By Atlanta Stud

The first week of my college semester I met a great guy who hailed from the tiny town of Pella, Iowa; basically a farming community.  He was a typical midwestern farmboy in every sense of the way wrapped in a hot 5’ 10” tight muscled frame.  He had a natural cowboy look about him and you could tell he knew it too, and it was rare for him to be seen in anything other than jeans and western boots from Fall to late Spring.

Whereas Dave was into his boots, I was into sneakers, especially New Balance, and also desert tan combat boots, my so-called winter shoes.   When my sneaks got to that point where they maintained that nice sweaty aroma even when not having been worn a day or two, that’s when they won that special place in my heart.  It wasn’t uncommon for me to wear the same low cut or no-show socks a week straight, or no socks at all just to help ’em get there that much quicker.  Seems I’ve always had a thing for smelly sneaks and socks.  Who knows why certain things make us “tick,” but for whatever reason, that had an effect on me.

Although we lived in different dorms, we spent a lot of time together helping each other with the dreaded required courses we shared, grabbing a beer, and catching the home football games.  Dave has a natural take-charge attitude, and though I wouldn’t consider myself passive, I found myself attracted to his dominant personality.  Practically inseparable, we decided to room together beginning the second semester at my dorm since the rooms there were bigger and a bit closer to most classes than where he was living on campus.

So just before the winter break started, Dave shows up in his Ford Explorer packed with his things.  Just how many pairs of western boots one guy needs I don’t know, but he had enough on hand to wear a different pair every day of the week plus one.  With everything finally in, we had a couple of days of downtime before the three-week winter break started.  Most of the guys on the floor had already finished the semester and left, so there wasn’t much socializing on the floor to be had.  That Friday night we figured we’d just chill for the night and picked up a case of beer and snuck it back into the room.  We just popped open our first beer when Dave got a call from his brother, and about half way through the conversation Dave was nearly doubled over in laughter.  I only got bits and pieces of the conversation being on the one end, but it involved a mutual friend, didn’t he learn from all those other times and couldn’t get out, and what was the penalty?

This went on for another half hour before he hung up the phone and we got back to beer and watching some TV.  Finally I had to know what the hell was so funny and that’s when Dave told me about a buddy of his back home that he and his brother hung out with.  Apparently his brother challenged Justin to a hogtie and Justin lost.  This, apparently, is something not uncommon with midwestern farmboys in Iowa according to Dave. Go figure.

It was then that I had one of those moments of saying something before thinking about what I was about to say, and I blurted out something to the effect of how lame Justin was if he couldn’t get out of a simple rope tie.  The look in Dave’s eyes at that point should have been my warning bell, but something prevented me from really paying serious attention to that.

That’s when Dave told me that I shouldn’t be talking about things I know nothing about.

“Dude, seriously, I’ve played cops and robbers as a kid and it’s not a big deal,” I told him.

At that point Dave stood up, walked right up to where I was sitting and with a serious look in his eyes responded with, “cops and robbers, ooooh, like when you were eight years old and couldn’t tie a knot to save your life, gotcha.  Well bud, us farmboys know how to use a rope and this ain’t the same thing.”

Curiosity, testoterone, beer, call it what you will, but I pushed it even further at that point, telling him that eight or eighteen, it’s no different and that at eighteen one would be better at manipulating ropes than an eight year old, anyway.  Dave laughed and told me again that I didn’t know what I was talking about and said that maybe I need to put my money where my mouth is or just shut up.  That’s when the testosterone, with perhaps some help from the beer, kicked in and I told him that I’d be loose in nothing flat if in the same situation but since we’re without the necessary tools to prove it, he’d have to take my word on it.

At that point Dave said not a word, grabbed his backpack and left the room only to return ten minutes later tossing the back pack at me, almost causing me to spill my beer.

Next thing Dave says to me is “you’re a size ten, right”

“Nine and a half, actually, why?”

