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.
WARNING: A violent act against a gay man occurs in the last two
paragraphs of this chapter which some readers may find offensive. The
violence occurs solely for character development.
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
9 – Thinking With Your Dick
“This is the deal,”
David
said as Zach rolled up his sleeping bag. “You will be responsible for
Paul and
Franny while they’re with us, except for the time when Paul is with me
at the
track. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Babysit a nine
year old and
a six year old? Sure, I can handle that.”
“You know, Zach,
there’s
something about your attitde that troubles me.”
“Yeah, well, how am
I
supposed to act? In the past year my life has been one fuckup after
another.
And, now you’re so fucking depressed you don’t know up from down, let
alone if
I’m behaving like a normal seventeen year old gay boy or a fucked up
cowboy
from Oklahoma. What kind of attitude am I supposed to have?”
Zach tied up the
sleeping bag
and put it in the closet with the other two. He glanced over at David
then
walked out of the bedroom. They were at the service plaza before the
US-69 exit
into Muskogee. According to Paul, who was outside filling
the tank
with diesel, they were only a few miles from where they were to pick up
the two
boys. Zach flopped down on the sofa and stared off into nothing. He was
mad at
himself, David, and Paul for nothing in particular other than he
realized he
missed Jeremy more than he wanted and he was going to be stuck with two
little
kids for a long weekend of hell. David walked out of the bedroom and
came over
to the sofa where he sat down next to Zach, a little closer than Zach
preferred.
“No, I don’t know
how a
seventeen year old gay boy is supposed to act,” David said, “but I know
you’re
not acting like one. You’re acting like a sex crazed hustler out to
make the
big bucks off a couple old men; or, that’s what I think you’re acting
like.”
“I’m not wearing
those tight
jeans,” Zach said. He got to his feet and went over to the recliner.
“And, you haven’t
thrown them
away, either,” David said. He stood up and went over next to Zach. He
placed a
hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But, I’m not talking about the pants. I’m
talking
about your attitude. You keep coming on to Paul. I see it and I don’t
like it.”
“This is between me
and
Paul,” Zach said. He wanted to move, but David’s hand seemed to be
pushing him
down into the seat. He would’ve preferred being out with Paul refueling
the
motor home, but he was asleep when they pulled into the service plaza.
“What’s between
Paul and you
involves me,” David said. He squatted down next the recliner and placed
a hand
on Zach’s knee. “Look, Zach, I realize I haven’t been the best person
to be
around for the past few days, but I don’t want to think about what
might happen
if you get Paul to take you down to his studio. I’ve heard all the
stories of
his models. He’s told me about all of them, including Miles, who you’re
about
to meet in less than an hour. I know what happens in that studio.”
“You know?”
“Yes, I know. We
all have our
skeletons. Even you, I suspect, but I love Paul and I don’t want to
lose him to
some boy who used to be my nephew. I have fond memories of you and I
don’t want
them sullied by what you’re trying to do to Paul.”
“It’s that
obvious?” Zach
asked. David simply nodded. Zach felt like a little kid, again, caught
out in
the chicken coop in an egg fight with Billy Zucker, who used to live
across the
county road. They’d both gotten a good whipping for that one. Zucker
the
Sucker’s family left Carruthers when he was thirteen. An image of Billy
standing naked in front of him crossed his mind. They were going to
jerk off
like they often did. Zach suddenly remembered the sweetly tart smell of
Billy’s
genitals, the unexpected taste of come spewing onto his tongue, and the
incredible feeling come spewing from his own dick as he, too, achieved
an
unbelievable orgasm. He’d forgotten about that, about that night at
Billy’s,
about snuggling with a naked boy. He’d completely forgotten about
Billy. He
looked at David.
“Sorry, I just
remembered my
old best friend,” Zach said. “I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen.
I’m
sorry, Uncle David, I didn’t realize what I was doing. I’d better go
out and
see if Paul needs help.”
“Okay, maybe you
should,” David
said getting to his feet.
When Zach closed
the motor
home’s door he looked at nothing in particular, but thought of Billy’s
dick in
his mouth. They’d done it the night before Billy left Carruthers. All
they did
was suck each other, but Zach felt a shiver run through his body at the
remembrance of Billy’s lips and tongue caressing his dick. Then he
remembered
saying, “Do you want to fuck me?” And, Billy saying, “No, because then
you’d
have to fuck me, too.” Then he remembered Jeremy saying, “Sure, then
you can do
me or do you want me to suck you?”
Suddenly, Zach
became aware
of a hand on his ass. Paul was standing close, a finger snaked inside
his thigh
up close to that place.
“How’s my favorite
gay boy?”
Paul whispered.
“David just chewed
me out for
coming on to you,” Zach whispered.
“He’s just an old
fogy. I
know how I want to paint you. We’ll get started as soon as we get back
to Seattle.”
“What about David?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll
take care
of it. You know, Zach, you do have a nice ass. It’ll look good on
canvas.”
“Thanks.”
“Come on, let’s go
meet the
boys,” Paul said opening the door.
Zach followed him
back into
the motor home. David was sitting in the passenger seat so he strapped
himself
into the recliner. He thought back to that night at Billy’s. They wrote
to each
other for a time, but like most long distance friendships, the letters
got so
infrequent they simply stopped coming and going. He tried to remember
the
address. It seemed familiar for some reason. Sixteen thirty-two
something something ridge boulevard. Could
it be
Foundry? Was it North Park, WA? Could it be Sixteen thirty-two
Northwest Foundry Ridge
Boulevard, North Park, WA?
