- Bruce P. Grether
Cowboy Bruce: Ornery Bator Bloke!
During my early years in the scorched fertility of Tejas, I encountered one of my own facets I named Cowboy Bruce. This ornery cuss just could not keep his engorged, pulsating penis in his jeans, for the life of him! This dude's whole heart and soul is all wrapped up in human male penis, masturbation practiced as a fine art, and encouraging the Phallic Brotherhood of Men all over this gorgeous and beleaguered Planet Earth. Cowboy Bruce let go of all shame as he began to share his bate with Brothers who like this kind of stuff, back in the late 1990s.
Cowboy Bruce has already taken off his boots and he's seated himself on the porch swing in the Tejas heat where shadowy sunlight creeps over boards of the porch below the swing. There this bronc rider without a horse, himself endowed with some expansive aspect of the stallion that catches the notice of bushing boys and blushing girls--the children of Adam and Eve had to learn bashfulness, modesty, as their parents knew nothing of shame in the Garden before the shift of paradigms from innocent Oneness with All Things to dualistic drama and exodus… a story Cowboy Bruce never bought into: he always figured Planet Earth is the Garden of Paradise. He might not be Father Adam, but he's a Son of Adam, right?
Shameless, the young cowpoke has lost his shirt and vest and his pants and he neglects not his nipples as he caresses himself with such mindfully self-loving, self-aware delicacy, thoroughness, absolute devoted passion and practiced erotic skills, breathing deeply and paying full attention to his own white boy body and penis of Germanic appearance, AKA this big German sausage.
Soon enough the young man completely forgets that single glass eye that regards him with an almost scientific objectivity, this fleshly legend in his own bandana-ed, straw-hatted head. Intent upon artful penis stimulation and a delicate touch from behind upon that rosebud within its circular mustache of butt crack hairs surrounding the sphincter muscles that form the Yogic mandala of the Mula Banda Chakra, the cowboy rides and bucks slowly upon the circling finger of his untamed, wild bate.
Now this Cowboy Bruce fella is like to drop his trousers sooner than he drops his hat, truth to tell. He never hesitates to put hand to that protruberant pork sword, the Wand of Flesh, that Branch of the World Tree anchored between his slender yet strong pale ivory thighs, this unabashed beanpole of a barnstormer bator dude, in a full-fisted grasp of that spongy glans penis, the big pink mushroom head that fills his hand and shoots Thunderbird Storms through his addled out on-the-range cowboy brain.
This guy spreads those scrawny thighs wide to the hot semi-tropical sunlight on this back porch where wood tilts leaned against the house upright the cowboy enjoys his morning wood about as much as flesh can be enjoyed, savored, relished, cherished, worshiped, revered, caressed, squeezed, pleased, pulled and pampered and the cowboy himself rides the horsey of his penis, fully enjoying this ecstasy of pure penis pleasure about as much as any critter can!
The ornery bator's inclined to dip down into the ravine between the limestone ledges where cicadas sing the summer away. He's a lusty, skinny white man, this cowboy soon liberates his considerable penis, then gets buck naked but for that sky blue bandana…
…there he holds and tugs and tinkles that pink things that is sort of banana-shaped, though like the cowpoke hisself has a head distinct from the body of it, this sort of shy exhibitionist guy also gets off on seeing how his naked and stroking phots come out.
He's surely losing himself to inner awareness of a single finger entering his Underworld, pushed through the heart of the rosebud that hides in humid darkness down there between those cowboy buttocks. His greatest gift from all those ancestral men that stand behind Cowboy Bruce is his thick warm pink erection in all its silken satiny realities of male human genital organ elegance. He's liable to shout or yodel at some point in some kind of uncontrollable yelping, gasping, groaning festival of vocal release in celebration of his complete surrender to pure penis pleasure beyond measure!
Now he turns and wanders back into shadows of the limestone streamed, this dry wet-weather stream bed that his bate has livened with his lusty manhood, his naked male presence and passionate self-pleasure: he lives his life HIGH ON PENIS!