Showing posts with label Betrayal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Betrayal. Show all posts

Thursday, June 10, 2021

Profane Eidolon – Part 2

 dontravis.com blog post #501

 Photo Courtesy of Dreamstime: 


Last week, we left Dolph Hardy and his idol Damon Dutton in a car heading for a party when Damon suggests that after tonight, they forego sexual activity until after next week’s big tennis tournament—you know, to keep from draining their strength. So let’s see what happens next.

****

PROFANE EIDOLON

Suzie—the local who belonged to this house—opened the door and greeted us with the news her folks were out of town. Which meant the booze would flow. I got pleasantly loose but not drunk, and was enjoying myself talking to a couple of friends when Damon tapped me on the shoulder.

“Curfew,” he said.

“What curfew?”

“Self-imposed. You can catch a ride with somebody else if you want, but I’m leaving.”

“No, I’ll come too,” I said.

Saying hasty goodbyes to the people in the vicinity, we took our leave. No one spoke for a few minutes.

“Well, that was a bust.”

I frowned at him. “I thought it was a pretty good party.”

“Yeah, but neither of us scored.”

“There’s that.”

He banged the steering wheel with the palm of his left hand. “Well, the night’s not over yet.” He took a left and headed west.

“Where you going?” I asked.

“You’ll see.”

“Nothing down here but the city park.”

“You got it.”

I glued my lips together and did some fast thinking. Had he asked two babes to meet us there? That would explain the abrupt exit from the party. Would Phillipa be one of them?

He entered the park and headed for the most heavily forested area. After a couple of quick turns, he pulled into a secluded, well shielded area and parked.

Silence reigned until I asked, “Where are they?”

“Where are who?”

“The girls?”

“Aren’t any.”

A shiver ran down my back. “What?”

“Girls aren’t the only way to get it, you know.”

“I—I….”

“Oh, come on, Dolph. I’ve seen the way you check me out in the shower. Losa times. I’ve done some checking of my own. Looks interesting. So let’s find out.”

My mouth was dry, but I managed to mutter, “I’ve never done anything like this.”

“You telling me you’ve never jerked off with a buddy?”

“N-not since the 9th grade. You?”

“Couple of times. Getting it’s getting it, you know. And having a buddy’s better’n doing it all by yourself.”

I tried not to look but couldn’t help it when he slid his trousers and shorts down over his strong thighs. He grasped himself and sighed.

“Feels good. Come on. Shuck ‘em.”

Not feeling as reluctant as I thought I should, my clothes were down around my ankles in moments. I was already ballooning. Fast.

I’d only pumped a couple of times before he spoke.

“Feel me.”

“Uh….”

“Go ahead, feel me.”

He reached over and took me in hand. After an initial jump in surprise, I had to admit, his hand wrapped around me felt good. So I grabbed onto him.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, reclining his seat a bit.

Glad it was doing for him what his hand was doing for me, I said nothing… just swallowed noisily.

He moved his head to the back of my head and pulled me over atop him. Our lips were only inches apart.

He gave a low, growling laugh. “Stop looking like a deer caught in the headlight. Relax. Close your eyes, and imagine it’s Pillipa.”

I did, and when our lips met, I’ll swear the earth moved. I felt his kiss race down my torso to my privates, and right on down to my toes.

I exhaled, which sounded sort of like a whine.

“Feel anything?” A slight frown painted his face, or that’s the way it appeared in the gloom of the thicket.

Incapable of speech, I nodded my head.

“Me too,” he admitted. “First time… with a guy, that is.”

“I—”

He shut me up with a second kiss that felt just as good as the first. After that, I was putty in his hands. He moved my head wherever he wanted, to his hard pecs to wash his nipples, down to the navel, which my tongue invaded, and then lower. I couldn’t believe it when I took him. But again, he manipulated my head however he wanted. I stopped resisting and did as he wished.

After a while, his moans grew louder, and I came up to meet his eyes. “Sorry, I’ve never done this before so I—”

“He pushed me down on him again. “You’re doing great, Dolphie. Just great. Oh, Oooh!”

