Thursday, February 13, 2020

Jim Heightly and Miss Lily (Part 2 of 2 Parts)

dontravis.com blog post #375

Courtesy of Pixabay.com
Last week, Jim Heightly's little world was turned on its end by a new man in town. A burly, handsome Arkansan who caught Miss Lily's attention. Let's see what happens next. 

*****
JIM HEIGHTLY AND MISS LILY

           For a while, it looked as if nothing was going to change, and for Jim that was about as bad as having something change. He kept waiting for it… whatever it was going to be. Then the day, or to be more accurate, the night arrived when the world tilted. At two o’clock closing, Jim started up the stairs, but Miss Lily’s hand on his arm put a halt on him.
          “What?” he said.
          “Other plans tonight.”
          “What other plans.”
          “I’ve invited a gentleman friend upstairs. You’ll have to go home tonight.”
          Jim turned, stared into Pistonrod’s dark eyes, and croaked, “Gentleman?”
          “Now don’t make a fuss, Jim. I’m thinking on hiring Mr. Peston as a bouncer. We need to talk over turns.”
          “You never had a bouncer before. Why now?”
          “Ain't you noticed things getting a little wilder? Had two fistfights just this one evening.”
          “In the parking lot. You have people busting heads every night. Never needed a bouncer to handle them.”
          Miss Lily laid a pale hand on her bosom. “We don’t want the Stateline to get a reputation, do we?”
          “Rep—”
          “Now, Jim. Don’t make a fuss. Go on. Skidoo. See you tomorrow night.”
          “Miss Lily, you don’t wanna do this. This fella’s never gonna be more’n a grease monkey in somebody else’s garage. Heck, I bought you a new Jukebox and put that new neon sign up. I—”
          “Honey, it ain’t always about the size of a man’s wallet,” Mis lily said with a blink of her big eyes.
          “If you’re just gonna talk about a bouncer’s job, it oughtn’t take long. I’ll hang around and—”
          “Now, Jim. You go on home. Scoot. Shoo!”
          His ears steaming, Jim stalked out of the now empty honky-tonk into the cool night air. He didn’t know why, but he took a seat on a stump underneath Miss Lily’s bedroom window as the parking lot emptied of cars and pickups… and a bike or two. Pretty soon he was sitting in the dark not much relieved by the new red neon sign he’d bought.. How long did it take to make a deal to hire a bouncer?
          Then he heard sounds that let him know Pistonrod was already auditioning for the bouncer's job… by bouncing up and down on a mattress. Pretty soon came the sounds that sometimes caught the ear of passing motorists, except this time it was Miss Lily doing the moaning and screeching.
          “Oh, baby, gimme more of that piston!”
          Right then, Sasquatch, a big, shaggy dog of uncertain origins hit the fence separating Jim from the back of the place and raised a ruckus. If Big Foot walked on all fours, he might well have been one. Friendly until now, old Sas turned on him. Just like Miss Lily.
          A harsh voice came from the upstairs window. “Who’s there? Jim, is that you? I already told you to get outa here. You don’t skedaddle, I’m gonna call the sheriff. Go on, git!”
          Jim did, but he took the time to kick out the headlamps on Peston’s black Ford-150. For good measure, he did the same to Miss Lily’s brand-new Buick LeSabre. He got in his panel truck and tore out of the parking lot, screeching and leaving burnt rubber on the asphalt as he made a hard right toward town. And somewhere on that nine-mile drive, as he was seeing red and mouthing threats, the fuse blew or the circuit-breaker tripped… whichever. He almost wrecked the truck pulling a U-turn in the road and scorching pavement all the way back to the Stateline. He roared into the parking lot and skidded to a halt, bailing out of the seat with a 30-30 in his hand. Without even thinking about it, he shot out all the downstairs windows. Then he took out the neon bar sign he’d paid good money for.
          Miss Lily’s voice screeched from the upstairs window. “Jim Heightly, have you gone plumb crazy?”
          Jim noticed old Pistonrod didn’t make a sound. Neither did Sasquatch, for that matter. Two peas in a pod. All show and no go. Yellow right down to the quick.
          Finding he was out of ammunition, Jim rummaged around in the back of the panel truck and found several jugs of the unadulterated stuff he sold… damned near pure alcohol. He pulled out a couple and jogged to Peston’s truck. Emptying the contents of a jug all over the cabin of the pickup, he tossed in a lighted match and stepped back is it caught and flared. Still not finished, he repeated the process on Lily Stopperscale’s Buick. How about that… she wasn’t Miss Lily no more.
          “I’ve called the cops, Heightly!” she screamed from the upper floor. “Now you’ve done it. You’re going to jail.”
          His cork totally popped now, Jim yelled back. “And you’re going to hell.” With that he flung his last jar against the side of the building and tossed a whole book of flaming matches. The wall went up like it was just waiting for the chance. Lily let out a real yell then, and Jim thought he caught a more masculine screech. Should he go round back and set fire to the back entrance?
          A wailing siren in the distance made up his mind for him. He jumped in the panel truck and roared out of the parking lot. Hesitating just a second, he turned east and crossed the state line into Arkansas. That’d stop the country cruiser for the moment, but he was just delaying things. They’d get him sooner or later.
          And Lily Stopperscale? Hell, she had insurance out the gazoo. She’d build the Stateline bigger and better than it was before. But she’d sure as hell have to find a new supply of liquid goods.

