#where have all the Cowboys gone

[adashofginger]

"Where is my happy ending, where have all the cowboys gone?"

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? | Paula Cole

Model: Macauley Rogers

Photographer: Thomas Knights for Red Hot 100

[superbeans89]

[mikatheseer]

where have all the—

[subpixie420]

Oh, you get me ready in your '56 Chevy

Why don't we go sit down in the shade?

Take shelter on my front porch

The dandelion sun scorching

Like a glass of cold lemonade

I will do the laundry

If you pay all the bills

Where is my John Wayne?

Where is my prairie song

Where is my happy ending?

Where have all the cowboys gone

Why don't you stay the evening?

Kick back and watch the TV

And I'll fix a little something to eat

Oh, I know your back hurts from working on the tractor

How do you take your coffee my sweet?

I will raise the children

If you pay all the bills

Where is my John Wayne?

Where is my prairie song?

Where is my happy ending?

Where have all the cowboys gone?

I am wearing my new dress tonight

But you don't, but you don't even notice me

Say our goodbyes

Say our goodbyes

Say our goodbyes

We finally sell the Chevy when we had another baby

And you took that job in Tennessee

You made friends at the farm

You'd join them at the bar almost every single day of the week

I will wash the dishes

While you go have a beer

[iamapeacefulpoet]

Paula Cole - Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? (Official Music Video)

[airbrickwall]

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[myimaginaryradio]

Where Have All The Cowboys Gone? - Paula Cole

Number 8 5/23/97

[dolores-hazy]

I just dislike guys at a visceral level. The whole might makes right thing violent subtext in every interaction they make my skin crawl.

My secret

Binding bending

Until breaking

And entering impatient

To stake a claim

Heavy breathing bleeding

Breeding the order of things

Breaking fresh-baked bread

Over bloated bruised body

Sweeping crumbs out to pasture

One hand clutching

A broom, the other his

Cock crowing a new day

Bills to feed and mouths to pay

Be a dear and clear the table

Dessert is on you tonight

Home sweet home sweet

Cherry pie cyanide

One hell of a life

[preachereater]

where is my marlboro man, where is his shiny gun?

[lankyledlights]

i miss joe buck

[texaschainsawmascara]

HAIM cover Where Have All The Cowboys Gone? by Paula Cole at Pitchfork (2019)

[mayra-quijotescx]

[Image description: Article headline that says "Girls! Why Not Wed A Cowboy?" and helpfully adds the following context, in smaller print: "They make great hubbies and---it's leap yeap." End description.]

One does wonder what it being a leap yeap has to do with wedding a cowboy, but I'm sure the article elaborates.

Evansville Press, Indiana, February 5, 1912

[orteil42]

we are in dire need of some new media trend. we've done pirates, we've done cowboys; we've gone through two whole zombie revivals. aliens and space themes have basically been a constant since at least the 1950s, as have robots and evil AIs. we went pretty heavy on vampires for a while. we've also done dinosaurs, ninjas, musicals, wizards, sea creatures, ancient rome, ancient egypt, middle ages out the wazoo, entirely too much world war II, we're currently overdosing on our superhero phase, we've done monsters (misunderstood), monsters (radioactive), fake guy in the real world, real guy travels to fake world, caves & mining, vikings, what if you were really small, genre parody as a genre, sand, New York, time travel, something racist goes down in the jungle, neurodivergent detective, buddy cops, crooked cops, gangsters, bank heists in particular, kid has powers, revolt against the corporate world, portals, social insects, dragons, the British, global apocalypse, martial arts, roadtrip as self-discovery, Jesus, clones, clowns, babysitting goes wrong, demonic possession, ghosts of all kinds, talking animals, fucking with the stock market, restaurant ownership, dwarves, planes, and spies. where do we go from here. what's our next big thing

[myimaginaryradio]

Where Have All The Cowboys Gone? - Paula Cole - 1996

[citizenstarlight]

                It was another idyllic day on the ranch, and Annie could say without a doubt that she was happy. Away from all her troubles, she just curled up in Leon’s muscular arms. But someone had to make breakfast, so quietly, she snuck out of bed, not wanting to wake him from his slumber. After all, he had worked so hard; he deserved all the sleep he could get. Carefully, she put on her robe as she went to the kitchen.

                The sun began to rise as she turned on the coffee maker. A yawn escaped her as she removed eggs, sausage, and potatoes from the fridge. A soft but happy sigh escaped her as she cut the potatoes. Finally, she heard him stir and enter the room. “Good morning,” she greeted him as she added spices to the mix. "How did you sleep?” Without being asked, she began preparing his coffee how he liked it.

