By Terrence McCoy
By Scott Fishman
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Allie Conti
By New Times Staff
By Ryan Pfeffer
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Kyle Swenson
Then it occurred to me, based on my own mixture of attraction and repulsion, that the feral look might be strategic: "Or do you use it as chick repellent?"
"This thing don't stop 'em," Ben said.
"If you say so," I replied.
"You ever experienced the tickle?" he said, stroking his beard suggestively as I gave him the "Eww" face and continued to shake my head. "If you'd experienced the tickle, you wouldn't be shaking your head like that."
Thankfully, Cowboy returned, rope in hand, to end the conversation I had regrettably begun.
As I paced the far side of the parking lot to give him a moving target, I turned my face away so I wouldn't get hurt. It wasn't long before I heard the lasso smack the asphalt between us and I realized he had missed.
"I guess you're just his first throw," said Jim, suggesting that Bama was a lassoing virgin.
Gathering his stiff rope, Bama threw again, lopsidedly this time. Missed again.
"Have you done this before?" I said, echoing something I am sorry to confess that I actually uttered to a guy once when he was similarly inept in bed.
Without a word to defend himself, Bama re-coiled the rope and gave it a swirl. Cowardly, I ducked and closed my eyes. When it landed, I opened my eyes to see its wide circle slowly closing around my feet. I got one foot out of its snare, and then "Zip!" Bama cinched the hard rope around my right ankle.
As he slowly reeled me in, I hopped. I'm sure it was the most unerotic booby-bouncing this side of the Mississippi.
"You've been rodeo'ed," Bama laughed as I leaned on him to steady myself while he released me.
A few minutes later, he lifted his shirt and began undoing his belt.
"Hey, there, Cowboy. You keep that livestock in your pants," I thought. But he was just trying to show me the heavy silver and gold buckle, a second-place rodeo prize, as he explained the finer points of rodeo to me, like, "If your horse ain't up to par, you ain't shit." You know, stuff any girl could figure out from her own riding experiences.
Since the show was over both the musical and roping one people began to clear out. I'd like to say that Bama hitched himself to a star. Or that we rode off into the sunset. But it was too late for that, so I just downed my beer so I could giddyup.