 - Last login: 3 hours agoTextuous
- Textuous is a 51 year old guy from Near-N-Yondered, Texas, USA.
- Likes 6 pages • 75 fans • Received 47 reviews
- Member since Mar 30, 2006
Antique Cowboy with tarnished six-shooter, rusty spurs, and swaybacked steed. Garage kept, housebroken, and mannerful. Grammatically textuous, with traces of chivalry and dance-floor etiquette. If you read the blog...the least you can do is say hello and leave a smile or sumthin'.
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THE VISITOR
Whenever I've been gone for a while, I always stop on the ridge above the creek and inspect the treehouse for evidence of activity. Dog is a little more obvious about the idea of discovering visitors...he runs up the stairs and makes a complete circuit of the wrap-around porch. Nose to the floor, he can discern week-old perfume after a three-day, frog-stranglin', gully-washer. Yesterday, he headed straight for the big cast iron tub, and when a slender hand appeared out of the depths to scratch his ears, I could almost hear his tail waggin'.
I gave my unknown guest plenty of time to finish her soak, making lots of noise as I unsaddled Elmer, brushed him down, and filled his trough with oats. When I finally made my way inside, Dog's new best friend was sitting on the leather sofa, bundled into my favorite robe. Long, damp hair...oddly familiar liquid eyes...slender, bony wrists and ankles...and the appetizing aroma of fresh-scrubbed woman.
On rare occasion, when you meet someone for the first time, the conversation begins at a point about two-thirds of the way between awkwardness and uninhibited giggles. In this case, the first words out of her mouth were..."You smell like a cowboy". Her lips moved into a half-frown, half-pout...and Dog (damn traitor) added his agreement by nuzzling his chin even more securely into her lap. Two days in the saddle, with a night on the ground sandwiched in between, does tend to bring out the best in a man...
Outnumbered, I headed for the shower without a word...pondering those eyes. I'd seen them somewhere before.
Fifteen minutes later, having scrubbed, scraped, combed, brushed, and scented various cowboy parts, I settled on jeans, cotton shirt, and moccasins. I mean...well...I didn't know this woman...for all I knew, she could be from the IRS or something.
She was busy in the kitchen, and seemed to be finding everything without much trouble. She lifted her chin slightly and inhaled, making the robe swell noticeably.
"Mmmmm...that's better. You're Meyer, right?"
"Yes Ma'am...that's one of the nicer names I've been called. Um...do I know you Ma'am?"
"Kinda. Maybe. My name is Teri Ohm."
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