This
story
concerns adult and teenage gay
males who may be involved in sexual situations. If it is illegal for
you to
read such stories, or if you do not like to read such stories, please
leave
now.
This
story is
copyright 2006 by the author who retains all rights.
This
is a work
of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
either are the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
This is my
third submission to Nifty. My
previous submissions can be found in the High School section under
Kiel’s Story. Any comments or questions are
welcome at: carl_holiday@att.net.
A warm
thank you goes out to all who
write. I appreciate knowing someone is actually reading this stuff,
whether you
like it or not. I try to answer all emails, even flames. (I’m a writer,
I live
for rejection.) Although sometimes it takes a little time to get back
to
you, I do
try to answer. If I'm remiss in replying to yours, I apologize.
The Pastel Cowboy
by Carl Holiday
Chapter
8 – Who the Fuck Are You?
Zach looked out the
window
wall of his new bedroom. Uncle David’s condo was on the nineteenth
floor of a
twenty-two story building on the north side of Pill Hill, named for all
the
hospitals and clinics on it. Zach had an unobstructed view of Lake
Union and most of Seattle north of the Ship Canal. In the far
distance, he
could just make out the red brick buildings of North Park Memorial
Hospital. As he stood there, a seaplane flew past the
building
heading down toward the lake. After a few moments, Zach watched the
white
splash as the plane skimmed onto the water between two sailboats.
He was alone, now.
Steven was
in the hospital. Jeremy was with Johnny. Jerry was slowly recovering
from his
attempted suicide and was so drugged up most of the time his mind was
somewhere
beyond his body. Bruce was gone, wherever. Four attempts at making new
friends
in a new town and they were all gone. He was sort of starting out fresh.
What surprised him
after he
moved in was Uncle David. There was definitely something wrong with the
man. He
was too subdued, kind of like Jerry was before he nearly cut his hands
off with
the box cutter. When he first came to North Park back in
May, Uncle David seemed almost normal, but now there seemed to be a
dark cloud
hanging over him all the time. And, he seemed smaller as if he was
shrinking in
every direction, not just in height. Uncle David was big, nearly six
and half
feet tall and weighed well over two hundred, probably close to three,
but he
still seemed smaller, as if whatever was wrong with him diminished his
presence.
Then there was
Paul. Steven
told Zach about Paul and how he liked to seduce his models in the
studio. The
thing that Zach noticed about Paul was that he was very attractive for
a man in
his late forties. So attractive, in fact, he felt a familiar tingle in
his
groin just thinking about being alone with Paul down in that studio,
naked.
Steven said there was a bed down there where Paul reputedly enjoyed his
models until
they were more of a lover than a model. Zach imagined himself on that
bed under
Paul as the man’s hot, engorged dick thrust deep into his ass.
They were leaving
in the
morning, early. Zach only had a few hours to get himself settled in his
new
surroundings. His bedroom was big enough for a queen-size bed with
nightstands
on either side and a headboard that had sloping cabinets so you could
sit up
and read; a small sofa and side chair; an entertainment center with a
twenty-seven inch television, cable box, DVD, VCR, and a stereo you
could buy at
Wal-Mart; a desk, bookshelves, and
a dresser with a mirror. There was a mirrored closet with sliding doors
and
another door led into a private bath with a broad marble vanity,
whirlpool tub,
a separate shower with room for a crowd, a toilet, and a bidet. Zach
had to ask
Paul what it was. Even then, he couldn’t figure out why he had one or
how he
would use it.
“It came with the
condo,”
Paul said, “and David didn’t have them removed, not that he couldn’t
afford not
to.”
“He’s rich, isn’t
he?” Zach asked.
He really didn’t know what Uncle David did other than he was a writer
of some
sort.
“Actually, we’re
both kind of
rich,” Paul said. “He’s probably got more money, but he’s got an
ex-wife, too.
She sucks off a lot of his resources, but money isn’t everything.”
