Mark Wildyr's Blog, page 11

Excerpt from the Novel The Victor and the Vanquished

 

markwildyr.com, Post #134

 Hope everyone enjoyed the Curt Huntinghawk story that ended last week.

 I’ve recently done a couple of guest posts for fellow okie Don Travis (dontravis.com), and it got me to thinking about some o the older books I’ve done. Some of you know I wrote a series of books I call the Strobaw Family Series, starting with Cut Hand, and followed by three others that take place in the late 1800s. My guest posts were of an unpublished fifth in that series called Wastelakapi… Beloved.

 But I’ve also published some cultural tales not connected with that series. One of them is The Victor and the Vanquished, about a young Native American who grew up in an alcohol-abusive family setting and pulled himself out of it by applying his ability to whittle small figures and turning it into a successful career as a sculptor… despite coming to grips with the fact that he was gay. The following is part of the first chapter of the book.

 * * * * *

THE VICTOR AND THE VANQUISHED 

Chapter 1

 The Native American Settlement of Rolling Hills

“Wilam!” Matthew called from the sidelines.

I waved him off and got set as the pitcher whipped a fastball over the plate. Hitchcock, a chubbo whose belly moved slower than his hips, whipped thin air—with the bat and the belly. I rolled my shoulders and pounded the glove with a fist to loosen up, hoping my brother would go away. I didn’t get a chance to play ball with the other guys very often, and I didn’t want to be pulled off the field. Besides, I’d really come down to the tribal rec center to find James, but he wasn’t around. I planned to go looking for him pretty soon.

“William Greyhorse!” Matthew yelled. “Hey, man, you need to get your butt home.”

“Not now.”

“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. The old man’s on a rip-snorter, and he sent me to get you.”

I spotted the kid whose glove I’d borrowed and motioned him over. Then I ran to catch up with my brother and fell into step beside him, which wasn’t easy. Matthew’d turned twenty-one this summer. All that meant to him was he could get into the bars over in Mapleton without sneaking around, but it also meant he stood six-one, and had legs to match. They ate up the ground a lot faster than mine. I was a little better than five-nine but considerably short of five-ten. I’d already accepted the fact I was the runt of the family. My dad was an even six feet. Something I’d never match.

“What’s going on?” I was panting because he hadn’t shortened his stride for me like he usually did. A bad sign.

“We’re leaving.”

“What do you mean?” I asked between gasps.

“Just that. We’re leaving. Got almost everything packed. We’re pulling out soon’s we get home.”

“Why? What happened?” I asked the question from long experience. This wouldn’t be the first time my dad—or my mom, for that matter—got drunk and pulled something so bad we had to pick up and leave. We’d already moved half a dozen times, always ending up back on the reservation after a period of exile. That’s why I was eighteen and still had another year to go in high school. Or that’s what I told myself, anyway. But I think it was probably true.

“Old man got in a fight last night…or maybe it was this morning. Cut up Brewster Whitetail pretty bad.”

“Drunk?”

Matthew’s laugh was almost a snarl. “Both of them.”

“Kill him?”

“No. But he’s cut up pretty bad.”

“Where’d it happen?”

“Not on the rez, thank God. Else the FBI’d chase us all over hell and gone.”

“How come the cops didn’t pick him up?”

“Him and his buddies were partying out in the boondocks somewhere. He hightailed it home while the others took Brewster to the hospital. The cops’ll be along soon enough. That’s why he’s in a hurry.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Dunno. He got some money from Uncle Dulce. Said something about New Mexico.”

Our place was a rundown affair sitting right at the eastern edge of the little settlement of Rolling Hills. The big barn behind it was usually empty except for junk. Now, our twenty-year-old pickup was hidden in the middle of it, half loaded with our belongings. The truck had been black once, but the Bondo smeared all over it rendered the vehicle two-toned. Black and gray usually looked pretty good together, but not on a beat-up Dodge half-ton. The barn already smelled of rubber, gasoline, and burned motor oil.

Dad lurched out of the back door loaded down with his hunting rifle and fishing tackle. He was sweaty and wild-eyed from his drinking, but he didn’t seem drunk. Cutting up a man must have sobered him some.

“Where the hell you been?”

“Rec center.”

“Well, get your ass in gear. We’re out of here in ten minutes.”

I headed for the room I shared with my sisters, Nola and little Junie. There wasn’t much I wanted to salvage except for my carving knives—and my clothes, for all they were worth. Mostly Matthew’s hand-me-downs cut to size.

But my knives were something else. Because I never knew when Mom would pass out for the day or when Dad would come home mad dog drunk, I was practically house bound all summer on account of the girls. And during the school year, I’d rush home as soon as class was over. So I whittled to keep busy. Got pretty good at it, too. I made all the toys the girls ever had, including their dolls.

The last couple of Christmases I’d even sold a few carvings. I put the little money I made right back into better knives. Mom said it was a waste of good money buying up different carving knives, but if it was, it was the only wasting I ever did. I never bought candy or soda pop like the other guys. But sometimes I stood sweets for Nola and little Junie with money I made from doing quick chores around town or selling a carving.

I liked to whittle animals mostly, but I did a head of Nola once that looked pretty much like her. Or at least the way she looked when I carved it a couple of years back. Never been able to capture little Junie, though. It always came out bland like a baby’s face. Nola said that's because Junie had a bland baby’s face, even if she was walking around and jabbering hard enough to raise a dust devil.

I passed Mom in the living room. She was folding some sheets and towels and looked sober. Tired but sober. Her cheeks were sorta mashed in—you know, sunken. She’d been over at Uncle Dulce’s and Aunt Aurora’s last night, and she usually didn’t drink around her youngest sister’s family. They were born-again people. That was why I’d been able to get away for a ball game down at the rec center this morning.

Nola, thirteen and big enough to know what was going on, seemed scared. Little Junie wasn’t yet three, and she just looked excited. Of course, every day was an adventure to her. She was a happy baby except when my dad was in the house raising hell.

“Wilam!” she yelled when I came through the door. She called me that because she couldn’t pronounce William when she first started talking. The rest of the family fell into the habit of using that label, and pretty soon I was Wilam to the whole reservation. I patted Junie on the head and gave her a kiss on the cheek before rushing to our room and slinging my things into plastic grocery bags.

We abandoned all of the furniture; it was mostly junk, anyway. That left enough room in the bed of the pickup for the girls and me. Matthew kicked over the motor and made straight for the Mini-Mart at the south end of the reservation for gas and food to take on the road. Dad and Mom went inside while he filled the gas tank and a couple of Jerry cans. I bailed out of the bed of the pickup when I spotted James walking down the road on those long legs of his. I knew he’d seen me, but he veered off around behind the store. I found him sitting at a little picnic table they put back there for customers.

“I heard,” he said.

“Yeah, looks like the Greyhorse family’s off and running again. Man, I get tired of it. I wish we would just settle down somewhere.”

He didn’t have an answer for my wishes, so we went quiet. The loblolly pines flooded the clearing with the sharp smell of resin. Somewhere a woodpecker tapped out a message only he understood. It got a little awkward after a minute. I put it down to the way our leaving.

I sat down on the table across from him and waited. Finally, he said something I didn’t catch.

“What?” I looked over at him. He had on his usual blue jeans, gray muscle shirt, and home-stitched buckskin moccasins. He’d worn those moccasins ever since his feet quit growing. He looked good. That thought was off and running before I could grab hold and pull it back.

“Wish I could figure out an easy way?”

“To do what?” I asked.

“Letting you know how I feel. About you.”

“I know how you feel. We’re friends. We’re about the only friends each other has.”

“Yeah. I guess.” His fingertip traced a set of initials carved into the rough oak table. “We’re both loners.”

“Just a couple of oddballs.” Why the hell did I say that?

“You’re just different because you act like the man of the family and take care of your sisters” There was bitterness in his voice. “Me, I’m a certified oddball.”

“That’s trash talk, James.”

“Okay, here’s some more. I’ve been wanting to do it with you for a long time, but I was scared to let you know.” His voice faltered. “Every…every other guy on the rez who don’t have a girl for the night comes knocking, and I do whatever they want. I do it even when I don’t like them. But you never came around like that. So I just kept my mouth shut, afraid of chasing off my best friend.”

I sat there with my cheeks flaming.

He fixed me with dark, haunted eyes. “Go ahead, say it.”

“S-say what?” I stuttered.

“Whatever you’re thinking. Call me a queer or a faggot. Tell me you don’t want anything to do with me anymore. Or tell me it’s okay, and we’re still friends. Or tell me you’ve been wanting us to do it too.”

“Why’re you saying this to me?” I swatted at a wasp buzzing around my head.

He shrugged and glanced off into the trees over my shoulder. “Because...because I like you. And I thought you liked me.”

My face felt hot. “I do, you know that. But…but….”

“But not like that.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I do. Or could. But we’re leaving. Going away. Probably forever.”

“No, you’ll comeback someday. But I know you’re leaving for right now. Else I wouldn’t of got up the nerve to tell you.” He looked at me again. “You’re taking off in a few minutes, so I can’t chase you away. I can say anything I want.”

“Okay. Now that’s out of the way, is there anything else?” Where’d that stupid question come from?

“Just that you’re the best-looking guy around. That your’re fun and a good friend. And that I want to touch you and do things with you.” He shut up for a moment while he studied those initials enshrined in the picnic table. “That’s all there is, except….” He swallowed hard. “Well, except to say I’ll wait for you if you ask me to. I won’t get with no one else as long as I know you’re coming back for me someday. I can do it. I know I can.”