*****
I hope we all learned one thing from this story. Never--but never--plug a 150-watt bulb in a 50-watt socket.

Until next week.

The following are buy links for the recently released The Voxlightner Scandal.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

Thursday, February 6, 2020

Don Travis: Don Travis: Impotent-Chapter 7-Finale (A Serial No...

Don Travis: Don Travis: Impotent-Chapter 7-Finale (A Serial No...: Don Travis: Impotent-Chapter 7-Finale (A Serial Novella) : dontravis.com blog post #374     Courtesy of maxpixel.net So their experi...

Jim Heightley and Miss Lily (Part 1 of 2 Parts)

dontravis.com blog post #375


Courtesy of Pixabay.com
Sure got a lot of comments on my serialized novella, Impotent. Also got a bunch of hits. Thanks for tuning in and beefing up the statistics, guys. By the way, for the uninitiated, to me “guys” is a gender-neutral nouns, so my female readers (and I’ve got some because I’ve heard from them) shouldn’t feel left out when I use the term.

Today, we go lighter. It’s a little short story that came to me while I was daydreaming the other morning. Here’s part one:

*****
JIM HEIGHTLY AND MISS LILY

          Jim Heightly. A 150-watt bulb in a 50-watt socket. Everyone in the little Oklahoma farming town of Lynchpin knew one day the fuse was gonna blow. He’d go twenty-four hours straight before crashing to recharge his batteries. Jim was a “delivery driver,” or so he claimed. His 56’ Chevy panel truck looked like hell—brown paint chipped and front bumper awry… back one missing altogether—and smelled like burnt motor oil, but it purred under the hood like a tomcat contemplating a pussy. And when Jim tromped on the accelerator, it yowled like that he-cat had caught what he was looking for.
          At five-eleven with husky shoulders and muscular thighs, Jim boasted a mop of untamed honey-brown hair, and a nose somewhat crooked from a teenage brawl. That nose must have looked good to some because Jim was considered “presentable.” At least by the ladies. He went through the available damsels one by one, but none of them stuck for very long.
          Until he met Miss Lily, that is. Everyone in town knew her as Lily Stopperscale, but to Jim she was “Miss Lily.”
          Miss Lily—a former waitress and exotic dancer who’d saved her “tips”—opened a bar out on the state line where thirsty workers from dry Arkansas could cross an invisible stripe on the highway and slake that craving. Miss Lily’s Stateline Bar served the cheapest alcohol, and everyone is this rural county knew exactly the cost of every drop no matter where it was served. The highest places were in town, but they at least sold food along with the drinks. Not the Stateside; you went there for booze, jukebox dancing, flirting… and a fistfight if that was your inclination.
          Jim Heightly was one of the reasons Miss Lily sold so cheap. He didn’t mooonshine but bought from those who did and delivered to his own customers. A middleman, he called himself when he settled up with the county sheriff at the end of each month. Jim knew all the stills and shiners and bought from only the very best, the “delicious to the last drop” kind. Well, maybe not delicious, but that last drop sure as blazes held the same punch as the first one.
           Most bars in the county bought Jim’s white lightning to cut drinks, but that was the only product Miss Lily served. She poured the stuff straight from brand bottles without fooling anyone. Nonetheless, the price and the “old west” atmosphere of the Stateline kept them coming.
