Tuesday March 20, 1979

THE COWBOY

by

Larry Waite

It seems to me that this requires some attention, since it occupies most of my waking hours; either directly or by default. My life is dominated with my need. My blunt aching need for my cowboy. I will know him when I find him.

I want him here tonight. I want him to be upstairs watching television while I sit here in the dining room and type. I want him up there in his underwear lying on the bed watching television. I want to know that all I have to do is go upstairs to find this brutally sexy man in his underwear on my bed– our bed– waiting for me. Stocky hairy body, thick curly pubic hair outlined through his white underwear shaping a thick cock curled between his leg… thick wide arms– sleepy, drinking beer. Needing me as much as I love him. Our life together is wonderful; we own our own home and we’re really finally getting it fixed up nicely. His job takes up a lot of his attention, but one thing is for sure– when he comes home from work, tired, all his attention is mine. I’m usually home before he is and have dinner in the oven (I’ve become a great cook). And I’ve always had a wonderful shower with Benandre and Erno Lazloed myself to death and am wiggling around the house with my trim 150 lb body (bulging from the health spa) in a pair of tight hot jeans and a LaCoste shirt. The house is immaculate and fresh flowers are on the coffee table. He brings home surprises every night. Roses. Wine. Jewelry, perhaps.

He comes home from work late tonight– slightly; thirty minutes or so. I pout and act mad. I tell him if he keeps leaving me alone I might get restless. I’m taking rolls out of the oven when I say this and he grabs my ass from behind and buries his scratchy 5 o’clock shadowed face in my neck and massages my ass and puts my arms around him. He squeezes me hard and says “I love you so much…” I hold him back as tightly as I can and say “I love you too…” He goes upstairs to take a shower. I wipe a tear from my eye and straighten the daises on the coffee table. I brush ashes off the coffee table and go in the kitchen to take the steaks out of the broiler. Yes, darling, I say to myself, I love you too…

What I am describing was my life with Richard.

My desperate prison world that I sought to escape.

The fantasies still haunt me.