Then he exploded! I didn’t know what to do, but he held me down on him, so I did what I had to. A long minute passed after he finally finished gushing before he removed his hand. In the grips of something I didn’t really understand, I sat up and grabbed my thing, pumping away as if there was no tomorrow.

Before long, he brushed my hand away, and grasped me in his own. As he worked, he leaned across the seat and gave me a long, blissful kiss. I couldn’t honestly say if it was his hand or his lips that did the trick, but I blasted like I’d never blasted before.

I hadn’t even finished my orgasm before a sharp rap on the window startled us. Quick as a whip, Damon sat up and yanked his britches into place. Still lethargic, I watched—entranced—as a flashlight played over my bare chest and belly, and then my wilting manhood.

“I oughta haul you in!” a voice yelled. “Go on, get outa here. And don’t come back!”

Damon didn’t waste time in obeying. He backed out of the sheltered nook, scratching the rear end of the Impala on some bushes behind us. Then he goosed the accelerator and roared down the road.

I restored my clothing in silence, except for the roar of the engine.

“Man, that was close,” Damon said.

“Closer’n you think,” I said quietly. “I recognized the cop when you pulled forward. It was Dolby.”

Damon gasped. “The cop who sometimes works the college?”

I nodded my head.

“Shit! He’s got a big mouth. He’ll tell everyone.”

Silence. Then. “You were great,” Damon said. “I knew you would be.”

I didn’t answer.

***

The cop had, indeed, been Dolby. And he might not have blabbed to the whole college, but he told someone, and pretty soon word spread all over the campus. I managed to hold my head up and plow through, until I heard another side of the story. Damon’s side.

I’d gotten him drunk at the party. I’d made the moves on him, taken advantage of his friendship. Pressed myself on him. Seduced him while drunk.

No one mentioned that he was driving. Dolby didn’t come forward with the fact when he turned that flashlight into the car, it had been Damon on me, not the other way around. Nonetheless, I kept my mouth shut, so his version prevailed. But I didn’t quit school. I stayed and pressed on and held my head up high.

Just before the term ended, Marlow Caffery caught me in the SUB, the Student Union Building. He put his hand on a chair at the table where I sat alone trying to study. “May I?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Free country.” Just what I needed, the guy everyone claimed was the school queer sitting alone at a table with me.

He leaned forward over the table. “Dolph, I’ve heard the stories. Everybody has, I guess. But I wanted you to know something. Whenever Damon got frustrated… you know, sexually, he’d sneak over to see me for relief. In the three years he’s been on campus, probably a dozen times or so.”

I looked over my textbook to peer into his eyes. Green they were. “Really?”

“Yeah. And he’s looked me up once since all the hullabaloo.”

“Since… we were caught?”

He nodded. “And you know what I said? I told him to piss off. Surprised the hell out of him. He bluffed and threatened, but he left when I shut the door in his face. Just thought you oughta know. He nodded and left.

And so my hero crashed. Damon Dutton, fallen idol, A profane eidolon.

 

****

How do you feel about it? Should Damon be given a second chance, or has he irredeemably proved himself a false friend? Let me know our thoughts.

 

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

 

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:              

 

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

 

My personal links:                                                                            

 

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

 

See you next Thursday.

 

Don

 

New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

Thursday, October 17, 2019

Mouse – A Short Story


dontravis.com blog post #357

Courtesy of publicdomainpictures.net
Back to storytelling this week after an interesting poem last week. Probably more meaningful to me than to most readers since I was a subtle subject of the work.

This week’s short story was inspired by… nothing. I just sat down and dreamed up a rat and a mouse. Voila, a short story resulted.