A shiver went down my back, and my thing started to get stiff in my pants. I couldn’t get my voice past my throat.

His puppy dog look changed to one of anguish. He dropped his gaze to the table again. “That’s okay, I understand. But I gotta let you know something. No matter what happens, I gotta say it.” He lifted his head and met my eyes. “I love you, Wilam.”

I’d have said something to that, all right, but I don’t know what because right then Matthew poked his head around the building. My brother’s glance swept James and then fixed on me.

“Come on, Pissant. The old man’s ready to go.”

 

* * * * *

 Hope that makes you hungry for more. I might even read the book again to see how I handled things back in the day.

 I will now revert to my usual schedule of posting on the first and third Thursday of each month. And before you ask… I have no idea of what comes next.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

 The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

 DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

 And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 Until next time.

 

Mark

 New posts at 6:00 a.m. UA Mountain time every first and third Thursday of the month.

Interregnum, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Finalé

 markwildyr.com, Post #132

 

Are things getting out of hand? Is Hawk getting in too deep? Will Grove return, and will the two of them be okay if he does? All questions will be answered below.

 

* * * * *

INTERREGNUM, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Finalé

 Hawk backed off a little the next morning; he understood last night had been different for Luis. He was getting in too deep with this handsome teenager. Unable to get out and mix with his peers, the boy was attaching himself too closely. Hawk recognized their relationship could not be sustained unless he could give himself over to the boy unreservedly. And he could not. He hoped, prayed…knew that Grove would return, and Grove held Hawk’s heart in his hand. Even so, his feelings for the boy were growing to the point that he was beginning to feel a sense of betrayal. His and Grove’s agreement was for relieving stress, not developing an intense new relationship.

As a defensive measure, Hawk found a chore Saturday afternoon to take him away from the house. When he returned he knew immediately that something had happened. The boy looked sullen, almost angry.

“You have a call on the answering machine,” Luis said bitterly. Hawk understood immediately. “Your girlfriend.” Luis spat, stalking from the room.

Hawk listened to the recoding with a mounting sense of dismay as Grove’s beautiful voice gave him a progress report. Mother still stabilized. Looking better. See the light at the end of the tunnel. Then the declarations of love, the description of intimacies. The boy had heard it all.

Luis did not answer his knock, so Hawk entered the room without an invitation. The boy lay on his side facing the wall. “Sorry you heard that,” Hawk said softly in his deep voice, “but now you know.”

“Your girlfriend is a man,” came a muffled voice.

“Yes, he is. And a hell of a man.”

“You…you are a maricon…a queer?”

“I suppose,” Hawk agreed, “although there are a lot of women who would disagree with you.”

The boy turned to face him. “I knew it. You like the girls, too?”

“Until I met Grove. I love him, Luis.”

“But you still betrayed him with me.”

“No, I didn’t. I told you there were limits to what I could do. That was my agreement with Grove. We knew we couldn’t do without indefinitely, and we didn’t know when he could come back. So we set the rules.”

“You…you have a picture of him? The picture over the fireplace!” he said in sudden comprehension. “¡Aieee!He is handsome. As handsome as you. Was he the first time with a man for you?”

“No.” Hawk sat on the side of the bed and explained about Ramon and Wolverine and Grove.

“And now me,” the boy finished for him. “I love you, Hawk.”

“And I’m fond of you, Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz. If I’d met you first, I’d probably have fallen in love with you. But I didn’t, and Grove holds my heart.”

“And this Grove, you do everything for him?” Hawk nodded. “And does he do it for you?” Hawk nodded again. "And it is good with him?”

Hawk closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Very good. He opened his eyes and looked at the fetching youth. “This is getting too intense. Tomorrow I’ll drive you back to the border and escort you across, so you won’t be caught by INS.”

“Not yet!” Luis begged.

“You can’t hide out in my house indefinitely. You have to leave sometime. This way you won’t have a record, and maybe you can come back legally.”

“I understand that, mi amor,” Luis said, looking as if the words of endearment surprised him as much as Hawk. “I mean, I know I have to go, but I need to make plans. Give me one more week, no?”

In the end, Hawk agreed. That night Luis came to his bed. The boy crawled naked beneath the sheet and draped himself across the Indian.

“Do not be mad at me, Hawk,” Luis begged. “Let me give my love while I can.” Without waiting for a reply, the teen placed his mouth on Hawks and kissed him deeply… desperately. He permitted Luis his way.

Later, Hawk woke when the boy fingered him. When he was rampant, Luis dsy up and peered through the darkness.

“Do it to me, Hawk. Please! Let me feel what it’s like from someone I love!” The boy trembled with anticipation.

Hawk rolled them over and kissed the boy deeply. Then he excited the slim body with his mouth, touching, sucking, tasting everything. Finally, when Luis said he couldn’t stand it any longer, he parted the boy’s legs and began a slow insertion, talking and cooing Luis through the initial pain, pausing only when he was all the way in. He rested, caressing the boy’s face and wiped beads of perspiration from his smooth, young brow.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Luis loosed a smile and locked his legs around Hawk’s waist.

Hawk moved slowly and gently at first, gradually increasing the intensity and velocity of his thrusts.

Luis cried his amazement and bucked against him enthusiastically. Far too early, the boy cried out in the throes of an orgasm. Hawk almost lost it, but by force of will, he continued to pump his hips, helping the boy through his orgasm. And then, he achieved his own.

“Oh, Hawk!” Luis cried. “That was incredible! I love you, mi amor! You do it so good! I didn’t know it could be like that. I didn’t know. I… didn’t… know.”

 

 Hawk wasn’t certain he would live through the week. Luis looked down his patrician nose and claimed his body every night. Hawk started going to the Mesa with some of the guys so that the kid wouldn’t try to slip in a matinee performance. He could have put a stop to it at any time, but he didn’t. He understood that the boy was in love… probably for the first time in his life. He knew that Luis recognized it was a doomed affair but hungered for what he could get in the short time they had.

One night, Hawk came home from the Blue Mesa to find Luis gone. The boy’s spare clothes were still there, so he hadn’t run off. Thirty minutes later, the illegal appeared, looking sheepish. He’d gotten cabin fever and sneaked out to meet a few kids his own age. Hawk didn’t lecture his young friend, but he explained that if Luis were caught, there was nothing he could do to help.

As the weekend approached, Luis became morose. Hawk understood. Friday night, they made intense love, the boy giving it everything he had.

The boy grew jubilant when Hawk’s boss asked him to work Saturday because of a rumored drug run from Flora Tulipán. Hawk knew that meant they would drive to El Paso on Sunday rather than Saturday, but he held his tongue.

The rumored drug run turned out to be just that…a rumor. Nonetheless, Hawk was late getting home because they’d stayed in place well into the evening. The house was dark and silent. There was no sign of Luis. Hawk cursed silently, disappointed that his warnings had gone unheeded. The boy’s clothing was still in the bedroom, so he’d show up. But he did not. Around midnight, Hawk drove around town vainly looking for the boy.

Sunday came and went without any sign of Luis. Sunday night, Hawk accepted the obvious. Luis had been caught. The Indian was surprised at the depth of his depression. The kid had gotten under his skin. Monday morning on the way to work, Hawk drove by the INS confinement quarters. There in a corner, hugging the fence and staring out at freedom, stood a forlorn Luis. Hawk parked briefly at the curb about ten feet away. It was a mistake. The despair filling the boy’s big eyes tore at his heart. With a barely raised hand, Luis acknowledged everything. He hadn’t listened. He’d made a mistake. He was sorry. He knew he was on his own. He loved Hawk. The Indian nodded imperceptibly, threw the truck in gear, and pulled away.

He was a bear that day. His usual unruffled calm slipped to the point that he spoke sharply to Robert once while they were on the trail of a mule. Hawk finally acknowledged that he had suffered a loss. It would have been different had he been able to deliver Luis safely back to his own country. The boy would get home, but on INS terms. Hawk wondered if he’d made the possibility of rape more frightening or more acceptable to the handsome young man.

That night when the phone rang, he snatched it up, half hoping it was Luis; knowing it would not be.

“Hello, Hawk!” came the beloved voice of Grove Whitedeer. “How’d you like a roommate?”

Hawk’s heart soared. Luis was a part of the past now, made that by circumstances and the boy’s careless actions. Hawk’s present, his future, was speaking now, excitedly making plans to return.

‘I’ll have to room with you from now on,” Grove said. “Gotta send a good part of my paycheck back here for mom’s care. Don’t know how long it’ll go on, but as long as it does, I’m gonna have to mooch off you. I’ll carry what load I can. Probably have to get a second job, but—”

“Shut up, Grove! Stop talking about mooching, and start talking about sharing. What I have is yours so long as you get your skinny butt back here. I still remember it from the day you left.”

“God, it’ll be good to get back! But you were right. I had to come. It’s been better between me and my family. Thanks for understanding.”

“Well, I’m gonna have to ask for some of yours,” Hawk said.

“Oh, shit! What was he, a wetback? Did…did you…”

“No, I kept our agreement, but I let him worm his way into my life more than I expected."

“He still there?”

“No, got himself caught. He’s gone, but you had to know. Uh…”

“I’m gonna shock the shit outa you, Hawk. But there hasn’t been anybody. I’ve stored up a load for you, and I’ll have you crying for mercy within twenty-four hours!”

