Marathon Cowboys (6 page)

the palms of his hands down my thighs, taking my jeans and

boxers with them. I was lying naked underneath him, draped

across his green velvet couch, and he took his time looking

at me.

“I knew as soon as I saw these couches how beautiful

you would look on one of them. Your skin is the color of a

fawn in spring, you know? Such a beautiful warm brown

boy.” He crawled back between my legs and sat on his knees,

lifted my legs until my knees slid over his shoulders, then he

bent his head and took my cock into his mouth.

The heat inside his mouth, silky smooth, with the rough

edge of teeth sliding against the length of my cock. He was

stronger than he looked, and I felt his hands grip my thighs,

tug them apart until he had free rein. He used his tongue to

tickle the sensitive underside, and when he felt my balls

draw up tight, he let my cock slide out of his mouth until

just the tip was caught between his teeth. My heart was

beating so fast it felt like it was ready to fly out of my chest,

and I couldn’t control my breathing, grunting, and moaning.

I slid my fingers into his silky hair, down to the back of his

neck. It was damp with sweat under his hair.

He moved his hands now, circled the base of my cock,

pushed the foreskin down with his teeth. When he blew

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across the wet, exposed head, I jerked so hard I nearly

bucked us both off the couch. “Easy, cowboy. Easy, my little

zo-zo.” And he kissed the straining head, kissed it and

sucked it into his mouth, sucked hard and squeezed the

base of my cock, slid his fingers down around my balls. “I

bet you taste good. I’m ready if you are.” He moved his

fingers up my arm until he got to my hand, holding the back

of his head, and we meshed our fingers together. I could feel

the first hot splash hit the back of his throat, tension down

my belly, into my balls so strong and hard it was almost

painful under the sweetness. Instead of pulling his head up,

he sucked me in deeper, swallowing. I felt like I was shooting

a gallon of semen down his throat, and when he sat up, and

smiled at me, and licked his bottom lip, I nearly broke his

hand, hauling him up and into my arms, kissing his warm

sweet mouth, tasting myself on his tongue.

“I FEEL like I’m walking through a mine field here. Don’t get

your feelings hurt if I don’t do what you expect, Jesse.”

“I don’t get that. You have this big brown gorgeous body

and a face off some stone monument. I bet guys have been

coming on to you since you were fifteen.”

“Yeah, well, fourteen. But being experienced doesn’t

mean being skilled. Or smooth. You have got smooth tucked

up in your back pocket.”

“You’ve been living in a world where it was dangerous.

Where you had other priorities. But that isn’t all of it. You’re

a Western man. Quiet. Self-contained. Tough and strong and

brave and all those other cowboy lies. But they’re true for

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you, aren’t they? You’re more a Marathon cowboy that I am,

even if I did grow up here. This seems like your world.”

“And it’s not yours?”

Jesse was in my arms, and I had him wrapped up, arms

and legs. He seemed to be enjoying making my chest his

pillow. He shivered a little. “It has been before, and the

people I love are here, but no, I wouldn’t choose to stay here

forever. I like the city, even though….”

“What?”

“Sometimes the energy seems frantic, hysterical. I can’t

hear myself think. That’s why I came down here. I couldn’t

find enough quiet to work.”

“I don’t want to mess anything up. I’m here to work,

too.”

“What, you mean me and you dirty dancing? It won’t

mess anything up, zo-zo, if we fuck around on our couches.

We’re allowed some play time.”

This was exactly my point, I thought, though I didn’t say

it out loud. A man jerks your Levi’s down, gives you a world-

class blow job. Now, that man wasn’t a stranger. How did

you find out if he was your lover or just a friend who liked to

suck dick? Or if you were just having a little play time? And

how the hell would you know if somebody was falling in love?

Oh, God, that could be bad. That would be really, really bad.

I decided the best thing I could do was keep my mouth shut

and listen to Jesse and let him take the lead. Because he

was slick as pig shit between the sheets. Or on the couch.

“Where did Sadie go?”

“She went back to her mama’s house. It was like I

thought. She’s down here hiding from some asshole

boyfriend. I only wish he was dumb enough to come down to

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Marathon after her.” He lifted his head. “I may be a nancy

boy, but I’ve got enough of Marathon in my blood to say that

we protect our women around here. I suspect The Original is

getting his squirrel gun out of the closet.”

“As long as he doesn’t use it on me.”

“No, he’s got some massive admiration going on for you,

my friend. He likes your cartoons.” Jesse hesitated. “I do

too.”

“What?”

He leaned up on his arms, still wrapped up tight, that

pretty mouth very close. “You’re going easy. You hit the ‘easy

to laugh at’ target. I get the feeling you don’t want to make

people upset.”

“Well, isn’t that what a cartoon is for? To make people

laugh, and maybe think just a little?”

“Is it? You could dig in a little deeper. Of course, you

always risk offending somebody that way.”

“Give me an example.”

“Your little cartoon about the fight in the bar up in

Alpine? It’s good, funny. You made sure you were the only

guy being laughed at. You were very careful not to make

anybody a caricature. But if you’d made me a little more

flaming, with my red shoes and a tattoo of a rainbow

showing on my butt—you know, like those pictures by Paul

Richmond? And if you made the jerk in the ugly boots just a

little more a caricature—some smokes rolled up in his sleeve,

a little Confederate flag on the butt of his jeans. I don’t

know, I suspect the humor would be sharper. Funnier. What

I loved was the way your character just stood there, not

seeing the bottle coming down on his head. Joe Cool and

Crazy Horse, all mixed into one. But with that Gary Larsen

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twist—the man seconds before the bottle descends. That’s

good.”