Without Dave saying a word, the next things thrown my way were a pair of brown western boots and also hearing Dave muttering something about how these should fit.

“Suit up, cowboy!” were the next words out of his mouth.

I asked what the hell he was talking about and that’s when he told me to open the backpack, which I did and promptly dumped the contents, which had to be 150 feet of rope on the floor.

“Suit up, get the boots on, cowboy, I’m gonna teach you a lesson, and I have the necessary tools as you can see.”

This time his tone was more stern. He couldn’t be serious, I mean we were just bullshitting a few minutes ago about all this, right?   I just sat there a minute thinking that he wasn’t serious, but apparently I took too long and Dave grabbed my left foot, quickly removed my sneaker and before I could even say a word he had the right sneaker off and said we could do this the easy way, or the hard way.

“I got it, I got it!” I said as I pulled on the boots.

“Fine looking cowboy you’d make, hair’s a bit long, but we can take care of that,” he said.

I just laughed at that comment and reminded Dave that I’ve still got a lot of beer to get through and to hurry up with this so that I can show him that my earlier comment about getting out of ropes would be validated.  Just then I saw that look in his eyes again as he grabbed some rope and told me to get my ass on the floor, “belly side down ‘cowboy’!”

Belly side down I was as he promptly sat down over my legs, grabbed my wrists and started cinching ’em with the rope.  Cinched nice and tight they were as I examined his work as I felt him get off my legs for more rope.  Fuckin A, where’s the damn knots?!

“Having a bit of trouble, cowboy?”  Dave smartly asked.

At that moment I felt the ropes around the boots, more rope went around my thighs and then he sat my ass up and worked on the upper torso before dropping me back down, ‘belly side down’.

I knew at this point all was not good for me, but I wasn’t going to give in, and there was beer waiting for me, after all.

“How you doing, cowboy? Starting to wish you kept your mouth shut earlier?”

Once again I said it before thinking about it and I just laughed and mouthed off.

“Is that all you got, farm boy?” I said.

Just then a bit of fear kicked in when I saw that look in his eyes and another piece of rope on the floor. Wasn’t but a few seconds later and he added that last piece to put me in a hogtie.  Hog tied belly side down I was and Dave stepped back, admired his work for a few minutes, grabbed a beer and sat down on the beat up sofa we had in the room, his booted feet next to my face.

“OK cowboy, I’m gonna give you an opportunity to get out of that, since you’re the renowned expert and all, and I’ll just get a little more comfortable, don’t mind if I pull off my boots, do ya? Though you may not like the smell of my sox.”

That ass actually kicked back and rubbed his socked feet on my face!  Damn, and I thought my socks smelled great after they were let loose from my desert tan boots.  Dave’s booted socks were amazing fresh out of his black harness boots.  Had to quickly focus back on the ropes at that point, getting a hold of his sweaty socks would be another day.

Dave downed one beer and I hadn’t made any progress, he’s starting on his second beer and asks if I’m willing to concede.

“Hell no!” I respond.

“OK, then, penalty phases will start to kick in soon, cowboy…”

By then I was an hour into this mess and still hadn’t made any progress. I wanted some beer, afte rall, we planned tonight as a beer night, so I told Dave that he won and he could untie me.

“You want out, cowboy? That’s fine, first you gotta spend time on my feet with that cocky mouth of yours.”

WTF?!  Did I just hear him correctly?!  “You’ve lost your mind!  I’m not doing any such thmmmp!”

In went Dave’s big toe in my mouth and he quickly bent down to grab the back of my head and keep it in place and quietly said, “cowboy, I’m your only way out of those ropes. Now I’ve got ten toes that you’re going to spend time on as well as the bottom of my sweaty feet. Get used to the fact that right now, this is the way it’s going to be, now get working, cowboy!”

To be continued …

This story is based on fictitious characters.

Copyright © 2010 and 2019 by Atlanta Stud