“Don’t pick up a pail you can’t carry,” Hawk said with a broad smile.

“I’ll carry it, but I hope you can.”

“God, I love you, Grove!”

“I love you, too, Hawk. And I’ll prove it in a week!”

A week! A whole damned week! Maybe he could survive until then… just barely, he decided.

 

* * * * *

 

A little long, but I hope you waded through it. It seems things came out okay in the end. We’ll take a rest from Hawk and Grove, but one day, maybe we’ll see what comes next.

 

I will now revert to my usual schedule of posting on the first and third Thursday of each month. And before you ask… I have no idea of what comes next.

 

My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

 

The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

 

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

 

And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 

Until next time.

 

Mark

 

New posts at 6:00 a.m. every first and third Thursday of the month.

Interregnum, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 5

 markwildyr.com, Post #131

So the kid who’s first words to Hawk were “Don’t rape me,” found some pleasure in bedding with the big Indian. But he fled to his own room immediately thereafter, and Hawk doesn’t know how Luis feels about what they did. Let’s pick it up from there.

* * * * *

INTERREGNUM, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 5

 Awake with the morning star, Hawk took his coffee on the porch and thought about Luis. About last night. The kid was lonely… and he was lonely. They’d fed a mutual need. So what? What they’d done was in keeping with what he and Grove had worked out. The boy reminded him of Ramon in so many ways, yet he had the insolence of a Wolverine. He was a powerful physical draw.

Hawk ate breakfast, and still Luis had not come out of the bedroom. Ashamed, most likely. It was Saturday, so Hawk went shopping for groceries as usual. As an afterthought, he picked up a few clothes for the boy. Luis was in the kitchen eating, dressed only in his shorts. Before he could flee to the bedroom for clothes, Hawk tossed a package at him.

Hawk had a good eye. The boy pulled on a pair of jeans that hugged his hips snugly. The T-shirt looked form fit. The dark blue button-up could have been custom-made. The kid looked like a million dollars, especially when he smiled his pleasure. He frowned suddenly.

“I don’t have money to pay for these.”

“Nobody leaves empty handed,” Hawk said. “You’ll need clothes when you go.” The boy looked up at those words but held his silence.

In order to get Luis out of the house for a little while, Hawk coaxed him into the pickup for a drive. Hawk gassed up, bought some other supplies, and they finished the afternoon off with cheeseburgers at the town’s only park. Hawk saw a number of federal officers, including some INS, but they paid the two men no mind. There was an advantage to having a badge.

That night Luis stopped him as he was headed to his bedroom. “I can come in with you, no? But—”

“Yeah, I know. You don’t want to be raped.”

The kid blushed but followed Hawk like a puppy, standing and watching as he disrobed. “You always sleep al fresco?” he asked as Hawk slipped into the bed. “I can too, no?”

The boy snapped off the light before shucking his clothes, but Hawk caught the flash of a pale thigh and a mysterious darkness between Luis’ legs. He reached for the boy as soon as they were settled. Luis tensed.

“Cool it, kid. I’m not going to rape you. If you ever feel me inside you, you’ll have to ask for it.” A shiver passed through the teen’s body as Hawk slowly fingered the brown aureoles until the nipples stood up sharply. He traced the chest, feeling the hard muscles and deciding the kid had worked hard on his father’s ranch. The belly fluttered at his touch, betraying excitement. Hawk sucked a nipple, and Luis jumped like he had been shocked, but his hand clasped the back of Hawk’s head, holding him in place.

“Aieee!” the boy cried, thrusting his chest up at Hawk. “The other one!”

Hawk lay back on the bed. “Your turn, kid.”

Trying to show a little reluctance, the youth rose to his elbow and placed his lips on Hawk’s smooth chest. “You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” he whispered. “I have never seen skin like yours…almost like ours, but not quite so. There is some red in it, I think.” He chuckled. “That is why they call you redskins, no?” The movement of Luis’ mouth against his chest tickled and excited him. “You smell so clean, yet like a man, too. You are muy macho, Hawk.”

“And my macho’sabout to pop a cork, kid.”

Luis came up to look Hawk in the eye. “Luis gets you hot, no?”

“Yes,” Hawk said, placing a hand behind the kid’s head and forcing their lips to meet. Startled, Luis panicked. His hands pushed roughly against Hawk’s shoulders. His mouth clenched. Hawk held him, moving his head slightly from side to side. The boy held his breath as long as possible and then exhaled. With his gust of breath, he expelled his resistance. His mouth went slack. Hawk’s tongue slid between the enamel of the boy’s teeth and explored the warm, moist cavity. Watching, Hawk saw his eyelids flutter and close. Long black lashes lay against the boy's cheeks. Gently, then with growing urgency, the youth sucked the tongue invading his mouth.

When they parted, Luis swore something quietly in Spanish and buried his head in Hawk’s neck. Still without speaking, he slipped down the Indian’s muscled torso. Hawk pulled him up so that they were eye-to-eye.

“There’s something you should understand, Luis. No matter what you do for me, I can’t do anything beyond what we did last night. Understand?”

“Yes,” the boy whispered, his eyes flaming with lust. “What… what do you want me to do for you?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.” Luis’ voice held a plaintive tone. He sat cross-legged beside Hawk as a grin claimed his features. “I excite you? You like Luis, no?”

“Yes, or I wouldn’t do this with him.”

“I like Hawk too. You make me feel…different. Like doing things with you is all right. Not dirty. Not…wrong.” The boy licked his lips nervously. “Like this,” he said, bending to Hawk’s groin and finding a rhythm.

“Kid,” Hawk said in a strangled voice. “You’d better stop …now!”

Too late. Hawk spewed like Old Faithful! Luis came up gagging and choking.

Without bothering to clean himself, Hawk pushed the young man flat on the bed and reciprocated, slowly but surely drawing Luis to a climax.

Afterward, Hawk went for a pan of warm water and a cloth to wash them, aware of the puzzled brown eyes following his every move, studying him as if seeing him for the first time. When they were clean and dry, Hawk covered them with a sheet and turned on his side. After a few moments, the boy fitted his body to Hawk’s. He lay for a long time without sleeping conjuring visions of Grove Whitedeer as they worked and played and made love. In the afterglow of the night’s sexual release, Hawk was grateful to this stranger sleeping against him. He’d gone beyond what he’d promised, putting his mouth to the kid. That didn’t bother him, but he nonetheless suffered the loneliness of one separated from his enamored.

 

 Luis slept in his own room for the rest of the week, wrestling with feelings that were foreign to him. On Saturday, he found himself standing naked beside Hawk’s bed. Not quite understanding his raging emotions, he threw back the covers and straddled Hawk’s groin. “How come you did not take me to sleep with you again?” he demanded. “You want me, I know it. I can feel it!”

“Luis, your body is yours to give or withhold. I don’t have a right to it… nobody does. If you want to give it to me, then I will accept, but you must decide.”

“I decide I want to give it,” the boy said, sliding down to cover Hawk’s mouth. Luis knew what to expect this time and put everything into, doing the things he had done with the girls when they kissed behind the barn on the ranch. It inflamed him.

Urgently, he sucked his way down Hawk’s smooth, hard torso and did what was unthinkable before this disastrous trip. As before, he he set up a rhythm what soon had Hawk gasping. He did what Hawk had done to him, slipping his hand between the strong legs to tease the sphincter, triggering something in the Indian. Hawk thrust with his hips, setting off a feeling of triumph, as Luis excited the handsome man to greater effort, wondering what it would be like to be raped by him. Without warning, Hawk came.

Thrilled at drawing such a reaction, Luis exploded almost as soon as Hawk touched him. He pulled the Indian to his breast, thrusting against the man’s hard belly until his jism ceased to flow and professing endearments in rapid Spanish, loving the man in his arms for whom he joyously abandoned the teachings of his church, his family, and his culture, all without once thinking of himself as a maricon.

 * * * * *

 What’s going on here? Clearly, Luis is beginning to enjoy his romps with Hawk a little too much. In this week’s reading, we’ve had an opportunity (in the latter part of the installment) to understand things going on in the kid’s head because we switched to his viewpoint. Something I don’t often do in short stories.

 Don’t know about you, but I can hardly wait for the next installment. I want to see what happens then.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

 The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

 DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

 And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 Until next time.

 

Mark

 New posts at 6:00 a.m. every Thursday until the story is completed. Then we’ll revers to the first and third Thursday of the month.

Interregnum, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 4

 markwildyr.com, Post #130

 

Okay, so Hawk’s gotten himself into another pickle… just as he had when he found Ramon out in the desert. But Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz is a different sort of guy. Educated… and not the typical wetback.

 As an aside to readers, I understand the term “wetback” is offensive to some. I seriously considered purging the word from the Huntinghawk stories but came to the conclusion that the language of the border at the time the events took place was more important than being politically correct. So with apologies, the term remains.

 At any rate, Luis is a different breed of cat. You will recall that last week, after a gun battle with drug runners during which his new working partner Robert was wounded, Hawk found some immigrants on the desert on their last legs and provided aid before calling in La Migra. One of them, however, eluded capture until Hawk found him at Dragon’s Back and took him home. He fully expected Luis to be gone when he came home after work. So what happened?

