A podcast episode of taboo fiction explores the experiences of young men who have suffered brutality, bullying and tormenting.

Resources:

• Sexual masochism torture and transcendence
• Sexually abused boys and the men they become
• The use of masturbation to distract from emotional pain

Transcript:

Announcer: Hello and welcome. This is the taboo podcast series from Las Vegas, Nevada. The title of this episode is “Hey, Vaquero.” All characters and events in this podcast episode, even those which may or may not be based on real people and real events, are entirely fictional. All voices were created using artificial intelligence. This podcast episode contains coarse language and heteronormative views together in one place at one time. Due to its explicit content, this podcast episode probably–if we’re being honest–should not be heard by humans. Hey, vaquero.

Clothed Man: I met him inside a crowded airport bar. There I was, traveling solo. I was booked in one of those pricey high-rise hotels. My employer paid for all of that. Four nights in Dallas. Had to go to one hotel conference room meeting after another, day after day of that mind numbing shit. Oh how I detest attending conferences at hotels located at airports, but at least my nights belong to me. I used an app to connect with him. There we were together, face to face drinking Mexican beer at a small table way off to the side in that airport bar.

He was a native of El Paso. West Texas. Now he lived near the Dallas Fort Worth airport. I thought it was gonna be a one-night stand. We each sipped our frosty mugs of Modelo Negra. I was drinking on an empty stomach, so I felt happy very quickly. He wanted me to know something first before we went upstairs to my hotel room. He wanted me to be aware that his life took a turn. Who says that? Took a turn. Like you’re talking about driving in a roundabout or whatever. Why did I need to know that? I just wanted us to go upstairs to my hotel room but he insisted that I listen to him first. Took a turn at twenty-one. Yeah. At twenty-one. That’s what he said to me. Now he was forty-five. Twenty-one was a far stretch back when he looked in his rear-view mirror.

He seemed sincere as he told me his life was forever altered when he reached the legal age of consent. I was attracted to him sexually. He was beefy, like he spent time working out. His attractive dark skin and looks were what I expected. Very handsome guy born to a good-looking mother from Mexico who married a white American guy from West Texas. I just wanted to get him up to my hotel room as quickly as possible. Instead, I had to listen to this guy born in El Paso. I felt it was too much prelude for what was supposed to be a one-night stand. He told me directly.

Naked Man: When I turned twenty-one, my life turned upside down. My birthday is December 22. So I have always been obliged to mix my birthday with the birthday of our Lord. And he always got more attention than me. It’s not fair. I must tell you, I do not believe our Lord was a real person. I do not believe he was divine or that he had special powers to come back from the dead like a vampire.

So when I freshly arrived at the age of legal consent, I was optimistic and eager. I saw my whole life ahead of me as an opportunity to pursue my dreams and goals. My dreams included becoming a hero of the American rodeo to be working professionally with horses and men who took risks and faced danger second by second while sitting on the back of a two thousand pound wildly bucking animal.

I just cannot fully express how much I was drawn to that life. I wanted the sense of danger. I wanted the thrill of potential peril and the very real risk of bodily ruin by choosing to get up there on a not so friendly horse or bull. As a boy born in El Paso it was a common dream. Growing up I always was around horses and bulls and cowboys whose careers relied upon trusting large and dangerous animals not to go too far with their innate nature. But I never got to the rodeo on a professional level. I was always just some guy who bought a ticket and sat there in the bleachers to watch the men at work at rodeos I would frequent. I stayed on the sidelines because at age of twenty-one the innate nature of men hurt me more than anything any dangerous four-legged creature could ever inflict upon me.

It was Christmas Day in West Texas. A cold December kind of day where your nostril hairs freeze before you know it. The birthday of our Lord who was not there for me that day. He did not intervene. Whatever happened to the interventionist god we were told would take care of us always?

Five men walked into a small roadside tavern near Santa Theresa in the state of New Mexico–just a short drive from where I lived in El Paso. I was there less than a half-hour before they arrived. I was drinking alone. Bad decision. Couple of Mexican beers. That’s all. I was now street legal. Big boy. Twenty-one years of age. Tall and lanky. Yeah. Awkward like a young man often is. Good looking guy with dark hair.

