Belt Buckle Bunny

Shiv Sheehan writes rodeo erotica under the pseudonym C. Pussy Buck. As writer of fiction, she couldn’t imagine herself enjoying a love triangle or being involved in the haps over a dead body. Nor could Shiv imagine herself crawling.
How she does the cowgirl crawl— she wears her white cowboy hat. Drops four to the floor and moves forward. Her destination? a bullrider named Ram. A sitting god with the compelling pull and sexual arts to finger her limp.
***
The cowgirl crawl.
And the hook up.
I met Ram during rodeo weekend, a big deal for the little Montana town of Haywire. We hooked up. A couple of days passed, no word as promised.
One morning, feeling frustrated by more than writer’s block, I went looking and found him at the Gibson Lodge Campground. I drove the back way in, intending to arrive sneaky-like, catch the illusive bullrider with his pants down. Take advantage.
Figured to trap the shithead in the end-of-the-road canyon, and when I found him, give him a kick. Softened with a kiss? maybe, after he listened to my what for.
I wore my white cowboy hat.
My intention? to show up as the good girl.
Also, I wore my shortest Levi cut-offs, an indecently cut halter-top, and white-fringed ropers, the flat-heeled boots a good bet to chase the illusive cowboy down, throw him to the ground, the dear.
Turned my Jeep into the campground and low and behold— saw the bullrider sitting in front of his Logan horse trailer, reading a book. I parked, got out and walked close enough to read the title. Ram held a copy of my bestseller Bullriders EAT Belt-Buckle Bunnies. Placing both hands on my hips, I took a stance.
Said, ‘Hey, Shithead.’
Without lifting his eyes, Ram said, ‘And the doll-faced cowgirl sauntered up, put her hands on her hips and took a stance. She wore her white cowboy hat pretending to be a good girl. But the cowboy, being a sharp and wily bullrider, he saw through her good girl act.’
I spoke louder. ‘Hey, Fuckface. I’m talking to you.’
‘Yes,’ said the cowboy, staying in his pretend-to-read role. ‘He knew beneath the sexy yellow top, cut low to reveal the curve of her luscious breasts, and beneath her Levi cut-offs, cut indecently short to reveal her butt-cheeks, the bullrider knew there stood one bad-ass cowgirl, one trying hard to be good. To get his attention, the bad-ass bunny stomped her feet. Yelled.’
I did. ‘Hey, Shithead!’ No reaction. Yelled again, ‘Hey Shithead! You said I wasn’t gonna be a one-night stand!’
Keeping his eyes on his book, the cowboy said, ‘Being an ignored and pissed-off bunny, she threw her hat to the ground, stomped it flat and spat.’
I threw my hat to the ground. Spat. Added a hiss. Did rabbits hiss? no, but they didn’t spit either, and surely, they wouldn’t stomp a good hat flat.
Next to me, my Blue-heeler whined. Stayed in his dog role.
Ram said, ‘Still pretending to read, the cowboy could only imagine the killer-look the rabid bunny gave him, before she dropped to her hands and knees and crawled forward...’
I gave him a drop-dead, killer look. Fell to my hands and knees. Crawled.
My dog did the same. Belly-crawled with worried-dog whines.
He said, ‘The debonair cowboy, well,… he let her come… I mean crawl.’ Ram now talked in a sex-charged drawl. ‘The bunny crawled forward until she could lower her head beneath the exciting book.’ I did. ‘There, the hottie looked up, saw the bullrider’s desire for her hot bunny-body and dropped her mad. She stayed, four on the floor, the better to breathe her hot bunny-breath, up and down his fly.’
I did. Nuzzled the bulge.
‘Her needy breath inflamed the bullrider and he tossed the book to the ground.’ He did. ‘Picked up his baby bunny and carried her into his boudoir.’
He did.
He undressed his quivering prey, the better to eat me, he said, and proceeded to do his interpretation of a bullrider who eats belt-buckle bunnies.
The bunny? well she made un-bunny-like noises.