Organization: Clarkson University
OUTLAW COWBOY
by Scooter McGraw. (zaccansj@craft.camp.clarkson.edu) copyright 1995.
I left the east in '74. Got tired of workin' in the factory. Hours too long, factory too noisy, too dirty. My daddy told me about the gold rush of '49, and how many of his friends went to California to make their fortunes. Most of 'em returned busted, their spirits broken. A few struck gold, and made a name for themselves. The rest... well, he never heard from 'em again.
Thought I'd try my luck, havin' been bitten by the gold bug. Won't go into too many details of those first few months I spent as a prospector. Let it suffice I went cold, hungry, and tired many a night.
Struck gold the second day of my third month out there. Must have been a gift from the heavens, because my food and supplies were just about gone. Wasn't much... I figured only a few hundred dollars worth... but good luck is not to be taken lightly, and I was gettin' desperate.
Rode almost an entire day to get back to town. Rented a room above the saloon and allowed myself a long-deserved rest... I was tired of sleepin' under the stars. Must've slept about six hours, as it was dark when I awoke.
"Too late to exchange this gold for money...", I thought. Lights were out everywhere but the saloon. "...might as well celebrate my good fortune with the little bit of money I do have."
Went downstairs, bellied myself up to the bar and ordered a bottle of their best whiskey. Feelin' real good about my sudden turn of luck, I quickly downed several belts. Then I saw him.
He was tall, heavy, and rugged lookin', hardened by what must've been many days and nights out on the range. His dark hair, dark eyes, bushy mustache, and stubbly beard were makin' my hands start to shake. But, most unnervin' for me, he had two of the biggest ol' feet I'd ever seen, in a pair of well-worn, spur-clad boots.
Lord, how I loved them cowboys! And I got this thing about cowboy feet, too. Had it ever since I saw my first cowboy, who pulled his boots off and propped his big feet up in my daddy's house, when I was just a young'n.
So, gettin' my courage up, I struck up a conversation. Tend to get talkative after I've had a few, 'specially when I want somebody as bad as I wanted this cowboy. Don't remember much of what I said, though, and didn't think much of it when he just up and left awhile later. Just another disappointment, I reckoned.
Also tend to get a little stupid when I drink, and walked out the front door to relieve myself. Next thing I remember I was lookin' at the stars, with more stars spinnin' around my head. My vest pockets were turned inside out, my gold gone.
Damn! No one was in sight, except a large man hastily walkin' toward a horse tethered about fifty feet from the saloon door. Saw him stumble once without fallin', then untie and mount the horse. I swear I recognized him. It had to be my cowboy!
Pickin' myself up, I staggered toward him, too slow to catch him as he galloped out of town. Stoppin', I turned around, mad, mad at myself for bein' so stupid as to tell a total stranger I struck gold... just because I wanted him real bad. Wondered if I told him the exact spot I found it. Would serve me right. Disgusted, I walked back towards the saloon.
Somethin' flashed in the corner of my eye. I'd seen gold flash that way in a stream bed, and I went right over to it to pick it up. It wasn't gold... only the wheel broken off of some cowboy's spur. Don't know why, but I put it in my pocket, then dragged my beaten carcass back into the saloon, up the stairs, and into my room. The whiskey took over once again, and I slept, dreamin' of streams overflowin' with silver and gold.
Awoke late in the afternoon, with a helluva ache in my head. Don't know what hurt worse... the whiskey or the beatin'. It was too late to start back to my camp, so I went downstairs to pay for another night's stay with the few dollars I had left. Kept a few bills with my gear in my room, and they hadn't gotten stolen.
He was there, at the bar! That cowboy I wanted so badly the night before. An empty bottle sat on the bar next to him, a half full one in his hand. He was laughin' and carryin' on... and oh... I still wanted him, as bad as the night before. And I wanted my gold.
