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.CALLASSA
The Night She Shot an American
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Wow, let me think…I was staying in rural Yorkshire, England and it is years and years ago so please don’t ask when. I can remember exactly the day and for a good reason. Do you want to know about Carol? Carol… the voluptuous and ever so pretty? Carol, with the blonde pigtails? OK. we can talk about groceries if you like….No? Well this particular morning I was told about something interesting and all things considered, I would want to go check it out. It doesn’t sound so unusual does it? I was used to things being mundane at first glance.
Well there was this very small town in Yorkshire and it had a few pubs, a market (closed), the aforesaid market and pubs, pubs and market, you know the sort of thing. Gosh, it’s becoming terrible. However, one evening per month there was a huge get-together of all of the cow girls and cow boys from all over. It sounds kind of weird being as we weren’t in the USA or anywhere near, and the place was hardly typical of such, or so I had thought, at least for a few minutes.
So I went and parked my car by the public convenience and because it was the only space left. Not much to see in this place other than a small house with pictures of Jim Reeves plastered over all the windows. How strange.
What I saw was utterly amazing. It really was. There were absolutely loads and loads of the most colourful folk I had ever set eyes on. Was I hallucinating? I thought so while in the pub and when I saw this girl with the ever so fabulous figure and long blonde pigtails. She, like all of the others (hundreds) was attired in stuff stolen from the set of Gun Smoke or something. She was wearing a gun belt with a replica gun and had a red, wide-brimmed hat, Texas style. Oh, my gosh, what was all of this about? I moved close so to ask her so to start a conversation. Immediately we bonded because my accent threw her. An American? Really, an American in town? Her name was Carol. I told her she was the most devastating thing ever and I asked if she was out for a movie part? When we went outside there was a stage coach (covered wagon), horses tethered, and lots more from the Wild West arriving by bus. You know those red busses they have in England. So what happened? Next part…..Ha!
Gosh, pig tails was such a kisser, if there was one. I could taste the rum and blackcurrant on her lips and tongue. I mean, we’d got into this almost as soon as we’d set eyes on each other, me and Carol. There were things happening around us, loud music, laughter and someone singing but I was being lifted and carried into the great pulse, the orgasm.
“There’s a gunfight,” she had whispered into my hair. “But I have something better.”
She’d adjusted her gun belt and I’d already been aware of her doing this but then I knew why. Her gun was pressed hard in my crotch. My journey had already been severe but this over hard barrel was pushing into me.
Then she did it. She pulled the trigger and shot me between the legs. The sensation was absolutely glorious and because of the very short, intense thud it delivered. Then again, so to make sure I was dead and alive.
“It’s not real,” she whispered. “Not a real gun.”
I almost responded by saying I didn’t care if it was. I was wet through and had been made that way through an impersonation of Billy the Kid thrown into a lake.
“It fires caps,” she was saying.
I had no idea what she was on about and didn’t care. I wanted her to do it again and again and again.
It felt so hard ! A one pulse delight !
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“Shoot me,” I said with faltering, sensation-afflicted voice. “Please, shoot me.”
She did and I was breathing the aroma of gunpowder and had a massive orgasm that drew blood from the final hole by which she’d killed me. I was of the pulsating dead, the frontier of the West…Wild, wild and free.
After having recovered a part of my composure that allowed conversation but not much, we smooched on the dance floor for a while. We had drinks, quite a few actually. It was Carol with the blonde pigtails, this ever so sweet shooter of my vagina who insisted I stay the night with her. Hey, guess where? I thought she had a motel in mind but I hadn’t seen any on my way here and assumed they weren’t blessed with such here. You know the proverbial flea pits. She told me where we could stay, she told me Jim wouldn’t mind. She was referring to Jim Reeves who lived around the corner.
“Do please shoot me again,” was my pleading. “Shoot me, I want to be shot to death.”
She laughed in the tacit acknowledgement that not only would she be shooting an American, there would be much, much more.
There was.
I was to know cold steel. I was to be shot in every orifice and die with a smile on my face. I would be reported as being found naked, bloody and dead, by Jim Reeves. A very splendid death.
First we had to drink and dance, I wanted to kiss as many of these frontier folk as I could, or should I say, was able.
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REFILL
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CALLASSA
The Night She Shot an American