          Jim didn’t set out to become involved with Miss Lily. In fact, he didn’t know he was until he overheard a couple of boozers in the bar speculate on whether the two of them were an “item.” Not long after that, Miss Lily came over to his table and plopped down. Spurred by the eavesdropped conversation, he took his first good look at her and decided she was a fine figure of a woman. He’d heard that phrase somewhere—didn’t know or much care where—and thought it fit her to a whopping T. Heavy on top and bottom with a wasp waist separating the two. A pile of frosted brunette curls on her head and huge, black eyelashes hovering over a pert nose and big glossy lips just added to the pleasing mix. Jim’s ears went deaf to the loud talk, the shuffling of feet, the laughs and occasional coughs. The place no longer stank of beer and cigarettes smoke and stale sweat, and raw, unpainted planking. It smelled like the rosewater Miss Lily wore.
          That was the moment—the very instant—Jim Heightly fell in love. He didn’t know when—or if—Miss Lily reached the same conclusion; he just knew their three o’clock tumble in her apartment over the bar after closing that night ended with a yowl that woulda done that old tomcat justice. It was the best summersault he could recall in all his thirty-three years.
          After that, Jim’s life fell into a strict pattern. He bought his wares in the morning, delivered them in the afternoon, and spent the night at Miss Lily’s establishment until the two o’clock closing. Then… well, it was tomcatting time. People claimed that tourists passing by on the two-lane paved highway in the dead of night wondered at the size of felines in the area from all the caterwauling going on in that oak-planked building with a bar sign on top.


          There’s some that say Jim’s 150-watt lifestyle caused the problem—although Miss Lily didn’t seem to be suffering any. Others claim Rod Peston’s coming to town brought things to a head. Rod moved in from Hot Springs, Arkansas, took a job at Clancy’s Auto as a grease monkey, and it didn’t take him more’n two shakes of a lamb’s tail to find the Stateline Bar… and Miss Lily. Except he called her Miss Stopperscale.
          The first time Jim came barreling through the door and spotted Miss Lily sitting at a corner table with a big, brawny stranger, he stopped dead in the sawdust on the floor. Miss Lily claimed she put the stuff down to soak up spilled drinks and catch misses to the spittoons scattered around the place… mostly out of the way so they didn’t get kicked over. Jim figured she did it because it dulled the noise. The Stateline was a rowdy place, somewhat akin to a rodeo, clowns and all.
          At any rate, when Jim halted in his tracks, Miss Lily cast him a glance and gave something between a grin and a grimace. Some claimed Jim blanched, others swore he turned beet red before marching over and demanding what was going on?
          “Honeybun, sit yourself down and meet the new fella in town. Jim Heightly, meet Rod Peston. You can call him Pistonrod. Everybody does.”
          Such was the power of Miss Lily’s—or Miss Stopperscale’s, if you prefer—introduction that the two men actually shook hands. In so doing, both managed to graze Miss Lily’s ample breasts looming over the table. But they didn’t exchange a word. None were needed. The whole place fell hushed. Even the jukebox chose that moment to moan its last. Nobody moved. Nonetheless, a gauntlet had been thrown down and picked up.