*****
MOUSE  

          I’m here to tell you, life as Rat Flanagan’s younger brother ain’t easy. Especially, when his moniker earns you the nickname of Mouse. I’m actually Ralph; he’s Finn, but when he went tough guy and got slapped with “Rat,” “Mouse” just came along automatically.
          My brother’s the leader of a local street gang, not by dint of leadership, but by being the meanest, nastiest guy in the neighborhood. The same way he got his nickname, come to think of it. But he’s always been good to me. Looked out for me, you might say. Took me under his wing.
          Until lately. You see, there’s this chick I met down at the college library where I’m struggling through my sophomore year. Roseanna’s her name. Blonde, blue-eyed, and stacked. Smart too. I made the mistake of bringing her around to meet some of the guys, and Rat went gaga over her.
          “She’s too much woman for you,” he said to me after I came home later that same day.
          “Naw. She’s exactly the right amount of woman,” I countered as a worrying flutter began in my stomach.
          He waved a scrap of paper in my face. “We’ll see.”
          “How’d you get her number?”
          “How else, Rose gave it to me.”
          “No way. And her name’s Roseanna.”
          “She’s a rose to me,” he said before turning and walking away.
          The flutter in my gut became a cramp.

          
          My next date with Roseanna wasn’t reassuring.
          “Course, I gave it to him,” she said as she concentrated on buffing the nails on her right hand. We were sitting in my ’98 Cougar in front of the college library.
          “Why?”
          “Why not? He’s your brother. If your mama asked for my number, I’d give it to her, wouldn’t I?”
          “My mom’s interest isn’t Rat’s interest.”
          “I don’t like that name. I like Finn better.”
          “You don’t have a problem calling me Mouse.”
          “Ralph’s such a plain name. Besides—” She tweaked my nose. “—Mouse is such a cute name.”
          The rest of the date did not go well. She seemed to enjoy her malt at the SUB and dancing at the Disco, a nearby college hangout, but I spent the evening fighting an increasingly rebellious gut.

        
          Things came to a head when she told me she couldn’t go out Friday night because “Finn” had asked her to a movie.
          “I thought we were going together,” I said.
          “Nothing official,” she answered, admiring her glittering scarlet fingernails. It looked like a professional job to me, and she couldn’t afford a manicure like that.
          “Nice nails,” I opened my gambit.
          She beamed. “You think so? I think it’s ultra!”
          I went from subtle to blunt. “How much did it cost?”
          Roseanna gave me her sweetest smile. “Have no idea. Finn paid for it. Wanted me to look nice for our Friday night date.”
          I went from blunt to self-destructive. “You can’t date two brothers.”
          “No law against it.”
          “My law. You gotta choose.”
          “You sure you wanna say that?”
          “I’m sure.”
          She tossed her head, sending blond hair spraying in all directions. “Well, Mouse, Seems to me a rat’s superior to a mouse, so what do you think.”
          “So you like the tough guy thing?”
          “I like macho, sweetie. And Finn’s got it in spades.”
          I left and retreated to my figurative corner.


          No way was I gonna give up Roseanna without a fight. And fight with Rat was something I’d never done, had no idea how to do it. So I sulked through their Friday night date and through the weekend. By Monday, I’d figured out how to proceed. I waited about a block away from the shack on an otherwise vacant lot that served as the Rodent’s headquarters—Rodents… get it? Rat, Mouse—until Neal came along. Neal, alias Pudge, was more or less Rat’s second in command, although there wasn’t really a command structure.
          “Hey, guy,” I joined Pudge on the sidewalk as he made his way toward the Rat’s Nest, which was our shack. Rat carried the theme all the way through, I’ll say that for him. “Sorry about the other day.”
          Pudge lumbered to a halt. “Sorry about what?”
          “Sorry my brother dissed you in front of the others like he did.” Rat had noted that Pudge was packing on the pounds.
          “Aw, that’s just Rat being Rat.”
          “If you say so. Just sayin….”


          I caught up with Billy—gang name “Goat”—as we broke up that afternoon. He was a skinny tough with a sharp chin.
          “Sorry about my brother dissing you today.” Rat had said in the club house just a few minutes earlier that a real goat would have chin whiskers. Goat probably couldn’t raise whiskers anywhere.
          “Dissing me?”
          “You know about the whiskers.”
          “He didn’t mean nothing. You know how he is.”
          “Yeah, I know. Puts us all down.”