It certainly came
in handy,
though, Zach thought. Jerry was certainly benefiting from money, Bud’s
money.
At three o’clock in the morning, all three of them stuffed
their
luggage into the Mercedes and headed south on I-5 to Tacoma where they
caught State Route 16 across the Narrows. Zach half dozed as Paul
seemed to where he
was driving. He’d look up
now and then, but the landmarks were meaningless as he’d never ventured
this
far from campus. After a nice dream about being naked with Jeremy that
gave him
a hard-on, Zach woke up as the car pulled into a garage. He got out,
adjusted
himself hoping no one else saw the bulge in his jeans, retrieved his
bag from
the trunk, and went outside. They were near water, very near. He could
hear
waves softly lapping on the shore somewhere off in the darkness.
The motor home was
a forty
footer, one of those custom busses entertainers used to transport
themselves
between gigs. It was big, but the beach house it sat in front of was
much
bigger. It wasn’t huge like the McDonald house on Foundry Ridge, but in
the
dark and lit with only security lights, its immensity was difficult to
gauge.
An older man, the caretaker, spoke quietly with Uncle David.
“You’ll drive the
first leg,”
Paul said.
“I don’t know where
I am,”
Zach said.
“It’s easy, really,
just pull
out to the road and turn left, go to the stop sign and turn left. Stay
on
US-101 to I-5, then we head south to Portland and I-84, and then we
head east to I-80,
which we
follow to US-183. Then it’s south to I-70, east to I-135, south to the
Cimarron
Turnpike . . .”
“Cimarron Turnpike? Are we going to Oklahoma?”
“Muskogee, to pick up Miles’ two boys, Paul and Franny
. . .”
“Franny? That
sounds like a
girl’s name.”
“Short for Frank,
his brother
tagged him with it when he was a baby.”
“Are you two about
ready to
hit the road?” Uncle David asked. “Anybody got to pee first?”
“No,” Paul and Zach
said,
almost in unison.
“Good, let’s get
out of here.
Zach you drive.”
“Paul already gave
me the
good news,” Zach said.
“I don’t want any
lip, you
just get behind the wheel. Paul will tell you how this thing works.”
“But, I . . .”
“Zach, come on, get
buckled
in,” Paul said nudging Zach toward the door.
“But, I . . .”
“Just do it,” Paul
said
quietly. “David, are you going to lie down for awhile?”
“Yes, I’ll take
over at that
rest area before The Dalles,” David
said, as he walked back toward the bedroom. “Arthur said he provisioned
us and
put in three sleeping bags for the boys. Zach can sleep in our room
until we get
to Sommersville, then he’ll sleep out here with the boys. Oh, and Zach?
Try to
keep this thing between the lines.”
Zach stared at the
controls,
not believing what he’d heard. It was as if his uncle was another
person. All
the joking, kidding, laughing he remembered when his aunt and uncle and
cousins
came down to the ranch for visits in the summer must have been done by
some
other man, it certainly wasn’t the meanie who just closed the bedroom
door.
“What’s wrong?”
Zach asked.
“Get this thing in
gear and
down the road!” David hollered from the bedroom.
“Start it up, son,”
Paul
said. “Just turn the key. We’ll talk about it in a while.”
“Are you two
fighting?” Zach
asked. The motor home was a bus, it drove like a bus. Being at the end
of the
line, Zach drove the school bus for a year. He would have done it his
senior
year, too, except perverts aren’t allowed to drive school busses.
“We’ll talk about
it later.
You seem to know how to do this.”
“It’s a bus.”
“Yeah, basically,
that’s what
it is.”
“I took the school
bus home
on weekdays.”
In less than an
hour of
uneventful predawn driving, Zach eased the motor home out onto I-5 and
up the
hill at Tumwater as Ray Price crooned,
Lay your head,
Upon my pillow
Hold your warm and tender body
Close to mine . . .