*****
Reminds you of two roosters sizing one another up, doesn’t it? Are we about to have a cock fight? Tune in next week. Oh yes, better tell everyone I know that piston rod is two words. But allow me some poetic license, please.

Until next week.

The following are buy links for the recently released The Voxlightner Scandal.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

Thursday, January 30, 2020

Don Travis: Impotent-Chapter 7-Finale (A Serial Novella)

Don Travis: Impotent-Chapter 7-Finale (A Serial Novella): dontravis.com blog post #374     Courtesy of maxpixel.net So their experiences, their romps, their joy in one another continues. B...

Impotent-Chapter 7-Finale (A Serial Novella)


dontravis.com blog post #374
  
Courtesy of maxpixel.net
So their experiences, their romps, their joy in one another continues. But for how long? The stalled weather front has moved on, and the outside world will soon be making demands on the industrialist. Let’s see what happens in this final chapter.

*****
IMPOTENT

The next day, the world intruded on the two men… big time. De la Roche’s phone burst the dam. Business problems began to pile in on the industrialist. Despite the interruptions, he went out in the field with Austin, but before noon, the call he had been dreading came. The helicopter was ten minutes away. Austin took the phone from him and gave instructions to the co-pilot, advising of the closest safe place to land. De la Roche wondered if the man on the other end of the phone recognized how sexy the voice in his ear was.
Before long, the noisy craft appeared as they waited at the edge of a broad meadow in the middle of the forest. Austin helped lug his bags to the chopper, where two men hopped out and relieved them of their load. De la Roche ignored his Executive Vice President and Chief of Security as he shook hands with the man who had been his lover for the past two days. He was reluctant to release the grip.
“Call me,” he said, finally letting go. “You have my direct line, my satellite phone number, and my Executive Secretary’s phone. You’ll go to the top of her ‘put through’ list,” he added with a chuckle. ‘I won’t forget you, Austin Andino.
“You’re kinda hard to forget too, Forrest De la Roche. I’ll always remember finding you standing like a drowned ape in the middle of the road that day. And other things.”
De la Roche forbade his exec from speaking for the first thirty minutes of the trip to Albuquerque, preferring to savor the bitter, wrenching pain of separation in silence. Then he asked for a briefing and was soon lost in the business of business.
De la Roche quickly found himself immersed in talks with Charles Industries, and was frankly disappointed that his Executive Vice President for Acquisitions had not taken the negotiations farther. Moreover, he was shocked to learn that his interest in the mega-deal had waned. In spare moments and at night when he was alone in bed, his thoughts centered on Austin Andino and his cozy cabin in the Jemez Mountains of northern New Mexico. Strangely, he did not think of the young man in a lascivious way, but as a man who had assumed an unexpectedly important role in his life. He thought of the way the black hair fell across the broad forehead rather than the black, curly pubic bush. He remembered their moments of easy comradeship more than their exciting nights of hot passion.
De la Roche desperately willed the young man to call him, but weeks passed without contact. He swallowed his pride and dialed the rancher’s cell phone more than once, but it went unanswered. He refrained from asking his super-efficient Executive Secretary, whom he secretly considered the source of his power, to raise Austin on the phone.
Weeks turned into months. His daughter’s wedding passed. Rachel looked as radiant and virginal as the first time she married, even with two impish children participating in the ceremony. He was proud of her. Elaine called a truce during the process and was downright likeable. She only mentioned the Filipino houseboy once in passing.
He spent the Christmas with Rachel and her family. New Year’s was to be Elaine’s turn with the children. After a Christmas dinner, he retired to his son-in-law’s home office and considered the situation. Austin would be back in Albuquerque by now. His cattle would be sold. He’d be at loose ends. What were his plans for New Year’s Eve?
De la Roche picked up the phone and dialed a number the rancher had given him. A woman answered.
“Is Austin in?” he asked. “This is Forrest De la Roche calling.”