★ ╼ starter call. | @warspun ( leon )

[amaranthinespirit]

blue collar or cowboy!simon riley who would fuck you in the bed of his truck

simon was always out working so hard all day, coming home with dirt caked on his clothes. you'd have to scold him when he would track mud through the house—that you had just cleaned from whenever he came in yesterday.

he'd grovel, pressing kisses to the bare skin of your shoulder, the well-worn, holed shirt you stole from him slipping off your frame. muttering promises between each press of his lips further up your neck, along your jaw.

who are you to resist?

and who is he to either?

your pants pooled at your ankles, shirt hiked up your back and drooping off one shoulder. your inner thighs are slick and glistening with arousal and saliva.

a rough hand pushes down on your back, further squishing your chest into the hard metal of his truck bed, another grasping firmly at the fat of your backside where simon's face is lapping at your dripping cunt.

soft mewls cry from your lips, hands reaching back to grasp as his head, fingers tangling through the short locks of dirty blond. he only grunts in response—sorry, luvie, he's in heaven.

your legs are trembling, knees threatening to buckle under you with three orgasms already coaxed out of you on his tongue alone, milking you of your sweet, slick nectar.

your quiet, strained cries do nothing, but aid the tightness in his dirtied jeans, his cock oozing arousal in his boxers, dampening the fabric beyond his zipper. every involuntary shift of his hips causes more friction and tension with the denim, sending a groan throughout your pussy.

his noises vibrate against your pussy, shocking your overstimulated, and oversensitive, clit. all you can do is cry out as he pushes himself deeper, closer. his tongue is merciless, selfish as he threatens to swallow you whole.

at this point, you're begging for relent, repeated pleas of his name falling from your lips as the familiar heat builds in your tummy, and you writhe under his hands. the cold metal turning warm under you as it digs into your skin.

everything becoming overstimulating as the world begins to spin, jaw going slack, saliva pooling in your mouth as it threatens to spill over your swollen lips.

tears are streaming down your flushed face, your hair is frizzy and eyes are practically rolling to the back of your head as yet another release washes over you, sending a shudder through your body.

simon finally pulls his face away from the heaven between your thighs, not without flattening his tongue over your cunt for a last taste.

the lower half of his face glistening, coated in your juices, he desperately licks his lips to savor it. as he stands up from his position, his hand on your back pushes you back down onto the bed of his truck.

"n't done, luvie, be'a gud girl 'nd stay still," he kneaded the flesh of your backside, groaning at the sight in front of him.

his hands meet your hips, pulling you back on his clothed erection. a small yelped wince escapes your lips at the friction against your sensitive cunt. your frayed nerves against the harsh material that soaks up your arousal and previous releases.

you whine as he rocks his hips slowly, grunting as he watches the material dampen so easily before he pulls away from your hips.

his movements are hasty, not wasting any more time as he barely undoes his belt and zipper, freeing his heavy cock from the constraints of his jeans.

he whines softly at the warmth of your puffy, swollen folds as he rubs his cockhead up and down your pussy before catching your slit.

he groans at the tightness that welcomes him, the slick, clamping, spongy walls that pulse around his dick almost milks him of every last drop of sperm that fills his heavy balls.

your voice is hoarse, almost gone by the time his cock is sheathed in you, his cockhead brushing your cervix as you feel the precum oozing from his slit. you can feel every prominent vein of his cock against your spongy walls, they're practically ingrained in you, your pussy molded to take his dick.

a creamy, white circle forms at the base of his cock as he forces his entire length inside, his girthy dick stretching your weeping pussy with loud, lewd squelches.

he doesn't give you time—he's selfish tonight, unapologetically so because luvie, he didn't track any dirt through the house! this is him rewarding himself for being so good! you can't discourage that, can you?

it isn't long until your backside is red, his hips pistioning into your sopping cunt, the sight of your slick pussy swallowing his red, angry cock so needily, sucking him in so desperately and clamping around him was addicting, and the feel even more so. his pace isn't nice, it's mean, and relentless, and bruising.

"fuck, lovie, couldn' wait t'hav ya," he whined in your ear, his cock drilling into your tight hole as he nipped at your earlobe. calloused, rough and dirty hands kneading the fat of your ass, a sharp slap to your skin causing it to turn even more flushed and red as he fucked himself stupid.

he was pussy-drunk, drool dripping from his cracked, dry lips onto the expanse of your shoulder. he'd press lewd, wet kisses against your supple skin, adding to the trails of saliva that pooled from his lips.

you'd have bruises the shape of his fingers on your ass for days, maybe even a week after, because of how hard his hands grasp your backside, pulling you back onto his cock as he milks himself dry.

"need t'fill y'r pussy, baby," his voice comes out a low, rough whine, despite the heavy grasp and force he exerts, "fuck, 's all f'me, ain't it?"

he'd always make sure to put dirt on the floors if it meant making it up to you by stuffing his face between your thighs.

or, making sure to kick off his boots outside the door if it meant rewarding himself like this, again, and again, and again.