I was the fastest gun in the Old West. But I never killed a man. I preferred to make money off my other great talent: card games, especially poker. It was a lot more profitable. But the fast draw did come in handy. Losers liked to dispute the game. A six shooter pointing in their faces made life easy for me.

I was not only fast, I was sharp. I liked to fire from the hip. Why waste time bringing the gun up? My favorite way to practice was to have my girlfriend throw stones into the air. I drew and hit the them, firing from the hip. Within thirty yards, it was usually no problem.

Unfortunately we could not practice a lot. She was a teacher in Phoenix. I had to follow the game, wherever there was good money. It was very good money, but a hard life. All the men thought that a single woman, traveling alone, should be free sex for them. It did not help that I was beautiful. You would be amazed by the things they tried even in a bigger town with a sheriff. A six shooter pointing in their faces made life easy for me.

It was my second day in Boulder, Colorado. I had a good run in the poker game in Nick’s Hotel. I liked the place. Nick was a small thin man, all smile and friendly until you started trouble. He had you out on the street on your ass in half a second. He did not like having furniture fixed or replaced. He was equally good with fists, gun or knife. You could play a good game of cards in there.

There were five men at the table, and me. The one to my left was particularly obnoxious. He was ugly and loud, making lewd remarks continuously. He smelled too. And keep staring at my chest. I did not mind that too much. He could not pay much attention to the game. It was the man in the blue shirt, sitting across the table, I was afraid of. He was quiet. He kept looking at my hands, my posture, my expression. He was trying to read my tale. He was happy to have smelly distract me. This guy was another pro.

Smelly liked to get his hand on me. That’s the annoying part. I had already hit him twice with my fan, a fan with hard wood frame, a secret weapon. I reminded myself to bring my iron framed fan next time I came down, just in case this smelly son-of-a-bitch also showed up.

He had a six and three tens. I had a pair of fours and a pair of queens up. My face down card was a queen. I knew he was bluffing. When he was really excited, he moved his head slightly to the right. So I called. His fifth card was an ace. There went his last dollar. Suddenly he hollered: “You cheating bitch. I am going to make you cough it back up.” As he turned the table over, his hands reached out for my tits. Trapped in my chair, I could only put my arms up. He got his hand on my right tit and squeezed hard.

“OUTSIDE”. It was Nick barking at the top of his voice. The place became very quite. Smelly let go of me and stepped back. I turned. Nick had two double-barrel shot guns, one in each hand. One pointed at smelly and the other one at me. The barrels were sawed of, with no more than four inches sticking out. At that range, those guns were as nasty as they came.

Nick marched us outside, his shotguns steady. The sheriff was no where in sight. Smelly was screaming again and again: “I kill you, bitch.” Nick just shouted him down: “Twenty feet away from each other, I call one-two-three and you draw. I shoot the one who touches the gun before I count to three. Understood?” Nick pointed one gun at the ground and told me to stand there. He walked a few steps to mark the twenty feet and told smelly: “get your ass over here.” Then he step away to one side, equal distance from us. His two shot guns still pointing at us.

“Get ready.“ Hands drop down, half an inch away from the holsters. My heart beat seemed to slow down. Time seemed to slow down. “One”. I saw smelly clearly, every hair, every pore. “Two”. I saw his hand shaking a little. He had quite a bit of whisky in the hotel. “Three”. I drew my gun, rotating it forward as I pulled it up. As soon as it cleared the holster, I fired. I liked to hit the feet. It was the first target. It was enough to end a fight. I never had to kill a man. At that range, I could not miss. And I did not. But I was really mad. My right tit burned with humiliation. I felt so violated. So I continued to bring up the gun and fired again at his dick. As the second bullet hit him, he fired and hit the ground two feet in front of me. Then he collapsed. The whole street was dead silent, except the saloon girls. They were cheering wildly, screaming and jumping up and down.

I spent that night with the most beautiful girl from the big saloon next door. After making love, we talked about that afternoon’s gun fight. She told me I blew off smelly’s dick and his left ball. His right ball was OK. The doctor’s maid told everyone who wanted to hear. “You don’t know how much every girl in town hates that SOB. He apparently has money from somewhere. But he is mean and tightfisted. He is the most obnoxious man this side of Mississippi. I hate that smell. It’s a torture to go to bed with him. You are the greatest heroine to us working girls in this town. Believe me, you can have your pick of the beauties and most of us would sleep with you for free.”

That was the only time I shot a man’s dick off.