This story can only be found bundled with the Erotic Novella “Maintenance Request”
Susan often joked about cacti. Made innuendo-filled quips about the pricks; big pricks, little pricks. But she had never had a close encounter of the personal kind with one. She was a city girl; she lived in Denver, a western city to be sure, but a city that boasted as many espresso bars and alternative newspapers as it had cowboys and bucking broncs. And the only cactus she knew intimately was the one that grew in a terracotta pot on her kitchen windowsill, resplendent with prints of howling coyotes wearing bananas.
Geordie Mick was from England, and he was the son of a school friend of her mother’s. Which didn’t mean much to Susan, except that she was duty-bound to entertain him. He was in America for two weeks, and had an impressive list of things he wanted to see and do. Most of them were garnered from the movies, and an outsider’s view of contemporary American life. He also didn’t comprehend distances too well, and Susan had to point out that a day trip to climb the Hollywood sign was not very practical from Denver.
So they moved on to numbers 23 and 24 on his list, which were a lot simpler. A visit to a real western town and a mountain hike in the Rockies. Susan had no idea what constituted a “real western town”, but she consulted the tourist information and they came up with a suitable candidate that had the advantage of being in the mountains. Best of all, from Geordie Mick’s point of view, it boasted several bars in its historic downtown district.
They set out on Sunday, but by the time they had found the “real western town” and Geordie Mick had tried several of the authentic and historic cowboy bars it was far too late to consider climbing any mountain. The altitude was affecting Geordie Mick as well, so they settled for a stroll close to the river near town.
They were a mile or so from town, following the beaten hiking path that ran above the Arkansas River. Below them, the river churned its way through the canyon, a deluge of water, ice blue from snow melt. Rubber rafts filled with city people like themselves bucked and weaved their way down river.
The two pints of amber ale she had imbibed made her giggly. And she had a bursting need to pee.
“Wait here,” she told Geordie Mick, who propped himself against a rock to wait, unencumbered by neither a small bladder nor a woozy head.
She started down the slope to the river, dropped her jeans and panties and peed like a faucet for a minute; a rush, a clench, a gush, a strain. The relief was incredible. She snapped her jeans, and started back up the loose slope to where Geordie Mick waited patiently. She was halfway up, using her hands to steady herself, when she slipped. She landed heavily, on her butt, and slid several feet down the slope towards the river.
Geordie Mick heard the thump and the howl of pain. He came galumphing to the rescue, a big uncoordinated knight with a shining face. His large, meaty hands lifted Susan carefully to her feet.
“You OK?” His hands moved carefully over her body, patting gently. Checking for broken bones, Susan thought in exasperation.
“Kinda . . . sorta . . .” she mumbled. “I landed on a cactus. I’ve got the spines in my ass.” She looked down at her feet, at the barrel cactus.
Geordie Mick stared at her for a moment. “In your ass? Lemme look . . .”
She had no choice. She could hardly walk with several spines jabbing her backside at every step. She turned around, leaned over a boulder, presenting her ass for his scrutiny. He flipped up the loose top she wore and studied her butt. Tentatively he pinched one of the larger spines between his stubby fingers and yanked. It came out, and he displayed it proudly. “Got it.”
“And the other few hundred?”
Geordie Mick bent to the task with a will. The spines were shiny and slid away from his grasping fingers. He smoothed the denim, trying to stretch it, get a better lock on the spines. He started to sweat. The sun was hot and the air thin. And that ass, presented in the air for him. His cock twitched.
“Can you get them?” Susan’s voice, muffled by her arms and embarrassment, reached him. “I have tweezers in the car. Strong, surgical ones.”
“I’ll get them.” Jeez, and maybe he could have a quick wank on the way back. A woman’s ass always did that to him, tight and curvy. Geordie Mick loved that part of a woman, loved the feel of it slapping against his balls as he fucked. And he hadn’t had a woman since he came to America. Fucking an American chick was pretty high on his list, number three in fact, right behind a visit to the Coors Brewery in Golden, but he hadn’t told Susan that. He thought he better get the tweezers.