Eroticism of the Rope; or, 50 Shades of Cowpokes

I was reading through my semi-completed novel today and two things struck me.  First, it’s not nearly as bad as I remember.  There are some really good bits in there.  I told Mrs. Slap today that between the campfire sex scene and the gunfight at the dam I wasn’t sure which was my favorite chapter.  On the same note I’m struggling to figure out what publisher would pick it up.  It really is cowpoke on cowpoke, which fits a lot of the stuff published by women’s erotica e-publishers, but it’s got a couple of gunfights and a scene that is a little more twisted than the typical erotic romance publishers put out.  Maybe a publisher for gay men?  Very limiting market, though.  If there is still a market for Laurel K Hamilton, whose books have descended to wall to wall fucking and gore, then there may be a place for me.

The other thing that struck me was one exchange between the two main characters after one of the fights:

“May I ask why, if you carry a pistol on your belt and a Winchester in a saddle sheath, did you go at Big Mo with a lasso?”

“Not really sure,” Johnny said, scratching his head.  “It’s a pretty rare occasion that I actually ever draw a gun, but I use the lasso all the time.  Just was natural, I reckon.  Good thing, too.  I don’t want any more blood than necessary between our brands.”

“So you are good with a rope, too, Sir Cowboy?” said Antonio, moving his eyes across Johnny’s form.  “My imagination runs wild.”

“Ease up, there, buckaroo.  We’ve got miles to go and a judge to meet.”

I had a group of friends in college that were largely obsessed with bondage, so much so that when I got out of college the idea that people didn’t just sit around and discuss the advantages of silk scarves vs nylon cord or the best time to take off the blindfold was kind of weird.  None of them could afford all the crazy gear, but one dorm mate made special trips to the local K-Mart with his girlfriend to see which cutting boards made the best paddles.  Everyone I knew read Anne Rice’s The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty. 

The world of BDSM, with all of its whips, ropes, and leather chaps, looks surprisingly like a western.  For the most part you just have to trade the shiny black leather for worn brown, swap the zipper mask for a cowboy hat, and move the scene from the abandoned Berlin factory to a Colorado ghost town. 

A couple of years ago an adult film studio made a film from Zane Grey’s To The Last Man.  The studio, Raging Stallion (how awesome is that name?), specializes in exceptionally manly men with muscles and beards doing exceptionally manly things with other exceptionally manly men.  Alas, I have not seen this film, but I have read about a controversial scene where a cowboy is tied up and sexually assaulted by two gunhands riding for another brand.  There are some interesting chat board discussions that focus just one this scene; some think it is disgusting, but just as many think it’s the hottest scene in the movie.

Despite their occasional similarities, this gets to the difference between traditional BDSM literature and what you find in Westerns.  BDSM is a safe place in fiction.  We can feel the anxiety of the bottom while knowing that, ultimately, they will come away relatively unscathed.  Behind every red bottom spanking there is an open palm of love, so they say.  In Western fiction, the world is harsher, without guarantees of safety. 

Take Lonesome Dove, for example.  Early on Lorena, the town prostitute / main love interest for several characters, is kidnapped by an Indian outlaw, Blue Duck.  Sounds like the start of some kind of erotic bondage romance?  Anyone familiar with Lonesome Dove knows that part of the story is neither romantic nor erotic.

Not fun

 

Fun

With its whips, chaps, ropes, and masks, there’s a lot of room for kink in westerns.  Just don’t always expect that warm, fuzzy, “he tied me up because he loves me” feeling.

 

(Note about the title- in my 20’s I read all of the classics of erotic bondage- Story of O, 9 ½ Weeks, Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, etc.  By the time the 50 Shades phenomena hit I’d had my fill.  50 Shades of Yoga, though, now that’s fun.)

Blacksmith Wanted, Clothing Optional

Have I posted about Barry Denton yet?  Shame on me if I haven’t.  Not only is he a great photographer of westerns and pinups, he apparently also rents out his Arizona ranch for other photographers and brings in models.  One of the photographers seems to have a thing for dirty, half naked blacksmiths.  Seeing the results, can you blame him?  Thank you, Floyd Harris, for sharing these great shots.

Eau de Mountain Man

Up until a few minutes ago I stank.  Really, really smelled.  I like to think I came by that smell honest.  I spent three days living in tents with some friends, spent one day hiking, one kayaking, and cooked three greasy meals over a campfire (although I am still a vegetarian, I made tons of burgers and bacon for my friends).  On the long drive back home Mrs. Slap & I both found our mutual stanks to be completely egregious.  I type this freshly showered, but there is still a patina of grease, dirt, and pond water that is sneaking its way into my nostrils. 

If I smelled that bad after three days in the woods, what the heck did mountain men smell like after a beaver season?  What about buffalo hunters in the killing fields?  Mrs. Slap often says that it’s a good thing movies don’t include smell-o-vision; seems doubly so for Westerns.

A New Take on DC’s Justice Riders?

See more at Denis Medri's Deviant Art site.

Ain't Your Papa's Lone Ranger (but I liked it)

I finally got around to seeing Disney’s The Lone Ranger, and to my surprise I really liked it.

Now keep in mind that I liked it in the way that I liked the Christopher Nolan Dark Knight movies.  For those I put aside three decades of knowledge of Batman and instead chose to see the series as movies about a troubled man named Bruce Wayne who, while baring a resemblance to Batman, is someone else entirely.  Real Dark Knight fans know that Bruce Wayne doesn’t really exist; he’s just the public face that Batman uses occasionally. 

With that in mind I didn’t look for the Lone Ranger I know and love: the nameless, faceless knight of the sagebrush moving between masks and disguises, having long ago left the name John Ried behind.  Nah, you can tell right away that’s not where the film is going, so why not let it stand on its own?

It’s fun. It’s zany.  It’s occasionally touching.  Armie Hammer does a fine job a wet behind the ear, choking on trail dust Ranger finding his way.  It’s never quite explained how he becomes such a raging bad butt so quickly, but we can almost look past that.  Johnny Depp is… well, he’s Johnny Depp, who has gone from a deep, multifaceted actor to a one trick pony, but it is a pony that he rides well.  His dialogues with Silver were a highlight of the movie.

The Lone Ranger does a fine job, right up to the big crazy action sequence that takes up ¼ of the movie and probably ½ the budget.  I wish film makers would save the budget and just give us more story.  When you think about it, what’s the best end of film action sequence in a western?  The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, which is really just three guys staring at each other to cool music for five minutes.  Epic.

Black Cowboys?

author "Cowboy Mike" Searles

Hell yeah, black cowboys!  I'm way late for Black History Month (which may include many of you palefaces out there since studies have shown up to 30% of white Americans have black ancestors), but I just ran across this great site on Black Cowboy History that y'all should check out.