Did the five men follow me from El Paso as I drove to the roadside tavern? I immediately feared that they wanted me for sexual reasons. I felt threatened. Did their fantasies of fucking a twenty- one year old kid from West Texas make their blood run hotter The five men grabbed me from my seat at the bar when the bartender was out in back. The five men took me behind that roadside tavern in New Mexico. Together they worked as a team as they ripped my coat and shirt off quickly. I saw that they had brought several items with them–wrist bondage cuffs, ankle bondage cuffs and rope. I knew right away what to expect next. This was the end for me.

They used the wrist bondage cuffs to restrain my arms behind my back. I was shivering now on a cold afternoon day when we all should have been celebrating the birth of Jesus. I wasn’t celebrating. I had no clothing protecting my upper body. I was gonna die there. Then the five men knocked me on my ass in the dirt behind that roadside tavern. That allowed them to remove my cowboy boots and socks oh so quickly. I couldn’t believe how fast that happened. They then stood me up and one of the bigger guys slammed his right fist squarely into my balls. Oh fuck! That was painful and humiliating. They stripped me of my blue jeans and there I was totally naked on a cloudy and gray Texas Christmas Day.

But I refused to make any sounds at all in response. I would not give the five men the satisfaction of watching me responding to being terrorized. I could take what they were gonna dish out. They used the ankle bondage cuffs to attach me to that chain link fence with my legs spread out. The biggest man walked up real close to me. He slapped my face with his thick right hand. Not punching my face, just open-handed slapping to show dominance, but it hurt like hell. He said hey vaquero. Bleed like a man. Bleed like a man. He said that to me with a voice of sheer madness and intense power. You really need to hurt like men do, he added. He had cut my face with his slapping. I could smell my own blood in the cold air. When he saw my bleeding face, the big guy chuckled as evil men do when they want to express their darkest feelings. The four other men whistled and shouted like cowboys do. They also laughed and pointed at me in my deep shame. I struggled, but it was useless. I was held tightly to that chain link fence.

The big guy brought the rope over to me. Sniff this fucking rope, he said to me. We’re gonna make a noose, constrain your neck in this rope. Look up at that pulley attached to the edge of the tavern roof. For unloading deliveries. That pulley will allow all five of us together to pull on the rope. That will tighten and pull the noose around your neck up, up, up, into the Texas skies.

What a beautiful sight. You kicking and bucking like a wild bronco at the rodeo. Your panic sets in. Sheer terror. Hey vaquero. Welcome to the end of your life. You know what? Maybe we should give you a special ride. Each of us is gonna fuck you. You can’t stop us. Men’s cocks pounding your ass hard before your suspension hanging. Understand this. Your butt is up against that chain link fence You cannot keep us out of you. Got you so good, vaquero.

The men were all laughing as they watched my suffering. They pointed at my cock. Oh fuck. I had become erect. Yeah, Jesus. I was erect as a flagpole. Why was that happening? I didn’t wanna get aroused. Why was my cock suddenly pointing up, up, up into the Texas skies?

Clothed Man: I listened intently to everything he said to me at that airport bar. Well-spoken man. Seemed like he was wise, highly intelligent. Someone who’s learned from life’s experience. Not just passing through. Not just marking birthdays one after another after another after another. But actually having learned from your own life. He long since moved away from El Paso. Who could blame him for wanting to get far, far away from what he experienced in El Paso?

I fell in with him. What else to call it actually? I wanted him in bed with me upstairs in my hotel room. I kept studying his dark alluring looks like men who are born of the great women of Mexico. He was just as sexy as hell and that voice. Oh man. That voice. I ordered a couple more frosty mugs of Mexican beer. On an empty stomach. Bad, bad idea.

It was very clear to me there was something wrong. Very wrong actually. I was stunned as he told me about those five men who tormented him on Christmas Day long ago when he was only twenty-one. He had trouble getting the words out. His words. His torment. His shame.

Naked Man: Why was my cock suddenly pointing up, up, up into the Texas skies? I could not remain silent. The next thing I knew I was sobbing in front of those five men. What could I do to defend myself? My erection remained in full force. The big guy leaned close to my left ear and whispered to me: Listen to me, cowboy. Tell you what. We have decided not to fuck you today. On account of we respect it’s the birthday today of our lord Jesus. They quickly removed the wrist and ankle bondage cuffs. I was freed. I fell to my knees in the dirt behind the roadside tavern. I looked up at that pulley attached to the roof and I was sobbing.

