It’s been a great time in the city, we’ve been having fun finding bars, clubs, music, bands, places to play machines while taking in the sights and sounds and so much more. Tonight, we opted for a trip to that famous country bar up the road – the one with the bull, the saddle bar stools and, last time we were there, the mud wrestling…

We’ve been here, dancing, goofing off, watching the brave people riding the bull. It’s pretty clear that the intent for guys when they jump on is to beat the bull. For the ladies, it’s to beat the guys at their own game, leaving them drooling.

Every single time we sit down to talk a bit more, sip a bit more and talk about the crowd, the music, the club, you’re making sure we’re up close and personal. You lean into me, you rest your hand on my leg, and up higher, depending on the crowd and whether anyone cares. They stopped caring about 2 hours ago.

I’m fidgety, you’re laughing at me, poking at all of those exhibitionist buttons in you, and the pushing my own soft boundaries, that you know and love to push so well.

A bit ago, you leaned in and handed me a key. THE key. Told me to get that thing off and hurry back while you saved my spot. I started to protest, I don’t really have anywhere to stash the cage for the key you are giving me, but you really, REALLY don’t care.

When I return, it’s obvious I have something round in my pocket. I try to hide it a bit, try to make sure it’s obvious that it’s not ME that is poking out in the pocket. You play it up though, running your hands over it, making people wonder. In the meantime, your playing games is catching up with me too, and I’m getting hard every time you grab me, reach for me, kiss me, or lean into me.

And every time, every time you know I’m straining you grab my hand and pull me to the dance floor. To dance, to play, to keep rubbing against me, to keep flirting.

It’s working. I’m a mental mess, just trying to keep up.

At last, I seem to be getting a small semblance of control. I don’t know if it’s having a few drinks and relaxing, or just gaining a bit of composure. I’m pretty proud of myself self though and start playing back a bit. But you’re having none of that.

I reach for you, you pull back a bit and make a show of wagging your finger at me, then leaning in with that same hand and grabbing me, hard, while you lean in for a kiss. So much for control.

But you decide you want to up the ante a bit. You head off to the restroom, and return… shirt off, hat on, and that grin. That sexy grin. I melt. You lean into me, grab me again and stretch up to whisper in my ear…

“Time to ride the bull. THAT one over there for now…” you say. As you pull away, that look is fixed solidly on your face. At last, you let go of me, smiling because you know I’m straining hard.

You saunter off to the bull, ready to ride – gyrating, spinning, letting the ride roll through your body, without ever looking away from me except to turn your head and find me again in the room…