          There were six of us in the club, and by the end of the week, I’d talked to all of them except for Gene, who went by the name of Randy. And if you want to know what I think, he was “randy” for Rat. He idolized my brother, and a couple of times I thought Randy’s britches got fuller when he was gazing adoringly at Rat. Wouldn’t surprise me if my bro wasn’t letting Randy have his way once in a while, but that’s not my business. Course it would make things simpler if Rat paid more attention to Randy and less to Roseanna.
          Things were a little tense around the house, especially when Rat went on a second date with my girl. We didn’t talk to one another so much that Mom asked what was the matter? We both brushed it off.


          I made my move at our Monday meeting. We hung around together every day, but on Monday, Rat insisted we have a “meeting” to plan the week’s mischief. Since he’d gotten so wrapped up in Roseanna, he wasn’t doing so much planning, which fit right into my plan.
          “I got something to say,” I announced after Rat finished spouting a lot of nothing.
          He gave me the fish-eye. “And what’s that?”
          “Things aren’t going too good lately, Rat. Not since you got so pussy-whipped.”
          Rat turned red in the face. “What the hell you talking about?”
          “If you’re gonna spend so much time with your chick, somebody else oughta lead the club.”
          “Somebody like you, for instance?”
          “Well… yeah. Me or Pudge. We both got ideas of how to make things better.”
          “Like what?”
          “Well, we all oughta have one of them telephones you carry around with you. Those cell phones. And the club oughta pay for them. And what kinda name is ‘Rodents’ for a club?”
          “You got a better one? And how’s the club gonna pay for six cell phones?”
          “You’re making my point for me,” I said. “You used to come up with ways for us to turn a few coins, but not no more. Now I got a few ideas that’ll keep us in beer for a while.”
          He raised an eyebrow. “Like?”
          “Like if I tell you, you’ll claim it was your idea. Like you always do. You diss us all, Rat, and we’re tired of it. It’s time for a change.”
          “And that change is you, huh?”
          I shrugged. “Why not? At least I got some leadership qualities besides beating everybody into line. And we’re sick of that, Finn.”
          “So what are you gonna do about it?”
          “We’re gonna have a meeting and choose a new leader, that’s what.”
          “You’n who else, little brother?”
          I got up off the crate I was sitting on and planted my feet. “Who’s with me?”
          Everybody got up and came over to stand behind me except for Randy. Rat looked shocked but he didn’t put up a fuss.
          “From now on, we’re the Hustlers, and I’m the leader. I got a sign we’re gonna put over the door that says so. And that’s what we’re gonna do, hustle our asses and make some money. Old man Maloney’s got a yard full of junk he says we can cart off and sell. It’s got lots of metal in it, and I know where to take it. That oughta get us our telephones. Then I’ll figure out how to pay for the service. What do you say to that?”


           Finn didn’t have much to say, which surprised me. And he wasn’t Rat anymore, which meant I could become Ralph. When I caught up with Roseanna in the library, she already knew something was happening.
          “Rat isn’t Rat anymore,” she said.
          “Nope. He’s Finn. And I’m Ralph, and I don’t care how plain you think that name is. It’s me, you hear?”
          “Sure, Mo… uh, Ralph.”
          “No more Finn. Make up your mind about which brother you want.”
          “That’s easy. I want you.”
          There’s something to be said for being tough… up to a point.

*****

Brains over brawn, they say. Worked for Ralph. Wish I could get it to work for me. Hope you enjoyed the story.

