“Do you think there will be any hazing? I’ve seen some pretty weird stuff online.”
“The policy says they can’t, but you never know what happens behind closed doors. What kind of things did you see?”
“A lot of sexual stuff mostly, like licking the pussies of the seniors. Or bringing in a stud from a Frat and sucking him off.”
As their conversation became sexual, the dangling boot began twitching from side to side. I quickly pulled my head back to avoid being detected. Even if my sister came to my defense, this was NOT a good look. She kept twitching and my neck was becoming stiff trying to hold its odd position.
“Do you swallow? I don’t like to, but guys seem to like it when I do.”
“I don’t like the taste, so when I go down a guy, I try to make sure I have a drink nearby.”
“Have you ever let a guy shoot his load on your face?”
“I have. It was great to see his cock twitching and throbbing and watch him get off, but after a couple strings of cum hit your face and get into your hair, it’s a mess to clean off.”
“I know that! But I guess it’s worth it if you are going for the slutty look.”
Where have girls like this been hiding? Their words, plus their sexy cowgirl boots, were too much for me. I reached down and began massaging my cock, easily bringing back another erection.
“Are you going to try to sneak a guy into your dorm room at night?”
“I’m thinking of a good signal to use with my roommate. Maybe a type of arrow. If it is pointed up, it means do not enter, because there’s an erect cock inside.”
They both laughed. These girls were into sex.
“I’m the same size as my roommate, so we agreed to share clothes. It’s like having a double closet.”
“My roommate and I are different sizes. But I did see she brought some cool-looking sex toys.”
“Toys are nice, but nothing beats a real cock.”
I was relieved to hear that. There is still hope for us guys!
I wondered when MK would be coming back for me. But with these two women sitting here, I knew I had no hope of escape. They kept talking, but I tuned out the rest of what they were saying.
“Hey, y’all,” said a voice with a sweet southern twang. It was MK! She was finally going to get me out from under this wretched table. “We’d like all the new members to gather around the Bull Pen for tonight’s main event. Head on over and mingle.”
**********
Another Bull in the Chute
**********
MK sat down and I saw her familiar cowgirl boots slide under the tablecloth. “You still there, Squirt?”
“Still here. Is it safe for me to come out now?”
“I got a problem, Squirt. I had a football player lined up for the main event tonight. He just sent me a text. The campus police caught him and a bunch of friends drinking beer, and are holding him until he sobers up. I need you to take his place.”
“Doing what?” I asked.
A duffle bag slid under the table. “Put on this bull costume. The owner had one that should fit you. I need you to go over to the mechanical bull and lay there on your back. We’ll draw three names, and the winners get to sit on your stomach, and then ride you and the mechanical bull for three minutes. They get to act like sexy cowgirls, and we’ll all have a bunch of laughs. Don’t worry, the bull operator won’t let things get rough enough to throw you or the rider.”
“No way! Get someone else.”
“I can’t. This is the Cowgurl Cantina. There aren’t any other guys around except for you.”
“What if someone recognizes me?”
“No one will recognize you. You’re a freshman, and new members come from all over Texas. Plus, you’ll be wearing a mask. Do this for me, and I’ll find a way to make it up to you. Who knows, you might even like it.”
“OK! OK! I’ll do it. For you, MK.”
My sister said, “Give me a couple minutes to corral the new members and gather them around the mechanical bull. Listen for my announcement, wait one minute, then slip out from under the table and head to the Bull Pen.”
**********
The Dance of the Bull
**********
I quickly put on the costume. The brown furry body had a long cow tail and hard plastic toe caps for hooves. There was a mask with cow ears, a pair of soft flexible horns, and a nose that jutted out slightly, ending with a small metal ring through it. The soft foam mask covered most of my face, leaving only two eye holes and my mouth free.
The music stopped and I heard my sister say, “Everyone needs to gather around the Bull Pen for the main event of the night.”
I loved my sister, and she had promised to look out for me this year. Being an important event for her, I wanted to make it a good show. I emerged from beneath the table and saw everyone around the Bull Pen.
I moved to a clear area on the dance floor and issued as deep, loud, and ferocious of a “Moo” sound as I could muster. But the din from the Bull Pen drowned out my efforts. I looked over at my sister, standing on the stage holding a microphone while sipping a beer, and shrugged my shoulders. My sister saw me and then yelled. “Look out ladies, the bull is loose.”