“You really go in
for that
country shit, don’t you?” Paul said.
“Yeah, we didn’t
have any
rock stations to listen to, just Christian, Spanish, and country.
Actually,
there were three country stations, one played oldies.”
“I don’t know how
anyone can
listen to that stuff. It’s so fucking straight.”
“Then you’re not
listening.
Half the songs you listen to don’t specifically come out and say
anything about
whether it’s about a man or a woman. Listen to these lyrics. He could
just as
easily be singing about some guy next to him.”
“Watch where you’re
pointing
this thing,” Paul said as the tires sang out “thumpa-thumpa-thumpa.”
“I’m watching,”
Zach said.
“Did you ever hear Billie Holiday sing “Love For Sale”?”
“No, who’s Billie
Holiday?”
“One of the
greatest jazz
singers, ever.”
“You listen to
jazz, too?”
“Sure, it’s not
like we lived
in the sticks. Mom liked jazz. I kind of like the old stuff. You know,
Billie
Holiday, Count Basie, Fats Waller, the classics.”
“So what about
“Love for Sale?”
“Well, Harry
Connick, Jr.,
besides a lot of guys, record that song, too. Only, when Billie Holiday
sings
it you can imagine what she’s selling. When Harry sings those same
words, you
just want to laugh. It’s like they don’t listen to the words. A woman
singing about
“young love for sale,” isn’t the same as a guy singing those same
words.”
“Wait a minute,
that’s Cole
Porter from the musical “The New Yorkers.” I’ve heard it. Yeah, and
you’re
right, it doesn’t sound the same coming out of a guy’s mouth, but are
we supposed
to care who is singing?”
“Well, I care, and
speaking
about caring, what’s wrong with Uncle David?”
“Depression.”
“Bad?”
“The pills he takes
make him
impotent, so he stops taking them. Then he gets moody as shit, but at
least he
gets hard and knows what to do with it. He’ll be better by the time we
get to Muskogee.”
The conversation
died and
Zach concentrated on the road ahead. He’d come across Snoqualmie Pass
when he came up from Oklahoma so this road was completely new. He
thought
about
going back near where he was raised. Kids would be out at Glasgow Beach
soaking up the rays when they weren’t
hauling hay,
loading steers for their free trip to Disneyland, or
simply riding the lawn mower across an acre of weeds their momma called
lawn.
His mind wandered
back to the
conversation he had with Jeremy about going back and helping young kids
cope
with uncertain futures. How many kids in Carruthers were gay, lesbian,
or any
of the other flavors of sexual diversity not allowed in good Christian
homes?
There couldn’t be a lot, could there? There weren’t that many people in
Carruthers and the surrounding farm land. Besides, good little
Christians
didn’t question the vile homophobic shit coming out of their elders’
mouths. He
wondered how many sermons he’d listened about the evils of
homosexuality and
how God condemned those people for their sin; and, how he was supposed
to love
the person, but condemn the sin. Only, they didn’t live up to their
words. They
didn’t practice what they preached. They kicked him out, forgetting
about
loving the person, but condemning the sin. He knew he hated them, and
hated
himself for feeling that way.
A little tear
dribbled down
his cheek, but he brushed it away before Paul noticed. Could he go back
and
live near those people? He couldn’t live in Carruthers, and Hannaford
was less
than thirty miles away. Everyone in Carruthers went to Hannaford for
everything.
You couldn’t buy a decent package of toilet paper in Carruthers. He’d
be
bumping into them everyday. Could he live with those bastards? Could he
forgive
or would he hate them until the day he died?
They reached Portland in time for the rush hour, but only had to
endure
I-205 from Vancouver to the I-84 interchange. Then everyone was
in the
other lanes heading into Portland while they headed east toward
Oklahoma. David was up before they reached the rest
area.
After a light breakfast, David got behind the wheel and Zach went back
to the
bedroom to lie down.
