Page 68 - Leather Blues

56 Jack Fritscher

pumped load after load of cum into the pool of sweat and
blood between them. Then for the last time Chuck fell to rest
on top of Den. They lay in athletic embrace. Each man took
the measure of the other. They had endured. Finally Chuck
raised his head up. The strong line of his chin hung like a
cliff over the jutting straight jaw of his partner. Eye to eye.
“How was that?” Chuck asked.
“Brothers,” Den said. He punched his buddy’s back.
Chuck laughed and rolled off Den. They lay side by
side. The night air was cool on their bellies. Den sat up and
watched the early moon spilling in through the cabin win-
dows. It lit the cumshine on their breathing bellies. Out
on the highway, they heard the traffic roaring by. Several
trucks rumbled down the pavement into the darkness. But
the sound they attended to most was the outlaw doppler
whineroarwhine of lone cycles tearing down the stretches of
lonely road. Some of them hot with their machines boiling
between their legs.
It was over for the night. Den knew it. Chuck knew
it. The time and space between them mellowed. Chuck sat
up, threw his legs over the edge of the bed, and lit a ciga-
rette. He coughed and swore lightly. “Damn poppers.” He
rose and wiped his belly with the rag of his torn T-shirt. He
tossed the sticky cloth to Den who mopped himself dry.
“It’s late,” Chuck said. “How about a beer?” Den gave him a
silent thumbs-up. Chuck popped the cans. They both pulled
hard at the cool beer. Den chugged. Chuck followed. They
laughed. Their Levi’s were again up tight against their bod-
ies. Their boots crushed the broken mesh of the used pop-
pers. Chuck pulled a faded sweatshirt minus sleeves from his
trunk. “Wear this home,” he said.
Den pulled the gray cotton over his head. He smelled
the leatherscent, the mansmell of his new brother. “About
tomorrow night,” he said.
“Yeah?” Chuck said. He popped them each another beer.

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