Friday, 10 March 2017

The Bull Rider and the Land Whale

[Media prompt] What women want. It's not a mystery. Just ask Amazon what books they are selling to them. If you're a wealthy Alpha Male Cowboy and she’s fat, you’re gold.
The Bull Rider and the Land Whale*

"Well, that’s that," said Brianna, affixing a self-adhesive address sticker onto a FedEx pack, the contents of which were one hand knitted pink pussy hat, and one ‘Feminist AF’ embroidered bookmark.

“I think that calls for a little celebration, don’t you?” she said, looking at the Maine Coon stretched out by the fireplace. “That’s the second order this month.”

Brianna heaved herself out of the massage chair. “I think I’ll try another piece of that mud pie,” she said, hobbling to the kitchen. “Do you want a piece, Hillary?”

The Maine Coon looked up at the sound of its name, but rolled over and went back to sleep.


Before bed, having polished off the mud pie, Brianna sat at her desk browsing YouTube. She watched Emma hiding feminist books around New York. “I knew you were the real deal, Hermione,” she thought. Clicking on an episode of Fat Girl Flow, where Corissa answered questions about oversized girl sex, she was distracted by an advertisement for the rodeo in town over the weekend.

“Good Lord, Hill” she said, “take a look at that.”

‘That’ was Cole Banner, who, standing beside a little caramel-skinned blonde reporter, both of them leaning on a wooden fence, was answering some inane questions. Brianna replayed it, just to listen to his drawl. And to look at his jeans. “My Lord, Hillary Rodham Clinton," she said, "that man is all man, and then some.”


On the night Cole Banner rode Kenyan Mulatto, a charbray bull the media called the World’s Most Dangerous, a bull everyone loathed for killing Dan Stubbins two years ago, on that fateful night, Brianna was on duty at the Gaines Medical Centre. When they brought him in, hit from behind as he stood tall and as smooth as you like in victory, everyone blaming the rodeo clowns, rightly so, he was unconscious. While the front desk and security did their best to keep the media scrum at bay, Brianna prepped him for surgery, scissoring off his boots, his belt, the one with a big silver buckle that said Make America Great Again, and his jeans. “Oh, Lord,” she said, when he lay naked on his back. “Oh, dear Lord.”


Dr Charters told the press that Cole Banner's vital signs were stable, but that he was in a coma, and he was in God's hands now. Eventually, the reporters went away; other stars to cover, other rodeos to film.

But Brianna remained by his bed over the long months. She nursed him every day, sponging down his lean, hard body, developing an intimacy that few, if any, of his doubtlessly long list of lovers could have ever imagined. He was immobilised, and so it was she who provided him relief, her chubby fingers unable to meet when she grasped his elongated manhood, the most impressive specimen she had ever seen. And it was she who discovered he was from one of the wealthiest families in Texas.

"You know what, Hillary?" she said to her cat one night. "I think I've met the love of my life."  


One evening, when she saw Cole's impressive staff stiffening subconsciously under the sheets, Brianna locked the door, peeled off her tank-size Spanx, and by willpower alone began to climb onto the bed. Under normal circumstances, given the bed's height, this would have been too much for her, but nevertheless, she persisted and, upon recovery, straddled him, riding Banner as he himself rode Kenyan Mulatto.

The obituaries noted that Banner was the only man to stay on Kenyan Mulatto for ten seconds after the bell, one of many records for which he was fondly remembered. All of them mentioned that he survived being hit by a two-thousand pound bull, but none remarked he had expired under the weight of a night nurse who, climaxing for the first time in her life, collapsed and suffocated him. 

* Submitted to the Nevertheless, She Persisted series by Tor, but sadly rejected. 

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