 

* * * * *

INTERREGNUM, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 4

 Robert hadn’t been released from the clinic yet, so Amadeo assigned Hawk another partner, a kid they called Cooch, a stolid local tribesman who did his job and minded his own business. The kid did what he was told with grunts when he could avoid a more verbal response. Fortunately, the day was relatively uneventful, two mules who didn’t put up a fight and six illegals. The Rezes accounted for most of the wetbacks in this district even though illegals weren’t their responsibility.

When Hawk entered his house that evening, he was surprised to see Luis sitting on the couch watching television. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, drawing a puzzled look from his guest. “If you’re going to freeload, least you can do is help out.”

“You want me to prepare your meals?” Luis demanded. “Are you loco? I have never cooked anything in my life.”

“You know how to handle a can opener, don’t you? Open us some tuna, fix something, dammit!”

“You hungry, you fix it!” the boy flared.

“Come on,” Hawk said turning back to the doorway. “It’s LaMigra or the desert, your choice.”

“No!” the boy said. “All right, I will fix your meal, cabron!”

“Fuck it,” Hawk said. “I’ll fix my own. But carry your own weight, Luis. You’re one strange wetback, you know that?”

The boy’s eyes smoldered. “I am no wetback!”

“You’re over here illegally, aren’t you?” Luis didn’t answer. “Then you’re a wetback. What’s your story, anyway?”

“Story? Ah, my history?” He shrugged eloquently. “I got born. I went to school. I sneak across the border to look for work. That is all.”

“Bullshit! You’re no peonlooking for work. You ran away from home, didn't you?”

The eyes blazed again. “Why is it your business?” As Hawk glared at him, the boy relented. “All right, that is true. I go to university last year and meet some gringo students. They tell how good it is at their school and show me pictures. My father would not listen when I asked him to send me. He says I must stay in Mexico and become…” The kid bit his lip. “We have a big fight. I leave the estancia one night and leave a note saying I am going to America anyway. I have money with me, but only a small bag with extra clothes. I find a man who takes people across the border.” Luis shrugged again. “The rest you know.”

“So you’re some pampered patron’sson who stuck his neck in it when he didn’t get his way.”

Luis’ face clouded. “Yes, my father is a rancher…a big rancher. But I work hard for him and study hard at school. I do not want to be a rancher. I want to doctor the animals not butcher them…what you call it? A veterinarian. If I don’t leave, he will make me stay on the ranch.”

“Let me guess. You lost your money when you dropped your bag somewhere out on the desert.”

The kid flared again…he was good at it. “I drop it when I help the woman carry the baby. She was about to fall down…lag behind. The baby was more important than a bag.”

“You’re right about that, at least. Well, let’s drive into town and get something to eat at a drive-in.”

“No!” Luis protested. “You will take me to La Migra! It is a trick! You take me there, and they rape me!”

“What’s this with you and rape, kid? Curt Huntinghawk’s word is as good as Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz’s any day of the week. Let’s go get something to eat. You like hamburgers?”

The boy brightened. “With cheese, no? And fries. So that is your name, Curt Hunting…hawk?”

“You can call me Hawk.”

For the rest of the week Hawk expected the boy to be gone when he came home from work, but Luis was always there with some kind of meal prepared. The boy was right …he was no cook. They ate poorly made sandwiches, but at least he tried. After a not so subtle hint, Luis reluctantly picked up the house during Hawk’s absence, his distaste so obvious that Hawk had trouble keeping from laughing. He knew exactly what the boy was thinking…he was being turned into a house servant. Hawk could almost hear his unexpressed words: “Me, Louis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz, a fucking house servant!”

Coping with his houseguest made life more interesting, but what got Hawk through his week was a call from Grove. Painfully aware of Luis listening to his end of the conversation, Hawk eagerly absorbed the news from the other end. Stabilized further. Hopeful. Remission. All words of encouragement. Then…got a job. Helps with the bills. Words of dismay. He wasn’t coming back right away. At the end, they spoke of love and things that excited Hawk and filled him with an aching loneliness. Finally, the conversation ended.

Luis eyed him speculatively. “Your girlfriend? Where is she?”

Hawk stared at the instrument in his hand. “Back east. Mother’s sick.”

The boy laughed. “Your face stopped being so sour. It lit up and got…more handsome. Guapo. You married to her?”

Hawk drilled him with a stare. “No, not married.” Luis faltered, his eyes dropping away. Hawk realized that he was still half-erect, and that the boy had seen. The youth was nervous the rest of the evening.

Hawk came suddenly awake in the middle of the night. Footsteps! Maybe Luis had decided to leave. So be it. Hawk tensed when the door to his bedroom opened. Luis appeared at the side of the bed, peering intently through the darkness.

“What do you want?” Hawk growled.

The boy jumped in surprise. “You…you were calling out, saying things. I thought maybe something was wrong.” Hawk put his hands behind his head and gazed up at the boy, conscious that a patch of moonlight illuminated the bed while leaving Luis in deep shadow. “You dream about your girl, no? That call?”

“Yeah, maybe I was dreaming about that call.”

“Hawk…uh … I do not want you to rape me, but I can…help you, no?”

“Help me how, Chico?”

“What did you call me? That’s…that’s what my mama calls me. Chico.” The boy’s voice dried up, and Hawk realized with a start that he was lonely.

“Help me how?” Hawk repeated.

“I don’t know. Get relief maybe? But I don’t want to get raped.”

“And how would you give me relief if I don’t fuck you?” Hawk asked crudely. “You’ll suck my cock?”

The boy almost recoiled physically. “No! I just thought maybe, you know,” he lifted his hand. “Like that.”

Vulnerable, Hawk swept back the covers, revealing his nakedness.

“¡Dios!” the boy exclaimed. “You are so big!” Hesitantly, the boy placed a hand on Hawk’s chest. “Your heart is beating so hard.” The touch became a caress. The hand moved down his torso, paused a moment in the pubic hair, then grasped him. Luis fell to his knees beside the bed and slowly began a stroking motion.

Luis gasped as Hawk’s hand slid over the edge of the bed and groped him, coming alive at the touch.

Hawk drew in his breath sharply and came. Shuddering through his climax, scissoring his legs against the clean sheet, he waited for the dirty, smarmy feeling to engulf him.

Relieved that it did not, he drew the boy out of his shorts and stroked him slowly. Luis refused to get up on the bed but submitted to Hawk’s steady kneading. At length, the boy cried aloud and fell forward, his forehead coming to rest on one of Hawk’s chest. Recovering, the boy stood awkwardly and backed out of the room without a word. Hawk spent a few minutes thinking about what had happened and how he felt about it before falling to sleep.

 

* * * * *

Okay, temptation reared its head, and despite Grove, Curt succumbed to it. Or perhaps it was because of Grove. Did his partner’s phone call set Hawk up to fall? And somehow getting it on with Luis doesn’t have the same feel as it did with Ramon. What will happen next?

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

 The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

 DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

 And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 Until next time.

 

Mark

 New posts at 6:00 a.m. every Thursday until the story is completed. Then we’ll revers to the first and third Thursday of the month.

Interregnum, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 3

 

markwildyr.com, Post #129

 Still no Grove, and Hawk’s already had to fight off temptation. Maybe his new partner being winged in a gunfight with drug traffickers will give our hero time to cool off. Unless, of course, temptation comes his way from a different direction.

 When we left Hawk last week, he had turned over the drug smugglers to Amadeo and the rest of the Red Rezes and seen Robert on the way to the hospital. Then he set out to check out something he’d seen while approaching Dragon’s Back before the interdiction. Let’s see what caught his eye.

 * * * * *

INTERREGNUM, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 3

           An hour later, Hawk found what he was looking for. At least a dozen people had been heading for the Dragon when the gunfire scared them off. Illegals. Not his business, and he would have dropped it after notifying the INS except that they’d been chased away from the only water in the area. They might need help. He raised Amadeo and asked him to notify La Migra before taking off after the group.

          Hawk rounded a bend in a broad, sandy arroyo at a trot and suddenly halted. A man stood in the middle of the gully. It was seldom anyone took Hawk by surprise, and after a moment he understood why. The man, a boy really, was motionless, mouth open, lips burnt, hands shaking. He was on his last legs. For one giddy moment Hawk thought it was Ramon, but this one was taller and there was something more of the man in him.

          “¿Agua?” the youngster gasped. “You have water?”

          Deciding the Mexican youth posed no threat, Hawk led him to the shade of a scrub at the side of the gully and gave him a modest drink.

          “¿La Migra?” the boy gasped, wiping his chin to save a precious drop.

          “No, but I’m a peace officer. Where are the others?”

          The youth motioned with his head down the arroyo. “Not far. Bad shape. You give them water, no?”

          “How many?”

         “Twelve of us. The coyotesran off after we got across the border. Women, children…one baby.”

          “Shit!” Hawk cursed. “You stay right here! Don’t move. I’ll be back for you.” The boy sagged against the gully as Hawk hurried down the arroyo.

          They were in such bad shape nobody even tried to run. Hawk rationed his water carefully, trying to ease the suffering until INS arrived. The agent in charge, someone Hawk had worked with before, soon had them loaded in vans and headed for the detention center and medical help. The vehicles had pulled away before Hawk remembered the kid back up the arroyo. Oh, well, he’d take him to the center himself. But there was no one in the shade of the scrub.

          Hawk took off his hat and rubbed his head. The son-of-a-bitch had more spunk than he’d thought. Wearily, he followed the tracks out of the arroyo expecting to find the prostrate form of a sunstroke victim. Nothing moved over the desert that he could see. The little shit had lit out as soon as Hawk was out of sight!

