him, making the entrance that much more dramatic and effective. Right at six, a Herculean leg kicked open the saloon doors separating the foyer from the dining area and the kitchen. He was once again dressed in his cowboy gear, except this time he had on a large Stetson Cattleman’s hat and a lasso in his hands. I heard a number of forks drop to the floor, reminiscent of recently shot bullets falling to the ground after a bloody showdown. A Marlboro cigarette hung from his slightly opened mouth. He looked me straight in the eye, began to twirl his lasso, and threw it in my direction. I stood frozen in place as the rope wrapped tightly around my torso. Reno began to playfully pull me towards him. The customers all clapped and cheered, more than likely thinking that this incident was staged for their own personal enjoyment. I suppose most owners would be appalled by such behavior, but it enthralled and excited me inside, so I had no objections, especially since the customers liked it, too.

“This presentation has been brought to you by one Reno Dakota, ladies and gentlemen,” addressed Reno to those eating in that same peculiar accent, “and if you want me to throw him on the grill, I’ll rip his hide raw for you!” He turned to me and winked after that last comment. I wanted him more than anything at that moment, but it was way too busy to even consider trying to hit on him. When things died down a little after his entrance, I got him settled into a booth and tried to explain what his duties would be that evening, protocol, and other boring job talk. I had no interest in being official; my only interest was in admiring Reno, but work nevertheless demanded that I be somewhat professional. Luckily, Reno also wanted no part in the little tutorial.

“Stop talking,” he said. I’m not much known for self-confidence, so I did. “I already know what I need to know. See, you get those gray hairs because you worry about little things too much. You’re going to have to understand that I’m a lot to worry about, and I’m a lot to handle, because I’m Reno. I’m Reno Dakota. And there’s not an iota of kindness in me. I’ll be good for you Rick—why worry about a little when you can worry about a lot, about a lot of Reno Dakota?”

Unknown to Reno, I had a bulging boner underneath the table. The thought of a lot of Reno Dakota made the blood rush straight to my loins. I rubbed it a little as we sat, causing me to be hornier than I had ever been in my life.

“I hope you can make me forget the little things, Reno,” I replied with a flirty inflection in my voice. I wasn’t scared anymore. I figured that if he didn’t like cock, or want mine, I’d at least be able to get off for years afterward at the thought of him beating me up. I wanted any sort of contact with him, and I’ve been known to enjoy a little submission play, so getting trounced wouldn’t have bothered me. “But anyway, meet me in my office after your shift. I’ll be needing you to stay late to help me bring in the night