Tiny Bill wasn't exactly the smallest guy around. It was an ironic name, since he towered over most of us townsfolk and stood taller than a lamppost. Nobody knew exactly what he weighed, but we guessed he was about an easy three hundred pounds or so. Usually when he walked into the bar, the old wooden floor would start to vibrate just a little.
He had no clue that I was staring directly at him. The massive cowboy was hunched over at the edge of the bar, and slowly drinking from an old dusty bourbon bottle. Who would notice the skinny blue-eyed cowboy drinking alone at the edge of bar counter? I blended in here more than anyone ever would.
It was oddly quiet in the bar tonight. Usually the cowhands would crowd the only bar in town. If you were lucky a fight would break out. If you were unlikely you would end up on the cold pavement outside. I was too small to fight, and small enough to slip out of the back of the bar.
Besides for the old barkeep and a couple of older cowboys from down near the encampment, the bar was near empty tonight. Sally did her best to sing some county blues. She definitely hadn't aged well, and her voice cracked like an old whip hitting a rusty metal box. She still sang decent, well enough for her voice to echo against the thin wood panels around the bar. I felt bad for her, because she was singing and nobody was listening.
There wasn't much work in this small Montana town, and most of the cowhands had gone back home for the winter months to see their families. So here I was sipping on my drink, talking to nobody and listening to old Sally try her best.
Sally's singing slowly started to get better as the drink warmed me up on this cold Montana night. I wonder what the old cowboys were talking about in the back corner of the dimly lit bar. They were probably talking about the war, and probably something I knew nothing about. Or maybe they were just talking nonsense as they drank the night away.
The barkeep called my drink bourbon, but this was wasn't like anything I'd tasted before. The sly old barkeep probably bought a bucket of hooch off those weird Thompson boys over near the railroad station. They had humongous ears, and talked funny. Rumor has it that their momma drank when she was pregnant, and her boys came out all funny. But as weird as they looked, they were pretty resourceful. If there was something illegal in this town, they always had their hands in it. They were arrested so much the only cop in town knew their middle names.
The barkeep paid no attention to me, and was too busy chewing up something fierce. I could smell his weird chewing tobacco from back where I was sitting. He offered me some and I politely refused. I was more interested in the giant cowboy sitting alone at the back of the bar. He was wearing a worn-out black cowboy hat, and his boots were up on the bar table in front of him. He struck a match against his brass belt buckle, and sparked up his cigar. It was clear he had not a care in this world.
I pretended to continue with my drink, not wanting to get myself thrown through the rickety saloon doors. I started to shake, realizing that he caught me staring back at him in massive bar mirror behind the barkeep. He stood up and his small bar chair dropped to the floor. The wooden floor beneath me creaked loudly as he slowly approached me. I pretended to look down into my drink, as I felt the heat from his cigar on my right cheek. I was certainly getting thrown across the bar. The massive cowboy standing directly behind me didn't seem to amused, and was probably hoping for some good entertainment.
"Ain't nobody teach you it ain't polite to stare boy," He said, pressing his arm hard against my shoulder.
He had a strong accent, it was clear he was a cowboy most of his life.
"I'm sorry," I stammered, nearly wetting my dirty blue jeans.
He let go of my shoulder, and yanked me off my chair. The massive cowboy pulled me off the bar stool like I was a rag doll, while he casually puffed on his cigar. Nobody in the bar even looked in our direction, and old sally kept singing her raspy melodies. The old cowboys at the back took no notice, and kept right on drinking. Nobody would mess with the guy who could rope an angry bull with his bare hands.
He continued dragging me, right through the old saloon doors.
"Get up on my horse," He said, with his massive hand pushing against my back.
I could barely hoist myself up. His massive brown horse was almost as big as he was. In all my years of being a cowboy, I'd never seen a horse like the one he had.