“We have some DVDs
and video
tapes if you’re interested,” Paul said as he helped Zach roll out a
sleeping
bag.
The bedroom wasn’t
fancy; in
fact, the motor home wasn’t fancy. It was functional, at best. Not
cheap,
because the woodwork was wood, but it reminded Zach of the inside of a
box with
some furniture thrown in and a few windows to let in light. Zach
wondered what
kind of personality would order a motor home that could very easily be
used as
a jail cell.
“I’m kind of tired,
actually,” Zach said. He was alone, mostly. He wanted to feel sorry for
himself
for a bit. He sat down on the bed and started to undress. “If you don’t
have to
go out with Uncle David, could we talk?”
“Sure, what’s on
your mind?”
Paul asked. He sat down next to Zach, close.
“What’s wrong with
me? Why
doesn’t Uncle David at least act like he likes me being here?”
“You’d have to ask
him that,
but he’s having a lot of problems right now and you’re a distraction.
This trip
is for the boys, well Paul mostly as he’s the NASCAR nut in his family,
and,
now, you’re here. David likes everything to be neat and tidy.
Everything.”
“You could’ve said
no and
left me in Seattle; or, let me find my own place to stay. I was
thinking
about getting a studio apartment.”
“You wouldn’t have
been able
to rent it. You’re not eighteen. You’d have to get an adult to co-sign
the
lease.”
Bud would have
signed. Doctor
Jeffers would have signed. Steven would have signed if he was able.
Zach was
down to his boxers and thought of removing them, too, except he wasn’t
sure he
could keep himself under control.
Somewhere in the
back of his
mind a thought was piecing itself together. It was very small, hardly
noticeable at all. In fact, Zach didn’t notice it, but felt it’s
presence in a
slight swelling of his dick and a tingling sensation near the tip.
“The other thing
is, well, he
rather you talk to me if you need anything. He’s out of the parent
business and
has designated me as your, what, guardian?”
“Daddy Paul, I like
that,”
Zach said, feeling the thought for the first time as it triggered
synapses
sending signals to his dick.
“I’m not your
daddy,” Paul
said, smiling. He laughed, a little. It was more of a chuckle. “You can
get
that sick idea right out of your head.”
“Steven told me
about
daddies,” Zach said, feeling his dick quickly soften at the thought of
seeing
Steven trying to kill himself. “He seems to know a lot of them.”
“How is dear old
Steven?”
“In the hospital.”
“Oh?”
“Went gaga. He’s
out at Fir
Grove Psychiatric. Only, they won’t let me see him.”
“Must be under
Billy Jenkins.
Now, there’s a daddy for you.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Billy? No, Billy’s
a kind
hearted old queen who likes boys, young boys. I’m sure he and Steven go
way
back. You know, the way you talk, you sound like you and Steven got to
be
friends.”
“Yeah, friends,”
Zach
whispered. His dick began to fill out as thoughts of Steven’s little
boy body
filled his mind. Suddenly, multiple images of Jeremy’s naked body
flashed
across his mind and he smiled.
He looked at Paul
and that
little thought came to the surface. Up close, Paul didn’t look all that
old. If
you didn’t look close, you might almost imagine he was still in his
twenties.
There was firmness to the skin on his face. Nothing sagged. Of course,
Zach
couldn’t see under the clothes, but he began to imagine both them
closer. His
left hand found itself resting on Paul’s muscular thigh.
“We were very
close,” Zach
said. “Probably a lot closer than Uncle David expected. I learned a lot
about
being gay. Steven was quite the teacher in those few weeks. We had
quite a few
lessons about what it’s like being close to another man.”
“Damn it! That’s
what I
thought was going to happen,” Paul said. He picked up Zach’s hand and
placed it
on the bed. “It looks to me like he taught you a little bit about the
business,
too.”
“I was just
thinking,” Zach said.
He looked into Paul’s dark eyes searching for what?
