Mark Wildyr's Blog, page 15

A Second Look at “Red Rez”

markwildyr.com, Post #100   Courtesy of documentjournal.comHad some comments on last week’s Red Rez posting, so decided to give you a second look. Hope you like it.
*****RED REZ
After the third interdiction of a large shipment of drugs two months running, Amadeo gathered his Red Rez crews early one Friday afternoon for a powwow. Hawk marveled at how adept his squat, stolid leader was at conveying his feelings without moving his facial muscles. This was going to be a serious talk.
“I called you all in today ‘cause we’ve had some itel. Seems we’re hurting the cartel, and the word is, they intend to do something about it. I huddled with the big wolves over at Border Patrol this afternoon. They figure nobody’s gonna take on the federal government direct, so they’ll come after us. We the ones taking them down anyway, not the feds. So everybody’s gotta be on guard.”
“How good’s the scuttlebutt?” Hawk wanted to know.
Amadeo shrugged. “As good as any, I guess. But we can’t afford to ignore it. Nobody solos, understand? I’d like to increase our teams to three men each, but we don’t have the manpower for that. But I want an experienced man in charge of every patrol.”
The Rez boss paused before approaching the next subject head-on. “Hawk, you’re not gonna like this, but I gotta split you’n Grover up. Don’t make sense having my two top dogs running together. Starting tomorrow, Robert Tanara’s gonna partner with you, and Cooch Abazado’ll hook up with Grove. Hope you boys don’t fight me on this, ‘cause that’s the way its gotta be. Hawk, you stick with your territory; Grove, you take the section Robert and Cooch been patrolling.” The man brought the meeting to an end when he got no reaction. “Well, that’s it. Watch your backs, boys. They’s bad guys out there painting targets on them.”
Hawk slouched outside trying to control his displeasure. Understanding that Amadeo was being logical didn’t make it any easier to accept. Besides, he wasn’t feeling very logical at the moment. And Robert Tanara of all people! The big Indian recalled the night Robert tacitly offered himself while Grove was gone last year. The kid was so fucking good-looking Hawk had almost yielded to temptation. Later, Robert had obliquely apologized for his conduct without confirming his intent.
“Hawk!” the young man followed him outside while Grove stayed behind to talk to Cooch. “It’s great we’re gonna be teamed. We made a pretty good bust that time we partnered last year.”
“Yeah, and you got shot up for your trouble, as I recall,” Hawk replied dryly.
Robert absently clutched the fleshy part of his left arm. “Yeah. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Not likely to happen again, though. I’ve learned a lot.”
“If you’ve learned to keep your butt down, you’ve learned it all.”
“That’s not the way youdo it,” the handsome fucker shot back at him.
Already weary of the nascent hero-worship, Hawk made his voice sharp. “Robert, I put on underwear every morning just like you do.”
“I know, I know,” the kid gave an infectious grin. “I get your point. You’re mortal like the rest of us red asses. But you got the experience, man. I like to team with someone I can learn from.”
“Okay. Then I repeat lesson number one. Keep your butt down. You don’t, I might get mine shot off along with yours.”
“Gotcha!” Robert said, spinning on his heel and walking away with a little strut in his stride. “See you in the morning.”
“Early!” Hawk called. “I wanna get out early!”
“I remember.”
Grove caught up with him at Hawk’s old Dodge pickup. “Well, it was bound to happen,” he groused.
“Yeah. Makes sense, but it doesn’t make me happy. I’d rather have you watching my back than any man alive.”
“Same goes for me. But the druggies are bound to know we’re responsible for two of the last three big busts, so maybe splitting us up is smart.”
Hawk looked deep into those big, brown eyes. “Wish I could believe that.”
Both men were subdued that night. They watched a little TV, played some cribbage, and turned in early. Even their lovemaking was toned down, but no less satisfying. Grove returned to his own bedroom when they finished.
Well before the sun was up Saturday morning, Hawk rose, slipped on trousers and T-shirt and took his coffee out into the cold, predawn darkness to commune with the Morning Star. He settled into a chair in the deep shadows of the front porch, tipped back, and was so still and silent he might have been a shade himself.
He smiled as he recalled the origin of his habit. It was something his mother’s brother had done in the years after Hawk’s father abandoned the family. He recalled sneaking out on the porch and sitting near his uncle as the man studied the bright luminescence in the distance.
“She likes to be greeted,” the man had said quietly, startling him. Hawk hadn’t realized his uncle knew he was there. “She’s a proud lady. You let her get to know you, and she’ll help out when she can.”
Prophetic words, he realized now. During the dark, troubled, misty blur of his teens when he willfully embraced the patient, seductive Alcohol, Hawk woke from one of many drunken stupors, stumbled outside the party house of the moment, and flopped onto the ground. And there she was. Morning Star. As beautiful as ever. She called him out of the depths, ripped him from Alcohol’s ghastly grip, and saved his life. She set him on the twelve-step course and was always there even in his worst moments. So it became a habit. She was his confessor, his intermediary to the Higher Power, the visual evidence of a powerful, mystic Savior.
