapped around my cock.

In my stale routine of working, eating, and sleeping, I find the time to draw a bit more. I’m working on a more detailed piece tonight—a succubus straddling an unsuspecting cowboy. The cowboy can only be seen from behind, wearing a black Stetson and a white tank top. Astride him sits the succubus, pink tinged skin, round breasts hanging in the cowboy’s face, and soft, pillowy thighs bracketing his muscled ones. The succubus’ face takes shape, but fades out right at her nose. The only visible features are her fangs biting into lush lips and waving strands of hair falling over her shoulders. Dark brown hair with bright blonde pieces.

The same look as the hair haunting my dreams as I imagine running my fingers through it, pulling it up to hold it out of the way for her.

I’m beyond hiding my affections in this sketch. I won’t show it to her, or anyone, for that matter. My feelings are loudly drawn on the page as I give life to my fantasy. It would appear I’m down bad for my friend. Shit, at this point I should illustrate the succubus tearing the cowboy’s head off to save him from the fate of unrequited love.

Maybe unrequited is too strong a word. I don’t think Dahlia feels nothing for me, but I don’t know she wants to feel more. I would love to be deeply embedded in someone’s heart, as they are in mine—particularly Dahlia. I could so easily love her. Fuck, I’m halfway there at this point and I’ve barely scratched the surface of who she is. What would it be like to feed the love, nurture it, nurture Dahlia? I would be so good to her. Like clockwork, my dick perks up thinking about Dahlia as if I’m conditioned to get hard at the mention of her name.

Avoiding my erection is useless, so I head to the shower to indulge like the piece of shit I am. The steam curls around me, relaxing my stiff muscles as I lean into the hot water. I drag my hand down to my rigid shaft, tightening my fist at the base, hand grazing the rough bristle of trimmed hair. Conflict wages war in my head as I try to conjure up literally any other thought to get off to.

Finally, I give in. No one will be any the wiser I’m fucking my hand to thoughts of Dahlia, right? The guilt is strong, but my arousal wins out as I cup my balls in one hand and stroke myself faster. Visions of Dahlia dance through my mind, one in particular making me leak like a faucet.

In this fantasy, I’m bouncing her on my dick and her massive tits jump with each thrust. Imagining her tight, pink pussy swallowing my cock has me groaning out loud in pleasure. How would she sound? Would she like how I spoke to her? The rough words I’d love to say as I tell her what a pretty fucking slut she is.

My hand twists as I try to slow down, wanting to draw this out longer. She would ride me, then turn around giving me a perfect view of her fat ass rippling with every pump into her.Fffuuucck.I’m so far gone in my imagined lovemaking as I dream of palming her ass while I force her down on my hard cock. Ecstasy shoots through my core and my final strokes give way to ropes of cum as I ride my orgasm through clenched teeth.

Shame washes over me at lack of self-control, so I quickly scrub myself clean and leave the shower.

Lying in bed,I realize Jasper hasn’t brought up the bills again. I don’t know if it means I’m cut out of the information now or he’s ignoring the possibility of financial ruin. In the late hour, there’s not much I can do to remedy that, so I scroll my phone attempting to rest my tired body. My phone buzzes with several incoming texts back-to-back. I grin because the only one blowing up my phone in that cadence is Dahlia. A photo of a screaming bird precedes a barrage of texts.