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A somewhat rugged cowboy glided into the lobby of the and over to the pool area of the Crockett Hotel, just off the river, in downtown San Antonio.  He was startled to walk right into the gaze of an attractive young, buxom blonde seated in a chaise lounge near the water and staring in his general direction.  Her skin was a deep, rich shade of bronze that only comes from the sun; her hair coiffed in a mane of golden curls that surrounded her face and cascaded down the back of her slender neck like a sensuous waterfall.  Her lips were full and ruby red.

Without saying a word, she beckoned him over.

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“Do you see that red Cadillac convertible parked right out front,” she asked.

He glanced behind him. Just beyond the deep end of the pool, on the other side of a low fence, was the longest, sleekest, brightest red automobile he had ever encountered in his life.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She tossed him the keys and said, “Bring it around to the side entrance of the hotel and park it in the shade of the live oak tree. Put the top up. Leave the windows down.”

He nodded silently. Then she tossed him another key. A room key. “Then come up to my room. First, stop at the ice machine and fill up an ice bucket. Then find Room 721. Don’t knock. Just come in. Put the ice bucket and the keys on the desk. Open the champagne on the dresser. Pour two glasses. Put the bottle in the ice bucket and then join me for a drink.”

He did exactly as instructed. 

What followed was the most incredible night of exotic passion he had ever experienced in his entire life. At one point, having heard that raw oysters had the effect of being able to extend performance and increase stamina, he called room service and had a dozen of them delivered to the room. Nine of them worked.  His specialty was riding bucking horses without ever getting bucked off.  She gave him a run for his money and nearly destroyed his record.

Next morning, she told him to take the Cadillac and go to the local mercado to fetch fresh pastries and orange juice.

On his way back to the hotel, he parked the Cadillac next to The Sisters of Improbable Opportunity and sought the confessional booth.

“I met a young woman, Father,” he began. “Young. Gorgeous. Blonde. I began lusting.”

“I understand,” said the priest. “Lust can be powerful.”

“I spent all last night with her in her hotel room.  We performed acts that had previously only been a fantasy.  I tasted the fruit of carnal knowledge in ways that brought me pleasure I’d never even imagined before.  I spent this morning behind the wheel of her Cadillac convertible, the most finely detailed and luxurious automobile I believe has ever been produced.  I have become completely entranced with the pleasures both she and the car have to offer,” the cowboy said.

“How long has it been since your last confession,” the priest inquires.

“This is my first.”

“How can this be your first confession.”

“I’m Methodist.”

“Then why are you even telling me this?” the priest asks.

“Telling you? I’m telling everyone! You just happened to be the next guy I saw.”

Lust can be more powerful than a 390 cubic inch V8.

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