The faint, distant purr of a well-tooled motor pulled the Indian out of his reverie. The engine died. He waited for the sound of a door opening and closing. It did not come. But his senses were alerted. There were no close neighbors, and that hadn’t been the rough, ancient motor of Old Man Higgins’s rattletrap a quarter of a mile down the road or the diesel pickup of the family in the other direction.
He sensed movement in the faint moonlight before he heard furtive noises. Silently, he traced the almost invisible progress of the stealthy figure as it reached the driveway snaking around behind the little house. The intruder paused before the mailbox at the end of the drive. The small door gave a shriek of rusty protest as it opened.
“Hey!” Hawk shouted. “What the hell are you doing there?”
The figure lifted his head, and by the light of a weak, horned moon, he glimpsed a young, panicked face before the intruder bolted back down the road. Barefoot, Hawk raced after him, but the man recovered his car, kicked over the motor, and tried a U-turn without turning on his lights. Forced to reverse when he ran off into a ditch, the car’s back-up lights gave Hawk a split second glimpse of an emblem on the trunk. The driver gunned the motor and roared away. A mile down the road, the car’s headlamps went on, cutting a pale yellow swath through the inky darkness
“What’s going on?” Grove demanded from the front porch. Hawk dimly made out his lover’s naked form cradling his trusty Remington.
“Fucking intruder,” Hawk called. “He got away.”
“See who it was?”
“Too dark. But he fiddled around with the mailbox. Bring a flashlight, will you? I’m not about to open something I can't see."
Grove went inside and returned almost immediately with a four-battery flash. Despite the situation, Hawk couldn’t resist illuminating his roommate’s fetching groin.
“Hey!” Grove grumped, shoving the light away.
“Sorry,” Hawk lied.
“You think it’s a bomb?”“Dunno, but if it is, I yelled before the fucker could set it. He took off like a shot. He was young, but that’s all I could see…except the emblem on the back of the car looked sorta like a ‘C’ or an ‘L’.”
Gingerly opening the hinged door, the two Indians peered at the fat, brown envelope inside the box.
“Give me your handkerchief,” Hawk said without thinking.
Grove snorted. “Like I don’t even have underwear on, so how am I gonna give you a handkerchief?”
Smothering a snicker, the big Indian slipped out of his T-shirt and grasped the envelope, seeking to preserve any fingerprints the fucker might have left.
Back inside, Hawk slipped a knife under the flap while Grove went to throw on some clothes. Hawk’s subdued curse drew his partner back to the kitchen table in a hurry.
“What is it?” Grove demanded.
“Money!” Hawk said. “More money than I’ve ever seen before, and a fucking letter that’s going to put us away for a long time if we aren’t careful.”
“What does it say?”
Still carefully avoiding touching the paper, Hawk pressed it flat on the table using salt and pepper shakers.
Hawk and Grove:
Here’s the payment we agreed on. Appreciate your help. But we’ve got to set up a safer way to make the payments. Give it some thought.
As for the smack, it’ll be delivered in the usual way. Hope you two love birds have fun with it. Understand it makes things way better, if you know what I mean.”
“Shit, fuck, and damn!” Grove yelped. “Burn the motherfucker! Right now. The cops could be on the way right this minute! How the hell did they know? We’ve been careful. Nobody knows about us. Nobody!”
Suddenly paranoid, Hawk motioned Grove into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the shower.
“We’re being watched. Spied on.”
“So? We haven’t done anything out in public to tip our hand.”
“They must have the place bugged. Maybe even cameras.”
“Naw,” Grove objected. “They had pictures, they’d be in that envelope.”
Probably, but we’ve got to assume we have no privacy anymore.”
“Shit!” Grove swore. “Then give me a kiss before we burn that damned letter. Might be the last I get for awhile.”
Hawk drew him close, feeling the tension vibrating through his lover’s body. Sadly, it wasn’t the right kind of tension. Their kiss was long and tender. When they drew apart, Hawk fingered Grove’s erection and spoke.
“But we’re not going to burn the letter. We’ve got to get it to Amadeo. Turn it in right away.”
“But…but,” Grove sputtered, “it says—”                                                            
“I know what it says, but it’s the only way. What if they sent a copy to the cops? We’ve gotta get this on the record. If we don’t, they’ll jam us up for sure.”
Grove took a deep breath. “Go give him a call. Shit! They probably got the phone tapped. They’ll hear every word! Fuck, I can’t believe it. Stuck in the bathroom whispering over running water. I feel like I’m caught in some frigging forties spy story!”
The Red Rez boss man was already up and agreed to meet them at the headquarters in thirty minutes. Hawk figured it would take that long because he intended to take the long way about. He wasn’t interested in driving into a fucking roadblock somewhere between home and Rez headquarters.
*****
Uh-oh. The cartel’s setting them up. Will it bring down two of the Red Rezes best? As you might be able to tell, Red Rez is the second novelette about Hawk and Grove. The first one, called Huntinghawk was originally published years back. I don’t know about you, but I like these two guys.
Now a plea for my work. Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but 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 Thursdays of the month.