“I see what you mean.” I put my hands back behind my

head, laughed when Jesse nuzzled a little in my armpit.

“What’s your cartoon about, now you’re out of the

Marine Corps?”

“I’ve been wondering that very thing. See, it’s not just

being a Marine. It’s that, for a certain cohort, we were born

Marines. We’ll be Marines when we die. The same values and

strengths of the corps are natural parts of our character. I

think The Original’s like that, and your cop uncle up in

Alpine. So how does that man live in the world? In the

USMC, we’re all alike. But out in the world, there are all

these crazy people we’ve got to deal with. Wearing red

sneakers into bars.”

“Your Devil Dog, he’s been in uniform so far?”

“Yeah, infantry.”

“So if your theme is how a man, one of these born-and-

bred devil dogs, makes it out in the world, out of the corps,

then you’ve got to take the uniform off the boy. Not all of it—

leave some external pieces for reference.”

“A cap with insignia. Or a devil dog tattoo. Like the

rainbow flag tattooed on your pretty butt—those sorts of

external references.” I thought for awhile. Maybe what he

needed was a cohort of characters he could use to bounce

ideas off. Rainbow boy for sure. “Did you mind that I put you

in a cartoon? I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first.”

Jesse shook his head. “It’s fine. I know how it is when

you’re working. The ideas come, you’ve got to get them down.

No time to secure consent forms.” He reached over my body,

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picked up the sketch book lying on the floor. He showed me

the sketch of my face.

“Jesus! Don’t show that to anybody. I look like

somebody’s giving me a blow job.”

“This one’s just for me. A picture of our first time. You

can be a cartoonist and a gay sex symbol at the same time,

you know.”

“Thanks, but I believe I’ll pass on being a gay sex

symbol.”

“Maybe when Devil Dog takes off his USMC uniform, he

puts on a cowboy hat. Those are the values you’re talking

about. You could be one of my cowboy angels.”

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Chapter Five

I WAS dreaming, some Marty Robbins West Texas cowboy

tale, but my horse had a blanket made out of pale-green

velvet. I heard a metallic click, and it woke me, woke me into

full alert, and I ripped the shotgun out of Jesse’s hands and

slammed him back against the wall of my room, my forearm

against his throat. He stared at me with big eyes, and I

stared back at him, and then I looked down at the gun in my

hand.

“Jesse, don’t rack a round into a shotgun in the same

room where a Marine is sleeping, okay? Especially a Marine

who was in Afghanistan two months ago.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I can’t breathe.” I let

him loose.

I studied the gun again. “This isn’t a squirrel gun. This

is a shotgun.”

“Okay, whatever. Can I borrow your truck? I’ve got a

little errand. I thought you might have left the keys on the

dresser.”

I stared at him again, then reached over and turned on

the light. My heart rate was about two hundred. “Oh, fuck

me sideways. I ought to kick your ass.” He was dressed in

Texas ninja: jeans and a black T-shirt and a ball cap. “What

in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I have a bad feeling about Sadie. I thought I’d just ride

over there and make sure dipshit wasn’t sitting outside her

house.”

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“And if he was?”

Jesse nodded toward the shotgun.

“Oh, please. I ought to lock you in your room.”

“I’m not gonna mess up your truck!”

“Give me a break.” I pulled on the pair of jeans I’d left

over the back of the chair, then reached in the top drawer for

a T-shirt. “The first rule of combat, cowboy, is nobody goes

anywhere alone, dig?”

“Oh, fine, fine. I was just
trying
to let you get a good

night’s sleep!”

Right. I reached up and carefully scratched around the

stitches in my face. They had been itching like mad. I pulled

on my shoes. “Every time you tell a lie, my stitches itch.

Okay, let’s go. And be quiet so we don’t wake up your

granddad.”

“We’ll probably see The Original circling the block.”

“Oh, I doubt that. He has more brains than you and I

put together.”

I kept the lights off until we were back on Main Street.

“Okay, where we going?”

“Lee Street,” Jesse said, pointing. “I thought we could

just skulk around. Loiter.”

“That’s what deputy sheriffs always look for, at,”—I

checked my watch—“at 0300. Don’t you think he would

notice if the dipshit was hanging around Sadie’s house? It’s

not that big a town.”

“There’s only one deputy on duty. He can only be in so

many places at once. Turn off the lights.”

I cut the lights, coasted a bit. Then I could see where

Jesse was pointing, a late-model Honda Accord parked on

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the street. There was a light on inside the car, and the radio

was playing real low. Jesse reached for the shotgun, but I

pulled it out of his reach. “I don’t think so.”

“I grew up around guns. I know what to do!”

“I don’t think so,” I said again. “Get the flashlight. You

go around to the passenger side, shine the flashlight in. I’ll

be on the other side in case he tries to run. I thought you

said he drove a pickup?”

“That’s what Sadie said. A dark blue Chevy with a cap

on the back.”

Jesse slid out of the truck, left his door open, and

tiptoed up to the Honda. I had to admit he was light on his