Page 101 - Leather Blues

Leather Blues 89

gallon of piss hung heavy from his bound cockhead. “Keep
pissing,” Chuck said. Denny liked the watery contest. He
took hold of Chuck’s cock, aiming it bull’s-eye into the boot.
Chuck reciprocated. They stood together, arms around their
shoulders, holding each other’s pissing cocks, watching the
boot foam up to the top and begin to overflow, running
down the elastic bandages of the immobile mummy. Each
took for the other the final honors of mutually shaking the
last pissdrips from their mansize cocks. “The dude got even
more than he bargained for,” Chuck said. “With no skin off
your nose.” He smiled his killer smile at Denny. “I’m glad,”
he said, “that the night’s gone the way it’s gone. We’ve got
some energy left for each other.”
That kind of talk turned Denny on. “Maybe we should,
uh, have a talk...or something,” Denny said.
Chuck led him out to the porch, down the steps, and
across the yard to his private van. Overhead, the white light
of the setting moon hung low in the west over Lake Michi-
gan. At least two hours of darkness remained before this
Midwestern summer’s night mixed with the predawn east-
ern rose of the rising sun. “Climb on in,” Chuck said.
Denny hesitated.
“Come on,” Chuck said, “this is a van parked in the
Michigan dunes south of Saugatuck. Not a cottage for two
by the sea. Relax. It’s okay. I know you want action more
than a lover. You’re fuckin’ eighteen, built like twenty-five.
I can respect that.”
Denny smiled and climbed on into the dark berth of the
van. In his lightly stoned head, visions collided of his brawny
dad, of Stoney, of Sam, of his first fuck with Chuck, of the
blond bearded mountainman with the insatiable ass, of Doc
and Arrow and Jex-Blake. He lay his head back on Chuck’s
bedroll and said nothing.
Chuck lay down beside him. “I know what is, is, man.
I also know that what you’re looking for is looking for you.

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