Calvin’s Cowboy (13 page)

“Yeah, that’d be me.”

“But yours wasn’t the name I was given.”

“Uh, no, my passenger called for assistance. But this is my truck, so you can deal with me.”

The door behind Brock opened. Then Brock remembered his letterman jacket. He just knew Mitch would make something of it, and it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“You’ll need to see my Triple A card,” Calvin said.

Brock heard shoes on the pavement. Calvin came toward him. Brock turned round to see Calvin, minus the jacket. He let out a breath.

“Thanks. Just needed to check.” Mitch glanced at the card before handing it back to Calvin. “’Course I remembered who you were anyway.”

Brock’s muscles tensed. If Mitch said one wrong word to Calvin he’d lay the fucker out. This wasn’t high school anymore. Brock wasn’t scared to defend Calvin now.

“And I remember who you were, too.” Calvin didn’t look the least bit intimidated.

“Yeah…well.”

“Mean Mitch Madison, the guy who made my life a living hell at school.”

“Well…I…look, I live in Austin now, an’ there’s a lot of you queers who live there and—”

“The word is gay, or homosexual. But as that’s got a lot of syllables in it, and I wouldn’t want to tax your brain, just think of me as gay.”

Mitch outweighed Calvin by a hundred pounds or more. Okay, much of that was fat, but even so. Brock moved to get between the two.

“Guess I cain’t blame ya for still bein’ sore with me.” The man spat out a stream of tobacco juice. “But like I was saying. I live in Austin nowadays an’ there’s quite a lot of qu…gays in the neighborhood. An’ for the most part they’re all right. They don’t bother me none, and I don’t bother them.”

“Mighty neighborly of you.”

“About my truck.” Brock thought he better get the conversation back on track and hopefully defuse the escalating standoff. “Calvin, get back in the truck. It’s starting to rain.”

Calvin stared at Brock for a moment—Brock was sure the man would refuse—then Calvin nodded and did as he was asked.

Brock let out a breath and turned back to Mitch. “I hope you can get us going.”

Mitch asked what happened and Brock told him. As Brock had expected, the guy couldn’t repair his truck, though Brock had to admit he probably went above and beyond in trying.

“Your radiator’s shot.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Brock admitted none too happily.

“I’ll tow you back to Bill’s garage in Parish Creek. He can take a look at it in the mornin’.”

“Okay, yeah.”

The wind was getting stronger and the rain was falling harder.

* * * *

Brock and Calvin stayed in the cab of the tow truck until Mitch had finished unhooking Brock’s truck. The journey back to Parish Creek had been tense. Brock had made sure he was in the middle, just in case.

Coming around to the open passenger window of the tow truck, Mitch offered them a ride to wherever they needed to go. Brock was about to suggest he take them to Calvin’s—where at least they could pick up KITT—when Calvin said that he’d call a cab.

“Look, man, I know we’ll never be best buds or nothin,’ but let me do this. It’s not out of my way or anything and—”

“Is this your way of apologizing for all those times you ripped up my homework, or punched me in the stomach, or tried to cram me into my locker?”

“Well…I—”

“Didn’t think so.” Calvin opened the door—almost knocking Mitch over in the process—and climbed down from the tow truck. “We’ll call a cab. Goodnight.” With that Calvin turned his back on them and started pressing buttons on his phone.

Mitch shrugged up at Brock. “I tried.”

Brock jumped down from the cab. “Not soon enough,” he mumbled, slamming the door and walking toward Calvin.

A minute later Brock heard the tow truck’s engine start up and drive away.

“You okay?” Calvin asked.

“What? It should be me asking you that. I’m sorry it was him.”

“Not your fault.” Calvin was tight-lipped and shivering in the relentless downpour, the wind whipping at his now semi-translucent shirt.

“Come on let’s get back in my truck. We’ll at least be dry in there.” Brock put an arm around Calvin and led him to the passenger side door.

* * * *

“Well, this certainly was a date to remember,” Calvin said, taking off Brock’s letterman jacket as they stood dripping in Brock’s hallway.

The storm was getting closer, rumbles of thunder becoming more frequent and louder.

“Sorry. I wanted it to be perfect, but instead…” Brock trailed off.

“Parts of it were perfect.” Calvin started to peel Brock’s denim jacket off him. “Spending time with you,” Calvin kissed Brock, “watching a movie cuddled up to you,” he began to unsnap Brock’s shirt, “knowing I was with the most beautiful man south of the Mason-Dixon Line…that was all perfect.”