          Without hesitating, Hawk made for his vehicle and drove in a big circle back to Dragon. They’d been headed for water, so the kid probably knew about the spring. He kept his foot light on the accelerator to hold down his dust plume. If the illegal spotted it, he might shy away from the spring and die out there.

          As he had once for Ramon, Hawk settled himself against a shadowed rock wall and waited patiently for his quarry to come to water. A tiny stream trickled out of the pool and straggled down the wash, evaporating in something less than a mile. If the kid tried to drink out there, Hawk would see him.

          He did not. He made for the cover of the rocks and fell to his knees at the edge of the pool without spotting Hawk in the shadows. The kid took a desperate drink, ripped off his shirt, soaked it, and doused his head to bring down his body temperature. He swayed on his knees from his efforts.

          “Hola, amigo”, Hawk said quietly.

          ¡Dios, mio!” the boy gasped, staggering into the small pool.

          “I told you to stay put. You don’t listen very good.”

          “Please,” the boy said, backing away and muddying the water.

          “Get out of the pool, idiot!” Hawk said. “A lot of animals water there.”

          “¡Lo siento! Sorry!” the youth said, scrambling out of the water on the far side of the little pool. “You won’t hurt me, will you?”

          Hawk recalled Ramon’s fractured sentences. “You speak good English.”

          “Thank you. Please, don’t hurt me.”

          “Why do you think I’m going to hurt you?”

          The boy swallowed hard and tried again. “Don’t rape me!”

          “Rape you? Why do you think I’d rape you?”

          “My friend, he was caught. He… he got raped in detention.”

          “Maybe,” Hawk acknowledged, “but not by INS. He was probably raped by his own people, especially if he looked as good as you.”

          The boy’s eyes bugged. “I know you’re an indio, but please don’t—“

          “You think I’m going to rape you because I’m an Indian?” Hawk asked half in surprise and half in anger. “You think we’re savages?” Suddenly Hawk laughed. Half of Mexico was mestizo, but they got their idea of “real” Indians from John Wayne movies. “Think I’ll scalp you after I’ve fucked your ass.”

          The boy squared his shoulders. “You joke with me, no?”

          “Yeah, I joke with you. What’s your name?”

          “Luis. Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz.” That chore completed, the boy swayed and dropped to his knees. Hawk made it to his side in half a dozen steps and pulled him to his feet.

          “Okay, Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz, let’s get you some help.”

          “Please, mister. Don’t take me to detention.”

          “What you want me to do with you? Turn you back out on the desert?”

          “No! Not the desert!” the boy cried weakly. “Town. Let me go.”

          “I might as well take you straight to INS. They’ll pick you up within a couple of hours. All right, I’ll tell you what, Luis. I’ll take you home, feed you, clean you up, let you rest some, and then we’ll figure out what to do, okay?”

           “Thank you,” the boy said faintly, slumping against Hawk.

          Hawk picked up Luis’ soaked shirt and half-carried him to the four-by wondering what in the hell he was doing? He'd taken Ramon home and it had worked out, but Hawk worked for the federal government—indirectly, at least—and they frowned on breaking their laws. He radioed that he was going straight home. In view of the skirmish this afternoon, Amadeo made no objections.

          Luis had lost his possessions, so Hawk found something for him to wear. Still uncertain of Hawk’s intentions, the kid had to be talked out of his pants. He washed the young Mexican’s filthy clothing while the kid showered. Then Hawk studied the youth as they ate green chile stew. When the swollen, blistered lips and sunburned face healed, he’d be one good-looking son-of-a-bitch, as handsome as Ramon, but with a difference. The nose was thin and patrician. The big, brown eyes, even exhausted, held an air of insolence. Ramon had been a beautiful peon, a peasant. This one came from the middle-class, if not the upper crust. What the hell was he doing crawling across the desert? The kid was larger than Ramon too. He stood as tall as Hawk and carried around a hundred and seventy pounds when he wasn’t dehydrated, Hawk figured. Good, broad shoulders, long torso, slim hips and legs. Educated too, probably.

          “Do you take me to the detention center now?” the kid demanded after two bowls of stew and a quart of milk.

          “Luis,” Hawk answered. “I’m too damned tired for that, and I think you are as well. I’ll put you up in the spare bedroom so you can get some rest, but I need your word you won’t sneak off in the night. And I’m an indio, remember? We’re like cats…see in the dark and hear things that aren’t there.

          Luis looked down his nose with as much of a sneer as he could manage with his swollen lips. “I give you my promise.”

          “Can I trust it?”

          This time he managed the sneer even if it cost him some pain. “The word of Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz is good with any man in Mexico.”

          Hawk tapped him on the chest. “This ain’t Mexico, old buddy.”

          They retired to separate rooms after Luis showed some concern that there was no lock on his door. The kid would probably sleep in his pants tonight, Hawk surmised with a secret smile. As his groin tingled, silently acknowledged that might not be a bad idea.

          Hawk sipped his coffee on the front porch the next morning by the light of the morning star and came to the conclusion he would leave the boy alone while he worked. Luis would more than likely be gone by the end of the day, solving Hawk’s dilemma.

 * * * * *

Offhand, I’d say fate’s laying a trap for Curt Huntinghawk, but maybe he’s right. Perhaps Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz vacated the premises while Hawk was at work. After all, the young hidalgo was worried about being raped by a wild Indian. Until next week.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

 

The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

 

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

 And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 Until next time.

 

Mark

 New posts at 6:00 a.m. every Thursday until the story is completed. Then we’ll revers to the first and third Thursday of the month.

Interregnum, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 2

 markwildyr.com, Post #128

 Last week, Grove flew away into the wild blue yonder to see his mother, recently struck down by cancer. Then Hawk’s boss Amadeo assigned him a temporary partner… who turns out to be a handsome, eager young man with a bad case of hero worship. How will that work out? The last we saw of Hawk, he was heading around behind the Blue Mesa Bar to have another beer with Robert his new partner.

 * * * * *

INTERREGNUM, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 2

          Hawk made his way around the building to a half-crumbled adobe wall at the rear of the property. Normally there’d be two or three groups sucking down beer, preferring the calm of the night to the noise of the bar. Tonight there was no one. “Shit!” he cursed softly.

          Robert brought a six-pack and stood hip-sprung while Hawk perched on the crumbling wall. They talked about the Rezes, and Hawk shared a few experiences, including the Wolverine shootout and the death of the rogue INS agent who had been murdering traficantes.

          “I heard you got shot,” the boy said.

          “Just a graze across the forehead. That was Wolverine.”

          “Man! How’d it feel to get shot?” Robert moved closer. A horned moon left the night dark. Occasionally the boy’s eyes gleamed; otherwise, he was a black silhouette.

          “Like you’d expect. Hurt. Had a headache for a week. Still have a little scar across the forehead.”

          “Yeah, I noticed it.” Robert shifted his weight. “And then you tracked down the guy and killed him.”

          “No, I discovered who he was and reported it. The Feds set up the ambush. We were a part of it, but I didn’t put a bullet near him.”

          “Didn’t you want revenge?”

          “Just wanted him caught. Turned out I knew him and… liked him.”

          “Man, that’s rough.” The young man took an audible gulp of his brew. “Hawk, I wanna thank you for taking me as your partner.”

          “Don’t thank me, thank Amadeo. When Grove comes back, we’ll go back to partnering.”

          Robert moved to the wall at Hawk’s side. His hip brushed Hawk’s leg. He moved away, but only slightly. “Well, anyway, thanks for letting me sub for him. Here, have another beer.” The youth set the cold can on Hawk’s thigh, allowing his hand and forearm to rest there.

          For a long, awkward moment, the boy’s flesh burned through the denim of his trousers. Hawk moved to rise. “Save it for another time, Robert. I’m going home and hit the hay.” As he came off the wall, Hawk’s groin pressed against Robert’s hand holding the beer. For one infinitesimal moment, neither man moved. Then Robert backed away.

 

          The rest of the week was uneventful. The big desert was quiet and empty of human life. Robert overcame his nervousness over what happened behind the bar. Hawk was glad; he was physically attracted to the youth’s rangy looks, but he foresaw problems with a relationship when Grove returned. And nothing was worth jeopardizing what he had with Grove.

          The following Monday, they got some action when Robert slammed on the brakes. “Tracks!” he called, bailing out of the four-by.

          Three men. At first it looked like two because one “walked under,” that is having another smuggler walk in his footsteps, but they’d made occasional mistakes. It’s hard to walk under with so few people. They were traficantes, not illegals. He reported their position by radio, and Amadeo promised to send a team to close off the other end of the trail. The two Rezes locked their vehicle, hefted rifles and canteens and started off at a fast walk.

          Since one of the traficantes was trying to hide his presence, he was probably important; someone key to this end of the supply chain. That made him dangerous and Hawk more cautious. He voiced his suspicions and changed his methods.

          Determining the general direction of the trail, Hawk abandoned the tracks for the low ground, walking in large circles whenever they failed to cross the trail. It cost precious time, but was safer. Ultimately, it paid off.

          The traficantessuddenly bore northeast. Hawk understood immediately they were heading for the Dragon’s Back and water. Realizing these were no ordinary smugglers and might carry a radio, he had Robert report on the hand-held to Amadeo in their native tongue. Then Hawk abandoned stealth for speed. The men would make Dragon’s Back before them. He set off at a trot, keeping to a network of arroyos and gulches leading to the jumble of rocks that resembled a dinosaur’s tail. Safely at the base, Hawk slung his rifle over his shoulder and began a hand-over-hand climb. Robert had no sling, so stuck his weapon through his belt where the barrel rode the crack of his butt.