Zach unstrapped
himself and
went back into the bedroom, then remembered his laptop was at home.
He’d have
to borrow Uncle David’s, but was there a wireless card? He decided his
best
chance was to call someone like, maybe, Jeremy.
“Hello?” The voice
wasn’t
Jeremy’s.
“Paul?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“Zach.”
“What fuck do you
want?”
“Wait a minute,
you’re the
one answering Jeremy’s phone. I want to talk to him.”
“You can’t.”
“What do you mean I
can’t?”
“He’s gone back to
his Mommy.
Johnny hit him and you weren’t here, so he ran to his Mommy. He’ll be
back
because she really doesn’t want us around her, but you weren’t here.
You ruined
everything.”
“Paul?”
There wasn’t a
response, just
dead air. He thought about calling back, but thought, again, about Paul
answering the phone and decided to wait. He’d be back in a week. That
would
give Paul a chance to settle down. He’d have to go out to the house,
but he’d
go there anyway to see Jerry. Maybe he could check out the address
while he was
there. Billy Zucker, now that was someone he could relate to, someone
his own
age, someone who might be as gay as he was back in Carruthers.
The two boys were
self-regulating. Franny had a GameBoy that kept his attention. Little
Paul had
an iPod that turned him into a living, breathing bobble head. They
didn’t talk,
they barely ate, and they ignored Zach during the four hour drive from
Muskogee to Sommersville. Even when the motor home
was parked
and the Explorer was unhooked, they remained in their seats.
Little Paul was
nine, pudgy,
and very much into anything concerning NASCAR racing. He knew all the
drivers,
tracks, races, winners, losers, contenders, wannabes, and whatever else
anyone
might find interesting. He was a walking database of facts; except the
music
flooding his ears kept him oblivious to the world around him. He sat in
the
recliner with his eyes closed while bobbing and swaying to the music.
Franny was a skinny
six year
old who said little and only seemed to be along for the ride; and, yet,
there
was something about him that intrigued Zach. He couldn’t figure it out
and the
boy was absolutely no help at all, but he didn’t seem to mind having
Zach sit
beside him and watch while he played his games.
Zach spent the time
brooding
about being in Oklahoma. The drive down US-69 took them right past
the
turnoff to Carruthers and straight through Hannaford. He didn’t look
out the
window, but stayed hunkered down beside Franny, so close he had to
drape his
arm across the back of the sofa so as not to touch the boy. He thought
of
calling, as he hadn’t spoken to his parents since leaving Carruthers
nearly
three months earlier. He sort of missed them and being that close to
home
brought back a flood of conflicting memories. By the time David drove
across
the Red River, Zach almost felt as if he might breakdown
and start
crying because he knew they’d be coming back this way Monday morning.
They were parked
over on the
south side of the racetrack where most of the biggest rigs were parked
and were
early enough to be able to get into their spot without any problem.
Little Paul
kept his ears filled with music right up to the time when Zach and
Franny went
outside. He looked up for a moment, then shut his eyes and went back to
his
musical oblivion.
“You boys ready?”
Paul asked.
“Ready for what?”
Zach asked.
“To get the heck
out of here.
David is the race fan. Besides who wants to spend the day with the
Bobble
Head.”
“Who’s that?”
Franny asked.
“Your brother,”
Paul said.
“Does he ever not have that thing plugged into his ears?”
“Mommy doesn’t let
him use it
inside the house, ‘cept in his bedroom. You can take it away, he won’t
get mad.”
“He’s with David
now. Come
on, boys, lets get out of Dodge.”
They got into the
Explorer
with Paul driving and Zach sitting in back with Franny, who still had
the
GameBoy. After buckling his seatbelt, Zach reached over and took the
game from
Franny.
“Does your mother
let you
play with this all the time, too?” Zach asked.
“No,” Franny
whispered.
“Well, I think
you’ve played
with this long enough,” Zach said. “Have you ever been down here?”
“No,” Franny
whispered.
“Where are we
going, Paul?”
Zach asked.
“To a friend of
mine who
makes custom hats and boots. I want to get his opinion on how I’m going
to pose
you.”
“David’s going to
be pissed,”
Zach said.
“You said a naughty
word,”
Franny said.
“You going to have
to watch
your mouth, Zach,” Paul said.
“Well, David’s
going to be
mad,” Zach said. “I don’t want to risk having to move out when he finds
out I’m
down at your studio.”
“First of all,
David has
never been to my studio. Second, I’m certainly not going to tell him
and I
don’t think you will either. So what’s the problem?”
“Isn’t this like
sneaking
behind David’s back?”
“No, this is about
turning a beautiful
boy into thousands of dollars.”
“How much?”
“I’m thinking of
doing some
lithographs. Something special, signed, numbered, the whole bit. I may
have a
small market, but there are a lot of rich people out there who’d give
their eye
teeth to see you in a Paul Griffin painting.”
“Am I that good
looking?”
“Zach, you’re on
par with
Miles and he was two years older when I put him on canvas. Whether you
know it,
or not, you’ve still got that childish innocence.”
“I got to pee,”
Franny said.
“What is it about
little boys
and automobiles?” Paul asked.
“It’s the bumps in
the road,
Paul,” Zach said. “They stimulate the urinary track.”
“What’d you do,
read that in
a book?”
“No, made it up,
but it makes
sense. There’s a McD over there on the left. We can get lunch, too.”
“You kids are
always thinking
with your stomachs.”
“I thought you said
I was
thinking with my, uh, well, you know.”