Mark Wildyr: Red Rez

Mark Wildyr: Red Rez: markwidlry.com, Post #99 Courtesy of documentjournal.com The following is an excerpt from the beginning of my unpublished novelet...

Red Rez

markwidlry.com, Post #99
Courtesy of documentjournal.com
The following is an excerpt from the beginning of my unpublished novelette called Red Rez. It’s the second mini-book I’ve written about Curt Huntinghawk and his partner, Grover Whitedeer. They are running partners in their work as warriors in a modern-day organization of Native Americans deputized to keep watch along the Arizona-Mexico border. Let’s take a look at the opening to the novelette.
*****RED REZHip-sprung and sweat-stained, Curt Huntinghawk sought the shade of a paloverde before scanning the twisted, tortured panorama spread out before him. The Sonoran Desert, sliced and diced by an endless web of arroyos, hills, and boulders and arguably the most forbidding territory on the planet, cut a wide swath from southeast to northwest. Something was always poised to bite, sting, rip, tear, or puncture a man at his first misstep. An unseen army of traficantes, coyotes, illegals, brigands, or just plain citizens might linger over the next ridge, secure from discovery unless rooted out by the laborious process of tracking them down on foot.
Senior members of the Rezagados Colorados, an organization of Native Americans deputized by the Border Patrol to keep a drug watch along the Mexican border, Hawk and his partner, Grover Whitedeer, searched for drug mules. The work was hot, exhausting, dangerous, and the most satisfying and challenging either man had ever undertaken. The skill, strength, endurance, and downright stubbornness required of the job put them in spiritual contact with the warrior clans of their ancestors, even if they were working for the white man. The Red Rezes, as the group was popularly labeled, accounted for over half the drug interdictions in the territory, a record of which they were justly proud.
Grove, two inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter than Hawk’s six-foot, hundred-sixty-pound frame, motioned with his chin. “Some Border Patrol flyboy’s up.”
Hawk studied the growing speck in the distance. Piper Cub. Better move out in the open so he can identify us. Otherwise, he’s liable to call out the Border Patrol to chase its own tail.”
The two Indians stepped out into the harsh sunlight, confident their tan uniforms would identify them satisfactorily. The Piper buzzed overhead and circled back toward them.
“What’s the stupid motherfucker doing?” Grove asked.
“Damn!” Hawk yelped as the pilot roared low overhead and waggled his wings. “He might as well drop smoke on us. If there’s any bad guys out there they know exactly where we are.”
“Did you get the dumb-ass’s tail number?”  
“Naw. I was too busy disbelieving what I was seeing. Can you believe that dumb shit?” Hawk said. “I’m gonna get to high ground and report in. Amadeo might want us to shoot the son-of-a-bitch down if he comes back over.” Amadeo Tomé was the Red Rezes’s head man.
“Let’s do it anyway!” Grove grinned, transforming him from merely handsome-as-hell to devilishly  good-looking.
“Quit daydreaming and go get the Jeep.” Hawk turned and made his way up the jumble of rocks behind them. As he reported in on a hand-held radio, a wisp of drifting dust caught his attention. Curious, he scanned the rough, wrinkled terrain through the small binoculars hanging around his neck. Nothing.
A careful man, Hawk stood motionless in the burning sun for a full fifteen minutes before spotting the dust tail moving west-northwest. Probably making for Dragon’s Back, a huge hogback of rugged, decaying rock that sheltered the only natural water source in the area. Dominating the horizon no more than five miles as the crow flies to the west, the hogback was more like twenty through the washes and arroyos.
Grove had the four-by fired up by the time Hawk dropped into the passenger’s seat. “Dust trail moving pretty fast toward Dragon’s Back. Couldn’t tell if it’s two-legged, four-legged, or motorized.”
“Man, we might be chasing a dust devil. And you know those things twist your face up something awful when you get caught in one of them.” Grove made fast and loose with one of the local legends.
“Uh uh. That dust devil waited until the plane was out of sight before he moved.”
Three washes south, they found tire tracks in the sandy bottom. It was unusual for traficantes to use vehicles on this stretch of desert, but the bastards tried everything sooner or later. The two Rezes followed the tracks at speed, holding onto the door posts for support as they bounced wildly around the interior despite seat restraints. Risking his head to ironwood spines and catclaw hooks, Hawk snatched off his hat and hung out the window trying to hear the truck they were chasing. They always drove with the windows down on the blazing desert; it was too enervating to bail out of an air-conditioned vehicle to chase bad guys on foot in the desert sun. Chances were the occupants of the other vehicle were more interested in comfort, which would give them an edge… provided the drug couriers didn’t spot the dust plume on their rear. That wasn’t likely given the rooster tail the fugitive vehicle was raising.
When they began to overtake the dust kicked up by the truck in front of them, Grove threw the Jeep in four-wheel drive and abandoned the sandy wash, bouncing over a crumbling tufa mound. The way was shorter, but hell on the kidneys. As they climbed, Hawk caught a glimpse of the other truck in the arroyo below them.
“Cripes! What the hell is that?” he exclaimed.
Grove breached the top of the hill and braked to a halt. “For crying out loud! What the hell isthat?” he parroted.
The contraption wasn’t quite a tank, but it was close. The drug dealers had taken an old army surplus four-wheel-drive deuce and a half and fortified it with sheet metal. Gun barrels bristled like porcupine quills.
“Shee-it!” Grove groaned. “Call in the cavalry!”
“They probably have a receiver. They’ll hear us if we do. Get us in front of them. That sucker travels on rubber; it can be stopped.”
Grove put the truck in gear and made his way down the far side of the rise. More than once Hawk feared they had overcome their center of gravity, but his companion was a good driver and kept the vehicle more or less on four wheels. Eventually they crawled down a steep, rocky into the wash well ahead of the monster laboring up the arroyo.
“You wanta block them with the Jeep?” Grove asked.
“No. I want it turned around and ready to get the hell out of here. We’re lighter than they are and have better ground clearance. We can go over the rocks…they can’t.”
“Then what, Tonto?”
“Then we flatten every tire they have.”
“And then what?”
Hawk shrugged. “We’ll play it by ear.”
Grove shook his head. “You’re betting my ass on your ear?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of that ass. It belongs to me, you know.”
“I only lend it to you part time, Redskin.”
“Maybe so, but it’s as precious to me as it is to you,” Hawk laughed, taking the time to pat his partner’s hip lean fondly.
“Yeah, but will you love me when I come home with half of it shot off?” Grove grumbled as he maneuvered their vehicle into a side wash where it was easily accessible. “You gonna stand out there and give them the old ‘halt in the name of the law’ routine?”
“No, but I’ll cover you while you do it.”