          Three-quarters of the way up the rock, Hawk heard a motor. He kept up his steady pace, knowing that it was too soon for Amadeo to have another team in the area, but taking comfort in the fact that the best vehicle approach was on the other side of the hills. He slipped over the top with Robert on his heels.

          Below them, three men were filling their bellies at the pool created by the spring rising from the rocks. If they’d been drinking all this time, they’d be waterlogged, but it was something he could not count on. He needed to make his move before the traficantes’confederates arrived in the approaching vehicle.

          The men were of some interest. Two were mules and muscle. They’d lugged heavy packs across the desert, which meant they were thugs to be respected for their strength and endurance. The third was dressed casually but carried an air of authority. They rose when the distant growl of the motor penetrated the natural hollow where they hid.

          “Keep your head down and your eyes open,” Hawk whispered. “If they make a break for it identify yourself as a federal officer and pin them down.” Robert nodded nervously.

          It took Hawk ten minutes to work to the other side of the crest. The vehicle, a black Lincoln SUV, was barely within range. He laid the rifle along his cheek and put a bullet into one headlight. Two people piled out of the car, weapons flashing in the sunlight. They didn’t look to be long rifles, so Hawk figured they had a problem…did they abandon their compadres or come give a hand in the face of a long-range shooter? He put another slug through the grill. Gunfire behind him let him know the others had made a break. He turned back to give Robert a hand.

          From his high vantage point, he saw the three had scattered. There were only two ways out of Dragon, up the steep sides or to the south in plain view of Robert. Two opted for cover at the base of the cliff below the Rez rookie; the third edged around for a break or a shot. Robert got edgy, exposing his position in an effort to see where the other two were. The thug sprayed the rock with an Uzi before Hawk dropped him.

          “You all right?” he shouted to Robert.

          “Yeah. Took some meat off my arm, but I’m functioning.”

          Hawk showed himself and motioned threateningly with his rifle, ordering the traficantes on the ground. Robert edged around to where he could guard the two while Hawk went to check on the Lincoln. It was limping back over the hard desert pan spewing steam, but wouldn’t make it. Three Rez four-bys zeroed in on a collision course. Hawk raised them on his hand-held and apprised them of the situation. Within fifteen minutes, four healthy drug smugglers and one with a shattered leg were in custody. One vehicle stood by until Hawk got Robert down off the rock. His wound was a little more than he’d let on.

          “Well, you asked how it felt,” Hawk said when they were near the bottom. “Now you know.”

          “Not much fun, is it?” Robert grimaced. Suddenly, he halted in his tracks. “Hawk, about the other night at the Mesa. Don’t know what got into me. Never acted like that before with a guy.”

          Hawk grinned. “You were so damned pretty I almost took you up on it.”

          Robert accepted it as a joke, and they joined an anxious Amadeo at the pool. Declining a ride back to his vehicle that would delay getting Robert to the clinic, Hawk slung his rifle and retraced his steps. He’d seen something from the top of Dragon’s Back he wanted to check.

* * * * *

Well, well, it didn’t take long for temptation to rear its head. What was it, a week? Next week, let’s see what happens. And what did Hawk spot that he wants to check out?

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

 The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

 DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

 And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 Until next time.

 Mark

 New posts at 6:00 a.m. every Thursday until the story is completed. Then we’ll revers to the first and third Thursday of the month..

Interregnum, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part #1

 markwildyr.com, Post #127

Okay, okay. Some of you are impatient for another dose of Hawk, so I’ll give in and do another one. As usual, I’ll post weekly until the story is completed.

Here we go.

* * * * *

INTERREGNUM, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 1 

          Curt Huntinghawk woke to find Grover Whitedeer studying him across the pillow in the breaking dawn. Hawk greeted his best friend and lover, stretching lazily and stroking Grove’s bare chest fondly.

          “I don’t wanna go, Hawk,” Grove said. “Tell me not to, and I won’t.”

          “If you don’t, you might never see your mom again. I won’t be responsible for that.”

          “I wouldn’t feel any more shitty about that than leaving you,” Grove observed, laying a hand on Hawk’s muscled shoulder before heaving himself out of bed. “It’s not like my family’s all that close. Yeah, I know, she’s my mom.”

          Hawk shaved a three-day growth of almost non-existent stubble while Grove pissed and brushed his teeth. After that, they met in the shower. Today would be their last opportunity to make love for some time. Once Grove was on a plane headed east, neither knew when he’d return. He’d given up his apartment and took an indefinite leave of absence from the Rezagados Colorados yesterday after his brother’s call about his mother’s cancer. No one knew exactly what the future held or when it would arrive.

          Grove leaned on his hands against the front of the shower while Hawk lathered his body. They paused to kiss before exchanging places. Once they were squeaky clean, they entwined themselves to deposit semen on one another’s bellies, Grove drew a ragged breath and whispered in Hawk’s ear.

          “I know you, Curt Huntinghawk. Just like you know me. I-I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and—”

          “Hush, Grove. I’ll wait for you.”

          “No you won’t. And I can’t promise anything in return. We’re both sexual animals. And once we discovered one another, the ladies don’t do it for us… at least not as a steady diet.”

          He hugged Hawk closer. “So it’s okay. You can find somebody, just don’t forget me.”

          Hawk stroked the back of his lover’s neck. “Never! And I’ll—”

          “No you won’t. Not if I’m gone for long.”

          “Okay, deal. For both of us. It’s okay to get with someone. But it won’t mean anything. Just a holding pattern for when you’re back. Same goes for you. Okay?”

          “Deal. But—” Grove’s hands fondled Hawk’s buttocks. “—not there. That belongs to me.”

          “You got it.”

          “Damn, Hawk,” Grove whispered distractedly, “you’re so much man, how did we ever get together?”

          “Slowly and carefully,” Hawk said with a smile, recalling the long, painful process.

           Three hours later, Hawk stood watching a Southwest Airlines flight take off from the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport carrying his friend… his lover away from him for God knows how long. His gut clenched as the aircraft disappeared from view.

           Hawk suffered on his lonely trip back home. He ran a gamut of emotions, surprised to discover that anger was among them. He was angry at fate for imposing this obligation, with Grove because he was flying away in a big silver bird, with himself because he should have insisted they wait for one another instead of agreeing each was free to find relief with someone else.

          The next day when he reported to work, Amadeo Tomé, his boss at the Red Rezes, assigned him a new partner.

          “Hawk, be reasonable,” the man argued when Hawk bucked. “I shoulda broke you and Grove up a long time ago. You’re two of the best I’ve got, and you oughta train the new men. Besides, you know I don’t like my men to work alone.”

          “All right, but only till Grove comes back. We’ve got the best interdiction record in the outfit, and you don’t want to fuck with that.”

          “We’ll see,” Amadeo hedged.

          “Bullshit. Either Grove’s my partner, or I’ll find something else!”

          Hawk—with a youngster in tow—left for the desert country south of them wondering if he’d revealed too much to Amadeo. The man was no fool, but loyalties ran deep among the men, especially long-time partners. He suddenly smiled, realizing that he didn’t really give a damn. Let him think whatever he wanted. The revelation was liberating.

          “Come on, kid. You drive; I’ll keep an eye out,” he said to Robert Tanara, tossing him the keys to the four-by-four.

          They cut three different sets of tracks and followed each on foot until they were certain of what they had, two small groups of illegal aliens and a team of drug mules. They reported the wanna-be-immigrants to INS by radio and set out cross-country at a steady trot after the mules.

          Robert Tanara was from a neighborhood tribe but was taller and more slender than the locals due to outside blood, probably. He looked impossibly young even though Hawk knew he was twenty-one. Robert had been with the Rezagados about three months and followed a pretty faint trail, meaning he had a good eye for sign on rocky ground. Hawk thought of him as a kid, a boy, but Robert was a man. They caught the two drug runners as they neared civilization in the middle of the hot afternoon.

          The smugglers tried to run, but the desert had taken its toll. The traficantes didn’t have the stamina to make it back to the truck, so Hawk used his hand-held to radio for help. Amadeo was pleased with the ten pounds of pure cocaine and hundred pounds of weed they recovered.

          By the time they started back for headquarters, Hawk knew he had a devoted admirer in his new partner. Later as he left Amadeo’s office at headquarters, Hawk overheard the snatch end of a whispered conversation. Robert was singing his praises. Hawk said goodnight and headed home.

          Grove called a week later. His mom had stabilized, but he was going to hang around until something happened, and nobody could tell him when that would be. Bitter disappointment ringed Hawk’s heart when Grove said he had a lead on a job. That meant Grove expected to be there awhile.

          As soon as he hung up, Hawk headed for the Blue Mesa Bar and downed four beers without doing much breathing between bottles. Mindful that he had been at the edge of becoming an alcoholic when he was a teenager, Hawk started to nurse his bottle instead of draining it. He became a little more sociable, trading small talk with Sheila, the Pueblo girl he used to go to bed with fairly regularly. He ended up at a back table with a few of the Red Rezes, including his new partner, Robert Tanara. Before the evening was out, Hawk knew with absolute certainty that Robert would come home with him and do anything he asked. Not that the boy was queer, but he was into some heavy hero-worship that made Hawk uneasy enough to leave early. When the door opened behind him as he was crossing the parking lot, he knew without looking that Robert had followed.