“Oh, Mr. De la Roche, this is Marina Wells. I’m Austin’s sister. He’s out in the garage working on the Jeep. Would you like me to get him, or would you prefer to call back?”
“I’ll wait, if you don’t mind.”
Eventually, the deep bass voice he knew so well came on the line. “Happy Holidays, Forrest. You have a good Christmas?”
“A fine one, thank you. Spent it with my daughter and her family. And you?”
“Great! Had a roof over my head, food, and presents for the kids, so everything’s okay, I guess.”
“How’d you do on your cattle?”
“Got a good price. Say, I spent a little time at New Mexico State and learned a little more about your small unit ranching. Think I’m going to give it a try on the home place. If it works, I’ll see if I can convince the Forest Service to let me try it on the permit. Looks promising.”
“Great. Glad I could contribute something.”
“By the way, I got your Christmas present,” Austin said, referring to the twenty-year-old sipping whiskey he’d sent. “My brother-in-law and I are going to open it New Year’s, and then it’s going up to the cabin with me next spring. Sorry I didn’t get you something.”
“Didn’t expect it. Speaking of New Year’s, why don’t you come out and spend it with me. I’ll send the company plane to pick you up.”
“Aw, gee, Forrest, that would be great, but I’ve already made plans with the family. I promised to take my nephew and niece to dinner, and then I’m baby-sitting them while my sis and her husband go out for the evening. The kids are already talking about it. I couldn’t disappoint them.”
“I understand. Family comes first. But I’ll toss one back at the stroke of midnight and think of you.”
“Same here. Guess what! I got a letter from the President thanking me for saving your ass! He signed it and wrote a comment across the bottom. Guess I’ve got a collector’s item.”
De la Roche laughed. “What you’ve got is your name on a potential contributor’s list.”
“Oh, well. He’s not a bad president. Maybe I’ll throw in a dollar or two.”
“Here’s a thought, Austin. Why don’t you come out and spend a week with me after the holidays. My schedule’s not too bad for the next two weeks or so.”
“Can’t. Have a couple of meetings. One’s a Cattleman’s Association committee I’m on. Won’t be able to get away.”
“Well,” De la Roche thought quickly, “I’m in DC most of February, you can join me there. I’d swing by and pick you up in the jet.”
“Oh, no! You’re not going to get me mixed up with that crowd.”
“Might do you and your Cattleman’s Association some good.”
“Thanks. But no thanks. Well, the kids are yelling for Uncle to come have some Christmas pie. Good of you to call me, Forrest.”
He waited, sensing something else was coming.
‘Uh… I guess this is really goodbye. I-I don’t think we should see one another again. Damn! That was hard to say.”
De la Roche spoke around a large lump in his throat. “Then why say it?”
“Think back over our conversation. We live different lives in different worlds. It won’t work. At least, it won’t for me.”
“I love you, Austin.”
“I-I guess I feel that way too.”
“Then—”
“It’s too painful,” Austin said, putting the nail in the coffin.
“We could meet for a week or so in the summer at the cabin.”
Austin didn’t speak for almost a full minute. When he did, a sob hid in his voice. “I can’t, Forrest. This puppy dog can’t live half in and half out of the basket. Sorry.” The sob became real. “I-I feel just like when I had to leave Selim… only worse.” With that cry the cowboy closed the call.
De la Roche’s heart shriveled as he dropped the telephone receiver in its cradle, snipping the tie with the most man he had ever known. Hell, Austin Andino was Man. Man squared. Man cubed! Man…amplified!

*****
Think about it. That’s the way things work more often than not. Two people genuinely in love, but neither is able to alter his lifestyle to accommodate the other. Tragic, but both men are strong and will survive. And they have an experience against which to measure others who come into their lives. But is that good or bad?

Those of you who are writers will know that I cut a considerable amount from the original novella. Seven episodes are more than enough.

The following are buy links for the recently released The Voxlightner Scandal.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

Thursday, January 23, 2020

Don Travis: Impotent-Chapter 6 (A Serial Novella)

Don Travis: Impotent-Chapter 6 (A Serial Novella): dontravis.com blog post #373     Courtesy of svgsilh.com It finally happened. They got together, and it was explosive. Wonderful. ...