“You’re daydreaming, Cowboy. I’m not gonna risk this perfect red skin. Aren’t you afraid some lawyer’ll stand up in court and yell about probably cause?”

“It’s probablecause, Dumbo. And if armor-plate and gun ports aren’t enough probable cause, then tough shit!”

Collecting their old-fashioned, lever action rifles from the gun rack, the two Rezes cast around for decent positions. Hawk crossed the broad, sandy arroyo and sought the cover of a solid boulder. Grove lay behind a natural earthen berm. They waited patiently until the big vehicle crawled clumsily around the bend. When it was laboring through the deep sand no more than forty yards away, Hawk gave the signal.
They popped both of the front tires, but the behemoth came plowing on. It took half a dozen copper-jacketed shells before the self-sealing chambers shredded. The big truck ground to a halt, the front end dropping like some gargantuan creature brought to its knees.
The return gunfire was sporadic and confused. No one had spotted them yet. Methodically, the Indians worked on the double rear tires until they gave up the ghost, too. The truck was now immobilized. Most of the traficantes’ weapons were at the sides or rear of the vehicle. Head-on, they were only able to bring to bear a couple of ineffectual side arms. Shifting to the windshield, partially protected by a steel grate, Hawk shattered the glass and sent two figures ducking. Grove worked on the radiator until he punctured its shield. The overheated motor spewed scalding steam straight up the arroyo.
Hawk couldn’t believe the dumb fuckers had left their most precious asset, a big canvas water bag, hanging over the bumper to allow evaporation to cool the liquid. He gave a grunt of satisfaction when it split and spilled its contents into the thirsty sand.
Finally deciding the safety of a disabled, armor-plated truck stranded in the blazing desert was illusory, three men piled out of the rear of the vehicle, spraying the countryside indiscriminately with automatic weapons fire. Hawk cursed and gathered his feet beneath him. He hadn’t faced Uzis since they ambushed the notorious trafficker, Wolverine, a year back. He sent some shots zinging down the arroyo and breached the ditch on his shoulders like a gymnast. Once he joined his partner, they emptied their weapons at the deuce and a half and scrambled for the Jeep. The vehicle was halfway up the side of the rocky hill before the bad guys knew they were leaving. The four-by took a single bullet through the back window. It snagged a seat and ricocheted up through the canvas roof.
Once they were a safe distance away, they radioed Amadeo to report their location and situation. Then they headed for Dragon’s Back to deprive the traffickers of water. Within minutes the Piper circled overhead to watch the drug runners from a safe altitude. The pilot waggled his wings again, expressing approval of their work. By the time the heavy reinforcements arrived an hour later, the two young men had stripped, washed off in Dragon Back’s clear, cold stream, and made wild, noisy love, their emotions heightened by the recent violence.
*****
I don’t know about you, but I find Curt and Grove to be an interesting couple. They live action-packed lives I sometimes dream about but would never attempt. Maybe I’ll give you another look into them next week.
Now a plug for my work. Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but 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 Thursdays of the month.