“Score one for
Franny!” Paul
exclaimed.
“What?” Franny
asked.
“You’re keeping
Zach clean,”
Paul said.
“Huh? I don’t have
no soap.”
“He means with you
along I
can’t swear,” Zach said.
“Mommy says only
heathens
swear.”
“Your mother goes
to church,
huh?” Zach asked.
“Just on Sundays.
Are we
going to stop soon? I got to pee bad.”
“Drop us here,
Paul, and
we’ll meet you inside,” Zach said. “Come on, Franny, let’s go drain
your
radiator.”
“I don’t have no
radiator.
You’re being silly.”
Paul took the Mockingbird Lane exit from the Carpenter Freeway and
headed
east
toward Love Field. At the top of a slight rise he pulled into the
parking lot
of a building that had two occupants. Neon beer signs were in the
windows of
Marcella’s Taqueria. Dirt and grime covered the windows of West Texas
Boots.
The parking lot out
front was
in serious need of repaving and the concrete walk in front of the
building was
so severely cracked it look more like stepping stones. Patrons of the
taqueria
took up most of the parking spaces, leaving only two of three marked
“West
Texas Boots” empty. Paul pulled into the space between a near pristine,
baby
blue 1969 Eldorado and a GMC pickup that was so worn and battered Zach
had a
good idea where its owner was eating tacos.
They went into West
Texas
Boots and a bell attached to the door frame dinged announcing their
presence.
Zach felt a familiar queasy sensation at the overpowering odor of cured
cowhide. Florescent fixtures hanging from the ceiling bathed the sales
room
with a bright light that showed dusty boots and hats arranged
haphazardly on
shelves and display racks throughout the room.
A short, grizzled
old man of
indeterminate age, but definitely a lot closer to one hundred than
Zach,
hobbled out of the backroom wiping his dirty hands on a dirty rag. An
ancient
pair of wire rim glasses rested low on his nose. His blue eyes seemed
to
sparkle in the bright light. He smiled, showing badly fitting dentures.
“Paul, I didn’t
expect you
until Saturday,” he said extending his arms and enveloping Paul in a
warm
embrace.
“We came down
earlier than I
expected, Boots,” Paul said. He broke their embrace and turned toward
Zach and
Franny. “This is the boy I was telling you about. Zach this is Boots
Clearfield, a dear friend I’ve known for ages.”
“Nice to meet you,
sir,” Zach
said extending his hand. He wasn’t all that shocked when the old man
pulled him
into a hug.
“Shaking hands is
for sissies,”
Boots said. “I’ve never been too proud to hug any man I’ve met. You
certainly
are hunk of flesh and bones, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I
guess,” Zach
said, blushing from feeling one of the old man’s hands on his ass.
“He reminds me of
Miles,”
Boots said. “And, who is this little gem?”
“Speaking of Miles,
this is
his youngest,” Paul said pushing a nervous little boy toward the old
man. “Go
on, Franny, Boots isn’t going to eat you.”
“Franny, huh? Don’t
tell
you’re named after Franny Brice?” Boots asked. He enveloped the boy in
his
arms.
“No, it’s my
nickname,”
Franny said. “My real name is Francis Steven Parker.”
“And, who tagged
you with
Franny?”
“My brother, Paul,
’cause he
couldn’t say Francis when he was little and everyone thought it was
cute.”
“Well, you are a
cute little
boy,” Zach said.
“That’s ’cause I’m
gay,”
Franny said matter-of-factly.
The three men
stared at him
and then at themselves.
“You’re too young
to be
making those decisions,” Paul said.
“Uh, uh, I don’t
like girls
so that makes me gay. That’s what you told me last Christmas. You said
you were
gay because you like boys and not girls.”
“Well, Paul, looks
like
you’ve got a bit of explaining to do,” Boots said. “Come on, Zach,
let’s go in
back and get your measurements and leave Daddy Paul to explain. I’d
like to
watch, but I’m afraid my laughter would be inappropriate.”
“You don’t have to
tell me,”
Zach said. “Good luck, Paul, better you than me.”
“Come on, Franny,
let’s go
out to the car for a minute,” Paul said.
“Am I in trouble?”
Franny
asked.
“No, son, you’re
not in
trouble, just a little confused,” Paul said.
“He’s good with
kids,” Boots
said as he and Zach walked toward the backroom. “He’d have made a good
parent,
but then he was sort of a parent to a lot of the boys he painted.
You’re a
little young, though. How old are you, Zach?”
“Seventeen, I’ll be
eighteen
in October.”
“That’s too young
to be in
Paul’s studio,” Boots said as he rummaged through a drawer then took
out a
measuring tape. “Strip to your underwear. You’re not wearing boxers,
are you?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Take ’em off. I
don’t want a
lot of material in my way when I get your measurements.”
Zach felt a little
embarrassed as he undressed in front of the old man. He knew what was
going to
happen when got down to his skin. He knew what was going to be said. He
wasn’t
certain he wanted to hear the old man say anything. After hanging his
clothes
on the hook, Boots waved his hand and Zach turned around waiting for
the
inevitable.
Except, nothing
happened,
nothing was said. Boots started with Zach’s head and carefully measure
length
and circumference of every part of Zach’s body down to his feet. When
he was
through Zach put his clothes back on, all the while watching Boots
watch him.
“Thought I was
going to
mention your dick, didn’t you?” Boots said. “Come on, let’s go get a
coffee.”
“Yeah, everyone
does,” Zach
said following the old man out the back door and over to the tacqueria.
