What is it about a cowboy that makes my knees melt? You’d think that I would’ve gotten over the lure of the mysterious cowboy after marrying and divorcing a bull rider, but nope. I still dissolve into a puddle at the sight of a strapping man in a Stetson.
There’s more to a cowboy than the hat and boots. It’s a philosophy, a oneness with nature and the land, an appreciation for the beauty of God’s creation. It’s hard to describe the cowboy mystique. Rode hard and put up wet? Diamond in the rough? The fact that they stay in the saddle a little bit longer?
I have no idea what the allure is, but it’s strong, almost primeval. I’m not the only one with such an attraction. Check out the scores of erotica written about cowboys.
I’ve had enough cowboy-themed fantasies to fill volumes of erotica novels and yet I’ve never written one. I’m not sure why. I think I want to keep my cowboy to myself. He’s strong, sturdy, deeply scarred and full of compassion. He’s a gentleman–the type of guy you’d introduce to your mother. He understands me and comforts me in times of need. He pleasures me like no other. In the dark secrecy of a moonlit field, he shares his thoughts and dreams with me, and only me. I don’t want to ruin the fantasy by describing his lovemaking skills in a book for all to read.
He’s my cowboy. One day, I’ll create an erotic cowboy for the masses, but I’m keeping this one for myself.