Store Bought


He’d pulled the short-straw this morning. Instead of resupplying the elk camp on the other side of the peak, he had to play tour-guide to a bunch of city-folk dandies looking to experience the ‘western life-style,’ or whatever the hell the working-ranches’ brochure said.

Johnson looked at the group of strangers as they gathered near the front of the corral. Only three out of the dozen had jeans and closed toed shoes on. He sighed as he led the string of trail-broke horses out of the barn, towards them.

“Wonder which one’s the rodeo champ,” he smiled to himself.

After 15-years of working as a guide, he thought he’d seen it all, but today brought a surprise; she was clad in bright yellow short-shorts, high heels and a tight white, with black polka-dots, bikini top. He knew he’d have to explain to her that she needed to wear a cover of some sort to protect herself from the random branches of the trail.

“Ma’am, while I can appreciate your sartorial elegance,” he stated, “Do you have a blouse, a tee-shirt or somethin’ to cover yourself? Don’t want ya to get all scratched up.”

The woman’s husband overheard what Johnson said and took offense, “I don’t know exactly what that all means, but my wife’s a lady and you’ll treat her as such!”

“Yes, sir,” John politely answered, attempting to diffuse the man’s anger, “All I want to know is if the lady had something more than her bikini top to wear.”

“Oh,” the husband said, as he removed his ‘Members Only’ jacket, handing it to her to put on.

“Thank you, sir,” Johnson responded as he began helping riders onto their mounts, all the while thinking, “They simply don’t pay me enough to help protect women with store-bought boobs.”

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