          “Hey, partner!” the young man called. “Wait up.”

           Hawk turned, dismayed that the boy looked so handsome in the faint outdoor lighting. “Yeah?”

          “It’s early,” Robert said uncertainly. “Thought you might want to grab a six-pack.” The young man laughed nervously. “Guess I’m still wired from this afternoon. It was my first interdiction,” he admitted ruefully.

           Hawk eased up. “That can get the blood flowing, but there’ll be more.”

           “Yeah, for sure with you as my partner.”

          “Look, kid. I’m no different from any of the guys with some time under their belts. I joined the Rezes when I was your age. I can track and have some endurance. That’s all. No more; no less.”

          “Yeah,” Robert said. “I understand. Sorry, I bothered you.”

          Hawk relented. “I could use another beer. Meet me at the back wall.”

          “You bet!” the youth said, suddenly beaming.

 

* * * * *

Well, well, it didn’t take long for temptation to rear its head. What was it, a week? Next week, let’s see what happens.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

 

The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

 

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

 And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 Until next time.

 Mark

 New posts at 6:00 a.m. every Thursday until the story is completed. Then we’ll revers to the first and third Thursday of the month..

Misdial

markwildyr.com, Post #126
Courtesy of needpix.comLast week, I was trying to provoke old memories. This week’s story never happened to me, but let’s see if it strikes a chord with any of you.
* * * * *MISDIAL

I sprawled on the bed Saturday morning, half asleep, half-awake, and half tumescent when the phone rang. I slung my arm over to pick up the cordless receiver and grunted.           “Dammit, wake up, Chuck!” demanded an unfamiliar voice. “We had a date. Get your pretty ass over here right now!”           “D-date?” I asked. “Who is this?”          Dead silence for a second. “Chuck? That you? You playing tricks on me again?”          “I’m not Chuck, and I’m not playing games. Go take your—”          “Hold on! Don’t hang up. This really isn’t Chuck?”          The voice was gravelly, conveying the image of a husky athlete. “No, my name’s not Chuck. It’s Dane.” Crap. Probably shouldn’t have volunteered that.          “Hi, Dane. My name’s Harley. You sound interesting. How old are you?”          “Nineteen. You?”          “Twenty-one. You go to the college?”          “How’d you know?”          “Assuming I didn’t misdial the prefix, it’s the one around the school. You’re nineteen, so it’s a good guess. What are you wearing?”          “None of your business, but not a damned thing! I’m still in bed.”          “Oh, jeez! I’d like to see that. Describe yourself.”          “Fuck man, what you wanta know? I’m five ten, hundred and sixty. What else is there?”          “Hair? Eyes?”          “Yeah, I’ve got those.” Why in the hell didn’t I just hang up?          He laughed appreciatively. “Color, smart-ass?”          “Blond hair, blue eyes.”          “What color is the hair on your chest?”          “Don’t have any. And that’s getting kinda personal.”          He ignored me. “What color are your pubes. Gold or red?”          “Neither. Sorta light brown,” I snapped. Why did I answer that?          “How big are you? Cut or uncut? Rocket ship or spade?” He spoke rapidly into my stunned silence.  “Just describe it to me.”          “Why should I?”          “Because you want to,” he said simply.          “Big enough to do the job.”          “Fantastic! Man, tell me where you live, and I’ll be over there to help you out so fast you won’t believe it.”           “Fast is good, huh?”          “Go on, describe it to me."          So I did and answered his questions about a couple of details, still not understanding why I was going along with this guy. “What the hell’s going on?” That question was meant for me, but he answered.          “Phone sex. Good old phone sex. You spread out on the bed holding it in your hand?”          “Maybe,” I admitted, giving him his answer.          “How’s that feel”          “Oh, man,” I moaned.          “It’d feel better if I was there. You ever had a blow?”          “N…no,” I said jerkily. My heavy breathing probably told the joker what I was doing as clearly as if I’d said it aloud.          He laughed. “Ain’t it a blast?”          “Oh, man,” I repeated, reduced to primal grunts and single syllable exclamations.          “Pump it, man. You’re getting close! I can hear you panting, you good-looking fucker!”          “Feels…gr…great!          “Go for it, Dane! Go for it!”          “Oh, shit! Gotta stop this or….”          “Don’t stop, Dane,” the voice dripped with authority.          My legs spasmed, and I groaned my way through the keen edge of an orgasm, whimpering as it slowly died away.          “Man, that must have been something,” came the voice from the telephone. “Wish I’d been there to make it even better.”          “Couldn’t,” I gasped. “Best ever!”          “Go back to sleep, Dane, and I’ll call you next Saturday. Unless, you want me to come over in person.”          “Think about it,” I groaned, halfway into slumber.          “Great! Until Saturday.”          I drifted toward sleep and then snapped wide awake. Saturday? He was going to call again Saturday? How could he if he had misdialed?           Son of a bitch! It wasn’t any misdial; it was somebody I knew! And I had until Saturday to figure out who’d gotten into my pants. Over the telephone, for crying out loud!
* * * * *Anyone remember anything like this happening to them? Anything similar? Let me know.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursday of the month.

Me’n You

markwildyr.com, Post #125  

Courtesy of Wikiclipart.comTotal change of pace this week. Let’s go back to some adolescent memories and see what we can stir up. Hope the following story does it for you.

*****
ME’N YOU
          “It’s just me’n you, Luther.”          If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a gallon-full of times. Heck, an oil drum-full of times. But when I say it in front of Mom, she comes right back at me.          “I’ll swear, Robert, I’ve taught you better than that.” She’s always promising to swear but never does. “That’s lazy speech on two fronts. It is ‘you and I,’ as you well know. I is a nominative pronoun, which can be the subject of a sentence. Me is an objective and can’t.”          “Yes, ma’am. I know. It’s I and you, But tha—”          “And that is your second problem. Grammar courtesy requires you put the other person first. So that would mean…”          “It’s just you and I, Luther.”          “Correct.”          Can you tell my mom’s a schoolteacher?          Anyway, once we got out of earshot, I reverted to being me. But Mom was wrong about one thing. I don’t say ‘me’n you’ because I don’t know how to speak properly. I say it because it says what I mean. “Me’n you,” makes us a team. “You and I” makes us two twerps looking down our noses at the rest of the world.          And down where it count’s that’s what I want me’n Luther to be. A team. A pair. Buddies. Bros. And something else that I can’t quite get my head around. Heck, I want to be Luther Groveside. Or at least be with him.          That last one sets off all kinds of bells. Some sing the pure melody of silver chimes; others, an exciting, almost discordant note that seems to promise something to come. I don’t know why, but that’s the way it is.          “Come on, Robbie, get your fourteen-year-old butt moving,” he called, ignoring the helmet secured to his rear rack as he straddled his bike.          He likes to mention my age because he’s a year older. I remind him that someday, that age difference will bite the other way, but he just comes back with something like he should live so long.          I hopped on and took out after him, watching the wind catch his dark hair and play with it. He was already filling out while I remained a stick figure. I’ll swear his shoulders were wider this morning than they were last week. His waist wasn’t any bigger than mine, and I’m practically a scarecrow. And his butt….          I tore my gaze back to the roadway. Why would I notice his butt? Dunno, but that’s the way it was. I peddled like crazy and pulled up beside him.          “We going swimming?” I yelled.          “Not much point going to the creek if we don’t.”          We were headed for a swimming hole we sometimes shared with water moccasins to go skinny-dipping. We’d rigged up a rope to an overhanging tree branch so we could swing out over the water and let go. I liked to swim, but I didn’t like the water moccasins. But I couldn’t let my fear show. What’s a snake bite compared to losing your friends?           I was steaming from the six-mile, mostly uphill ride by the time we got to the creek. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky for the sun to hide behind. And the southeastern Oklahoma sun was pretty stout this time of year.          I’d been half-hoping we’d meet some of the kids here, but there wasn’t another soul around. One side of me said that was great because it’d just be me’n Luther. But the other side sorta wished half a dozen guys were splashing around in the water to chase off the water moccasins.          We stripped and hit the water, me swinging from the rope and him in a headlong dive. Before long, I forgot all about snakes—poisonous or otherwise—while we raced one another, dunked one another and engaged in general horseplay. When we’d had enough of that, we climbed up on shore to spread out our clothes in the shade of a big water oak. As we lay side by side, I tried to look at him without showing it, his voice surprised me.           “When you gonna start filling out, Robby?”          I shrugged, making my neck crack. “When it’s time, I guess. Or maybe I’ll just stay skinny all my life.” The fact he’d taken a look at me made me bold. “You’re filling out real good. But then, you’re a year older’n me.” In for a penny…. “Maybe next year I’ll have a beaver as thick as yours.”          He snickered “A beaver? What are you talking about?”          “You know, your hair down there.” My neck got tense as I realized I’d pulled a boner.          Luther laughed out loud, a good sound even if he was laughing at me. “Beaver’s what you call it on a girl. On a guy, it’s a bush.” He laughed again. Thank goodness he wasn’t looking at me, my face burned like it was beet red. “You like my bush?” he asked.          I swallowed hard. “Yeah, you know, shows you’re growing up.”          “Hell, you’ve got one too. Sorta.”          “Yeah, but I’m a blond. It doesn’t show much.”          He came up on an elbow and eyeballed me. “Yeah, it’s there okay. And it’ll get thicker.” He flicked me with a finger. “And that’ll get bigger too.”          “Y-yours sure has. Uh!” A hand flew to my neck.          “What’s the matter? You getting a crick in the neck again?”          “Yeah. I guess,” I said, rubbing my bony spine hard. He knew that happened sometimes, but I don’t believe he realized it mostly happened when I was tense. And wow, was I tense.          “Get up,” he said, rising to his feet.          I struggled up and stood as he moved behind me. A trillion times Luther’d done this maneuver where he put his hands under my armpits and clasped them at the back of my neck. Then he’d jerk me off my feet, my neck would crack, and I’d be all right.          But this time he’d forgotten we were naked—or maybe he didn’t care—but when he yanked me off my feet and pulled me back against his broad chest and I felt his groin caress my buttocks, everything fell into place.          I knew what those discordant bells were. I knew they meant something else was coming. I understood the meaning of “to be with Luther.” As he released me, my hands found his thighs.          “What’re you doing?” he yelped and staggered backward.          “Got dizzy,” I said.           He moved back to my side. “You okay now?”          “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m better’n okay.”          “Good.” He started pulling on his clothes. “I gotta tend the garden after the sun goes down, so I guess we better start back.”          “Luther?”          He paused with his denims halfway up his bronzed legs. “Huh?”          My grin about split my lips. “It’s me’n you, right?”          He flashed a smile in return. “Right, Robby. “You’n me.”         He didn’t know it yet, but that’s how it would be. Now that I knew what I wanted, I’d figure out a way to get it. Didn’t know how or when, but that’s the way it was gonna be.  
*****
Isn’t nostalgia a powerful thing?
I don’t know about you, but there’s no doubt in my mind that when Robby judges the time is right, he’ll make a successful move. Probably when he’s around eighteen. Maybe just before the two buddies take off to college somewhere.
We will now return to our regularly scheduled program (1st and 3rdThursdays).
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursday of the month.