“Yeah, well you can
stop
thinking,” Paul said. He stood up, but didn’t leave. Zach could see a
slight
effect of his hand on Paul’s thigh, a slight swelling in Paul’s jeans.
“I was thinking
about you
painting me,” Zach said, looking back up into Paul’s eyes. “I was
thinking
about us down in your studio. Steven talked a lot about your studio.”
“Yeah, well, I
think you
should get a little sleep,” Paul said as he turned and walked to the
door. “You
drive next while I sleep.”
“Okay. Paul, but
you think
about me posing for you,” Zach said as Paul shut the door. Yeah, he’s
my daddy,
he thought. More of a daddy than his real daddy, but not the kind of
daddy
Steven was into.
He stretched out on
top of
the sleeping bag and immediately thought of Jeremy. He found his cell
phone and
keyed in Jeremy’s speed dial number.
“Hello?”
“Jeremy?”
“Zach?”
“How’s my favorite
sixteen
year old.”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Miss me?”
“A lot.”
“Where are you,
now? Are you
alone?”
“Yeah, I’m still in
bed,
alone.”
“I am, too. My
dick’s
thinking of you. It misses your sweet lips, your moist tongue.”
“Are you trying to
turn me
on? Because if you are, you’re doing it.”
“What do you miss
about me,
most?”
“The warm tightness
of your
ass. God, Zach, I’m hard as a rock.”
“I can feel you
inside me.
You’re harder than you’ve ever been. You’re deep and doing those little
thrusts
you like to do far inside me. You know, that little bunny humping you
do.”
“Oh, god, Zach, I
can feel my
tongue wrapped around your dick. I can smell you. I’m sucking on one of
your
balls. Umm, it’s in my mouth.”
“I can feel your
thrusts,
now. You’re pulling back, forcing yourself into me. You’re pounding my
ass.
You’re pulling back on my ring then thrusting all the way in. God,
Jeremy, your
sweet dick feels so good in my ass.”
“Zach, I can’t hold
it. Zach!
Kiss me! Zach! Uh . . . oh . . . yes, Zach, yes
. . .”
“Yes, Jeremy, yes,
I do love
you, too. Jeremy?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay, now?”
“Yeah, I want to
see you.”
“I’m in a motor
home going to
Oklahoma. I won’t be back for a couple weeks.”
“A couple weeks?
What am I
going to do?”
“Answer your phone.”
“Okay, but you can
call just
to talk, too.”
“Sure thing,
sweetie.”
“I like that.”
“What?”
“Calling me
sweetie.”
“You do? You don’t
think it’s
silly?”
“Not when you say
it. Did you
come, too?”
“Yeah, I did. I’m
going to
sleep now. I still love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Zach put the phone
back in
the pocket of his jeans and looked at his unsatisfied cock throbbing
with his
heartbeats. He lay back down and took it in his hand. He thought of
Jeremy’s
warm lips massaging its length, his tongue swirling over the head, and
his hand
cupping his balls with that errant finger sneaking back along the
perineum searching
for its treasure. He remembered the feeling of Jeremy thrusting into
him, the
head massaging his prostate as it sank deep into him. That was what he
wanted,
Paul’s dick filling his ass.
He felt his balls
tighten and
pulled his legs up over his head. The swollen head of his dick slipped
between
his lips and his tongue swathed himself as burst after burst filled his
mouth.
He didn’t taste as good as Jeremy, but he couldn’t be picky whose dick
was
coming in his mouth; and, at least he had the dick for DIY sex.
Zach and David
alternated
driving across Idaho and into Utah while Paul slept. For Zach it was a
rather
boring
because David wouldn’t let him listen to any CDs or the radio. He
wanted total
silence. He said he was working on adapting one of his earlier novels
into a
screenplay and needed Zach to be quiet. Only, although David had the
laptop
open he mostly stared at the screen or out the window. A number of
times when
Zach glanced over he caught his uncle staring at him with a face empty
of emotion.