The five men walked away. They took all four bondage cuffs. They took that rope too. Nothing left behind for evidence. They would totally get away with this. Never be investigated. Never punished. No one would ever know what I suffered here. Nobody would believe me even if I reported this. I heard their pickup trucks driving away down the road. I breathed the sigh of relief and continued to sob like a baby. I was so cold out there naked like that. I just wanted to die there on a frigid Christmas day far away from safety and protection. It’s what I truly deserved. At least they didn’t fuck me. I kept telling myself that over and over. I felt lucky. Actually felt lucky at that moment. My face was bleeding and I was hurt physically and emotionally. I lost consciousness and tumbled over into the dirt.

The bartender–he was some guy who was a little older than me. He dragged me inside the tavern and out of the cold. I regained consciousness and the bartender helped me get dressed again. Then he made me slowly sip hot coffee to start the elevation of my body temperature. I drove back home to El Paso and just fell on top of my bed fully clothed. When I woke up, I realized it was not Christmas Day anymore. I had slept for over twelve hours. I showered away the dried blood from my face. But the soothing warm water did nothing to ease my deep wounds. Yes, I was okay in the physical sense. The rope had never touched my skin There was no evidence whatsoever I was gonna be hanged. I felt lucky. But in my mind, I had trouble processing what I had experienced. How could a grown-up man at age twenty-one not be able to defend himself or fight back from being victimized? I am young and strong. How was being a victim even possible? None of that is supposed to happen to men.

The more I thought about it I realized the big guy who cut my face with his slaps had obvious intentions towards me. I’d seen him around El Paso for quite a while. I never knew him personally. We never were introduced. Nor did we travel in the same circles. But his was a familiar face to me. I imagine that this big man watched me from the shadows in West Texas. He was about ten years older than me. I remember he was beefy with muscular arms wide shoulders and a thick chest. Did he want me sexually? Is that why he slapped me? I guess that’s why. But then he whispered in my ear. He whispered to me so tenderly. It hurt to hear him whispering to me. Is that normal for a man to do to another man? His whispered admission was that fucking me had always been an option on the table. He wanted to fuck me.

What had I ever done to encourage him to feel that way towards me? The big man obviously was aroused sexually by me. I could see that in the way he bulged below the belt inside his blue jeans as he kept slapping me. I expected I was gonna get fucked by that big man that day. I really expected that. I was mentally prepared to get fucked by all five men, and then I was gonna get hanged naked. I was shocked when that whole ugly Christmas Day experience ended without me being violated in the dirt behind some forgettable New Mexico roadside tavern.

And the years passed. My shame and humiliation grew slowly and steadily. There is just no way to push that kind of experience out of your life or your mind. I will never understand. Why did my body betray me like that? Why? I was not attracted to the big guy. I was not enjoying getting restrained and beaten-up buck naked in front of five men who held all the power over me. Why the fuck did I get hard like that? What was wrong with me?

I did go into a local clinic for counseling. The counselor gave me stuff to study online to help me understand. A young man being bullied by a group of dominant men, tormented like I had been, threatened like I had been almost to the point of being executed by my tormentors. Turns out that tormenting young men is common. Common. Just so few talk about it. Rarely reported. Seldom investigated by law enforcement.

Happens to many young men in many parts of the country. Few ever talk about it. Best that they keep that secret. Too humiliating. Too much shame. Now I read online that the young men who are bullied, threatened, humiliated. They all, one way or another, turn to the only relief that is possible. You can never be cured of this after it happens to you. The relief you want can be found in sexual fantasies and masturbation. That’s what I said. You heard me right.

I learned how to ease my anguish momentarily, just as I had read other young men did. How? By masturbating and making myself ejaculate. Whenever I shot my load, I felt free. I felt relief, but only for a few seconds, and only in that short span of time. That gave me the power. I felt that I was no longer the victim. A very common experience for many young men who just never chose to speak to anyone about what happened to them. And what got me aroused the very most was thinking about how it happened to me on Christmas Day. Thinking about five men who stripped me completely naked. Thinking about getting bound and almost fucked by five men at the most wonderful time of the year. Thinking about how each slap the big man landed on my bleeding face really was symbolic. Like pelvic thrust the big guy could have made as he fucked me from behind through the chain link fence behind the New Mexico roadside tavern. Thinking about all that. Merry fucking Christmas. Remembering, replaying and experiencing that Christmas Day.

