Wrangler
Clio Jones
I was the newest wrangler on the Lazy J ranch. I’m not sure why I thought I could do this work. As a girl, I’d ridden horses and I’d loved the power horses had. It was more powerful than anything I knew, until some ten years later I discovered the power women had over me. Femmes in particular, and then Lisa, who’d been my partner until a rather rude awakening a couple of months ago. After Lisa left me, I just about became a one-woman museum to the past of our happy relationship. My friends put up with me for so long, and then they got tough. What I needed, they said, was to get out of town. They didn’t really care where. Or how. Or who I met there, as long as she was sexy and took my mind off one certain femme.
The Lazy J was one of the only ranches to use queer-friendly language. I figured enough dykes had cowboy fetishes that some queer ladies would pass through here on a summer trip. I’d made sure to find someplace that would take a lesbian wrangler. Now I just needed to find someone who would fuck one, before I got back to Chicago and my wondering friends.
The ranch was amazing, though. The Wyoming countryside was gorgeous. If you wanted something breathtaking, I could take you on one of the many trails that wound through thick pine forests up the hillside, lush with midsummer flowers. Columbines, yarrow, and buckwheat nestled together in clumps. I’d learned to identify them quickly, because the guests always asked to enhance their wildlife experience. Nameless streams slid around the trails, from snow runoff and the mountain lakes that lay tucked away like little turquoise and hematite gems the tourist shops sold. On a warm day, I’d nap in the sun when we got a break and fantasize about the time Lisa and I made love in a meadow. We’d almost gotten caught, but it had been worth it. Lisa. Shit.
A new batch of tourists and horses was coming the next day. We often traded stock with some of the other ranches. Every time we got a new load in, all the wranglers would be busy fitting the saddles and watching the new riders to make sure we didn’t have any major accidents waiting to happen. For me, this usually meant a lot of mucking out stalls, getting up early to feed the horses, and staying late to clean up at the end of the day. In a few more weeks, if all went well, I’d be leading rides and leaving the dirty work to one of the fourteen-year-old local boys who hung out at the ranch.
First thing in the morning I met Kim, a perky blond wrangler with a California accent who looked like she’d been airlifted in from a boardwalk in L.A. Serious actress type. I knew she was going to be trouble when the first thing she said was, “Welcome. You’ve been here a while, I guess, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you. Look forward to working with you.” I prefer the cowboys. Usually, they just grunt hello and leave me well enough alone, and if I have a question they don’t make me feel like an idiot.
“I’m sure you won’t see me much,” I said to Kim, then turned back to organizing the tack room.
“You’re going to be my shadow for the week,” she said. “Coming on all my rides. Dan said so.”
“I doubt it,” I said. Dan was the head wrangler, and he hadn’t told me anything about this girl.
“Helen, right?” she said, stepping in close. Her eyes were gray, with a little flash of brown near the pupil. Real interesting eyes. She was wearing a little tank top with a men’s flannel, unbuttoned, over it. Probably her boyfriend’s shirt. I could see a thin tan line where a necklace used to be, but the rest of her was golden and freckled. I let my eyes take in the rest of her—strong, wide legs, nice hips, and a little bit of cleavage showing. “You are Helen, right?” she said, giving a big smile that showed her perfect teeth.
“Yes,” I said, a little ashamed to have been caught staring. I held out a hand, but she had turned away.
“Great,” she
Clio Jones
I was the newest wrangler on the Lazy J ranch. I’m not sure why I thought I could do this work. As a girl, I’d ridden horses and I’d loved the power horses had. It was more powerful than anything I knew, until some ten years later I discovered the power women had over me. Femmes in particular, and then Lisa, who’d been my partner until a rather rude awakening a couple of months ago. After Lisa left me, I just about became a one-woman museum to the past of our happy relationship. My friends put up with me for so long, and then they got tough. What I needed, they said, was to get out of town. They didn’t really care where. Or how. Or who I met there, as long as she was sexy and took my mind off one certain femme.
The Lazy J was one of the only ranches to use queer-friendly language. I figured enough dykes had cowboy fetishes that some queer ladies would pass through here on a summer trip. I’d made sure to find someplace that would take a lesbian wrangler. Now I just needed to find someone who would fuck one, before I got back to Chicago and my wondering friends.
The ranch was amazing, though. The Wyoming countryside was gorgeous. If you wanted something breathtaking, I could take you on one of the many trails that wound through thick pine forests up the hillside, lush with midsummer flowers. Columbines, yarrow, and buckwheat nestled together in clumps. I’d learned to identify them quickly, because the guests always asked to enhance their wildlife experience. Nameless streams slid around the trails, from snow runoff and the mountain lakes that lay tucked away like little turquoise and hematite gems the tourist shops sold. On a warm day, I’d nap in the sun when we got a break and fantasize about the time Lisa and I made love in a meadow. We’d almost gotten caught, but it had been worth it. Lisa. Shit.
A new batch of tourists and horses was coming the next day. We often traded stock with some of the other ranches. Every time we got a new load in, all the wranglers would be busy fitting the saddles and watching the new riders to make sure we didn’t have any major accidents waiting to happen. For me, this usually meant a lot of mucking out stalls, getting up early to feed the horses, and staying late to clean up at the end of the day. In a few more weeks, if all went well, I’d be leading rides and leaving the dirty work to one of the fourteen-year-old local boys who hung out at the ranch.
First thing in the morning I met Kim, a perky blond wrangler with a California accent who looked like she’d been airlifted in from a boardwalk in L.A. Serious actress type. I knew she was going to be trouble when the first thing she said was, “Welcome. You’ve been here a while, I guess, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you. Look forward to working with you.” I prefer the cowboys. Usually, they just grunt hello and leave me well enough alone, and if I have a question they don’t make me feel like an idiot.
“I’m sure you won’t see me much,” I said to Kim, then turned back to organizing the tack room.
“You’re going to be my shadow for the week,” she said. “Coming on all my rides. Dan said so.”
“I doubt it,” I said. Dan was the head wrangler, and he hadn’t told me anything about this girl.
“Helen, right?” she said, stepping in close. Her eyes were gray, with a little flash of brown near the pupil. Real interesting eyes. She was wearing a little tank top with a men’s flannel, unbuttoned, over it. Probably her boyfriend’s shirt. I could see a thin tan line where a necklace used to be, but the rest of her was golden and freckled. I let my eyes take in the rest of her—strong, wide legs, nice hips, and a little bit of cleavage showing. “You are Helen, right?” she said, giving a big smile that showed her perfect teeth.
“Yes,” I said, a little ashamed to have been caught staring. I held out a hand, but she had turned away.
“Great,” she
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