TEASER TWO! Excerpt from "Bull Rider" in Wild Rides

Here's the second entry in my campaign to show how right reviewers are when they comment on the variety in my collection Wild Rides. The first one, "Jessebel," was a vampire story set in post-Civil War California. This one, set in a country-western bar in Amsterdam in the 1980s, is something else entirely.

 

Excerpt from "Bull Rider"
Sacchi Green

Anneke came through the door and stood for a minute, cool as ever, with just a hint of defiance.

“I’ll be damned!” Margaretha muttered from behind the bar. “I knew you’d made an impression, but Jeez!” From the dropped jaws and arrested strides of several waiters I got the feeling that they weren’t used to seeing Anneke in tight, scant denim cutoffs and a gingham blouse molded to all the delectable curves below those peeking out over her plunging neckline.

Body by Daisy Mae, face by Princess Grace. A divine dissonance, but what the hell was I supposed to do with it in a public place and a culture I didn’t wholly understand? I sure had to do something, though, with the surge of energy pounding through my body. “Maybe it’s time for a ride,” I growled, and jerked my head toward the room with the bull.

“Good idea.” Margaretha shoved some coins at me across the bar. “Go for it!” As I turned away, she grabbed my shoulder and swung me back. “Take it a little easy. She may not admit it, but she’s new to this.” I didn’t think she meant the bull.

I set the controls on “extreme” and vaulted aboard the broad wooden back, my hat held high in the traditional free-arm gesture. It was a damn good thing the bull was mechanical; my body could handle all the twists and lurches without involving my brain. Matching wits with a live,
wily, determined bull would’ve taken concentration I couldn’t spare, with Anneke on my mind.

I was vaguely aware that a crowd had gathered. The music was “The Devil Came Down to Georgia”, and Anneke was leaning against a nearby post watching with her Mona Lisa smile. Less vaguely, I realized I was going to be sore tomorrow—though nowhere near as sore as I’d like to be, unless some vital moves were made.

When my wooden mount slowed to a stop and the room held still, I tossed my hat toward Anneke, who caught it deftly and allowed her smile to widen. Then I shifted my ass backward to make room and held out a hand to her. With no hesitation she let me pull her up to straddle the bull. Someone, maybe Margaretha, put more money in the machine and set it on “easy”; the music changed to “Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places”; and I was in the kind of trouble worth dreaming about.

Riding without stirrups can be an erotic experience all by itself. Riding with Anneke’s ass pressed into me, kneading my crotch with every heave of the bull, was sublime torture.

[There's more. Much more.]

TEASER! Wild Rides Excerpt from "Jessebel"

Sacchi Green

So many reviewers have remarked on the variety in my writing, I’ve decided to post some teasers, aka excerpts, to illustrate that variety in my collection Wild Rides from Dirt Road Books.

A few days ago, on a Facebook group, the subject was vampire stories. I've done very few, but I mentioned one,  “Jessebel”, a story set post-Civil War in the Sierra foothill gold country. Someone commented, “I’d read that in a hot minute!” So why not start out here with that one? Who knows, maybe I’ll hit pay dirt with some of these excerpts and encourage folks to to read the full stories in Wild Rides for very many hot minutes.

From "Jessebel"
Sacchi Green

“See there, Cap’n, ain’t she somethin’? Jezebel, they calls ‘er, but most likely she’s just plain Mabel or Hildy underneath it all.”
I looked through a blur of drifting cigar smoke and shifting bodies. Maybe three or four of those figures were recognizably female, for damned sure not counting my own well-concealed form, but there was no doubt as to which one had sparked the old stable hand’s enthusiasm. I couldn’t see much; her back was to the door, and a rancher’s burly arms enveloped her in a most unchaste fashion as they danced, but even so there seemed to be a glow about her that drew the eye. Chestnut curls tumbled across slender shoulders, and emerald silk clung to rounded, swaying hips that promised the uttermost in carnal delights without sacrificing the least degree of elegance.
“Sure is, Bill,” I agreed, “but what’s a fine piece like that doing in a place like this?”
“Plenty of business, that’s what.” Bill elbowed me in the ribs. I only just managed to pivot enough to keep my bound-up tender bits from taking the full impact. When I turned back the girl swung around so that for a moment, before her partner’s bulk blocked the view, I saw her face, beautiful in spite of all its paint, not because of it.
The room swirled around me. The floor tilted. I clutched at the back of a chair, muttered an apology to the card player occupying it, and lurched back out through the swinging doors.
The last time I’d kissed that face it had been ashen, dirt-smeared, streaked with blood and my tears. The last time I’d held that dear body in my arms, life and warmth had seeped away.
The last time I’d seen her, she’d been dead.

(Note: Have you ever wondered whether a vampire drinking the blood of a victim seething with lust would become overwhelmed with that lust herself? You might find out in this story.)