Impotent-Chapter 6 (A Serial Novella)


dontravis.com blog post #373
  
Courtesy of svgsilh.com
It finally happened. They got together, and it was explosive. Wonderful. Magnificent. What comes next? Do they try it again and find the novelty wore off? Or do they try it again and find it better than ever? Or do they try it again at all? Read on.

*****
IMPOTENT

They repeated yesterday’s work pattern except the count was wrong in two pastures and they spent hours patiently hunting down the missing livestock. Once again, De la Roche was impressed by the deliberate, unhurried, efficient way Austin went about taking care of his animals. They found a late calf on the ground, and the rancher spent half an hour with the mother making certain the afterbirth was passed. The young man did not run a cow-calf operation, he bought young animals to pasture, and was mystified over the pregnancy. Obviously, some bull got into the pasture, but search as they might, they could find no sign of the beast nor how he might have gotten in or out of the fenced area.
Observing carefully, it was clear to De la Roche that the young man was capable of handling a much larger operation than this one. He had to swallow his tongue more than once to keep from pressing Austin with ambitious ideas.
Austin permitted his touch occasionally, but his mind was on his work, and De la Roche knew that he would consider an overt approach to be a distraction. The older man understood this from his own experience. When he was at work, he was at work. When he was at play, he was at play. He normally did not permit the two to overlap, although his near constant longing was becoming painful today. Finally, he settled for simply observing the handsome, graceful man’s easy masculinity. He wondered if Austin Andino recognized how striking an image he cast. Probably not.
Austin headed for the bathroom the moment they arrived at the cabin, emerging later freshly bathed and shaven. De la Roche claimed the shower as soon as the young cowman was finished. Thirty minutes later, clean and barbered, he found Austin leaning against the kitchen table covered only by the towel around his waist. Without waiting for an invitation, De la Roche stepped in front of the cowboy and pulled the towel free. He took a long look at the lanky, powerful body. It was like carved marble covered in a sheath of tight, elastic flesh. Breathtaking! Beautiful! Intimidating.
Austin submitted to the examination for a long minute before he pulled the dressing robe from the older man and conducted his own examination.
“Don’t,” De la Roche said.
The young man raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t hold a candle to you. You have it all, Austin. Handsome as all get out. Put together like everyone’s idea of Apollo. And hung like one of your bulls,” he finished.
“Don’t own a bull,” Austin said, his ears flaming at the praise. “Wanna know what I see?” he asked, his eyes sweeping De la Roche’s body. “I see a hell of a man. A man who keeps in shape despite being busier than a beaver building a dam… and they’re busy little critters. You’re handsome in a way I never will be. You know, sleek and smooth. I have trouble imagining you wanting me.”
“Oh, but I do. And I’m going to show you how much,” he replied, starting to kneel. The cowboy grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into an embrace, claiming his lips in a kiss. He stayed passive, allowing the younger man to set the tone, do the probing.
When Austin released him, De la Roche pushed the man across the table and took him the way he wanted… hungered to do and was rewarded with Austin’s groans of pleasure. He took his time, teasing Austin, nearly bringing him to climax and then easing off until the cowboy begged him to finish what he’d started.
Panting heavily, the young man came up off the table and seized him in a bear hug. The eager mouth found his lips. After a moment, Austin drew back to search De la Roche’s eyes.
“Why is it so good with you?” he demanded in his deep voice.
Without waiting for an answer, Austin exchanged places and ministered to him so slowly, so lovingly, De la Roche was certain this was a virginal experience. A delicious sensation of helplessness, of impotence swirled through him. He laughed aloud at the absurdity. Being under the control this big, strong, intimidating man should have bothered the hell out of him. Instead, he realized with a thrill, he gloried in it!
After the orgasm, he needed help to regain his feet. “You’re something special,” he whispered.
