Growing Up Cowboy

He can feel tension within the arena, heightened by an expectant hush all around. His ride has been announced with a strained, almost funereal formality. Now they are waiting, watching, hardly breathing. He is quite sure of that. The Kid's body stiffens into a posture of carefree defiance. He looks down across the shining back of his adversary. The bull commences to tremble. He wishes it wouldn't do that because now a tremor is starting in the knee that holds the Kid braced against one side of the pen. Hell's afire! Would they please hurry before somebody notices, but not hurry too fast? This bull has never been rode, and they both are trembling. But now the arena is quiet, and he is ready. He wants to say, "Hurry up with the damned surcingle," but he knows if he tries it that his teeth will chatter and he will stammer on the "surci-" part. Now they have the rope around the bull, and Kid reaches down his free hand. His knuckles touch the bull, and he feels the taut energy of the beast at the back of his fingers. His fist closes powerfully around the rope, and he draws it up tight against his palm. Now his fingers clamp against the loose end of the surcingle, and he knows his time has come. He swings a Levi-clad leg out across the haunches of the bull and settles slowly down to straddle it, catching his breath at the sensation of hairy primordial warmth along the length of his thighs. The arena is even quieter now. Quieter than death. They know what is to come. Will the audience be trembling, too?