Everyone suddenly went silent and turned to look for the bull. I drew a deep breath and bellowed, “Moooooooo!” Then, I scratched my hard plastic hooves against the wooden floor. Laughter reached my ears.
“Is that a bull or a calf?”
“I hope he ain’t no steer.”
“Dang, he’s no more than knee-high to a grasshopper.”
“Hey, it’s Mini-Moo!”
I got mad. I was doing this for my sister and for every woman here.
A Latina near the outer edge of the crowd held up a red cloth napkin and waved it. Why not? I lowered my head and charged with my fake horns pointing toward her. She understood my intention, withdrawing the napkin and stepping aside as I passed. Perhaps five people shouted “Ole!”. I ran well past her before stopping and turning.
My sister stepped in trying to come to my aid, “That bull looks mighty angry.”
The guitarist in the band must have known the Spanish Gypsy Song and began playing it. It is a song often played when matadors enter the bullfighting ring. Today, it is associated with Paso Doble, a dance styled after a matador in a bullfight. I recognized the music from a high school show choir performance.
I watched the Latina make a quick spin, twirling her black culottes with red embroidery, and then she stopped and stomped her feet. It was a move from the Paso Doble, sometimes called the Dance of the Bull. She held out her napkin again, and I charged, but upon reaching her, I stopped. I held both arms straight up, pointing a single finger towards her, to simulate the horns on the bull. I stomped my feet. She smiled. She knew. I knew.
“Paso Doble?” I asked.
“Si,” she replied with a quick nod.
The male is supposed to dress like a matador, while the woman typically wears a red dress to simulate his cape. They dance closely together, becoming one. It would be interesting to dance the matador part while wearing a bull costume! I reached out my hand, she took it, and we began dancing. I was hoping to remember the dance well enough to avoid embarrassing myself. My feet would need to move like the feet of a matador, swift, confident, and fast. Every move must be strong and sharp. The Latina moved incredibly well, using different hand movements, always flowing gracefully.
The rest of the band began clapping and soon everyone joined in. The Latina was dancing better than I, covering several of my mistakes. Rather than a dress, she swished and swirled her culottes, making the red embroidery look like fire! Paso Doble can draw in an audience and put them under its magical spell, with powerful movements, intense drama, and high energy. It was working, the audience was enthralled, and I was running out of breath.
As my cape, it felt wonderful holding the Latina tight against me as we danced. When she spun away from me, I pulled her back. Her dark eyes were gazing fiercely into mine, burning with incredible passion. Even though we were fully clothed, it felt like we were having sex right on the dance floor! Her long black hair flowed with every movement, and when the music stopped, I lowered her into a dip and kissed her. As our lips parted, I saw a genuine smile, and her eyes began to water.
She whispered, “Tú eres mi toro! Bailas bien.” Then added in broken English, “I never kiss man if they not dance. Kiss me again.”
And I did. The crowd roared. She had called me ‘her bull’. I raised her up and we stood facing each other.
I know Spanish, so I asked if she was from Mexico.
“No. Soy de Barcelona.”
Barcelona, Spain. She was not a Latina, meaning she must be one of the international students. She oozed passion from every pore, and one dance was enough for her to captivate me. I wanted to see her again. To dance with her again. To be with her again. I said, “Tal vez podamos bailar juntos mañana.”
She replied, “Me gustaria eso.”
She agreed to meet me tomorrow night! My heart soared, and we quickly exchanged names. I had no idea where to go out and dance with Analena, so I suggested right here at the Cowgurl Cantina at 7 PM.
As Analena and I started to separate, six new members came over and asked if we would teach them to dance Paso Doble. Analena and I were both willing, and everyone agreed to gather at the Cantina this Saturday at 2 PM. I sometimes regret being too short to play football or basketball. Tonight, I was glad I chose dancing instead. Maybe this bull costume wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
**********
On to the Bull Pen
**********
My sister announced to the crowd, “Everyone, clear a path for the bull!”
Before me, a path opened, and I saw the new members all waving red napkins. I lowered my head and charged. It was challenging to see through all the swirling red cloth, and unfortunately, not everyone stepped aside. I gently bumped into one of the new members and my forward progress stopped. I felt a slap on my butt as the crowd pressed in on me.
Someone grabbed my horns and used them to twist my neck toward them. She squatted and kissed me, plunging their tongue deep into my mouth. A hand reached through my legs from behind and cupped my ball sack. “This ain’t no steer!” shouted an excited voice. I began thrashing my fake horns side to side trying to open a path in front of me, but the soft foam had no effect.
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