The advance buy link for The Voxlightner Scandal follows:  http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c

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, May 16, 2019

Splendid Desolation (Part Two of Four parts)


dontravis.com blog post #337

Courtesy of Publicdomainpictures.com
Last week we meet Vince Lozander, an ex-trucker meets Davy, a twink, in the Eagle Bar, a bear place near the Continental Divide in western New Mexico.. They strike up a conversation, and it soon becomes clear the younger man is looking to hitch a ride. Vince wants to know a little more about him before deciding whether to help out or not. They are still in the bar.Let’s see what gives.
*****
SPLENDID ISOLATION

I showed Davy the Blue Room with a blonde UNM grad student and a smooth-skinned Navajo on the stage. Davy’s eyes bugged at the tiny G-strings struggling to cover their privates. We found a couple of seats, and I watched him with interest as he took in the show.
“I thought bears liked big, hairy boys,” he said eventually, sounding like he had a catch in his throat. His eyes never wavered from the two male bodies on the stage.
I laughed aloud. “You guys dance better,” I responded, watching him closely.
His eyes flicked to me momentarily, and he swallowed hard. “You a bear? You don’t look like one. I mean,” he hastened to add, “you don’t have a beard, and you’re not fat, and… Aw, I’m not saying this right.”
“I’m big,” I said, playfully pumping my biceps for him. “And I’ve got a rug under my shirt. I’m a bear, all right. All the way.”
“I…” he faltered. “You may be big, but you’re not fat.”
“Two eighty. But I try to keep it all muscle.” I made a quick decision. Might as well introduce him to the rest of the Eagle. “Come on. Show you something.”
“Where we going?”
“You wanna see bears, I’m gonna show you bears.”
As we passed through the crimson door to the Eagle Bar’s real den of iniquity, the kid stopped like he was pole-axed. The Red Room is the action arena at the Continental Divide Eagle. Little private alcoves lined the fringes, and sturdy backless divans occupied the middle where men lounged like Romans at a feast. And it was a feast. Naked bodies undulated in a tangle of erotic pleasure.
I grabbed Davy by the arm and led him to one of the unoccupied alcoves. The kid followed along blindly, his head swiveling to take in the action at the other sofas. He finally sat down beside me as if in a daze, but he sure came alive when I touched him.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, brushing my hand away and looking around wildly.
It took a moment to realize he didn’t object to being handled; he just wasn’t comfortable doing it in public. Or maybe he was just being coy.
“I always heard bears don’t go for guys like me,” he said.
“Normally, I’d prefer the sergeant over there doing his buddy. But sometimes a little change is exciting.”
“Don’t you have someplace private we can go?”
“We can get a room, I guess.”
“How about your truck? You’re a trucker, aren’t you?”
“A week ago, I’d have said yes. But I sold my rig and bought a pickup.”
“Can we use it?” he asked, but I sensed disappointment.
The guy wanted to do it in the sleeping space of a semi. I wondered how long that had been a secret dream of his. The mental image of my six-four frame laid out in my pickup’s passenger compartment brought a chuckle.
“The truck bed, maybe, but no way in the cab. They’d have to use the Jaws of Life to pry us out.”
“That would be okay, wouldn’t it? The bed, I mean. You can spread out, and I’ll make it good for you. I promise, Vince.”
“Doing it in public in the Red Room of the Eagle Bar is one thing, kid. The back of a pickup in a public parking lot is something else.”
“We can drive out to some place private, can’t we? I really want to do you, Vince. I’ve never had a bear before.”
I motioned to the center of the room. “Let’s go out there. You can have a cheering section all your own.”
“I…I can’t. Not with everyone watching.”
“Lots more comfortable here in the alcove. Not so public.”
He glanced around doubtfully. “Uh-uh. Still too many prying eyes.”
I sighed and got to my feet. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“You won’t regret it, big guy.”
I’m not certain, but I think he flushed. Hard to tell in a room full of red lights.
###
I blinked hard and glanced up into a cloudless sky, wincing at the strength of the sun. Where the hell was I? This was pure desert. What in the world had happened? I struggled to sit up, surprised by the unexpected weakness I experienced. My trousers were down around my ankles; my shirt was open. I’d apparently had a hell of a time before something happened that left me lying half-naked in the desert sand.