He raised his arm to get the barmaid's attention, his elbow knockin' the empty whiskey bottle to the floor with a loud crash. I saw it shatter at his big feet.
My eyes opened wide. This cowboy's right boot was missin' the wheel from its spur! I KNEW it was him! This outlaw bastard was gettin' drunk on money from MY gold!
He saw me, called me over, real friendly-like, offered me a swig. Told me I looked like I'd just fought with a tornado and lost. This cowboy actually thought I didn't know what he'd done!
I accepted the bottle, drew a long pull. Told him how I was robbed the night before. He acted like he felt real bad for me, and offered me another drink. All the time actin' innocent and dumber than a pile of rocks.
Told him not to worry... said I had lots more gold where that came from. You should've seen his eyes light up when I said that! Bought another bottle with the last of my money, and told him we were gonna drink this place dry.
He was already drunk, so he didn't notice I wasn't swallowin' when I put the bottle to my lips. He drank that entire bottle, and was halfway through finishin' a third, when he muttered somethin' I didn't understand, and fell headlong to the floor.
A few of the men helped me carry him up to what they thought was his room, and dumped him on my bed. I stayed at the bar with them for awhile, then left the saloon, returnin' only after they were gone.
The outlaw cowboy was still sprawled out on the bed, snorin' loudly. This cowboy was gonna pay dearly for robbin' me, I thought. Pullin' my rope out of my pack, I unwound it and went to work.
Tied his ankles tightly together, I did, then wound the rope around his legs and up past his knees, tyin' the ends in a knot. Grabbin' him by the boots, I pulled him until his feet were stickin' out over the cross bar that went between the posts at the foot of the bed, then tied his ankles securely to the cross bar. Tyin' a piece of rope around each wrist, I stretched him out, and lashed his wrists to each post at the head of the bed. Completely immobilized him, I did. Then I sat at the desk, and waited.
Must've fallen asleep. It was light out, almost midday. Went down the stairs and looked around the bar. Empty. It was Sunday... everyone must have been at church at the other end of town. Knowin' I now had my privacy, I went back to my room.
He awoke with a start, and started yellin' loudly, demandin' to be let loose.
"What the HELL is goin' on here?!? Lemme go!!!"
"You robbed me the other night, and stole my gold.... You were the only one who knew I had any... and I want to know where you hid it!"
"Yer loco, prospector. I don't know what yer talkin' about."
Rememberin' the spur wheel I had in my pocket, I pulled it out, and stuck it in his face.
"The man who robbed me lost THIS off his boot when he tried to get away..." I walked to the end of the bed, looked at his feet. "...and yer missin' one off yours!"
Grabbin' his right foot by the ankle and heel, I gave a good, strong pull, and off came his boot. I showed him the boot and the missin' spur wheel.
"Look for yerself!"
"Hey! What're ya doin'?!? Put my boot back on!"
Tossin' the boot to the floor, I sat down again.
"Why? Yer not goin' nowhere until ya tell me where my gold is."
"I told ya, I don't know what yer talkin' about. Now lemme go... and I won't have ya arrested. And put my dang boot back on!"
He was a stubborn one. Figured threatenin' him a little might scare him into talkin'.
"You tell me where my gold is... or I'll... MAKE ya talk."
Thought his voice started to falter.
"I don't know nuthin'. And I ain't talkin' even if I did. You go right ahead and beat me. I ain't gonna talk... and I'm gonna start yellin' for help... and then have ya arrested! Yeah... I'm gonna show the ol' sheriff all the bruises and the marks ya put on me! And then yer goin' to jail!"
He smiled, knowin' I wouldn't dare beat the truth out of him.
"Yer right... I can't beat ya. But I got OTHER ways to make ya talk... real cruel ones I learned... from a Chinaman."
Thought he almost panicked there for a second. Figured my threats might have begun to work.
"Yeah, the Chinese used all kinds of cruel tortures to make a man talk. But they never hurt a man... they just slowly drove him crazy until he couldn't take it anymore. And they never left a mark. But their victims always talked... or they went insane."