It was unnerving because David wouldn’t avert his eyes, but kept
staring at his
nephew.
“Do you want
something?” Zach
asked after catching David for the third time. “Is there something I’m
doing
wrong?”
“Huh? Uh, no,
you’re doing
fine,” David said.
“Then why are you
staring at
me?”
“Oh, sorry, I was
just
thinking and you got in the way.”
“Do you have
writer’s block,
or something?”
“What do you know
about
writer’s block?”
“Nothing, I’ve just
heard
about people not being able to write for long periods of time and
getting super
frustrated because of it. You haven’t typed a word since I started
driving.”
“No, it’s not that.
It’s
definitely not that.”
Zach was about to
say
something more, but David turned toward his window. After a couple
minutes, he
got up and went back to the sofa behind Zach. After a few more minutes
Zach
heard the familiar soft thud of fingers on a keyboard.
When they reached
the rest
area a few miles past the I-84/86 split, David took over the driving.
Yet, even
then, he wouldn’t let Zach listen to music, so Zach went back to the
bedroom
hoping Paul might be awake so they could talk.
Paul wasn’t awake.
He was
sleeping on his back and all the bedcovers had been thrown off. He
wasn’t
wearing anything other than a pair of powder blue cotton sleep shorts.
Zach shut the door
and went
over to the bed. The tip of the older man’s hard cock was peeking
through the unbuttoned,
open fly of the shorts. Zach decided only one thing could be done about
it. He
carefully got up onto the bed and knelt next to Paul. He lowered his
head and
slipped his moist lips over the cockhead and laved it with his tongue.
The cock
jumped away from Paul’s smooth abdomen and began to swell from the
unexpected
attention.
Zach was in no
hurry. They’d
just merged onto I-15 and had miles to go before I-84 separated again
and
headed up the Weber River Canyon to the rest stop where Paul was to
takeover.
He
concentrated on giving pleasure simply for pleasure’s sake and not for
enticing
an orgasm out of the older man. This was as much for him, as for Paul,
and he
lost himself as he concentrated on the task at hand.
“What the fuck!”
Paul hissed
as he grabbed Zach’s head and pulled him off his cock. “What the hell
do you
think you’re doing?”
“You didn’t like
that?” Zach said
pulling himself out of Paul’s grip. “Your cock certainly seemed to be
enjoying
itself.”
“David is right out
there.”
“He’s driving and
he’s too
wrapped up in his depression to be paying the slightest bit of
attention to you
or me. He’s oblivious to anyone except himself.”
“Get out of here.
Now!”
“Have you decided
how you’re
going to pose me?” Zach asked as he got off the bed. “I assume I’ll be
nude.”
“In your dreams.”
“Of course, that’s
the only
way. Oh, and your cock? Next time it’ll be up my ass.”
Zach walked out the
door and
shut it behind him. He had Paul. The man was going to fuck him and was
going to
enjoy it, too. He thought of Steven and wondered how much this was
going to be
worth.
And, then Jeremy
came to mind
and he nearly stumbled as the motor home hit a rough spot on the
highway. He
turned and flopped down onto the sofa. An image of Jeremy’s naked body
held
itself in his awareness. Zach knew he wanted the boy more than ever,
but he had
to hold him away. Their relationship was not to be. He had Steven. He
chose
Steven over Jeremy. And, now, he would have Paul. Jeremy was just a kid
and
Zach didn’t want anything to do with kids.
Nearly a half hour
later,
Paul came out of the bedroom just as the motor home began to climb the
low hill
at West Ogden. Zach looked up at him, then went back into
the
bedroom. He didn’t want to be in the same room as Paul, not with David
so
close. He wanted to kiss Paul, not to make up, but to entice him
further, to
lead them toward that bed in the studio. He could almost feel Paul
fucking him.
