A fond memory of my own 'cowboy' that was rekindled by 'Obsessed with a Cowboy'
When I was 14 my parents, who are both medical doctors, sent me to stay with my Uncle Rob while they attended a convention in Europe.
My parents sometimes referred to Uncle Rob somewhat derisively as 'a farmer.' He was, in fact, a very successful cattle rancher.
When I was younger, Uncle Rob had taught me to ride Western and I loved the freedom of exploring the Wyoming countryside on one of his cow ponies, not to mention the incredible sensation of a powerful horse between my outstretched legs.
Even so, at 14, I was still pretty naive. Between soccer, basketball, lacrosse, student government and honor-track classes, I didn't have much time for anything else. I'd heard my friends talk about 'phone sex' and 'cyber sex.'
I did have a boyfriend. Mike was a skinny 14-year-old math genius. At parties we'd made out a few times and once we'd even dry humped in the dark corner of my best friend's basement until felt his penis throbbing against my groin, and then go limp.
I'd also found that caressing my own nipples and pussy lips could be incredibly pleasurable. But had never carried it through to orgasm.
All of which was about to change.
In addition to the usual 'cowpokes', a bunch of scrawny cattle hands with bad teeth and rawhide for skin, there was also a college student named Skip working on the ranch for the summer. With blonde hair, chiselled pecs and washboard abs, Skip can only be described as total hunk.
On my first day, watching Skip lunge a pony in the corral, naked to waist with his skin shimmering in sweat, left me in a state arousal. For the first time ever, I was aware of my pussy rubbing against my panties and jeans, and could even catch the scent of my own musk.
That evening, I feigned jet-lag and went to my room right after dinner. There was a small TV by the window with cable. I slipped out of my jeans, curled into a recliner and found a teen romance called 'The Truth about Cats and Dogs.'
Soon I was watching a rather innocent, yet sexy phone-sex scene. If observing Skip had given me butterflies in my stomach, this was causing my panties to get wet.
As Janeane Garofalo asked, 'ok., where's your hand?' I discovered that my own hand was already down the front of my panties. Soon my eyes were closed and my fingers were gliding between slippery wet lips.
Maybe it was because the scene on the TV had ended. Or maybe I actually sensed someone watching. But when I opened my eyes and shifted my gaze from the TV screen to the window, I almost died of humiliation.
Across a small yard was the bunkhouse. A shirtless Skip was standing in the window, his eyes focused intently on my crotch. My expression must have been priceless, a combination of horror and embarrassment. Instinctively, as the blood rushed to my face, I clamped my legs together in panic.
When Skip saw my legs snap close, his face broke into a seductive smile. Somehow, it made me feel sexy and attractive and, even more important, it made me comfortable with the idea of sharing a private sexual conspiracy.
Once he saw that I was watching, Skipped looked down. Not at me, but at the front of this own jeans. He followed his gaze with his fingers, which unbuckled his belt in a single fluid motion, unsnapped the top button, and slowly, almost teasingly, began to lower his zipper, revealing a growing triangle of brilliant white cotton.
When the zipper was all the way down, he opened the front of his jeans as far as they would go. I could see the outline of his cock pressed against the front of his briefs. Even the little ridge around his cock head was clearly visible.
Skip smiled again, even more invitingly, but I suppose I was too frozen in fear to respond the way he wanted. Eventually, he frowned and with a melodramatic flourish he snapped his legs together and pulled the front of his jeans together so that his briefs and his cock were hidden.
I'd never played, 'I'll show you mine, if you'll show me yours.' But there's a first time for everything. Slowly, I opened my legs, acutely aware that even in the dim flicker of the TV, he could tell my fingers were inside my panties, and perhaps see even the dark, damp spot I imagined was visible on the crotch panel.
He answered with a smile, and by letting the front of his jeans fall open again. Then he motioned to my t-shirt, and made a gesture that clearly meant 'take it off.'
I withdrew my hand from my panties, which somehow boosted my confidence, and slowly lifted the hem of my T revealing my tummy and eventually, my sports bra. Growing even bolder, I stood up, facing Skip and lifted it completely over my head.
His widening smile was all the encouragement I needed, in another instant, I stripped off my bra. I stood wearing only my panties. Thinking back, I'm not sure my breasts were all that much bigger than my engorged nipples. I didn't care. This beautiful man was interested in me and that was all that mattered.
I was amazed at my own brazenness, and at the intense feelings that felt like electric shockwaves surging from my nipples across my stomach and into my pussy.
Skip responded by sliding his jeans to the floor and stepping out of them.
We stood for a long time, studying each other. His skin was burnished with a deep summer tan. Every time he moved, muscles rippled and flowed.
I could see his cock growing stiffer inside his briefs. I'm sure he could see the wet spot spreading across the front of my panties. I noticed his rib cage expanding and contracting with excitement and then realized my own breathing was faster and deeper as well.
Finally, he slipped his fingers inside his briefs and I could just make out their shape as they wrapped around his cock.
My own fingers were shaking and I felt a cross between intense sexual excitement and a desperate need to pee. With his eyes fixed on my fingers, I slipped them back inside my panties.
I pressed my middle finger between my lips and it slipped inside with almost no resistance. Lost in my own pleasure, I must have let my eyes flutter closed. When I opened them again, his briefs were gone, replaced by a white triangle of skin, a puff of pale pubic hair and beautiful hard cock that bobbed up and down before my eyes.
Again, I felt a twinge of embarrassment when I realized he was waiting for me to pull down my panties. He finally put his hands on his hips, as if to demand I that I fulfill my end of our unspoken bargain.
Watching his twitching cock, I hooked my thumbs in my panties and slowly exposed my own little patch of blonde pubic hair. Then lower, until I could feel to cool air on my wet pussy lips.
In an instant, Skip's hand was wrapped around his cock. I'd never seen a guy jerk off and I was fascinated by the speed of his strokes, in the dim light his hand was nothing but a blur.
After a moment, he paused. I thought he might have cum, but he was just waiting for me to join him.
What followed was an erotic symphony. I would finger myself while he watched intently, then for a few bars he would take over while I looked on. We traded back and forth like this, each time the sexual tension growing more and more intense.
Then came the point where I just could not stop. I felt my first real orgasm building from deep inside and rather than pause to watch Skip, I just kept speeding up faster and faster, my finger deep inside, my thumb pounding my clit.
Arching his back, Skip grabbed his cock again and began matching my own frantic pace.
I came with my eyes closed and every muscle of my body clenched in beautiful agony. When I finally opened my eyes, Skip was looking at me in amazement. As I lowered my gaze, he gave his cock several violent strokes, took a step closer, pointed the swollen purple head directly at me and orgasmed.
Long cords of white cum pulsed out of his cock tip and splashed down the window with an almost balletic majesty. Something about the utter eroticism of it caught me off-guard and I found myself staggering backward to the recliner as another powerful orgasm ripped through me.
When I opened my eyes, the window was empty. A moment later Skip returned with a handwritten sign: 'Behind the barn in fifteen minutes!'
Describing what happened next breaks the rules of Solo Touch. So let's just say later that night I had a cowboy of my own.