“Yeah, but a special what?” Austin said gruffly.
“Do you regret what we did?”
“No. Yeah. I don’t know. It makes me uncomfortable in a way.”
“Why? Did you do anything you didn’t want to do? Did I do something you didn’t want me to?”
“Not at the time,” the cowboy answered, turning away to recover his towel. The young man handed De la Roche his robe. “But after it’s over, I feel sorta ashamed, I guess.”
De la Roche followed Austin to his bedroom and watched as the young man dressed. “Do you feel that way with a woman?”
“No. Well, sometimes. And to tell the truth, I don’t feel it as much with you.”
“Did you feel it with Salim?”
Austin paused for a moment to consider the question. “No. When we were alone, I didn’t. That first time when I was with my buddy, we both felt funny. But not when I was alone with Salim.”
“That was because you knew that he wouldn’t look down on you. Wouldn’t consider you less of a man.” The agate eyes speared him for a moment. “Well, neither do I. I consider you a hell of a man.”
“How could you after what I did?” he asked, a bitter tone in his voice.
“And liked it,” De la Roche said harshly.
Austin turned to face him. “And liked it,” he responded after a moment of indecision.
“And how do you look at me? Like a fairy? A faggot? A queen?” the older man pushed.
The cowboy gave him an astonished look and sat on the edge of his bed. “No, I look at you as someone who takes what he wants. Hell, Forrest, you’re a world-famous entrepreneur. A power broker. One of the Ten Thousand or however many there are.”
“Did I look like a power broker a few minutes ago?”
“No,” Austin replied slowly.
“Did I look like a fairy?”
The young man frowned. “N-no, that’s not the way I looked at you.”
“And I didn’t look at you like that. I kept thinking how wonderful it was that this beautiful man was doing that magnificent thing for me, after he’d honored me with the gift of his body.”
The agate eyes looked up at him shrewdly. “No you didn’t. You thought, ‘Wow, I’m getting my way with the dude.’”
De la Roche laughed aloud. “That, too. But I knew it was a man doing it for me.”
“Why do we do it?” Austin asked, getting to his feet and heading for the kitchen. “We both like women.”
De la Roche considered the question while the rancher started supper. At length, he spoke. “When I stop and think of it, except for the Filipino houseboy, my male partners were strong men. Respected men. I think maybe it was the strength in them that attracted me. And every time I got with a man, it made being with a woman that much more special. Added spice. Zest.”
Austin shook his head. “Not that way with me. When I’m with a woman, I don’t even think about being with a man.”
“Nor do I. Not consciously, but it’s there underneath. Somehow I feel much more of a man because I’d been with a strong man.”
“You’re not trying to tell me you want to go to bed with every strong man you meet?”
“No. It takes a special combination. Strength. Looks. And what I sense inside a man is as important as anything else. You attract me on every level, Austin. Physically, you’re a Greek god. Mentally, you’re sharp and bright and educated. Your mind draws me to you. And inside, spiritually, I’ll wager you’re as beautiful as you are on the outside. In truth…” he paused, reluctant to put voice to his thought. “In truth, you attract me more totally, more completely than any man I’ve ever known.”
Austin kept his eyes on the skillet he was using. “I’ve never known anyone like you, either.”
Both men backed away from the brink of something neither fully understood. De la Roche did so reluctantly, desperately hoping Austin would pursue the thing even though he realized that the cowboy was constitutionally unable to vent his feelings. Not quite understanding his own reluctance, De la Roche kept his mouth shut. Neither spoke again until they were at the table ready to eat.
Austin Andino came to him later, and they spent the night exploring one another without restraint, without embarrassment, without hesitation. Nirvana.


*****
They definitely tried it again, and it was… zowie! Only stands to reason they’ll take full advantage of the time they have together. But what happens when the outside world comes to claim the entrepreneur. That answer comes with next week’s final Chapter 7

The following are buy links for the recently released The Voxlightner Scandal.


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
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See you next week.

Don

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