“Thought I was the most,” Brock groaned when Calvin unzipped Brock’s jeans, pulled out his dick and began to tug on it, “beautiful man in the state.”

“You got more beautiful when you stood up to Mitch Madison for me.” Calvin led Brock by his dick along the hall to his bedroom.

“Should have done it years ago.”

Calvin pushed Brock face down onto the bed. Straddling him, Calvin said, “Yes, but you stood up to him in the end, that’s the important thing.”

Brock felt Calvin pull away his shirt and begin to rub his shoulders, making Brock moan.

“Hang on, let me get the liniment. Don’t move.”

Brock had no intensions of getting off the bed. However, he began to work his belt buckle loose; he needed out of his damp Wranglers.

There was a flash of lightning, Brock counted, one-thousand, two- thousand…he got to eight thousand before the roll of thunder hit.

Calvin came back into the bedroom and told Brock off for moving.

“I’m still on the bed aren’t I?”

“Which part of ‘don’t move’ didn’t you understand?”

“Jeez. Aren’t you Mr. Bossy this evening?”

Calvin lightly slapped Brock’s ass. “But seeing as how you started, you may continue.”

“Oh, thank you. You’re so kind.”

For that he got another swat. He’d never admit it, but Brock kinda liked a bit of spanking now and again.

Belt and waistband loosened, Calvin started to peel the jeans down, and then stopped. “The fuckin’ boots again.”

Brock couldn’t help his bark of laughter.

“Turn over onto your back. Jeez, talk about déj
à
vu.”

Brock complied. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Huh. Now come on, cowboy, left boot first.”

Footwear finally removed, Calvin pulled at the bottom of Brock’s Wranglers.

Jeans and boxers off, Calvin climbed up toward Brock’s face, laying a trail of kisses as he ascended. “This is so much easier on a real bed.”

“Yeah.” Brock put his arms around Calvin and held him tight. Outside the storm raged, but inside Brock felt safe and warm. Between kisses he said, “Like how you take care of me.”

“Like taking care of you.” Calvin bit at Brock’s bottom lip then let go. “Come on, beautiful, time for you to roll over so I can work the kinks out of your shoulder.”

Brock did as he was told. Resting his head on his forearms, he waited. “Shit! That’s fuckin’ cold.”

“Wimp.”

“Fuck you!”

“Don’t worry, it’ll soon warm up.”

“Huh.” Brock wasn’t so sure. The stuff stank, too.

“Stop being a baby.” Calvin began to rub the stuff into Brock’s shoulders. For a while Brock didn’t notice any appreciable improvement in his pain level. The pressure of Calvin’s crotch as he straddled his hips, plus the man’s strong fingers and thumbs as they dug into his flesh, felt great. Slowly heat began to build in two places. Brock’s crotch and his right shoulder. The former was distracting and the latter amazing. He shifted around to try to ease the pressure on his engorged member.

“What’s wrong? You uncomfortable?”

“No,” Brock said quietly.

“Did I give you a stiffy?” Calvin bent down and kissed the back of Brock’s head.

“What do you think?”

Calvin’s low chuckle—that Brock managed to hear between claps of thunder—did nothing to ease the situation. “How’s your shoulder?”

Moving his arm experimentally, Brock discovered much to his surprise there was less pain. “Amazing.”

“Me or the massage?”

“Both.”

Calvin chuckled again and kept on working. Brock was so relaxed, the disastrous evening, the busted truck and the meeting with Mitch Madison became dim, fuzzy somethings on the periphery of his diminishing consciousness.

Calvin shifted from atop him. Kissing each cheek of Brock’s bare ass, he said, “Back soon, beautiful.”

Brock rolled to his side, careful not to get gunk on the sheets. They probably should have put towels down before starting.

“So,” Calvin said, coming back into the bedroom, towel in hand, “I did give you a stiffy.”

“Yeah. Wanna play with it?” Brock waggled his dick at a smirking Calvin.

“Hmm,” Calvin seemed to consider the offer. “First roll back onto your stomach and let me clean you up. Then we’ll see.”

Brock complied, but wasn’t sure if Calvin would agree to blow him. Hell, he’d even settle for a hand-job.

“There we go.” Calvin tossed the towel at the bedroom door.

Brock rolled to his side to face Calvin. Their lips seemed to naturally move toward each other. Brock had never known anyone to be so into kissing. He guessed some men thought it too intimate. Personally he could never get enough. As they continued to kiss—the rain hurling itself at the window, which was illuminated by frequent flashes of lightning—Calvin’s hands started to wander. Eventually they gravitated to Brock’s ass.

