Real Cowboy

Picture an old, musty saloon in Southwest Texas filled with ole West and cattle raisin' memorabilia. At the bar an old rough and ready cowhand with a dirty Stetson and well-worn boots and faded Levi's, sits with a glass and a half empty bottle of "Red Eye". A beautiful young thing comes in and sits right beside him. She looks him over and asks, "Are you a real cowboy?"

He looks back at her and says, "I get up at the crack of dawn, saddle an old horse, round up long horns, corral doggies, rope and brand calves, eat dust from moving herds, live on half-baked beans and bad coffee 365 days a year. Yeah, I'm a real cowboy. Are you a real model?"

"No," she says. "I'm a lesbian. I wake up in the morning thinking how empty my bed looks without a sweet young, naked girlish body lying next to me, I bathe wishing there was a young nubile body in there with me that I could rub with soap, I go to breakfast thinking of pert little boobs and nice flat tummies that I would love to massage, I spend the whole day thinking of nude girls and naked mature women. Yes, I'm a real lesbian."

An hour later another pair of tourists sits down beside the old cowpoke and ask, "Are you a real cowboy?"

He looks at them and says, "I always thought so until an hour ago when I found out I was a lesbian."