Page 95 - Leather Blues

Leather Blues 83

Arrow’s dad put his big hand on his son’s shoulder and
guided him behind the other men out of the feedlot and
back to the bar. “That’s how,” he said, “you treat them rodeo
show-circuit fags.”
S and M passion rises out of far off nights like that,
fueled by memory, driven by dick beyond any logic.
Jex-Blake pulled a soft deerskin tobacco pouch from his
vest pocket. Never taking his squint off Arrow, he rolled
himself a cigarette, struck a light in his cupped hand, and
took a long, meditative drag. “Hoist ’im up higher,” he said.
Chuck wrapped the rope around his gloved hand and pulled
Arrow up to the toes of his boots. Denny liked the way his
leather buddy moved. Chuck fastened the rope end to the
leg of the big cast iron stove. Arrow’s breath came in shorter
hits. His eyes took on a wild look. A vein pulsed out on his
forehead.
Jex-Blake lifted a silver spur of his own making from
his saddlebags. He slowly, tantalizingly drew the circle of
rowels across the palm of his glove. The sharp points left a
trail of needle marks in the soft leather. Arrow eyed him with
a wild look. Jex-Blake’s butt of cigarette hung on his lower
lip. He moseyed, menacing, on in toward Arrow. He took
three deliberate steps toward the wooden crate. Raising his
bowed leg like he was mounting some wild stallion he had
every intention of breaking, he lifted himself full height up
on the platform.
For the first time, Jex-Blake and Arrow were eye-to-eye.
Slowly Jex-Blake folded the flaps of Arrow’s vest back.
He exposed Arrow’s pecs. He ran his gloved hand nipple to
nipple through the thick strawberry-roan fur. Arrow looked
down in fear, choking himself. He knew the soft strokes
of the leather glove would give way to the deep plowing of
the sharp needle rowels. And what he expected, happened.
Jex-Blake planted the rowels hard against Arrow’s chest.
With the full strength of his arm, he pulled the spur hard,

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
HOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOK