I watch him dance on the small stage in the corner of the bar.
He's wearing a light brown cowboy hat, faded blue oh-so-low slung jeans - low enough to reveal the dimples on his ass whenever he turns around - with tears on both knees, and a pair of cowboy boots. That's all. Add to that that goddamn lasso he is working like a pro. He swings it in seemingly lazy circles above his head, gyrating his hips slowly to the rhythm set by the movement of his arm.
When he occasionally tilts his head back the lights hit the golden curls showing from underneath the hat. He closes his eyes when he does that and looks completely relaxed. At ease with himself, totally comfortable in his own skin.
The lights play off his upper body, emphasizing his sharply defined muscles as he moves. He's strongly built but not bulky.
Once I zero in on any one part of him, I become hypnotized. Be it from the way his abs clench and unclench with his movements. Or the workings of his strong thighs that I can see the contours of through his jeans - he's bending slightly in the knees as he swivels. Or the way his upper arm flexes when he works the lasso. The veins are standing out thickly, making a map of his arms.
There is not a trace of hair on his upper body, but I can see the golden hair glinting on his muscular forearms, and a hint of curls showing above his waistline.
Despite the seeming ease of his dance, he's starting to break a sweat. He's being going at it like this for at least 15 minutes so I'm not surprised. My nostrils flare as I try to take in his scent. It's impossible, of course. I'm standing close, but not that close.
His eyes glint from the shadows under his hat as he glances in my direction. He knows I enjoy watching him. I've lost count of the times I've seen him do this routine but I never tire of it. Sometimes I wonder if he does, though in all honesty I'm sure he enjoys it as much as I do.
The music has been turned up loudly and it leaves out all other sounds. I can feel the bass pounding in my chest. Subconsciously I start moving my hips to the rhythm, picking up the same suggestive pace he is setting.
He lets go of the rope with his left hand, but continues circling the lasso above his head with his right one.
I watch, completely entranced, as he slowly slides his hand down his torso, touching himself and squeezing his right pectoral on the way. His hand stops only when his thumb reaches the waistband of his jeans. He lets it hook on the fabric and pulls it down an inch lower, revealing even more of his naked flesh for my hungry eyes.
His jeans are still covering the bulge of his cock, but I find myself unable to tear my gaze away from his crotch anyway. Finally he releases the pull on his pants and moves his hand back to the rope. He makes to do another turn on the spot and I'm momentarily able to look up again as I'm rewarded with the gorgeous view of his backside instead.
I marvel at the play of the muscles surrounding his shoulder blades. Swinging that lasso in his dance seems to be setting off every tantalizing part of him.
Then my gaze settles lower again and I clench my fists as the urge to grab his firm round ass almost overwhelms me. It is just the perfect size for my hands, and the dimples just at the top of his ass seem perfect for me to place my thumbs on.
I can feel my cock lengthening and hardening in my pants as images of what we would be doing if my hands were placed on his ass like that start to fill my mind. For a second I close my eyes, the sight of him moving like that momentarily too much for me to bear.
Because of the pounding music I don't hear the soft sound the rope makes as it whirls through the air. I snap my eyes open just as the loop settles around me. He has perfect aim and knows the exact moment to pull so my arms are bound flush with my body. I look up and catch his eyes. They are sparkling impishly at me.
"Gotcha," he mouths, and starts reeling me in. I don't even bother putting up a fight for show, as I sometimes do, but move my feet compliantly towards him with each tug of the rope, silently acknowledging his claim on me.
He jumps down from the stage and pulls me to him. I can see his chest heaving as he breathes, and the beads of sweat as they trickle down his abdomen. He grinds his sweat-soaked body against me and I moan wantonly as his lips finally catch mine in a searing kiss.
I inhale sharply through my nose and realize that I can finally breathe in his scent. He already smells like sex. Seriously impatient now, I struggle against the rope. I want to be able to touch all of him but have to settle with holding on to his hips.
He takes time thoroughly kissing me, making sure my blood is about to reach boiling point, before releasing my lips with a pop.
I try holding onto him but he slips from my grasp and turns around, slings the rope over his shoulder and tows me along.
Earlier we closed the bar for the night, leaving the music and a few lights on. Jasper hits the various switches on the way upstairs to our apartment, and the place goes dark and silent.
The only noises to be heard from now on, will be coming from our bedroom.