His eyes betrayed some fright, but his attitude didn't change.
"You don't scare me! Do yer worst!... and I'll yell for help!"
"No one's gonna hear ya, cowboy... so go ahead... scream."
He yelled. No one answered, no one came.
Had a cruel smile on my face, as I continued.
"Maybe I should drop water on yer head, one drop at a time, until the noise inside yer skull gets so loud ya can't stand it... or maybe..."
Knowin' it would unnerve him some, I paused.
"...I'll make ya choke on yer own smell for awhile...."
Jumpin' up, I grabbed his other boot and yanked it off. First I gave it a good quick sniff... then stuck it under his nose.
"Stop it! Yer crazy! Git that boot outta my face!"
He shook his head from side to side as I tried to stuff the old boot up against his nose. This cowboy hadn't taken a bath in a day or two, and his boots stank to high heaven. But I loved the smell of his unwashed cowboy feet mixed with old leather, and enjoyed even more watchin' him squirm tryin' to avoid the boot.
"Come on! Stop! Just... just lemme put my boots back on and go, and I'll forgit all this ever happened! I swear!"
Droppin' the other boot, I walked back over to the desk to think, sittin' down again. The desk was empty, except for some writin' paper, a bottle of ink, and a quill pen. I looked at the pen, then at my captive outlaw, whose bootless feet lay helplessly restrained and protrudin' out over the edge of the bed. Lookin' back at the pen, I suddenly broke out with a cruel smile, as I remembered... I knew just how to make a cowboy talk.
And I was gonna enjoy makin' this one do it.
"Or maybe..."
Turnin' around in the chair to face him, I paused again, this time makin' eye contact with him.
"...I'll give ya the cruelest torture of 'em all."
His eyes opened a little wider, his mouth slack.
"Yeah... the Chinese knew the best way to get a man to talk was to slowly torture the most sensitive parts of his body, until he screamed for mercy and begged 'em to stop...."
He started to shake, just a little. Smilin', I continued.
"...And the most sensitive part of a man's body... is the bottoms of his big ol' feet."
Leanin' forward, I gave his soles a playful whack. He tensed up, real nervous, tryin' to pull his feet away. But my ropes held him immobile. Looked like he was startin' to sweat.
"What's the matter, cowboy... you a tenderfoot? That why you were so anxious to get yer boots back on?"
Still smilin', I grabbed the pen and turned the chair around, placin' it at the foot of the bed, just inches from the outlaw cowboy's socked feet. He started to squirm against the ropes as I moved in still closer.
"Yeah... the Chinese could make a man talk usin' nothin' more than an ol' goose feather... just like this one."
Holdin' the feather up, I grinned, evilly.
"I think I'll take this little ol' feather... and I'll... tickle yer feet with it... until ya talk."
His eyes opened as big as dollars.
"No, please, DON'T... I can't STAND to be tickled! I swear... I don't know where yer gold is! Please, DON'T!"
That was all I needed to hear. With a muffled "Yeah!", I pulled the cowboy's socks off, as he struggled against the ropes. He went wild when the last sock slipped past his toes.
Damn! For bein' out on the range, he had beautiful big feet. Real tender lookin'. He was gonna suffer greatly from my feather if he didn't talk.
"Please, PLEASE... don't tickle my feet! You'll KILL me! I SWEAR you will!"
"Then you better start talkin', cowboy, or yer gonna die laughin'."
Slowly, I stroked the feather across the tips of his bare toes. He stiffened up, his voice risin' in volume and pitch.
"Ah haaaaaaaa! Oh, please, STOP!!"
"Talk!"
"I don't know! I don't know! I swear! I SWEAR!"
"Yer a liar!"
Then I began my cruel interrogation. Slowly, I dragged the feather across the sole of his left foot, from heel to toes, then dragged it from toes to heel on his right foot. He tried to hold it back, but he couldn't, and started roarin' with laughter.
