Page 93 - Leather Blues

Leather Blues 81

blood and fire of hard-balling mansex. The deep, wet mouth
slowly, sensuously worked the head and shaft of his cock.
The skillful sucking maintained him hot and balanced as
Jex-Blake’s sure moves dogged Arrow deeper and deeper into
the box canyon of pain.
The noose tightening on Arrow’s neck kept his tortured
cock and balls hard. His head drifted in and out of the scene.
The vision of Jex-Blake’s classic cowboy Look tripped him
back to Wyoming. To the hard-drinking last night of the
Gillette rodeo. His dad’s feedlot gang was mixing it up with
the local working cowboys. Having a helluva time. Slapping
the fourteen-year-old Arrow on the back of his quilted down
vest. A wirey cowboy arm hung round his young shoulders.
The close-in whiskey face of a cowboy giving Arrow confi-
dential advice every man at the table could hear. Arrow was
having the time of his young life.
Arrow’s dad sat opposite him. Rolling himself one-
handed smokes. Drinking with the best of them. Proud the
way his son handled himself. Arrow, not quite sure what
to do, but quite sure he was exactly where he wanted to be,
made his moves slow. He moved the way the men in the bar
moved, but he moved a beat behind them. Not sure what to
say, he listened. He was a perfect ear for whiskey talk. Under
the table his hand covered the mound of hard boycock in his
jeans. Jawing and drinking a few beers with his dad’s pards
was something he’d been waiting for.
The rest of that particular night was the sort of history
that never gets recorded, but’s never forgot either: how three
fairground fellows, all rodeo cowboys, paraded into the bar
duded up in straw hats and slick boots and silver trophy
buckles, fighting drunk and bragging about their rides.
Almost faster than Arrow could follow, the three show
cowboys started a punch out with the barful of working
cowboys in a brawl they could never win.
The biggest one escaped when Arrow’s dad kicked his ass

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