Page 23 - Leather Blues

Leather Blues 11

Denny would not surrender.
His Old Man pulled off his belt. He was a powerful
man. The kind who worked hard from the age of six and was
laboring at a man’s farm job from ten on. He had tendons
and sinews in his arms that knotted as he twisted the end of
his heavy black-leather belt over his son. He yanked at the
boy. “Don’t tell me no, you pissing son of a bitch.” He clawed
at the jacket, but his hand slipped, caught the boy’s Levi’s.
Denny thrashed under his father’s strong hold, but the
man’s firm hand pulled at the boy’s waist, sprung the button
fly, and ripped down his son’s jeans.
“You asked for it.”
Denny rolled on his belly to protect himself.
The gnarled hand, rough and sweaty, caught the waist-
band of the boy’s undershorts, ripped them from his hips,
exposing the boyflanks. “Rick never asked for it like you’re
asking.” The thick-wristed hand brought the belt down on
the boy’s white ass. The hard lick of it raised a great pink welt
over both smooth cheeks. Denny locked his hands together
under his belly so the man could not rip the jacket from him.
Again and again the father struck the son until the boy’s
buttocks were slick with sweat, bruised with tiny color-
ations of blood. Finally exhausted, his rage at the boy for
being younger, better, stronger, the Old Man stopped. He
looked down at the soundless boy shaking with pain on the
rumpled bed. His heavy construction boots had stained the
sheets with road-shit. Grease. He pointed to the torn cuts
on the new jacket. “It can’t go back,” he said. “You ruined it
already.” He stomped to the door. “You deserved that lick-
ing.” His son’s ass twitched slightly in the half-light. The Old
Man felt embarrassed by a surprise stirring in his own gray
cotton twill workpants. “Goddamn knows you’ll be getting
another before you get out of my house.”
Den did not look up. His face and belly pressed into the
bed. The door slammed and the workboots tromped down

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