"You gonna tell me the truth?"
"HA HAAAAAAAAAA! I don't KNOW where yer gold is! Oh, please, STOP! I can't stand it! HAAA HAAAAAAAAAAA! I'm gonna DIE!"
"Well, cowboy, since ya can't seem to remember where my gold is... maybe a few hours of tickle torturin' yer big ol' feet with this here feather'll help improve yer memory."
"Please...NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"
Rhythmically, I began draggin' the feather up and down the cowboy's tender soles, causin' him to laugh harder and harder with each stroke.
Coldly, I ignored his pleas for mercy that he managed to choke out through all that laughin', and I continued to torture the sensitive bottoms of his bare feet with the feather. Five, ten, twenty minutes rolled by, and still not a word on the whereabouts of my gold.
This was one tough outlaw. A lesser man would've talked by now, or have lost his mind. Decided I needed to get mean.
"Don't go nowhere," I said, half-seriously. "I got just the thing that's gonna change yer mind about talkin'."
The panic I saw in his eyes when I pulled my horse's groomin' brush outta my pack told me he wasn't gonna last much longer.
"Ya got one last chance to talk, cowboy," I exclaimed, as I held the stiff-bristled brush just above his big, bare feet, "before I tickle ya to death. You remember where my gold is?"
He said nothin'. That was gonna soon change.
Mercilessly, I whisked the brush back and forth across his soles like I was polishin' a new pair of boots. The cowboy immediately started screamin' with laughter, like a madman.
Within minutes, tears were rollin' down his face. His eyes were closed real tight, like he was in a lot of pain. His voice was gettin' hoarse, but he still wasn't cooperatin'. I wondered how long it would be until this outlaw cowboy finally broke.
After about a half hour more of this torture, I noticed a distinct bulge in his trousers.
"You give up yet, cowboy?"
He gasped for breath.
"I TOLD ya, I just don't KNOW! Please! PLEASE! I'm tellin' the TRUTH!"
Lookin' at him, I shook my head.
"I can see yer not gonna talk usin' conventional means of torture... but that's all right... I got ONE method left."
He pleaded for me to let him go. I grabbed my feather again, and one more time stared him in the eyes.
"I lied awhile back... I was hopin' I wouldn't have to do this, but ya forced me to."
He nearly panicked, shakin' like a leaf. Was startin' to enjoy this, I was. This was gonna send him over the edge, completely crazy.
"The Chinese knew ONE spot more sensitive on a man than the bottoms of his feet...."
I unbuckled his belt.
"What're you doin'? Don't!! HELP!!!"
I shucked his pants down, exposin' a big, beautiful stiff prick, drippin' with precum. I pulled the skin back from around the head, and slowly dragged the feather across the underside, right below the tip.
He immediately began his hysterical laughter again.
I tickled his stiff cock with that feather until his laughin' died down, and he started buckin' against the ropes.
"Ya better start talkin' right now, 'cause I ain't gonna let ya come until ya talk... and no man can stand gettin' his dick feather tortured for very long. You'll go crazy if ya don't tell me what I wanna know real soon."
All he could do was plead for me to stop, moan, and buck against the ropes, as I continuously tickled him almost to the point of climax, then backed off. This went on for about half an hour, until his eyes were wild, and all his words came out in screams.
"I'LL TALK!! I'LL TALK!!! OH, PLEASE, have MERCY, let me COME!"
"That's more like it, cowboy. Now... where'd you hide my gold?"
He gave the best confession I'd ever heard a man give. Satisfied, I went to where he hitched his horse, and found my gold hidden in the secret compartment of his pouch. His erection was still standin' like a flagpole when I returned. He was waitin' with an anxious, desperate look on his face.
"Okay, cowboy. Now I'll finish ya off... with my tongue."
end of story. -------------------------------------------------------------------