“My Bobby had eight
inches of
pure, uncut pleasure,” Boots said. “He died two years ago. He was
eighty-seven.
I gave him his last orgasm three days before he died. I’d like to think
he died
with a smile, but it’s foolish to think things like that.”
“I’m sorry,” Zach
said, not
knowing what else to say.
“Don’t be, Bobby
was all man,
even if he was an accountant. Come on in.”
“Buenos dias, Don
Clearfield,” a short, black haired man in dark slacks and a white shirt
with a
sky blue tie said as they walked into the kitchen.
Zach watched how
the
employees seemed to go out of their way to either avoid Boots or
practically
grovel at his feet. Zach could only assume the older employees knew
Boots enough
not to need satisfaction that the big boss noticed them.
“Manuel? Sopapias
por favor.”
“You speak
Spanish,” Zach
said.
“Just enough to
impress those
who don’t. Most everyone here speaks English when I’m here. Those that
don’t
are enrolled in ESL classes. Come on, we can have a nice, private
conversation
in here.”
Zach followed Boots
through a
small office, then out to a booth in the back of the restaurant. Two
steaming
cups of coffee and a small stainless steel pitcher of cream were on the
table.
“You own this,
too?” Zach
asked.
“Yeah, the whole
building and
the next three west of here. I’ve been here over sixty years. Somewhat
of an
institution, I guess.”
“Then you were with
Bobby a
long time?”
“Yeah, since high
school. We
avoided the draft for WW II on the same day, too. Went down to the
recruiting
station holding hands and giving each other little kisses on the cheek.
They
tried to say we were faking it to get out of serving our country, but
we said
we were volunteering. We wanted to serve. Well, they weren’t having any
queers
in their Army, Navy, or Marine Corps, at least not openly blatant
queers like
Bobby and I.”
“So, they wouldn’t
let you
join up?” Zach asked.
“No, but they
pointed us in
the right direction,” Boots said with a gleam in his eye. “That’s when
we moved
up here and we open our first store. There were a lot of kids coming in
from
all over the country for training at bases around here and damned near
every one
of them, especially those cute boys from the East Coast wanted a pair
of fancy
boots and a nice fitting hat. We made a bundle off those boys and,
quite
frankly, enjoyed quite a few evenings with some of them, too.”
“I bet. I’ve never
had my
inseam measured quite like the way you did it.”
“It’s all in the
fingers,
son.”
“Yeah, but I’m only
getting
boots and hats,” Zach laughed. “Since when do you have to fondle my
nuts to
figure out my boot size?”
“You didn’t seem to
mind.”
“I was beginning to
think you
were going to shove the end of that tape measure up my ass.”
“Paul was right,
you are a
sexy, little slut. If I was thirty years younger, I’d have been more
than ready
to shove something else up your ass.”
“It must be the
shits getting
old,” Zach said. He reached over and placed his hand on the back of the
old
man’s. “I never knew my granddaddy. He died on Utah Beach.”
“Didn’t have a
fancy pair of
boots, did he?”
“I suspect I’m the
only
cowboy from Carruthers, Oklahoma, who’s into fancy boots. Whether
granddaddy
was
playing on both sides of the road is anybody’s guess, but I doubt it
knowing
how my father feels about queers. You don’t get to be bigoted like that
on your
own.”
“You never know,
son, a lot
of boys back then played, as you said, on both sides of the street all
the
time. Nothing was out in the open. It was all subtle and secretive. If
you knew
where to look, you could have a great time. I know Bobby and I had a
blast and
made a ton of money selling the boots and hats I was making.”
“You must have had
a lot of
fun back then,” Zach said as a waiter placed the sopapias between them.
As he
bit into one, his mouth and tongue tried to recoil at the extreme
sweetness.
“They do that for
me,” Boots
said as he took a bite. “They think I’ll give them all raises if they
jack up
the sugar. Hell, they’re making more here, now, than practically any
other restaurant
in Dallas. What’s with the dopey kid look?”
“I was just
thinking about
how much fun it must have been when you were younger,” Zach said. He’d
taken a
mouthful of coffee hoping to soak up some of the sugar, but he’d put
extra
sugar in his coffee as he always did.
“Bobby and I had
fun all our
life. Bobby made sure of that. You know what your problem is?”
“I can name a few
things.”
“Your problem is
you’re too
nice.”
“What’s wrong with
that?”
“Nothing, but you
won’t have
as much fun in your life.”
“Don’t tell me
you’re not
nice?”
“I made you undress
completely just to measure your hat and boot sizes. Now, if that isn’t
nasty,
then what is?”
“What did you guys
talk
about?” Zach asked as Paul headed west on I-20. Franny was asleep in
the
backseat, even though he’d ingested the rest of the sopapias. Zach
figured the
kid should’ve been bouncing off the walls, but his eyes were drooping
by the
time they got into the Explorer.
“Boots was
concerned about
your age and he had a few suggestions about how I should do you,” Paul
said.
“I can think of a
few ways
you should do me,” Zach said, but as he looked at swoop and swirls of
the Six
Flags’ coasters, he thought he couldn’t let them just pass by. “Will
you take
us to Six Flags?”
“Tomorrow,” Paul
said. “I
want to show you what I have in mind. If you know what I want, you
might be
more willing to get into the poses I’ll need.”
“I know what you
want,” Zach
said. “But, where are you taking me?”
“We’re going to
visit a collector,”
Paul said. He looked over a Zach and smiled. “He has a ranch west of
Sommersville. It’ll probably remind you of home.”
