Carla Vs. Cowboy

Okay, so honestly, I’m trying to pay attention, but listening to Becca talk about fucking Jason is just…meh. How she could look at Jason and Chase side by side and somehow be attracted to Jason is beyond me.

“His dick isn’t that big,” she says, and my ears finally perk up.

She holds her hands out about six inches apart. “I mean, you know, average.”

I try to hide my smirk, although I’ll admit, I didn’t try very hard.

To think, just a few days ago, I hadn’t believed Lisa and Ashley when they told me that their boyfriends had 12-inch dicks. Now that I’ve seen one in person…and felt it in me…I’ll never go back.

I guess you could call me a 12-inch convert.

But, I haven’t told the girls that Chase and I fucked. I don’t know why; it just hasn’t come up yet, I suppose. I mean, he’s only here for the rodeo and he’s probably going to be leaving soon, so I’m obviously not getting attached to him…he’s just my fuck buddy.

And I don’t have to tell my friends about every fuck buddy I get, right?

My phone starts ringing – “Working Overtime.” Dammit. That means that it’s someone from the MSG calling me. Turning away from Becca, still going on about all of the places her and Jason have fucked – with his very average dick – I answer.

“Carla, we have a mess down here.” Thomas’ voice is sharp and panicked. “Can you head to the judges' booth for a minute? We need some help sorting this out.”

Double dammit. How is it that these people know how to get themselves out of bed every day? They don’t seem to know how to make the smallest decisions without me.

With a sigh, I tell him I’ll be right down; there’s no use pretending I’m in bed or sick or something, considering he can hear the echo of the announcer right in his ear, and I tell the girls I’ll be right back.

I hope I’ll be right back.

I head up and out of the bleachers, and toward the judges’ stand, wondering what the major malfunction is. If I'm getting dragged all the way down there so I can help them figure out where the pencils are, I swear to god, heads are going to roll. Doesn’t anyone know the words “day off” around here? I shouldn’t be surprised; sometimes, I think they have a tracker in my cell phone and can tell that I’m at the MSG, even when I’m just attending as a regular customer.

Sigh.

“Watch out, lady!” someone yells, and my head jerks up. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Right in front of me are some giant-ass horses! I realize that they’re moving the wild horses to another pen, and fuck—I must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way, because I’m smack dab into the middle of them.

A white one, the giant beast closest to me, rears back on its hind legs, and the memory of Chase on the streets of New York flashes through my mind. Except this time, I don’t have my mace, and I don’t have my Chase.

With a shriek, I throw up my arms and drop to the ground in a panic.

Twice in one week, I’m in danger of being trampled to death by a horse in New York City.

Seriously, what are the chances?

10

Chase

I’m chatting with Jason, waiting for our turn, Moonshine shifting its hind legs, waiting contentedly for the excitement to start. Even in large crowds like Madison, Moonshine is placid as the day is long. Frankly, that day that he reared up on his back legs and scared Carla was really unusual for him. You can’t have a skittish calf-roping horse, you know. And Moonshine is one of the best calf-roping horses I’ve ever worked with.

I’m listening to Jason tell me about every sex position him and Becca have done so far when suddenly, a scream splits the air. I jerk off the railing and spin around. There’s Carla on the ground, curled up in a fetal position, and all around her is a herd of wild horses.

“Holy fucking mother shit damn!” I yell, throwing myself onto Moonshine and wheeling him around to face the oncoming stampede of horses. I don’t know who's in charge of moving these horses around, but they oughta be shot. You don’t move a big herd of horses without precautions and barriers in place, for fuck’s sake!

I spur Moonshine’s flanks and, pulling my lasso off the horn of my saddle, begin whipping it over my head.

Zing.

I throw the lasso, squarely snaring Carla around the shoulders and yanking her toward me, which of course means more screaming. Once she’s within grabbing distance, I pull her up and throw her over the front of my saddle where her screams stop with a loud oomph. I wheel Moonshine around so we can start moving with the herd instead of against the grain. It’s safer that way.

Except, oh fuck, they’ve really lost control of the herd because I realize at the last moment that we’re heading right into the arena. The wild horses spill out through the break in the fence and begin galloping around the arena, tails high. The crowds are yelling and stomping their feet and so I yank Carla up in front of me, forcing her to sit side saddle in front of me, and then dammit all if we don’t both start waving at the crowd like a bunch of rodeo princesses.

“They think we’re doing this on purpose, don’t they?” Carla says through her forced grin.