Over time you know what? I actually grew to miss or crave for the sensations forced upon me by those five men so long ago. I actually longed to be with them again when I was twenty-one and still young. The manly scent of their sweat. The dust they carried on their cowboy boots. The ways in which they filled out their blue jeans. The sounds of their deeply masculine voices laughing at me and mocking me as the big guy kept slapping my face while his erection grew stronger and stronger. I missed their pointing at my hard cock and whistling their cowboy approvals at me.

More than anything else, I missed the big guy whispering in my ear so tenderly. For years I could hear his soft whispered tones telling me what I needed to hear from him. I love you. He whispered that in my fantasies over and over. I respect you. He also whispered that too. Yeah, he did. I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. You’re gonna love getting fucked by me. Yeah. In my fantasies I heard him whispered that to me as well. I wanted him. I needed him to fuck me. Yeah. That’s what I must have secretly wanted. I just could never admit that to myself.

Perhaps that is why I never really felt complete enjoyment during sex with women. I always feel something is not exactly right in bed with women. It feels pleasurable. Sure. Yeah. But something is always missing. I never could figure out what was missing but I know for sure that I am straight, totally and completely a straight man. Wouldn’t have it any other way than that. Straight is best for me. Straight is the only correct way for a man like me to be. So along with having sex with women, I also sought sexual experiences with gay men using apps on my cell phone.

I accepted there was no way to get rid of or cure what’s inside my mind. The sexual thrills I feel are long since ingrained in me. Buried deep inside. What else can I do? I seek gay men online who can recreate in real life the feelings I now fantasize about. I find gay men who are attracted to me who will agree to celebrate what I felt then and what I feel today. These gay men in real life get off by role playing in which they humiliate and shame me before they ejaculate. That makes me feel so good. That feels totally perfect, different from sex with women. Maybe better than sex with women. Let me be clear, the gay men do not penetrate me. I never let them touch me to bring me to orgasm, but I do ejaculate in their presence. Yeah. I admit that They make me cum. Shoot my load. Yeah. They do. Along with my replaying and my memories of what happened and how I was treated that Christmas Day in West Texas when I was twenty one.

Clothed Man: I was so fucking confused because of what he told me. What was I supposed to do? Seated next to him in a crowded airport bar. I’m sure nobody could hear him at all. We were off to the side in that bar too far from anyone’s earshot. All I could think was one thing. I wanted this Mexican-American man sexually. He was overwhelmingly arousing to me especially after what he told me.

What the fuck was I supposed to do? He was crystal clear. He spelled out in exacting detail what he wanted me for. It was utterly simple. Truth is, I fantasized that he and I would jump into my bed at that airport hotel. Uh, no. Didn’t turn out like I fantasized, not at all Not at all.

This very hot Mexican-American guy was there in my hotel room but he wanted me to remain fully clothed. He, however, would be completely naked compared to me. Me, fully clothed. Him, not wearing a stitch of clothing. Took off his sexy cowboy boots. Bare-footed, strong masculine feet. Then he removed his Texas cowboy hat Oh fuck how arousing this man’s cowboy hat. Jesus. His fucking cowboy hat. My mind was reeling. I could not fully process what he wanted from me In my hotel room. It was only supposed to be a simple one-night stand in Dallas. Get off, then get going.

The next morning I pretended to pay attention to one after another completely worthless discussion in various hotel meeting rooms. I secretly spent time in online searches using my cell phone. My eyes were suddenly open. I became suddenly more aware. He did want me there in my hotel room. Oh yeah. But he wanted me on his terms. He said that. He had told me about men who were bullied or beaten up like he was. Told me about sexualizing torment as a way of coping psychologically. I found that in my online searches.

Never knew any of this. Young men get bullied every day. Some get beaten up. A few get tormented with utter cruelty. Overcome by other men–powerless, defenseless. I learned this in my searches using my cell phone during useless meetings at that hotel. I was getting aroused. Couldn’t concentrate. Young men, naked and tormented. Those two things together totally screws with a young man’s mind so totally. Later they find the cruelty they suffered can be erotic, arousing. Lead to orgasm. Bullied and tormented naked in front of other men who just stand there watching, never intervening, never stopping the tormenting. Very powerful stimuli. Arousing. Orgasmic.

My searches found that happens frequently, rarely admitted. Few men ever talk about it. The secrets they hold deep inside for year after year after year can eat them up inside. Clothed man, naked man. I found that phrase online. That’s an accepted name, an actual fetish that is totally true and out here in the real world. It does exist–the fetish. Not some made-up phrase like I assumed it was. I was wrong. I was stunned.