JIMMY

markwildyr.com, Post #97
Courtesy of PinterestI don’t generally like to reveal too much, but it’s possible that the following story is based upon something that happened in my youth. Not claimin’ it… just sayin’.
*****JIMMY          Jimmy Halverson. The best-looking boy in town. Smart. Popular. Good athlete… with the body to go with it. And my wet dream.          Yeah, right. Scrawny me, built like a matchstick—a burnt one, at that—and introverted to the nth degree. But a guy can always dream, can’t he?          Jimmy led a pack of about a half-dozen of us who hung around together in our free time. Everyone  worked after school, me at the picture show and Jimmy at his dad’s car dealership, and the others at wherever. Still, we had lots of free time, although Jimmy dating just about every girl in high school cut into his time with us. Word around town was that he “got” a lot of them, and he soon had the rep as the biggest cocksman around… and they weren’t just talking about the number of girls he was supposed to have seduced, either. They said he had the biggest “thing” in school, although I don’t know how anyone knew that. Maybe in the football team’s locker room, but in school? Anyway, he was a confirmed man, a raging heterosexual guy on the hunt. Me? I didn’t really know. I hadn’t “got” anybody.          All this raises the question of sexual orientation, and so far as I knew, everybody was oriented the way they were supposed to be in this little bible-belt town. Well, there was one possible exception. This guy named Brownie, who was a couple of years ahead of us was supposed to be the town queer. I wouldn’t know, but word went around that Jimmy said the guy gave him a blow job. Jimmy never said that to me or in my hearing, but the anonymous “they” told it around. And it’s true that Brownie left town right after graduating, although that could have been to go to college. Who knows?          One summer day, Jimmy about knocked me out of my socks. He invited me to spend the night and go quail hunting with him. When I found out I was the only one of the gang he’d invited, I was flattered. We’d spend some good buddy time together without the rest of the gang around.          The Halversons lived right outside of town in a big rock house situated on a couple of hundred acres. Prime hunting terrain. Now I didn’t hunt much, didn’t like it, and abhorred the thought of killing a living thing. But I sure couldn’t let Jimmy know that. Around here, hunting and fishing were manly pursuits. You had to be peculiar not to like them. Okay, so I was peculiar.          Jimmy's parents made me welcome at the evening meal, and Jimmy and I played chess and rummy afterward until it was time to go to bed. My heart fluttered when I found I was sharing his bed that night. And wow! He slept in his shorts just like I did. Man-o-man, he had a hunky body. I’d never have broad shoulders and flaring ribs and a narrow waist like that.          Once in bed, we talked about the hunt planned for tomorrow. He was lending me his twenty-gauge shotgun and planned to tote his father’s sixteen-gauge. Anything bigger, he said, would tear up the bird too much.          After we stopped talking and things got quiet, he sort of snuggled up to me, making me think all sorts of weird things. I kept waiting—hoping—for him to reach out and touch me, but he didn’t. It took a long time to get to sleep that night, but I finally managed it.          The next morning, we ate breakfast and then took off across a big pasture toward some trees. We flushed a couple of coveys, but I didn’t hit a single quail. Come to think of it, neither did Jimmy. The only exciting thing about the hunt was that I stepped on a snake hidden in the grass. I jumped away and wasn’t bitten, but when Jimmy declared it was a water moccasin, I got so shaken, he had to shoot the thing.          Although we returned to the house empty-handed, Jimmy didn’t seem disappointed in our lack of success. He immediately took off for the barn where we climbed into the hayloft to talk. It didn’t take long to get down to manly things, like wasn’t this girl sexy or that girl busty… you know, that kind of talk. Then he surprised me.          “Man, I’m getting horny.”          I gulped.          “How about you?”          “Y-yeah.”          Before I knew what was happening, Jimmy unzipped, pulled down his britches, and exposed himself. He’ was right. He was horny.          So was I… but I was also paralyzed. All I could do was watch while he manipulated himself, making little grunts and moans as he did so. I’m sure he saw my fly was fuller than usual, but when I failed to join him, he got embarrassed.          Oh, how I wanted to reach out and put my hands on him. I longed to expose myself and feel his hands on me. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Why? I don’t know. Self-preservation, maybe. I remembered how they’d said Jimmy tattled on Brownie who came to his aid in a situation like this. Or maybe I was too shocked to find the release button that would let me take advantage of what he was offering. Or maybe I was just chicken. Whatever it was, he soon abandoned his efforts and covered himself up.           Fighting intense feelings of regret, I followed him out of the barn while he chatted like nothing of consequence had just happened. We tossed horseshoes and played chess until time came for me to leave.          Jimmy never mentioned the incident, nor did he treat me any differently than he had before. He was still the handsome, amiable buddy I’d known before that hunting trip. I kept hoping for another opportunity, but it never presented itself. But I did learn one thing on that overnight. At least one of the rumors about Jimmy Halverson was true.          His “thing” was huge.
*****
Ah, bittersweet memories… or imaginings, as the case may be. Perhaps this reminded you of something from your own youth. I hope so.
Sorry, but I have to make a pathetic plug for my own work. Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but 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 Thursdays of the month.

Mark Wildyr: BLUE STONE AND RAVEN (Part 3 of 3 Parts)

Mark Wildyr: BLUE STONE AND RAVEN (Part 3 of 3 Parts): markwildyr.com, Post #97 Courtesy of Pixabay.com Oh, oh! Is it about to happen? Will Blue Stone permit Raven to “change his life f...

BLUE STONE AND RAVEN (Part 3 of 3 Parts)

