29/09/2025
Rancher was a virgin at 40, until a woman asked him to stay in his barn during the storm
In the arid north of Mexico, where the desert wind whispers secrets that only the lonely can hear, lived Diego Mendoza, a man shrouded in mystery and solitude. His ranch stretched across acres of dry land, surrounded by distant mountains that drew toothed silhouettes against the infinite sky. The ruthless sun had caressed her skin to tanned leather, and his hair black contrasted with green eyes, an inheritance of some European ancestor forgotten by time.
At 33, Diego was an enigma even to himself. While other men already had families, he had chosen the company of cattle and the vastness of the landscape. The women of the nearby village, three hours on horseback, watched him curiously when he showed up every two months to buy supplies, but he kept the conversations brief, almost ceremonial.
Diego's routine was as predictable as the seasons. He awoke before dawn, when stars were still twinkling in the purple sky. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled his tiny house with adobe, while her horses chillled waiting for breakfast. The days went between fixing fences, taking care of cattle and keeping the water pump running. The nights were different though. After dinner alone, Diego sat on the wooden porch, watching the fireflies dance among the blooming cacti. Sometimes he played his father's guitar, letting melancholy melodies get lost in the vastness of the desert.
The house reflected his personality: functional, but warm. Adobe walls kept the temperature cool during the day and kept the heat at night. Dark wood beams held up the ceiling, and small windows allowed the golden sunset light to create geometric patterns on the red tile floor. A hand-carved crucifix hung above the fireplace, alongside a faded photograph of his parents.
Diego had learned self-sufficiency by necessity. He knew how to repair engines, sew wounds on both animals and humans, cook simple dishes and read the weather with the precision of a meteorologist. Their hands, large and callous, were skillful handling a bow or healing a sick calf. But there was one thing that set him apart from other ranchers: his complete inexperience with women. It wasn't lack of opportunity or physical appeal. The ladies of the village had tried to get his attention, but Diego, marked by a deeply religious mother and her early loss, had immersed himself in ranch work, building layers of emotional isolation year after year.
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