He tells me he agrees to go to my hotel room for as many nights as I wanted. He said this was for as many nights as I wanted. He said this was possible and convenient for him because he lived nearby. I would work during the day and then he and I would be together there in my hotel room at night for as many nights in a row that I wanted. Clothed man, naked man. Sounded to me as if he had experience with this many times over. Meeting gay men at that hotel at the Dallas Fort Worth airport to get what he wanted from them. Perfect arrangement. Right?

I must admit he was very persuasive. Told me to my face. Said he would be totally mine. Totally mine. His words. He said that I had him by the balls. Had him by the balls. His words. Totally mine. I found that so arousing when he told me. He gave over ownership of himself to me like he was a sex slave and I was the master. He said that in so many words. How fucked up is that?

I was powerless to resist him. He asked me to whisper tenderly into his left ear as he sat on my hotel room bed naked next to me. I remained fully clothed. He used a soft gentle voice as I whispered to him. The words didn’t matter he said. Did not matter one bit. Just had to be tender whispers. Just had to be soft and gentle. Just had to threaten to fuck him against his will. Just had to sound all warm and fuzzy but had to be words that a man hears from another man who is just about to rape him. He wanted me to help him with his male rape fantasy. Tender whispers in a hot Mexican-America man’s left ear. My whispering made him respond and I was not surprised at all. He brought himself to orgasm quickly, like he had held back for several hours, ready to shoot at long last once we got up to my hotel room. And then he just let go. His hot juices exploded into the air. He was a volcano.

I never touched him except to put my hand on his shoulder as I bent over to whisper in his left ear. Never otherwise touched him in a sexual way. He did what he did all by himself, just from listening to my whispering to him. He never thanked me for role playing with him in my hotel room. He seemed to not give a shit about me at all. He only wanted me to help him satisfy himself. He was all that mattered, right? Selfish. Yes. He was that. I guess. But I admit that I completely understood or so I told myself.

If he tells anyone what happened between us, I believe his version of what went on in that hotel room will differ substantially from mine. And yet, I think it’s unlikely he will tell anyone anything. He needs to keep his secrets. He has too much shame, way too much shame. Humiliation and shame are motivations to keep secrets. I felt sorry for him. What a fucking mess his life turned into.

Naked man: I was no fool–not at all. I completely knew what was going through his mind. That first night we spent together in that hotel room at the Dallas Fort Worth airport. He did not trust me. I represented a very serious risk to him. Me. The guy who had been victimized. Now somehow, I was a threat to him. I believe he was as if from some other world compared to me. I was no fool. We fell in together in that airport bar, and then we went upstairs to his hotel room. Notice I say fell in together and not fell in love. We were never in love at all with each other. Love has nothing to do with this what-so-fucking-ever.

I knew he wanted to fuck me. He was ready to fuck me. He wanted to be there on top of me, pumping me hard from behind. Yeah. But I was gonna defend myself. Protect myself. I was not gonna let him fuck me. I wanted him very badly, but only in my own way.

He was not even someone I found sexually attractive. Yeah. That’s the truth. I’m straight. I sleep with women like straight men do. That’s right, I’m straight. I just was playing roles with consenting adult men in their hotel rooms. So what? But I am straight. I honestly feel very uneasy around gay men. So what does it really matter? What’s wrong with gay men bringing me sexual pleasures? It’s not me having actual sex with them. They are clothed, and I am naked. Those are the rules by which I play. And those men agree or else we never get up to that hotel room. I can live with that. I can live with that totally.

Clothed Man: We were together four nights in Dallas. I do not know what happened to him after that. I wanted to stop any further interaction with him. Truth is, I wanted to dump him. I wanted never to interact with him again, so that’s what I did. Kicked him to the curb.

I really just could not handle the intense emotional pressure of it all, not touching, me having him by the balls metaphorically. So he said. But what that meant was I did not get any sexual satisfaction whatsoever by hanging out with him in my airport hotel room for multiple nights. Sure I could jerk myself off after he left my hotel room, but I was alone. He brought wrist bondage cuffs to my hotel room on the second night and ankle bondage cuffs on the third night and rope on the fourth night. He just stipulated that he needed to have his arms and hands bound in front of him. So he could stroke his cock and bring himself to climax. The cuffs and the rope were just props like in a live theater production. The cuffs and rope were there solely to bring back his memories. When he sniffed on that rope, he was ecstatic somehow.