markwildyr.com, Post #97
Courtesy of Pixabay.comOh, oh! Is it about to happen? Will Blue Stone permit Raven to “change his life forever?” The plainsman’s batting average is pretty good so far. So let’s take a look at the final installment.
*****BLUE STONE AND RAVEN
The plains youth drew closer. Raven moved his lips over every part of Blue Stone’s face as if he were seeing with his mouth. Chills ran up and down Blue Stone’s backbone. Courtesy of Publicdomainfiles.comWhen Raven leaned back on the blanket and nodded, Blue Stone went as slowly as his excitement would permit. He sampled every part of that hard, muscled body he could. He explored the deep belly button and twisted his tongue in the soft, black hair at the root of Raven’s staff. The Cotanee’s hands moved him to his core, and Blue Stone performed his act of adoration once again, gently bringing his lover to a climax. The thought struck him as strange. His lover. Why did he not feel shame? Why did the act give him joy? He only knew the truth of it, not the why of it.Afterward, they bathed again before sitting in the shade and discussing Raven’s travels. Beyond this place, he found more rocky mountains with less food and forage. Great serpents lay coiled atop stones and strange lizards with bright, beaded skin waddled slowly out of the way of Whisper’s hooves. When Raven looked down upon a broad, endless plain with no visible life, he turned back.During the hottest part of the day, Blue Stone slept in Raven’s arms, his slumber deep and peaceful. He woke when Raven stirred. They donned their moccasins and raced naked across the floor of the canyon. Blue Stone was fleeter, but Raven had greater stamina.As evening came, Raven laid Blue Stone on his back and explored his body with gentle hands before covering him. The Pueblo youth’s lingering doubts fled into the night as Raven made love, capturing not just his body and his heart, but his very soul.At length, the handsome warrior muttered something in his own tongue and spasmed in one final, mighty thrust. Then Raven relaxed, cloaking Blue Stone’s body with his own, his flesh warm, comforting. Blue Stone knew what his lover would say even before the words flowed from his mouth.“Blue Stone, you came to me believing I was a supernatural and mave wonderful offerings to me. When I convinced you I was but a mortal, you willingly serviced me again. Despite my protestations that nothing would be the same, you gave me your fundament to seed with my sperm. You are mine now. Even though I return to my people far to the east, you are mine. Even though you cannot come with me, you are mine… as surely as I am yours. Because we have lain together, we both now understand better who we are. I am one who can take pleasure in a man’s body; you take pleasure in giving your body to a man.”The handsome warrior paused briefly. “How beautiful you are, Blue Stone. Tonight I will mate with you once more, but tomorrow I must leave. Whisper is anxious to return home. When I am gone, you must go to this Ram Horn and gift him with your special beauty. Allow him to be a man for you, a lover for you.”“But he may not wish it,” Blue Stone protested. “He may cast me aside, denounce me even.”The Cotanee studied him intently. “Perhaps. But if he is worth the risk, then take it. Otherwise, you may miss a chance to love.”“It won’t matter,” Blue Stone murmured, drawing Raven to him. “I will always have the memory of our love to sustain me,” he added, glorying in the touch of the magnificent, bronzed, young warrior.In truth, Blue Stone was half-convinced the god-like youth had watched as a feathered raven from atop a stunted piñon while he and Ram Horn labored in the fields two days past.
*****
Promises made and promises kept. But alas, the plainsman is returning to the plains, and the farmer will… do what? Approach Ram Horn? If so, how will the young Pueblo receive him? Perhaps that’s worth a story in the future. Let me know if you think so.
Don Travis’ next BJ Vinson mystery series novel, The Voxlightner Scandal has been scheduled for release on November 19, 2019. You’ll remember he’s my fellow Okie author. The following is a buy link to Voxlightner:  http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c
Now my continuing plug (read plea) for my own work. Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but 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 Thursdays of the month.

Mark Wildyr: BLUE STONE AND RAVEN (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

Mark Wildyr: BLUE STONE AND RAVEN (Part 2 of 3 Parts): markwildyr.com, Post #96     Courtesy of Publicdomainfile.com Are you ready for the second installment of Raven’s and Blue Stone’s...

BLUE STONE AND RAVEN (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

markwildyr.com, Post #96   Courtesy of Publicdomainfile.comAre you ready for the second installment of Raven’s and Blue Stone’s story of discovery? I can hardly wait to see what happens next. Oh, yeah! I wrote it, so I already know. Here’s the second installment to let you in on a little more of it.
***** Courtesy of Pixabay.com
BLUE STONE AND RAVEN
