Sunday, June 22, 2008
Who Wears the Pants?
Roy Leiter trotted his horse down
The post was at work now.
‘Er… pardon me.’
‘Can’t you see I’m negotiating?’
Not many teeth, but his breath was enough to make a man standing too close drunk.
‘Yes, I was just wandering if…’ It then occurred to
‘She’s mine! I caught her, so I’m the one that skins her when she runs. And she runs!’
‘Women sometimes want attention and, yes, I agree, they sometimes “runs” to get it, but you see, that doesn’t address my point, which is, you can do this indoors. That’s probably a law. See, you’re disturbing the public peace.’
The giant looked around at all the nothing.
‘Well I’m the public. Now let her up and we can go into town and you can rent a room and discuss your marital problems in a more…’
The red skin’s rear end skin wasn’t red, but crimson with blotches of purple and blue and white. If her sitter were twice its normal size due to the thrashing then her seat at the obedient times was twice the normal size of the average white woman’s. Her waist was thin, but her bottom was huge and would go loose, tense after a lick, then stay tense a few seconds, then relax just in time for another lick. The woman never made a sound, but her straining muscles couldn’t lie.
After a time of reflection,
‘I see you don’t want to talk. I’ll just get on my horse.’
‘Do that!’ WHACK WHACK WHACK. He whipped up a “gurrah!” at last from the obstinate creature. It was low and constrained, but it was a start. ‘Ah! So you can feel. I tell you, savage, my arm was spent, but I think you’ve just given me another hour of effort. So lets decide once and for all who you belong to.’ The woman craned her neck to set her eyes square on the large man’s eyes. She stretched her shoulders, set her chin, and dared him on. He laughed. ‘One… two… three-’
5. Animals like to attack other animals.
He walked over to the sleeping giant and took his gun belt and pistol. That it was heavy and ugly was all
He got that feeling of being watched. Looking over his shoulder he got his first good look at the squaw’s face. She wasn’t pure Indian. Something about her was white, or maybe chinaman,
‘OK, now look. I know I hit your husband with my horse, but that’s no reason to hit me, OK?’ She didn’t move or express emotions of any kind as far as
He stood behind her bent form and got to sawing her bonds off, but he ran into an insurmountable problem. No bonds. He couldn’t help but smell her while he searched for some rope. If smells could be seen, this smell would be pretty.
Her hands weren’t bound, but instead held onto loops which she let slip. She stood up and lowered her dress. It wasn’t a real dress. Not a proper dress. Whatever tan cloth the Indians wore was ragged and short around the bottom. Very un-Christian, but that was to be expected with a savage. Someone had taken a pare of scissors to cut the rag in half to show off the stomach and lower back, and the slight frock showed all of her arms and legs and stomach without shame. Shameful!
Whatever she was, she didn’t rub her sitting fat. Didn’t look to cry neither.
Something about her. She wasn’t a proper Indian, not that you could always tell. Lots of different types, even after President Jackson.
‘So, I’m sorry I hit your husband with my horse. He’ll wake up. Well… see ya around.’ She just stared at him. ‘Do you speak? English? Deutsch? Latin… no, I guess that’s stupid. Besides, I can barely… I mean there are two poems I’m pretty good at and an essay by Seneca but on the whole… so… are you angry? No? Good.’ She kept looking at him with that blank face that scared him a little though she didn’t quite reach his shoulders and he still had
Had he rescued her from a tyrant? If he had, was he obliged to become her tyrant? In
‘Well, OK. I can get you into town. It’s a ways, so…’
He took her arm as soft as he could and prodded her towards the saddle. She shook him off. She was strong.
The squaw regained control of her female pagan emotions, looked
‘Oh! OK. I understand. You don’t want to… yeah, of course! Silly me. We’ll, lets just walk then.’