He grabbed my waist with both hands, and tossed me high up on the horse. He treated my body like I was some sort of toy. For a second I thought about reaching for my small black revolver. It was buried deep inside my left cowboy boot, but I could barely reach it. Besides he would probably blow my hand right off by the time I could get to it.
I took a deep breath as he undid the reins and climbed up behind me. The poor horse was probably struggling under both our weights, but it was the least of my problems. I could feel his chest pressing against my back as we rode in silence for next twenty minutes. The smell of his cigar blew back into my face, as we rode quietly into the night.
He suddenly snapped the reins, and we stopped at a small river next to the edge of town. I was still shaking all over, and was sure he was going to end me right here. He would probably lift me up and toss me over the cliff, and I would roll into the fast moving river. If I was lucky the current would kill me before the cold did.
"I didn't mean any harm," I said, as he dragged me off the horse by my shirt collar.
He let go of my collar, and shoved me into the cold muddy ground. He stood up tall, and stared down at me from under his big cowboy hat. I was still trembling, when his voice broke the silence.
"So why was you staring at me all night?" He said, as he tossed the rest his cigar into the river.
I had to come up with something, or he was going to end me.
"I'm into guys," I blurted out loud, hoping he wouldn't be to upset.
"Do I look like a gay to you?" He said, reaching for his shotgun.
"I guess not," I said, still trembling on the cold wet ground.
I quickly got down on my knees, and closed my eyes tight. The cold double-barrel of his shotgun pressed hard into my forehead. It was clear he was about to end me. I quietly prayed, hoping that God would forgive me for being what I was.
I breathed a sigh of relief, as he slowly pulled the shotgun off my forehead.
"You keep them eyes shut tight," He said.
I kept them closed, still terrified he was about to do his worst. I stopped shaking as I slowly realized I wasn't going to die. He brushed something warm back and forth against my open lips, while tightly holding onto my curly blonde hair.
"Now, open up your mouth gay boy" He said, looking down at me.
I opened my lips wide, and he pushed something warm and fleshy inside my mouth. I could hear him grunting as he slowly started to expand against my tongue. It was so thick that my jaw made a cracking noise as I opened my mouth wider.
"Alright open your eyes," He said, still looking down at me.
I cautiously opened my eyes, as he pushed deeper inside my mouth. I glanced up at the behemoth of a man in the cowboy hat above me, who was grunting loudly as I struggled to get half of his wide cock inside my mouth. I tried my best not to choke as he pushed it all the way to the back of my mouth. His thick protruding veins slid back and forth against tongue, as his massive tip hit kept hitting the back of my mouth. I gagged hard on him, as his massive hairy balls pressed hard into my chin. A small bead of bead of sweat dripped from his face, as he picked up his shotgun, and pushed it against my forehead again.
"You tell anyone about this here and this is what will happen to you," he said, between loud even grunts.
I stopped for a second, and looked up at him. I really needed to catch my breath, and my jaw was starting to lock up. My knees were also starting to hurt from digging into the hard uneven rocks beneath me.
"I promise I ain't going to tell nobody," I said, as a long stream of saliva dripped onto his shiny cowboy boots from my open mouth.
"I didn't tell you to stop," he said, putting the shotgun back down.
I looked up at him towering over me, with his massive cock hanging between his thick thighs. It was like a small branch, hanging off a big tree. His cock looked like the size of a branch you would add to you fire, once your kindling was all caught. I reached up and grabbed the outside of his thighs, and was barely able to wrap my small hands around them. I was struggling, but doing my best to fit the whole thing inside my mouth. He moaned loudly, as I continued to move my head up and down towards his waist. My loud gagging noises were only causing him to swell up even more, as he yanked my hair back and forth.
It would have been the perfect opportunity for me. I could have reached down, picked up his gun and ended this. Something told me that was a pretty bad idea. Also, I was enjoying the taste of his massive sweaty member throbbing against my tongue. He was clearly enjoying it because something was beginning to drip from his humongous tip onto the back of my tongue.
