The classic 1992 Chris LeDoux song asks the musical question: whatcha gonna do with a cowboy? I feel qualified to provide one answer. So, here we go…

My job is to create custom built masculine men. Fictional characters, that is. Not real human beings. They exist for a gay adult male audience. Somebody’s got to do it. That’s why I created this big cowboy.

His main traits are impressive—large hands, fingers and feet, plenty of muscles, well-endowed, and haunting eyes. Plus, he is just simply one unforgettable big guy.

Let’s imagine that immediately after I created this cowboy, I wanted to take him for a test drive in my sun-drenched Las Vegas artist’s studio.

This Mojave Desert location of mine that I created is always warm and bright no matter what the season may be. But, the cowboy is scorching hot. He rides me from behind. My legs wrap down so my feet hold onto his bulging calves and there is no need for me to touch the floor. Feels like flying. Turns out that the cowboy loves to fuck and it shows.

I make the decision to expand my cowboy test drive. This is because I’m sure what it takes to satisfy a big cowboy like him is a lot of attention from more than one man in bed at the same time. Oh, and plenty of suction, too, is absolutely what he will want. I am obliged to provide it for him. Like I get nothing out of doing so?

When this big cowboy is ready to fuck, I’m convinced that more than one man at the same time is standard for him. So, I make it happen.

He demonstrates boundless energy and stamina. Other men fade, but not this big cowboy.

I need to get to the shower for a whole lotta cleaning up after all this cowboy interaction. So, I leave him pounding the other guy—some young and strong buck full of cum and less likely than me to develop stress fractures in the heat of the action. The big cowboy is unrelenting in fucking him until they both reach the point of unconsciousness.

You may wonder: Who cleans up after all this? Of course, I do. Everyone and everything needs to be cleaned up. All those places on a man’s body need fluids and whatever flushed out. Sometimes, it’s quite a chore. I’m in charge, so I accept this responsibility. I suppose I could pay someone to do it, but the idea of someone else having to do this clean-up seems unsavory to me somehow.

The big cowboy has his own proper place at the end of the day. He goes into a box. It’s a big high-tech plexiglass box where he charges up all systems for a few hours and his oil and fluids get changed while he’s reclined in there. I sometimes visit him during his down time and think about him.