          At the end of the fourth day following his encounter with Raven, Blue Stone claimed the need for spiritual guidance, and announced his intent to seek another vision. His mother must have wondered what sort of vision her son sought since he departed with a sack of food rather than seeking spirituality from physical deprivation.          When he arrived at the remote waterhole, Blue Stone suffered a bitter disappointment. Raven was not there. Deciding to make camp and wait, Blue Stone erected a lean-to from rocks, a few crooked sticks, and a blanket to break the force of the sun. After he ate and bathed, he slept.          Early the next morning he woke to find Raven watching from astride Whisper a lazy rock’s throw away. “I was afraid you would not come,” the Pueblo boy said.          “I gave my word. Have you thought on what we did and what I said?”          “Yes. Endlessly,” Blue Stone responded, standing boldly before the young plainsman. “I would taste you again first, and then I will do whatever you ask. I will be woman to your man.”          “So be it,” Raven said, leaping from his horse and clasping Blue Stone by the shoulders briefly. "But first, I will tend my pony and wash myself.”          “Tend your pony, Warrior, but I will wash you and feed you. Then I will feast upon you.” Blue Stone did not quite believe the boldness of his words.          He watched curiously as Raven curried his handsome spotted mount with a handful of weeds and grass and came to understand the importance of the pony when the beast was allowed to water before Raven slaked his own thirst.          When Whisper nuzzled Blue Stone’s chest, Raven nodded approvingly. “You should be honored. He does not accept mortals well. He’s too haughty. Knows he’s better than most of us.”          “Do you think I could learn to ride him?”          “He doesn’t let just anyone ride him. You’d have to be strong and confident. He won’t put up with timid riders.”           Apparently, Blue Stone was a timid rider, or perhaps he was distracted by Raven’s hand on his butt boosting him aboard the pony. At any rate, Whisper simply shrugged him into the waterhole. He rose sputtering and indignant. Ignoring Raven’s delighted laughter, Blue Stone climbed upon a rock and seated himself again. He rolled in the canyon’s dirt this time, turning into a mud ball, but it took longer for Whisper to dislodge him. He was thrown four times before the pony decided Blue Stone was worthy of his back. Thereafter, the beast ignored his timid hold on the reins and walked to a thin stand of grass, burying his nose in it. It was enough. Blue Stone had ridden the four-legged.          When Raven clapped Blue Stone on the back and made fun of his riding style, Blue Stone had no compunction about tumbling the youth in the dirt. They roughhoused, feeling one another out, establishing a pecking order. The farmer gave the warrior more of a battle than expected. They finished their play at the edge of the waterhole.          Sobering, Blue Stone pulled his stores from a cotton sack, and they ate. It was Blue Stone’s turn to laugh at the face Raven made upon tasting the hot Spanish peppers for the first time. The Cotanee lay in the pool for a time cooling his tongue in the water while Blue Stone chortled.          After their meal, the Pueblo boy unfastened Raven’s breechcloth. When the warrior was naked, Blue Stone took soap weed from his bag and covered Raven with suds from head to toe. When they were both clean, Blue Stone led Raven to a blanket spread beneath the crude shelter where Raven drew him close. Naked flesh touching naked flesh stole Blue Stone’s breath.          At his gasp, Raven spoke. “Have you never lain with anyone?” Blue Stone, his face against the hollow of Raven’s neck, muttered a denial. “No girls? No boys?”          “No, but I have this one friend, Ram Horn. He’s handsome like you are. I think about him like I do you, but we never do anything about it.”          “Would you like to do for him what you did for me?”          “If you were gone from my life,” Blue Stone said, “then I would like to do it for him.”          “Is this Ram Horn handsome? Well-formed?”          Blue Stone nodded into his shoulder. “Yes. But not as handsome and well-formed as you, Raven.”
*****
So Raven kept his promise to return. He’s kept one vow, how about the other? To lie like a man with his woman and change Blue Stone’s life forever. If he does, will Blue Stone permit it? Regret it? Glory in it? And if it’s the latter, what does the future hold to the two young men from enemy tribes? Come for a look-see on October 3 to find out.
Don Travis’ next BJ Vinson mystery series novel, The Voxlightner Scandal has been scheduled for release on November 19, 2019. You’ll remember he’s my fellow Okie author. The following is a buy link to Voxlightner:  http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c
Now my continuing plug (read plea) for my own work. Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but 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 Thursdays of the month.