“Yeah, man,” Brock groaned between kisses.

“I so want inside your cowboy ass.” Calvin gave said ass a slap.

“Yeah.”

“You okay with that idea, beautiful?”

By way of answer, Brock pushed his ass harder into Calvin’s hands.

“Guess that’s a ‘yes’,” Calvin snickered.

“It’s a ‘hell, yes’!”

* * * *

Brock thought he would die, pass out or just come from all the prep work Calvin insisted on doing to his ass.

“Just fuck me,” Brock groaned after Calvin had been messing around back there for a good quarter hour. The storm was showing no signs of abating.

“Asses are like fine wine. They need to be savored.”

Jesus, his butt wasn’t a fuckin’ bottle of merlot. However, Brock couldn’t be too sore at Calvin. If he hadn’t got the slick and box of rubbers from the drug store then they wouldn’t be doing this now. Brock didn’t keep such things in the house, although with Junior getting to that age, he would have to revise that idea.  Brock didn’t want any more unplanned pregnancies in his family.

“Wow, you’re tight. How long’s it been?”

Brock grunted when Calvin stretched him a bit further. “Couple of years.”

“Almost a virgin again.” Calvin bent down and kissed Brock’s shoulder.

“Yeah right. Look, man, I’m ready. Just slick yourself up and slide in. I’m dying here.”

“Patience, beautiful. This will be a pleasurable experience for you. Don’t want to hurt you. Never want to hurt you.”

Brock dropped his head, hoping the pillowcase and the thunder would muffle his sob. No one had cared enough to never want to hurt him.

“Okay, I think that’s got it.” Calvin withdrew his fingers, and Brock twisted his neck to watch Calvin wipe his hands, then tear open a foil packet. “You gonna roll over?”

“What?”

Calvin tipped his head to one side. With a puzzled look on his face, he repeated, “Roll over. So you’re on your back.”

A surprised Brock shifted position. No one had ever before asked him to do it missionary.

Brock’s emotions must have shown on his face because Calvin said, “Why wouldn’t I want to make love to you face-to-face? You’re beautiful. I want to see you.”

Brock couldn’t do anything about the sniff or the lone tear that rolled down his cheek. Jesus, had Calvin actually said “make love”? Brock didn’t think his heart could stand it. The man had feelings for him. Brock could no longer hide the fact from himself that he reciprocated those feelings back at Calvin.

“Ready?”

Unable to trust his voice, Brock nodded and raised his legs.

“Hang on.” Calvin reached for a pillow and folded it in two. Brock got the idea and rolled onto his shoulders, allowing Calvin to put the pillow under the small of his back.

“Yeah. You’re at the perfect height now.” Calvin smiled down at him. “You okay?”

Brock nodded again, and swallowed. The guy really did care.

Calvin’s entry was long, slow and so god-dammed amazing, Brock thought he would come just from that.

“Still okay?”

“Never better,” Brock managed to reply.

It had been too long since he’d been filled. Most of his admittedly small number of sexual partners had wanted Brock to top. He guessed his size and build had folks assuming he preferred the dominant role. Sure, Brock could top, but given the choice, he much preferred to spread his legs and receive.

Calvin started slow…and kept it slow. Every third or fourth stroke saw the head of Calvin’s dick rub across Brock’s prostate. This resulted in a steady ooze of pre-come flowing from Brock’s dark red cock-head.

“Jesus, man, you’re tight.”

Brock squeezed his anal muscles on Calvin’s next outstroke.

“Nice!” Calvin groaned. He pushed in a bit harder, but still kept things slow…maddeningly slow.

“God, man, fuck me!”

Calvin leaned down and—although their sizes made it awkward—captured Brock’s lips for a kiss that had Brock’s balls tingling.

Releasing the kiss, Calvin said, “Knew you’d be a pushy bottom.” He raised up and resumed his slow pace.

“Oh, man.” Brock threw his head from side to side. He had to get off. Despite knowing Calvin would stop him, Brock couldn’t prevent his hand from latching onto his dick and giving it a few hard pumps.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Calvin pried Brock’s fingers off his dick. Lifting the hand, he gave each knuckle a separate kiss.

Brock had never known anyone who went in for kissing different parts of the body. He had to admit it was romantic and nice and… “Oh, Christ, Calvin, can’t stand it. Need to come!”