“I doubt it,” Zach
said as
his mind snapped back to seeing the turn-off to Carruthers earlier in
the day.
“There can’t be that many places in the world to remind me of that
hellhole.
The world is a pretty place as long as you don’t go anywhere near where
the
shit comes out. You can’t imagine how I hate that place.”
“No, I can’t
imagine. I never
went through what you did. I only had one person hate me.”
“Mother or father?”
“Wife.”
“You were married?”
“Yeah, I thought
that’s what
you were supposed to do. You know, get married, make babies. Except I
had a
boyfriend, actually he was my best man at the wedding. I met him when I
returned to college a year after my parents died, but I married my high
school
sweetheart, anyway. She caught us in a compromising position.”
“Do you miss her?”
“Actually, I never
really got
rid of her, or her family, that is. Her brother-in-law and I are pretty
good
friends. Miles can tell you a lot about how Frank helped him get his
life back
together. It helps having Frank in his life story because he doesn’t
have to
explain his relationship with the gay erotic artist who picked him up
off the
streets of Seattle and probably saved him from a very uncomfortable
death, if
you can call hypothermia uncomfortable.”
“You sound like
Miles still
means a lot to you,” Zach said. They were heading into the hill country
west of
Dallas and it did sort of remind Zach of the
country around
Carruthers, only this area looked much nicer.
“All my models mean
something
to me, but some of them mean a lot more than others. Miles came into my
life
when I was almost getting over Justin’s death. I was very much in love
with Justin
and he died tragically in a boating accident I witnessed. I can’t
imagine
anything more devastating to a person than watching a loved one die. I
can
still see his eyes when he realized he wasn’t going to be saved. He was
so
scared and there was nothing I could do; and, then Miles came into my
life and
I was able to get back to work. Some of the pieces I did with Miles are
displayed in collections as legitimate art, not the erotica I’m more
famous
for. That’s what I hope you’re going to give me.”
“Just not some
pretty boy on
canvas?”
“You know, Zach,
sometimes you
can be such an ass,” Paul said.
Zach knew he’d hit
a nerve
and wished he could take back the words, but they’d been said and there
was
nothing to do except sit and wait for the coming tirade. Yet, only
silence
enveloped the Explorer as the tires crossing the expansion joints in
the
pavement cried out a rhythmic thump-thump, thump-thump. There wasn’t
much to
look at, just a lot of Texas
oil wells, mesquite thickets, beeves, and an occasional cowboy sitting
in his
pickup contemplating the vagaries of the cosmos.
Thump-thump and
Zach thought
of Jeremy. He couldn’t imagine loving someone so much. He thought he
loved
Steven. He believed he loved Steven, but Jeremy was so much dearer,
even if he
was obnoxious, immature, and only a junior in high school. Zach
couldn’t figure
out why he missed Jeremy, but he did; and, it was in moments like this
when he
missed Jeremy most. He should’ve pursued the boy, taken the
relationship to its
logical conclusion rather than discarding him like someone throws away
a sack
of garbage.
Thump-thump and
Zach tried to
think of Steven languishing in the nut bin. Was he getting the therapy
he
needed or simply servicing the sexual needs of orderlies, interns,
nurses, and whoever
else wanted a pseudo-catamite. Was that why he wanted to love Steven?
Or, did
he see the adult hiding in Steven and wanted to bring that unknown
person out
into the open? Zach wasn’t certain about anything anymore. Maybe, just
maybe,
it was time to let go and hopefully Jeremy would still be willing and
waiting.
Thump-thump and
Zach wondered
what he was going to do when Paul got him down to the studio. There was
the
bed, after all; and, he was very interested in seeing where Paul could
lead him
sexually. Paul had a lot of experience that Zach felt he needed. Only,
there
was Jeremy.
Thump-thump and
Zach missed
Jeremy more than he wanted. Then there was a slight bump and they were
slowing.
Zach looked around, but hadn’t seen the exit sign so he had no idea
where they
were. The hills were substantial for that part of Texas, though. The
oil wells weren’t that numerous
and many
of the rod pumps weren’t in operable condition.
They turned right
and headed
north on two lane blacktop. It wasn’t much of a road and after a couple
stop
signs began to be much less. When the yellow line disappeared Zach
started
looking for a ranch gate. They went through a sharp gap in a low ridge
and the
pavement ended at a tall wrought iron gate mounted between two pillars
of cut
stone. Six foot chain link fencing went off in both directions,
disappearing
into the cluttered landscape. Paul got out and spoke in an intercom on
a steel
post. The gate opened inward and Paul returned to the Explorer.
“Now, Mr. Granger
is not one
noted for his social temperament,” Paul said, putting the car in drive
and heading
through the gate. “He said he has some company, but we’re welcome. So,
this is
the plan. We go in, get through the introductions, then you and I go
into the
house and see the artworks I want to show you. Franny will be fine
outside. Mr.
Granger enjoys kids, but we’re not here socially, so it’s get in, see
what we
need, then leave.”
“Okay, I guess,”
Zach said.
“It all sounds rather mysterious to me. What is he, some kind of
recluse, or
something?”
“No, just very
rich, and it’s
old money,” Paul said. “You might as well relax, though, because we
won’t get
to the ranch house for a couple miles.”
Zach looked around,
but there
was nothing except a lot of mesquite, prickly pear, and cattle shorn
grass.
Working rod pumps were in abundance and their associated tanks and
separators
were all painted a neutral beige that seemed to blend into the
countryside.