Grove – A Curt Huntinghawk Story (Part 5 of a 5 Part Series)

markwildyr.com, Post #124
The killer is dead, and the last thread holding Hawk’s and Grove’s friendship together has been snipped. What happens now? Do they get new partners and go into studied indifference, or do they manage to patch things over? Here’s our final installment.
*****GROVEA Curt Huntinghawk Story
          The whole unit was gathered at Rezagados headquarters when they got back that afternoon. Hawk let Grove do most of the talking. Surprisingly, he related the story over and over again quietly and without embellishment. Still pissed, Hawk figured.          Amadeo joined his men and filled them in on his report from the sheriff.  “The best the sheriff can piece together, an agent named Halvorsen’s been working for the cartels. Our interdiction rate’s been up this year so much, the cartels demanded Halvorsen do something about it. When he wasn’t able to help, they threatened him, so he decided to take as much of their cocaine as he could for himself before running. Started killing their mules till Hawk and Grove put an end to it.”          The party moved to the Blue Mesa. Word had spread and everyone in the place was buying the them drinks. Not a good thing, Hawk decided drunkenly around midnight. Grove was drinking, not womanizing. Meant the evening would end with a fight. Probably with him.          Somehow, they got out of the bar without any women tagging along and made an amazingly rational drunken decision that neither of them was fit to drive. Rather than go look for someone to haul them home, they set out cross-country and walked the two miles to Hawk’s house, arms around one another’s shoulders, each singing a different song in his own native language, Grove punctuating the lyrics now in then in a deep ‘boom-boom-boom’, simulating a drum.          Once inside, Grove slouched on a chair in a stupor. Hawk had the strength to get in the shower; he just didn’t have presence of mind to get undressed first. When he discovered he was lathering his shirt instead of his arm, he burst out laughing and went slopping into the living room to show his best friend what he’d done. Grove just stared at him through unseeing eyes. Hawk hauled him out of the chair and shoved him into the shower, fully clothed. Grove continued to gaze vacantly. The fun went out of the thing.          Hawk stripped and dried, but was leery of doing the same for Grove, but it was either that or shove him sopping wet into bed, so he tore the clothes off his unresisting friend. After that he dried Grove with a blanket and tipped him over onto the bed.          Grove lay unresisting while Hawk covered him with a light blanket and surfaced from his boozy haze long enough to take a long look at the handsome man before snapping the light off. “Night, buddy,” he whispered and moved for the door.          “Hawk?” He turned back into the room. “…the fuck, I’m gonna have to beg you for it now?”          Hawk shivered and realized he was totally naked. “Do what, Grove?”          “You know.” The voice from the darkness drew him to the side of the bed.          “You’re drunk, my friend.”          “Yeah. Else I couldn’ta said that.”          Suddenly sober, Hawk swallowed hard. “I know. Goodnight.”          “Before all the shit started this morning,” Grove went on, sounding almost sober, himself, “I was trying to tell you that… That… Well, I’ve thought about us getting together too.”          “You’re drunk,” Hawk repeated.          “Touch me.”          “You’re drunk,” he said yet again. “I do that tonight, and you’ll take a swing at me tomorrow.”          “Fuck, Hawk!” Grove’s voice was suddenly anguished. “You’re the one started it! Now I gotta beg you? Well, fuck it! I’m begging.”          Hawk couldn’t stop himself. His hands were suddenly on Grove’s cheeks. The light beard at the sideburns and on Grove’s chin tickled his fingers.          "Shit, man!” Grove gasped at the contact. “What the fuck’s happening?”           Hawk’s hand moved of their own accord, exploring the hollow of Grove’s strong neck, testing the muscles of the firm chest. Hawk collected his wits when they reached the flat belly with its defined six-pack. He halted.          “Don’t… stop,” Grove whispered.           Released, hawk threw back the covers and boldly stared through the gloom at the trim man spread out on the bed. The curve of the wrists, the angle of the head, the cocked knee all spoke of a man’s man. They evoked machismo. Slowly, Hawk knelt beside the bed and touched Grove. Frustrated at wanting his friend and not knowing what to do, he dropped his forehead on Grove’s belly and allowed his hands to wander. He felt the strength of the wiry body beneath his touch and was suddenly jealous of a horde of unknown women who had been given so freely what he coveted so desperately.          Understanding his role now, he moved his head.          Grove drew in a sharp breath and groaned. “Aw, Hawk.”          Recalling how Ramon had done this beautiful thing for him, Hawk emulated his yesterday-lover… and learned the joy of giving joy. Eventually, Grove tensed. His legs stretched like a big cat. He let out a sigh and erupted.          Neither of them spoke. Grove lay motionless while Hawk’s head rested on his belly. Eventually, Grove pulled him up beside him. It took another long moment before their eyes met.           “That’s the problem I had with us getting together,” Grove said at length. “What the hell would we do? You’re so fucking macho, Hawk, I never thought you’d help me out that way.”           “Never did it before,” Hawk said, tentatively stroking Grove’s chest.          Grove caught his hand and held it against him. “That Mexican kid taught you.”          “Yes,” Hawk answered easily. The time for secrecy was past.          “Who else?” Grove demanded. Then his eyes flew open. “Wolverine! You did it with Wolverine, didn’t you? That’s how you knew all about him.”          “I knew about him because I caught him wearing my stollen boots at a bar one night. I hung around after closing and confronted him. We started playing a cat and mouse game, and it turned out different from what we expected. Grove, you’ve gotta understand something. With me this is different than with women.”          Grove snorted. “You don’t say!”          “No, what I mean is with a man, I gotta have feelings for him.”          “You had feelings for the Mexican.”          “I loved Ramon,” Hawk said firmly. “But he got crosswise with the law and had to leave.”          ‘You loved Wolverine?” Grove asked with an air of disbelief.          “No, but we grew fond of one another. The sex started with, I don’t know, a game of domination, I guess. Surprised both of us when he turned submissive.”          Grove turned pensive for a moment. “Are you saying you love me?”          Hawk hesitated and then nodded. “Yes. Sorry if you don’t like it, but you’ll have to deal with it because it’s true.”          Grove’s glare softened. “Say it. Say it out loud.”         “I love you, Grove.”          His friend gave a big grin. “Hell, maybe I sorta like the idea of Curt Huntinghawk, everybody’s candidate for man-of-the-year falling, for Grover Whitedeer.”          At the end of Grove’s jest, Hawk leaned forward and covered his open mouth with his own. He felt Grove get ready to fight, then surrender. Grove’s mouth opened and his own tongue slid into Hawk’s. Somebody moaned. A full minute later they parted. Grove’s brown eyes were twice their usual size as if he was on some exotic drug. “Shit,” he murmured.          Hawk wasn’t sure what he meant until Grove pushed him back on the mattress and leaned over him. With a determined look in his eyes, he reciprocated. Minutes later, Hawk felt as if he’d lost control of his own body as his muscles spasmed into the greatest orgasm of his life. Then it was his turn to murmur “Shit.”
*****
It looks as though things might turn out just fine. As I wrote this segment of Hawk’s story, I had the same question that Grove expressed. How would two macho men handle the situation. Obviously, Hawk did it by departing from his usual dominant role, not even daring to dream that Grove would do the same for him. It ended well, I think. Let me know what you think.
We will now return to our regularly scheduled program (1st and 3rdThursdays).
Tell your friends to order a copy of Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns from Dreamspinner Press. I’d like to convince them to publish the rest of the Cut Hand Series, including the unpublished manuscript Wastelakapi… Beloved, It’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursday of the month..