markwildyr.com, Post #76
|Courtesy of Pixabay|
Last week, we saw Billy injure his ankle on the job and take temporary duty with an adjoining warehouse boss, a case of bad luck turning good, right? But what if he can’t contain his adoration for his handsome new boss? What if he does something inappropriate. That could lead to firing… or worse, much worse. This week, we learn the answer.
BAD LUCK, GOOD LUCK, OR DISASTER?
My temporary boss sent me to the rest room to remove my boot and wash the stink of that boxcar away. Then I perched on the commode while he plopped down on a stool, lifted my naked foot, and laid it across his manly thigh. I almost forgot the pain as he bathed my swollen ankle in horse liniment. The smelly stuff cooled my flesh while his long fingers heated it right back up again. As he turned to fish for a bandage in an industrial-sized first aid kit, my foot slipped off his thigh and landed in his full, warm crotch. It was an accident…scout’s honor! He didn’t even flinch.
After binding the ankle with an elastic bandage, he helped ease my work boot back on. Ending the intimate, personal attention, Amico put me to work filing paperwork and answering his phone, neither of which required much manual dexterity of the lower limbs. After that he disappeared for thirty minutes.
“Finished already? That was fast,” he observed when he came back. “I’ll be able to find the reports again, won’t I?”
There’s always a little lag time while I sort the sober from the banter, but eventually, I realized he was teasing. “Yeah, everything’s right where it oughta be, Mr. Amico.”
“Dave,” he corrected. “What’s your name?”
“Billy… uh, Bill Ratner.”
“Okay, Bill, you goof off until the whistle blows.”
As it became clear Dave was not only a sultry Adonis but also a decent guy, I tried to analyze my fascination for the man. Steve, the swimmer, was handsomer in an All-American way, but he couldn’t hold a candle to the dark, smoldering sex appeal of David Amico. I’d like Steve as a friend and an occasional partner; I wanted to seriously jump Dave’s bones!
Most of the warehouses have a resident pussy cat to keep down the rodent population. Most of the felines grew fat and many went feral, but the big black in H-25 was taking it seriously. After lunch, Dave walked into the office fingering deep scratches on his hard-hat.
“What happened?” I asked.
“That green-eyed mouser took a swipe at me from the top of one of the pallets. If I hadn’t had my hat on, he’d have ripped up my scalp.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say but “Jeez.”
After saying he was going to get rid of the monster once and for all, Dave turned and walked into the warehouse Ten minutes later, I heard him bellow my name from the far end of the cavernous building. Grabbing my hard hat, I stumped out to answer the summons. I found him back in a maze of pallets at the far end of the warehouse. He was leaning over to peer behind a stack, giving me a heart-stopping, groin-grabbing view of his fetching butt.
“I saw the bastard,” my new boss said. “He’s in there somewhere. You block that end while I flush him.”
More than a little nervous over encountering an angry tom cat damned near the size of a mountain lion—a small exaggeration, I’m sure—I eased to the far end of the pallet stack and took a cautious look. Dave suddenly appeared at my shoulder.
“You see him? He scooted down this way! Here let me have a look.” My, handsome, hunky boss leaned around me, his hand on my shoulder for balance. Dave’s thigh warmed my butt, giving me an instant reaction. Our sweat raised a musky aroma that set my heart to racing. I imagined his arm across my shoulders as a caress. The length of his body pressing against me set me afire.
“Son of a gun,” he mumbled, stretching more, leaning more, inflaming me more. “I know I saw that black piece of shit. Oh, well, I’ll get him sooner or later.” The pressure on my shoulders increased as he pulled himself upright and began to move away. He paused with the hand still on my shoulder; his fly teased my ass. I wanted to lean back and make contact but didn’t dare.
“That butt’s been driving me crazy all summer,” he whispered in a husky baritone.
“It… it d-did?” I gasped. “I…I looked at you…yours a lot.”
“Did you like what you saw?” he asked, his lips at my ear.
“Oh, yeah! I mean, you’re the sexiest guy on the reservation.”
“You think so? Sexier than Bart? Or Steve? They’re hunky guys.”
“I guess so, but not like you.” My breath was hot on my tongue. His slender hips gave me a slow, languid thrust. I couldn’t help myself; I pushed back against him to feel what was hidden behind those denims.
“You ever been with guys?”
I nodded and managed to squawk. “Only been with three. The first was a cowboy, uh… ” I faltered as his right hand slowly slid down my side and came to rest on my hip. “He was a star in western B-movies they brought to town to promote a new film. He showed me about, you know, doing it with your mouth up the projection booth where I worked.”
“He blow you?” Dave asked, still close to my ear. His breath tickled the lobe.
I nodded, hoping to brush those lips. “And… and he showed me how.”
“You like that?”
“Uh-huh,” I admitted. “It was something else. Only other guy was a neighbor kid my age. We’ve jerked off together a few times. He’s kinda skittish, and I’m afraid I’ll spook him if I try too much.”
“He taking care of you okay?”
I shook my head, my knees turning to water as his fly steam-pressed my ass. "Uh-uh, he's at his grandfather's this summer."
“Let’s go see how good a teacher that cowboy was. You game?”
So black cats aren’t always a sign of bad luck or disaster, are they? What do you want to bet that the Cowboy was such a good teacher that Billy pleased Dave so well they got it on regularly until school started again? You come up with the answer.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
And now my mantra (yes, it’s mine, even if I borrowed it from Don Travis): Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.