Zach knew this was a well run working ranch with enough people to
handle all
the needed tasks. This was the kind of ranch where cowboys didn’t live
in
shacks, but in nice houses or, for the lucky few, tornado targets.
The road started up
a steep
grade then topped the ridge and spread out before them in a low valley
was a
sizeable ranch house with enough outbuildings to keep a paint crew busy
for a
season. The road curved down the hill and ended at a large paved
parking area
in front of the house. There was a broad veranda extending the length
of the
west side of the house. Two dressed stone chimneys stood at either end
and the
front door was paneled with cut and frosted glass.
There was an
impromptu game
of touch football occurring on the side lawn. Zach immediately noticed
the
various stages of undress of the players who all appeared to be at
least in
college. All were shirtless and a couple were wearing nothing except
their
shoes. He began to wonder what Paul was leading him into.
“Hey, Franny! Time
to get up,
boy!” Paul called out as he turned and jostled the boy’s foot.
“Huh? I gotta pee,”
Franny
mumbled.
“You always gotta
pee,” Paul
said.
“Well, I gotta,”
Franny said.
“Where are we?”
“At a friend of
mine’s home,”
Paul said. “Now, I want you to behave yourself while Zach and I go in
the
house. Can you do that?”
“But, I gotta pee.”
Almost on cue a
young boy not
much older than Franny came running out of the house chased by a
lumbering
golden retriever who wasn’t trying very hard to catch the boy. He was
dressed
in bright yellow and blue board shorts. He stood outside Zach’s door.
“Hi, I’m Brent,”
the boy said
as Zach opened his door. The dog came up and sniffed Zach’s leg. “This
is
Chantelle, she’s not mean.”
“Hi Chantelle,”
Zach said
holding out his hand to pass the smell test. He scratched an ear and
knew he
was welcome.
Franny came out the
back door
and immediately shied away from the dog, who seemed to sense Franny’s
trepidation at meeting such a large animal. The dog ran around to check
out
Paul and Franny shut his door.
“Hi! I’m Brent.”
“My name is
Francis, but
everyone calls me Franny.”
“I’m Zach. Do you
know where
Franny might find a bathroom?”
“Sure, come on
Franny.”
Franny started to
go, but
Chantelle overheard the conversation and was suddenly between Zach and
Brent.
Franny shrunk behind Zach’s leg.
“She won’t hurt you
Franny,”
Brent said. “She wouldn’t hurt anyone. She’s too nice.”
Franny wasn’t
buying any of
the explanation. He tugged on Zach’s arm and said, “I gotta pee, bad.”
“What’s with the
dog?” Zach
asked. “Are you afraid of dogs?”
“Mr. Slater had a
bad dog
that chased me on my bike,” Franny whispered. “It knocked me down and
bit me.
See?”
Franny pulled up
his pant leg
and Zach saw an ugly scar on his calf.
“I don’t think
Chantelle is
going to bite you,” Zach said. “She seems to be a good dog.”
Chantelle seemed to
know
something was definitely wrong and walked over toward the football game.
“See, she’s going
away,”
Brent said. “She’s smart. Come on, Franny, the commode’s just inside
the door.”
“Okay,” Franny
whispered and
let Brent take his hand.
Zach watched the
boys head
into the house then walked to the other side of the Explorer where Paul
was
talking to a man who appeared to be at least sixty.
“Zach, this is Bill
Granger,”
Paul said.
“Glad to meet you
sir,” Zach
said extending his hand. The grip was firm and friendly.
“Nice to meet you
Zach,” Bill
said. “You’re right Paul, he’s going to look good on canvas. Have any
idea what
you’re going to do?”
“Boots suggested a
few pastel
studies for lithographs and maybe a couple paintings for a select few.
I know
he’ll want one.”
“Well, you can
count on Dad
wanting one, too,” Bill said. “Who was the kid?”
“Miles’ youngest,”
Paul said.
“What was wrong, Zach?”
“Franny has a
problem with
dogs. He’s got a nasty scar on his leg from where a dog bit him. I wish
we had
time because he needs to learn not all dogs are mean.”
“If it’s okay with
you two,
I’ll take care of the dog problem while you’re showing Zach our
collection.”
“Good idea, Bill,”
Paul said.
“Come on Zach let’s get you educated on Paul Griffin’s art work.”
They went in the
front door
then turned left into a hallway running along the front of the house.
Three
doors down they went into a room that for all intents and purposes was
an art
gallery. Most of the paintings weren’t Paul Griffin’s, but there were
enough
for Zach to stop at each one.
“Is that Miles?”
Zach asked
at a painting of a young nude lying seductively on a bare mattress.
Obviously,
it was the bed in the studio, but most people wouldn’t know that. “God,
Paul,
I’m getting hard just looking at it.”
“That is probably
one of my
best. That was the fourth painting I did with Miles and everything came
together. I did one more. It’s over by the fireplace.”
“What’s this?” Zach
asked as
he came to another piece, not by Paul. “Colored pencils?”
“Pastels, that’s
what I’m
going to do you in for the most part.”
“Who’s this?” Zach
asked at
the next Paul Griffin piece.
“That’s Justin.”
“The one who died?”
“Yeah.”
“He looks happy.”
“Yeah.”
“Paul? I’m sorry
for what I
said.”
“Like I told you
before,
sometimes you just think with your dick.”
“It’s going to be
hard work,
isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but the
reward is
worth it.”
“For you, but what
about me?”
“You’d be surprised
what
you’ll get out of it.”