I got uncertainly to my feet and pulled my clothing into place, struggling to remember. Bits and pieces came back slowly. My name was Vince Lozander. Thirty-five…no thirty-six. I’d had a birthday last month. From Arkansas. Now on my way to San Diego. Sold my rig and bought a pickup. My pickup! Where the hell was my Ram? I looked around wildly. I could see for miles. High desert country. Nothing. No highway, no buildings…no pickup!
“Son of a bitch!” I cursed, beginning to remember. I’d been at the Continental Divide Eagle Bar last night. Met somebody new…a damned twink! Davy something or the other. We’d gone to the pickup because he was too shy to get it on in the Red Room. Too shy my fuzzy ass! He’d set me up.
I vaguely recalled driving a couple of miles and pulling off I-40 into the evergreen forest that dotted the high continental divide country. Then we’d got in the bed of the pickup and had a romp on a couple of blankets. The kid had been as good as his word. And then…and then….
Damn! He’d pulled a bottle out of the backpack he’d grabbed at the door when we left the bar and offered me a drink. Thirsty from all the action, I’d taken a big slug, and that’s the last thing I remember.
Son of a bitch! I’d been carjacked! The fucker was a crook. A criminal. That’s why he’d looked so disappointed when I said I’d sold my rig. He was looking to heist a hundred thousand dollar container, not a twenty-five thousand dollar pickup! Brazen little bastard had screwed me… and not in a good way!
It smarted a little that a pipsqueak I outweighed by a hundred pounds had not only dared take me on; he’d also succeeded. He’d doped my ass, rolled me out of the bed of my Dodge, and abandoned me in the middle of the desert. I took another look around. I was probably still in New Mexico. The horizon didn’t have the look of the Arizona Sonoran Desert. Wasn’t the malpais or lava tube country around Grants either. The bastard likely headed back toward Albuquerque and then turned south off the Interstate at one of the exits. Shit! Just plain shit! Wait until I caught up with the little twink!
That thought hauled me up short. Hey, man, this might be serious. The desert is a deadly place. And here I was in the middle of this desolation without water, without a windbreaker for the cold night, without cover from the blistering sun. Had he left me to die or just tucked me away somewhere nearby to give himself a lead?
With a sigh, I closed my eyes and called upon the reserves that had served me over the last ten years of long-distance trucking…my inner strength. After a moment of intense concentration, I felt power flow back into my limbs. I was shrugging off the effects of the drug…whatever the hell it had been.
Then I looked around the immediate vicinity. There were tire tracks all over the place. What the hell had gone on? Then I understood. Davy had driven around tearing up the countryside to make it harder to follow his tracks back out.
Taking an oblique look at the sun, I calculated north, assuming that was the direction I-40 lay. Pissed but not yet worried, I struck out in that direction. By noon, my tongue was swollen, and what little saliva I could bring up was thick with mucus. I hadn’t encountered a living thing except an occasional buzzard wheeling about in the sky, a placid Gila monster, and a huge, ill-tempered rattlesnake. Was every creature in this God-forsaken place sinister?
The oppressive, ever-present, overwhelming heat soon chased all other concerns from my consciousness. My skin felt as if it were cracking. I recalled reading that certain desert succulents were sources of water, but when I stomped one likely-looking spiny plant to a pulp, the small amount of revolting moisture it held convinced me it wasn’t one of those.
Forgetting about snakes and other poisonous creatures, I propped my head against a stone at nightfall and fell to sleep instantly. I woke freezing to death and vainly tried to warm myself by igniting the few dried plants revealed by the moonlight. As I shivered against the cold and listened to the far-off, lonely cry of some creature with a voice…probably a coyote. It made more sense to travel by night to keep warm and rest by day in the shade of anything that cast a shadow.
Deliriously happy when the morning sun broke the eerie loneliness of the night, I was cursing the burning orb two hours later. Every scrap of rare shade was host to a bunch of creatures unhappy over sharing space. Lizards and snakes and scorpions make poor neighbors. Unable to sit still, I staggered off cross-country again, taking step after painful step until I finally collapsed. By the end of that second day, I was on my last legs. As I drifted off into unconsciousness in the freezing night air, the realization I might not see the sunrise didn’t bother me a bit.

*****

A twink in a bear bar. What could go wrong? Lots, apparently. We see the desolation, but when does it get to be “splendid?” Maybe next week.

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)

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

Blog Archive