Then he realized that wasn’t quite what he was feeling down there. The
pressure
definitely wasn’t from an imagined cock sliding into him.
Yet, at that
moment, Zach
wanted to show Paul what he had to offer for the canvas. Maybe, the
older man
needed a reminder of Zach’s most important asset. He went over to his
duffel
bag and pulled out his work jeans. He hadn’t worn them since that night
at
Jeremy’s house, that fiasco of selling his virginity. He felt himself
getting hard
at the thought of Jeremy touching him as their naked bodies rubbed
against each
other for that final orgasm before he went in to sleep with Jeremy’s
little
brother. He pinched his left nipple and was rewarded with an
uncomfortable
spasm in his lower bowel. Something wanted out and his body wasn’t in
the mood
for imagined sex with a beautiful sixteen year old boy.
Luckily, the motor
home began
to slow. Zach looked out the window and saw the near vertical walls of
Weber Canyon. On the other side of the river two freight
trains
were passing each other. The motor home slowed further and then turned
slightly
before coming to a stop.
“If you’ve got to
do a number
two, this is the place,” Paul hollered through the closed door.
This is the place,
Zach
thought, yeah, this was definitely the place. He adjusted himself so
that most
of the asset was prominently displayed and headed for the door. Neither
of the
older men were in the motor home, making Zach smile for some reason.
Maybe it
was just the thought of making a dramatic appearance going out of the
motor
home.
He opened the door
and saw
them talking to a Morgan County Deputy. Zach closed the door and walked
past
them to the men’s room, pausing momentarily so Paul could get a good
look. He,
also, noticed the deputy glancing his way. After relieving himself,
Zach washed
his hands and made the return trip, pausing again so that Paul could
see what
he had to offer; hopefully, triggering some sort of artistic urge to
get Zach
on canvas, or whatever it was that drove artists to capture reality and
turn it
into a thing of beauty.
Once he was in the
motor
home, Zach sat on the sofa and waited for Paul to come in. He was
certain this
little show was going to work. Paul was his for the taking. He’d be
more than
willing to stand for hours as Paul applied his image onto a canvas. He
knew he
had the dick to do it.
“Who the fuck do
you think
you are?” David yelled as he and Paul walked into the motor home. “Get
in that
bedroom you stupid little shit! Paul you get us the hell out of here
before
that deputy starts counting his three dollar bills.”
Zach stood up, but
didn’t
move.
“I said get in the
bedroom,
now!” David hissed. “Are you deaf besides being stupid?”
Zach looked at
Paul, but he
didn’t look back, instead went to the driver’s seat and started the
engine.
Zach suddenly felt David’s hand tighten itself around his left bicep
and
realized he was being pulled toward the bedroom. He wanted to resist,
but the
unexpected force of David’s bulk was too much. Once through the door,
he felt
himself being thrown down onto the bed. He looked up and saw David
rifling
through his duffel bag, then pulling out the jeans he’d had on earlier.
“Here, put these
back on,”
David said throwing the jeans at Zach. “Never in my life have I been so
embarrassed. Who the fuck are you?”
Zach didn’t know
what to say,
but picked up the jeans and began to remove the tight ones.
“You’re no better
than a
common whore, a hustler from behind some smelly dumpster in an alley. I
bought
you pants so that you wouldn’t wear those, those exhibitionist clothes.
Do you
know what that deputy thought you were? Do you have an inkling as to
what he
thought of me and Paul? Do you care about us? What is it, boy?”
“I thought at least
Paul
would appreciate me wearing these,” Zach said. “I know he wants to
paint me, so
I was just reminding him what I had to offer.”
The last thing Zach
expected
was David’s hand slapping his face. He stumbled, then dropped to his
knees. His
face stung so much tears came to his eyes. He looked up at David and
saw his
uncle’s hand clench into a fist.
