Macho stupidity

By the third day of this stall cleaning punishment, anyone who came near me without a whip and a chair was walking a real thin line.  While the other guys were saddle bound, I was stuck in horsecrap and hay. This was not how I envisioned things.  This was not my inner cowboy fantasty.  So when Davey rode in on his mount and made a wisecrack, I let him have it, which, was not a good thing.  I mean, he could toss me around like a basketball if he wanted to, he didn't.  I felt really lousy for jumping down his throat. Before I had a chance to apologize, he'd ridden off.

Sully, on the other hand, what a piece of work.  He blamed me for being stuck in this predicament, and I blamed him.  Everytime he filled his shovel with manure layden hay, he'd mutter something under his breath before tossing it into his wheel barrow.  I tried, okay, like not real hard, to ignore the s.o.b., but it only lasted so long. 

"Hey," I shouted at him, "You got somethin to say, then say it, otherwise shut the fuck up."  I've never been afraid of confrontation or it's consequences.  I'd already tangled with Sully, and knew I could whip him.  We stared off for a few moments, till he backed off.  I went back to shoveling, cursing under my breath, and then it all changed.

With one last toss of horse crap into my wheel barrow, I dropped my shovel and grabbed hold of the wooden handles.  As I picked them up, I heard this whirring sound, then a quick sharp snap, and something hitting me on the back of my Levi jacket.  When I turned, there was Sully with a bullwhip in his hand. 

"What the fuck," was my first reaction.  My second was to flatten him like a pancake.  I never got the chance.  He snapped the bullwhip again, and I covered up. 

So I gotta back-up here a minute.  Truthfully, I've been fascinated with like any kind of whip since I don't know when, but it's something that I kept private, never letting anyone know for fear they'd think I was some kind of freak.  I honestly don't know why this fascination has had such a strangle hold on me. It might be the sound associated with it, the fact that strands of leather strung together can break the sound barrier in itself is astonishing.  Yah, I know, there's always the deviant part, the master and slave crap.  It's something I can't explain; never will be able to explain, so I've learned to accept it.

Growing up, I was a hellion, and my bottom tasted more leather belts than I care to admit to.  That old saying about not being able to sit down for a week, I'm positive my old man came up with it.  So, I knew to what leather can do to a dude's backside.  But a bullwhip? 

Sully stood there, a grin on his face, coiling the eight foot bull. 

"C'mon, man.  Cowboy-up.  Up against the stall wall, and let's see how tough you are," he said.

Backing down was not an option, and even if I wanted to, my macho stupidity overwhelmed my sense of reason, and before I knew it, my hands were gripping the iron bars to a stall at the end of the barn.  Sully toyed with me, although I'm not sure why.  Perhaps it was because he didn't think I'd go through with it or he knew how dangerous a bullwhip can be.  In any event, he cracked the whip a couple of times.  I'll admit it, my knees were shaking.   His hesitation annoyned the shit out of me.

"C'mon, asshole, do it," I yelled.   Whipcrack!  Even though my Levi jacket was on, the bullwhip still had a stinging impact.  Sully was pleased with himself, letting out a yell, and a laugh.  Whatever
posessed me to ask for another shot, I'll never know, but I did.  "Hit me again..."   This time Sully
never hesitated, and the impact was harder. 

"Strip down to your bare back, man, I dare ya," Sully ordered. 

Foolishly, I did.  My heart was racing when I grabbed those iron bars again, and when the bullwhip hit bare skin, holy crap, yet, the pain was kind of delayed.  It's like when you cut yourself.  You see the blood immediately, but for whatever reason the pain is secondary.  When the pain --did-- register, I let out a holler, along with a few expletieves. 

Sully's reaction was the same, only with a louder tinge, accompained with the peverbial 'Yee-Haw'.

"Ready, cowboy?" he asked.  Before I had chance to say or do anything, that whirring sound filled the air.  Whipcrack!  My knees buckled.  My head flew back, and I hollered.  Slowly, I got to my feet.  Sully stood beside me.   "Fuck, man. Christ, I drew blood with that one." 

"That's it," I said, picking up my shirt.   But it wasn't over.  There was a demon flowing through me, and it wasn't satisfied.  It wanted more, and I caved.  I looked at Sully and he looked at me.  "Fuck."
I didn't say anything.  I grabbed the bars and braced myself.  Sully was giddy at the prospect.  Whipcrack!  There was little time for me to even holler this time.  Whipcrack!  The bullwhip struck me on the lower back, just above the waistline of my jeans.  Holy shit.  The next thing I knew, I was rolling on the ground, cringing, moaning, and cursing myself. 

Sully stood over me, laughing, and at the same time asking me if I was all right.  I must have laid there for a good five minutes, even though the pain had subsided.  I guess I was wondering whatever posessed me to go through it the whipping.   When I stood up, Sully turned me around and examined his work.

"I dunno, I don't think you're gonna need stitches or anything, but it's gonna take a day or two for the stripes to go away.  Man, I can't believe you.  Freakin' cool," he said.  

I was sure that Sully was going to tell everyone what happened, and for the next few days, I fully expected to be grilled by the rest of the guys.  I tried to think of some clever things or plausible reason for letting it happen just in case they did, but nothing worked.  How could it?  I wasn't sure myself.  Nothing came of it.  Apparently Sully kept it to himself, and only on occasions did he tease me with his pitiful imitation of a fake whip in his hand.  Davey caught him doing it once, but never asked why.

The stall punishment ended, and my inner cowboy fantasy came to an end, but not before I heard the creak of saddle leather under my ass, and a rope in my hand herding a mess of horses.  Was it worth it?  You bet.  Would I do it all again?  That's something you'll have to decide for yourself.