When I was in my twenties I backpacked through the USA. Every so often I would find a laundromat, throw in a few quarters and do my washing.
And that was how I developed a thing for cowboys. I was in Taos New Mexico watching my underwear go round and round, all foamy like, when this guy walked in.
Cowboy hat, jeans, flannel shirt and I don’t remember much else other than he was very very sexy. We got chatting, went to the bar next door, had a few beers , played a bit of pool and wham bam in cowboy style, had really great sex.
Yes, I had sex with a strange cowboy.
In a bar. On a pool table. With cue sticks.
And no-one else around.
It started off as a quickie while my underwear dried but I actually landed up spending a few months with him in Arroyo Seco, working on a ranch.
That was a long time ago.
But since then – sweet goddesses, cowboys.
We don’t really get cowboys in South Africa.
Until recently when I read about a ranch in the Karoo, here in South Africa, and thought God yes I have to go. They run a volunteer program where you offer your skills in exchange for accommodation, hang out with other like-minded cowboy wannabes and it sounds like a brilliant idea.
I don’t know what ranching skills I can offer but I’ll find something. Maybe I’ll be good with a lasso. And I do love horses, African Nguni cows and Black Angus bulls. I could cook and paint or even go full circle and do the laundry.
And maybe while I watch my cowgirl panties go round and round, there’ll be a cowboy’s underwear and…
I don’t think cowboys wear underwear.
My last one didn’t.
Although he has been my only cowboy.
Ranching and all that sexiness and the Karoo which is so incredibly beautiful and the accommodation looks fantastic and the whole experience would be amazing and ja, maybe next year I’ll become a cowgirl.
Even if just for a few days.