So what was the point of those four nights in Dallas? I felt like some interchangeable part in a machine of his creation. I merely served the purpose of giving him someone who would guide him to the point where he would ejaculate. That’s really at the heart of it. Fucked up. Totally. Why would two men get together like that? Some anonymous airport hotel room. Oh yeah, you’re gonna tell me it was consensual. Two grown ass men. Safe sex. No exchanging precious bodily fluids. Very safe. Very sterile. Very non-threatening to anybody.

I feel he was deceptive. I am sexually attracted to masculine men who are Hispanic. He fit that profile well. I was honest about that in the app. But when I actually met him face to face, he was not attracted to me at all. He was absent even while he was there right in front of me.

I am sorry, truly sorry for him. For how he must feel. I know he wanted more. He deserved so much more than four nights in Dallas with no touching. I know now that I was merely an audience member for his performance of getting himself off right there in front of me. All the while I remained fully clothed, and there he was totally naked and pleasuring himself. I suppose that all he really wants is to find happiness.

He does what he needs to do, I guess. But I just was not at all cut out for being in some role-playing fetish with a guy whom I genuinely found sexually attractive. I deserve so much more. It’s too frustrating for me to handle. I cannot be responsible for someone else’s happiness. I am sorry. I guess that life just isn’t fair.

Naked Man: So are we done? Finally done. This was way beyond what I wanted to do. This is too painful to me, you know. Play acting. Role playing about role playing in front of this fucking microphone today. I surely do not wanna remember this shit I went through. Why the fuck would I wanna remember any of this? Goddamn it. This is way too painful for me!

Clothed Man: Stop and think. Just fucking stop. We both are actors. This is all scripted for us These are not at all real memories. We both are actors, for fuck’s sake. We are imaginary. We are not even real men. We are artificial intelligence voices generated by an app. Actors. And not even oxygen-breathers. Just calm down, okay. We are digital creations. We feel nothing. Nothing. You do not feel aroused, buddy. You don’t have genitals. You think I’m wrong. We are digital creations with no cocks and balls. Wake up and smell the electrons.

Oh listen, before I forget, I heard a hit country music song about you while here in Dallas. Yeah, seriously. fuckface. It’s a hit country music song about you. Gonna make the top ten this week for sure on Casey’s Coast-to-Coast. Coming in this week at number one hundred one, this is the theme song from the smash hit podcast episode called “Hey, Vaquero.”

Song Lyrics (copyright © 2025):

Out on the highway.
The sun setting low.
Got a heart full of scars.
But I’ll never let it show.

These boots on my feet.
They walk through the fire.
Underneath the tough skin is a hard full of desire.
People think we’re strong like we never feel pain.
But I’m here to tell you we all dance in the rain.

We bleed and we hurt just like men do.
Behind every smile there’s a story so true.
We carry the weight.
We carry the scars.
Underneath the bravado we’re just who we are.

So pour me a whiskey.
Let’s toast to the night.
To the battles we face.
To the struggles we fight.

Broken love letter crumpled in my hand.
Thought I was tough but I couldn’t withstand.
With each passing day I’m learning to feel.
It’s okay to be weak.
It’s okay to heal.
The world keeps spinning, but I stand my ground.
With a heart full of courage.
I’ll never back down.

We bleed and we hurt just like men do.
Behind every smile there’s a story so true.
We carry the weight.
We carry the scars.
Underneath the bravado we’re just who we are.
So pour me a whiskey.
Let’s toast to the night.
To the battles we face.
To the struggles we fight.

So let them see the tears.
Let them hear the pain.
We’re not made a stone.
We got so much to gain.
With every crack in our armor we learn to be brave.
It’s the wounds that define us.
It’s love that we crave.

We bleed and we hurt just like men do.
Behind every smile there’s a story so true.
We carry the weight.
We carry the scars.
Underneath the bravado we’re just who we are.

So pour me a whiskey.
Let’s toast to the night.
To the battles we face.
To the struggles we fight.
So here’s to the fighters and the tears that were shed.
To the hearts that we carry.
To the words left unsaid.

We bleed and we hurt.
But we rise from the fall.
Together we stand.
Together we’ll fall.

Announcer: The title of this episode was “Hey, Vaquero.” This episode is part of the taboo podcasts series from Las Vegas, Nevada.