Zach thought of
having sex
with Paul. That was the extent of his imagination. What else could
there be?
Suddenly, he wanted to have sex with someone, anyone.
“Paul? Can I go out
tonight?”
Zach asked.
“Out where?”
“I don’t know, out
at the
racetrack. There’s got to be something going on with all those people
and the
motor homes. Heck, I saw some tents, too. Maybe, I’ll run into some
kids my age
to hang with.”
“I thought you were
supposed
to be taking care of the boys.”
“Little Paul
doesn’t need
anything except that music and Franny, well, give him the GameBoy. I
don’t
think they give you much of a problem.”
“You get them
settled down
for bed, then you can go on your wandering, but be careful. You know,
better
than anyone, the mentality of these cowboys.”
“Yeah, I know
cowboys,” Zach
said, thinking of Steven working the rodeo and wondering if he could
get some
of that action up here at the racetrack. He looked at the other
painting of
Miles, the curve of the ass, the tautness of the thigh muscles, the
calf ready
for action, the toes tense against an anvil, a sinewy arm holding a
hammer, the
other disappearing into the unseen groin, and all the other enticements
made
him want only one thing. He needed a cock tonight and he didn’t care
where he
got it. He had to get out and find it.
“I petted
Chantelle,” Franny
said in a moment when Little Paul didn’t have music plugged into his
ears. “She
was nice, for a dog.”
“She didn’t try to
bite you?”
Little Paul asked.
“No and she’s got
teeth,
too.”
Zach couldn’t sit
and watch
the two boys lay out their sleeping bags on the hide-a-bed. He was too
nervous.
He was going to give someone, anyone, a blowjob tonight and maybe,
possibly, if
it all worked out, he’d get one, too, but that wasn’t necessary. He
needed a
cock and he needed it bad.
He was sitting in
the
recliner watching the boys, drumming his fingers on the armrest, and
wondering
somewhere in the back of his mind why he was feeling like this.
Earlier, as
they were driving back from the Granger ranch, this feeling had come
over him.
It was in his gut. He barely made in through the burgers David made;
and, they
were good.
He’d thought of
wearing his
special jeans, but his cock wasn’t having anything tight around it. It
wanted
something and it wanted that now. Zach knew what he wanted, but his
cock wanted
something more; and, it just wasn’t his cock wanting that, either.
There was
something in his mind, too. Something he’d never known was there. It
was
focused on sex. Zach couldn’t think of anything except sex.
He’d never felt
like this
before, even when it was just him and his right hand. Well, there were
times
when the right hand didn’t seem to interest him all that much, so he’d
do it
with his left, which wasn’t as good and took a lot longer, but this
feeling he
was having now wasn’t at all like that. Zach knew the only thing that
was going
to satisfy him anytime in the next few hours was a dick in his mouth.
One up
his ass would be better, but he figured one in his mouth would satisfy
the
hunger he was feeling. He knew, though, that might not happen, so he
was trying
to wrap a thought around that part of his mind that maybe just holding
another
cock while it came might be okay, too.
He didn’t like what
he was
feeling. He couldn’t concentrate on anything other than having sex with
someone, anyone. The two boys were changing into their pajamas and he
couldn’t
watch as they stripped down to nothing. Obviously, there was no modesty
in
their family. Nakedness was something not to be feared. He got up and
went
outside.
“Something wrong?”
David
asked. He was sitting in a lawn chair reading a book.
“No, the boys are
getting
ready for bed and I thought I’d give them a few moments alone,” Zach
said as he
looked out into the night and felt something very primal deep inside
him.
Someone was out there waiting for him, someone who could satisfy the
need in
him.
“Paul says you’re
going out.”
“Yeah, I thought I
might hook
up with some kids. Hang out, you know.”
“You be careful,
Zach, these
NASCAR idiots aren’t as liberal as you might want them. There are a lot
of very
conservative people around here who don’t take too lightly having a gay
boy
wandering around in their midst.”
“It’s not like I
have a
tattoo on my forehead.”
“No, but you know
what I
mean. Don’t act stupid and get yourself beat up.”
“I’m not looking to
get beat
up.”
He wasn’t either
and less
than a half hour later Zach was wandering up the row of motor homes
checking
out the action, or rather lack of action. Most of the people seemed
mostly
interested in what was happening in their own little piece of the
world. When
he got to the end of the row he began to wonder if he’d find what he
was
looking for.
“Can we help you?”
a voice
behind him asked.
Zach turned and saw
two
Sommersville policemen. They were wearing all their regalia, including
the
white cowboy hats they were famous for. Both were tall and muscular;
and,
Zach’s mind went into high gear as it began to formulate a way for Zach
to get
one of them alone in some dark place.
“I was just out
looking to
see if there were some kids as bored as me,” Zach said.
“Hey, you’re
Zachary
Alexander, right?” one of the policemen asked. His name tag said
“Wright.”
“Yeah, but how do
you know
me?” Zach asked as a chill ran down his spine.
“You were in the
Sommersville
Gazette a couple weeks ago,” Officer Wright said.
“I was?”
“You don’t know
about the
article? All the shit that’s been going on in Oklahoma?”
“What shit?”
“Son, all Hell’s
broke lose
in Hannaford County because of you,” the other officer said. His
name tag
said “Johnson.”
“I don’t
understand,” Zach
said as a familiar queasy feeling began to fill his gut.
“How many times
were you
beaten up?” Officer Johnson asked. “And, how many times did the local
police do
anything?”
“The police never
did
anything, other than tell me to be more careful.”