“You will never go
to Paul’s
studio,” David said. “You will be lucky if I allow you to continue on
this
trip. If we were going through Denver, I’d drop you off at the airport,
but we’re
not. We
have to being in Muskogee in two days and that is a lot of driving for
two men,
but it’ll be a lot easier with three. So we have to keep you, but once
there
you might as well plan on getting on an airplane in Tulsa. I will not
have a common whore in my
presence. Do
you understand?”
“But, Uncle David,
I was just
. . .”
“I am not your
uncle. I’m the
man who was formerly married to your aunt. That’s the limit of my
involvement
with you. I’ll let you stay in my condominium until school starts, but
after
that, you’re on your own; and, quite frankly, I really don’t give a
shit what
you do with yourself.”
He turned and went
out the
door, pulling it closed behind him.
Zach stared at the
closed
door and tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong. Uncle David was
simply
being irrational. That was all he could figure out. The old man’s
depression
was so bad he couldn’t see Zach in the same way Paul was going to see
him. That
had to be it. David’s depression was clouding his view of reality.
He finished
changing his
jeans and carefully folded the tight ones before returning them to his
duffel
bag. He sat down on the bed and waited for whatever was going to happen
next.
He certainly didn’t want to go out with the other men.
A little bit after
they
merged onto I-80 at Echo Canyon, David came back into the bedroom. Zach
looked up at
him, then got to his feet and went out to sit with Paul. He heard the
door
close behind him. He could have sworn it almost slammed shut, but
didn’t think
David could be that mad.
“What’s wrong with
him?” Zach
asked as he buckled his safety belt.
“David? He’s mad as
hell at
you,” Paul said. “You’re lucky he’s halfway decent because he could’ve
dumped
you out at the side of the road. I know I would have for that stupid
stunt.”
“But I was just
trying to get
you to look at me artistically.”
“Artistically? You
stupid
little county bumpkin. You think dressing like a hustler is going to
make me
want to paint you?”
“Yeah.”
“God, you are dumb.
I figured
you had a head on your shoulders, but you’re just thinking with your
dick.”
“What do you mean
by that?”
“God, Zach, if you
don’t
know, I can’t tell you.”
Zach looked out the
window at
the cattle grazing on the hills around them and thought of home. There
were any
trees, some junipers, but no trees and there didn’t seem to be that
much for
the cattle to graze on, either. It was rather stark and barren, a lot
like his
mind at that moment. He couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong. It
had to be
something simple, something he wasn’t picking up on. It couldn’t be
that
complicated. Life was too simple for this to be anything more than a
simple
misunderstanding. Thinking with his dick? What the hell did Paul mean
by that?
“We did talk,
though. I
reminded David that he’d given me responsibility for you, so you get to
stay
with us. All you have to do is not piss off David. That’s all you have
to do.
Stay away from his as much as possible. And, get rid of those tight
jeans. The
world does not need to know you’ve got a seven inch dick. No one cares,
least
of all me, but you are cute and that just might make me want to paint
you.
Yeah, you just might get your wish and get to stand for hours while I
look at
your body.”
“I knew I’d get to
you.”
“You don’t get it,
do you?”
“Get what?”
“Like I said, if
you don’t
know, I can’t tell you. You’re just going to have figure it out for
yourself.
You’re just a kid, you know that. A good looking kid, but just a kid.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“Of course you
don’t. You
don’t want to understand. You just want to fuck. Maybe in a few years
you’ll
get it figured out, maybe. Some guys are just too dumb to ever figure
it out. I
don’t think you are, but maybe you are stupider than you look. God,
Zach, I
really wanted to like you, but you’re so fucking stupid.”
Zach wanted to say
something,
but figured now wasn’t the time. He knew he’d have to think about what
Paul was
saying. At least he didn’t have to worry about moving back into the
dorm. He’d
have to think of a way of thanking Paul, something special. Maybe
another blow job.
Yeah, that just might do it. Older men liked kids giving them blow
jobs. Steven
taught him that.