Mark Wildyr: BLUE STONE AND RAVEN (Part 1 of 3 Parts)

Mark Wildyr: BLUE STONE AND RAVEN (Part 1 of 3 Parts): markwildyr.com, Post #95 Courtesy of Pixabay.com Got a fair number of hits from my last story, “Six-Shooter Sex.” Courtesy of P...

BLUE STONE AND RAVEN (Part 1 of 3 Parts)

markwildyr.com, Post #95
Courtesy of Pixabay.comGot a fair number of hits from my last story, “Six-Shooter Sex.” Courtesy of Publicdomainfile.comNow we go from cowboys to Indians. Hope you find it interesting. Here’s the first installment.

*****BLUE STONE AND RAVEN
          Blue Stone hurried through the chore of tending the Pueblo’s cornfields huddled along the gullies that carried rain and snowmelt runoff through the small canyon. He weeded and turned the soil and moistened dry places from a jug of water. Afternoon had fallen before he darted west into a deep, rocky, forbidding canyon known to his people as the Devil’s Pipe. Few came here even though there was a water source at the far end. It was a place of supernaturals, the shamans claimed. But Blue Stone, a true son of the West Region, was as bold and single-minded as Black Bear, his totem and guardian.          A lunation ago, Blue Stone found a tiny Stone-of-Health-Happiness-and-Good-Fortune on the floor of the pipe. The blue stone that gave him his name—called turquesa by the brown-frocked Spaniards who visited occasionally—excited greed among the outsiders, so his discovery must be handled carefully. Reasoning all earthly objects eventually move downhill, Blue Stone scoured the upper reaches of the canyon until he found other small stones. And then he discovered an outcrop of the blue-green rock that often contained the precious stone. Although what belonged to one belonged to the entire community, he dug out several pieces, which he polished as gifts for his mother. Soon, he would advise the chief priest and council of his find so a decision could be made over what was best for the People in the matter.          Upon arriving at the far end of the great ravine, he froze. Something was in the canyon with him. A supernatural? Which one? Bent on good or evil? Cautiously, he moved forward. Beyond the next fissure in the towering rocks was the sheltered waterhole. Blue Stone crept around a curtain of stone, gasped audibly, and fell to his knees.          In is fourteenth year, he had undertaken a vision quest in order to be admitted to his clan’s society. He remained deep in the desert mountain canyons without food or water until his mind sought the wisdom of the gods. His Vision, as clear to him today as it was four summers back, had been a tall youth standing naked on a rock shelf, his long hair unbound. His flesh had not been rose brown like Blue Stone’s people, but a deep bronze. Great brown eyes peered into his soul. The broad, laughing mouth uttered mystical, unintelligible words. The Vision—almost assuredly Thunder Boy, one of the Holy Mountain Twin Gods—wore a physical beauty that surpassed any man’s. His long limbs were sculpted by the Creator-of-All-Things in his own image, had He chosen to take a shape.          Now Blue Stone moaned aloud in fear and joy. His Vision, whose intent had not been revealed to him, stood majestically at the edge of the small waterhole in the midst of his bath; water still running across unblemished flesh and dripping from perfect limbs. Blue Stone shuffled forward on his knees, unmindful of the jagged edges of sharp stone. As he slowly closed the distance, the spirit turned to him and stood motionless.          At the feet of the perfect, immobile youth, Blue Stone removed his headband and wiped water from the powerful thighs. Overcome, he clasped the strong limbs in his arms and buried his face against them. He licked away drops of water his headband had missed. Intent on performing this small service, he moved his tongue across the smooth flesh.          Timidly seeking to please, he took the other youth and performed a ritual that would have been unthinkable except as an offering to the supernatural. Broad hands clasped his head as the Vision thrust powerful hips with increasing urgency until delivering his white nectar with a loud groan.          Strong arms pulled him to his feet on a level with huge, brown orbs that seared his essence. The force of the look was so powerful Blue Stone’s knees grew weak. The Specter spoke in a deep voice, uttering the language of the gods. Why did this Being not touch his forehead so Blue Stone would understand the holy words? But it was not his place to criticize. The Spirit would find a way. Then in a rush of guttural sound, Blue Stone caught two or three words in the language of the Spaniards.          “Spanish?” Blue Stone asked in that foreign tongue. “You speak Spanish?”          “Yes,” the Vision answered in a voice so deep it reverberated off the rocks. “I speak some of that devil tongue.”          “Why do you not speak to me in my own?” Blue Stone asked with more bravado than he felt.          “Because I don’t understand it,” the other snorted.          “But…but don’t supernaturals speak all tongues?”          “Supernaturals?” the perfect youth exclaimed in imperfect Spanish. “You think I am a supernatural? I am Raven of the Cotanee!”          Blue Stone took a step backward. The Cotanee were almost as feared as the gods. These lords of the plains appeared out of the grasslands of the east to kill and plunder and take what they wanted. In this they were little different from the Spanish except they went away; the Spaniards did not.          Raven laughed. “Have you never seen a Cotanee before?”          Blue Stone tried to look angry as he remembered what he had done for this young man but couldn’t manage it. “The only time I saw a Cotanee was a time of death and destruction.”          Raven shrugged. “That is the way of the world.” The beautiful youth examined him closely. “You believed I was a god? Is that why you did what you did? I thought it was a strange way of greeting strangers, but then I do not know your ways.”          “Why did you permit it?”          “Because it pleased me,” the youth said haughtily. “At first, I thought you were a girl, a bony one maybe, but you’re pretty enough. Anyway, I’ve been away from home for two moons now, so I felt the need of relief. Did you like doing it?”          “It wasn’t unpleasant, but if it pleased you, I liked it.” Suddenly, Blue Stone realized he stood in the presence of an enemy. “You are a scout! Your people are coming to attack us.”          Raven held up a hand. “Nay. I told you, I left my lodge two months ago. There was this girl I wanted for a wife, but her father sold her to another who paid more horses than I could afford.”          The four-leggeds! The Cotanee went nowhere without their four-leggeds. Raven read his face.          “Back there in the draw where he can find a little grass in this barren place! His name is Whisper, because he answers to my whisper, and he runs quietly like a whisper.”          Finally facing the fact he had performed a forbidden act for this Cotanee, Blue Stone searched inside himself for feelings of shame or mortification. He found none. In fact, the presence of the powerful, handsome male was disturbing in another way. He wanted to be touched.          The two young men, approximately of an age, sat at the edge of the waterhole and talked in the strange language of the Spaniards. When Raven had not accepted his beloved’s betrothal to another, causing trouble in the camp, he was banished into temporary exile. Since that time, the young warrior had worked his way steadily westward, hunting for his food and communing with nature. He had avoided all human contact until this day.          “And what will you do now?” Blue Stone asked, flushing under the other’s examination.          “I will go west to the Beyond yet another few suns.”          Blue Stone tapped his lower lip in thought. “They say the mountains give way to a great stretch of parched earth where humans cannot live. Most perish before even reaching it, lost and starving in the great mounds of rock. Some say there is a lake beyond the desert so vast that none have ever crossed it. How can that be? A desert beside a lake?”          “It will be as the Creator-of-All made it,” Raven pronounced solemnly.          The two youths dallied while they opened a fragile friendship. Finally, Blue Stone could delay his return home no longer. Raven refused his invitation to overnight at the stone and stucco Pueblo and swore him to secrecy about his presence. Blue Stone gave directions for the easiest passage to the west and reluctantly prepared to take his leave.          As Blue Stone rose, Raven spoke. “I will travel west for two more suns, then I will turn back. I will be here at this place four suns from now, five at the most. It would please me if you came. But be warned, Blue Stone, if you do, you will spend the night with me, and I will lie with you. I will cover you as a man covers his woman. Think on it, because your life will not be the same after that.”          The beautiful youth remained in Blue Stone’s mind all the way home, and he became halfway convinced one of the Holy Mountain Boy Twins had played a trick on him. Surely no human could be so faultless in looks and form. Life would have placed scars or imperfections on a human, yet in his close examination of the mysterious youth, he had found none.          Blue Stone climbed to the second floor of the three-story building and entered his apartment through the entryway in the roof. His mother clucked at him impatiently for being late. He ignored her, chewed his meal, cleaned up, and retired to his bedroll to puzzle over things. Instead, he fell asleep.
*****
Wow! The plains warrior sure shook up the Pueblo farmer’s world. Will Raven return as promised? If not, will Blue Stone turn to his boyhood chum, Ram Horn, for consolation? Tune in on September 19 to find out.
Don Travis’ next BJ Vinson mystery series novel, The Voxlightner Scandal has been scheduled for release on November 19, 2019. You’ll remember he’s my fellow Okie author. The following is a buy link to Voxlightner:  http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c
Now my continuing plug (read plea) for my own work. Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but 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 Thursdays of the month.