“Well, it’s no
wonder you’re
not living there anymore, but what are you doing down here?”
“My uncle is a
NASCAR fan and
we’re parked down there in spot 145.”
“Living with your
uncle?”
“Yeah, I’m going to
college
up near Seattle and living in his condo. He’s helped a lot
when no
one else was interested.”
“You be careful
tonight and
most of the kids your age are three rows over. You’ll hear the music.”
“Thanks officers.”
“You be safe,”
Officer
Johnson said.
Zach walked away
wondering
what was with the newspaper article. He wasn’t too certain he was meant
to
hear, but he heard Officer Wright say, “Doesn’t look or act queer at
all. I
wonder what made all those people turn on him?”
For a second, Zach
thought
about going back and explaining, but he was on a mission and there was
a cock
out here somewhere with his name on it.
The music wasn’t
that loud,
but it was definitely country. Four motor homes into the row and Zach
saw them,
seven teens, three girls and four boys, standing around looking very
bored, listening
to Kenny Chesney sing about being on a beach somewhere. Zach started
checking
out the boys, three of whom seemed to be very interested in the girls.
The
fourth boy, who looked a little older than the others, was drinking a
long neck
Lone Star and looked like he was enjoying it.
“Hi, is this a
private
party?” Zach asked as he walked up to them.
“Hey, look it’s
another
refugee,” one of the girls said.
“Grab a Pepsi, I’m
Denai,” a
skinny blonde said. “That’s Ronnie and her brother Todd over there.
Those two
over there are Vicki and her friend Al. This is Brandon and that guy
over there is my cousin, Conan.
If
you’re over twenty-one, he might give you a beer, otherwise you’re
stuck with
Pepsi.”
“Name’s Zach.
Nothing but
Pepsi, huh?”
“Sorry, that’s all
we got,”
Denai said. “I could go inside and get you a glass of water.”
“No, that’s all
right.”
“Are you from
around here?”
“No, we’re three
rows over
and twenty spots down.”
“No, are you from
around
here?”
“We’re down from Seattle.”
“All that way?
We’re from Houston and I thought that was a long way.”
“Like a beer?”
Conan said at
Zach’s side.
“I don’t have fake
ID,” Zach
said as a strange feeling shot out of his head and down his spine. His
dick
suddenly twinged.
“Come on, you’re
with me,”
Conan said.
“Conan? What are
you doing?”
Denai whined.
“Don’t you never
mind,” Conan
said. “Come on, Zach, let me give you a beer.”
“You call that
beer?” Zach
asked.
“Yes, as a matter
of fact, I
do,” Conan said.
“Well, if you’re
that
insistent, maybe I’ll try one,” Zach said. “Um, well, I guess it’s
okay.”
“How many beers
have you had
in your young life?”
“Maybe a couple
cases, Bud
mostly.”
“God, you’re
definitely not
from Texas.”
“I thought Bud was
brewed in Texas.”
“Hell, it’s brewed
everywhere.”
“You seem to know a
lot about
beer.”
“Dad’s a
distributor. I know
more about beer than I should, but you’re right this is definitely an
acquired
taste. I prefer Sierra Nevada IPA, but this is what Dad’s hauling this
weekend.”
Zach wasn’t paying
that much attention
to anything other than the conversation and the beer in his hand. When
he
became aware of the hand on his ass, he wasn’t certain how long it had
been
there. He swallowed some beer and looked at Conan, who was very close.
“Uh, you seem
interested in
something other than talking about beer,” Zach said.
“You might say
that,” Conan
said. “Come on, I know a place where we can go. You want it, don’t yah?”
“Sure, why not?”
“We’re taking a
walk,” Conan
said. “You kiddies stay out of the beer. I know how many are left.”
Zach followed
Conan, but was
beginning to feel uncertain about this. Something didn’t feel quite
right, but
that other part of his brain was definitely ready for action. His dick
was
puffing up, getting ready for what it was certain was going to happen.
“Come on, Zach, I
know you
want this, don’t yah?”
“Yeah, sure.”
They walked down
the row
toward the stadium. Zach looked around, but no one was paying them the
least
bit of attention. He felt Conan’s hand on his ass, again.
“Too bad we don’t
have a room
to go to,” Conan said, rubbing his hand up Zach’s crack. “I’d love to
get some
of this, too. God, you’re hot!”
Zach still felt
something
wasn’t quite right. This was too easy. It was as if Conan was ready
before Zach
got there and now he was going off to some dark place, but that was
what he
went out for, so what was the problem? Why was he having second
thoughts? He
was going to have sex. That’s what this was all about.
“In here,” Conan
said,
leading Zach between two small buildings. “Right here. No one can hear
us,
unless I scream. I tend to scream when I come. I’ll try to hold myself.
Here
let me get it out for you.”
It was too dark for
Zach to
see much, but he looked down anyway. He put his hand on it and it
wasn’t all
that big. It was okay, not too small, but not that big, either. He
squatted
down to get to his knees.
His mind lit up as
pain
seared out of his groin. He fell back and felt the boot connect with
him,
again. Another boot landed in his gut. He screamed out in agony as
another boot
connected. He tried to get away, to grab at the boots coming at him,
but Conan
was moving about, changing position before Zach could think.
Zach screamed,
again, as a
boot hit him in the ribs. He felt his right arm go numb and was certain
it had
been broken as pain seared away from the numbness. He thought he heard
other
voices calling out, but unbearable pain darkened his mind. He tried to
concentrate, but the pain was too much and he let it take him away.