Thursday, January 2, 2020

Huntinghawk (Part 2 of 3 Parts), Post #103
The Spring at Dragon's Back - Courtesy of
Ready for some more Huntinghawk? We left Hawk and Ramon at Dragon’s Back, sleeping off the effects of their mutually difficult day. Let’s see what happens next.


          Hawk was ready to leave with the morning star, but he brewed coffee and let the boy sleep a few more minutes. They’d make better time if the youth was rested, but the Indian wanted to start before the sun warmed things up too much. Ramon woke and apologized for keeping Hawk waiting. As the boy turned away for his morning piss Hawk studied the kid. Ramon was built wide at the shoulders but incredibly thin in the waist and hips, reminding him of the flamenco dancers Hawk had seen in Mexico. They were like willow whips, strong and flexible.
          Hawk’s headache returned when he clamped his Stetson on his head and started out, but the dizziness seemed to have gone. When they left the water behind, no one would have been able to tell that they had been there. The headache was worse by the time they reached Hawk’s old Dodge pickup but had subsided to a steady throb when he pulled into the driveway of his small adobe house. He went home instead of the office because he didn’t know what to do with the boy. Once inside, he phoned headquarters to report what had happened. Amadeo Tomé, the forty-year-old local Indian in charge of the Rezagados, was no fool and could read tracks better than most, so Hawk told the story straight except that he made Ramon a local kid out hunting who stumbled on him by accident. Since he was off duty the next two days, Hawk promised to take it easy and report to the local clinic if he got to feeling worse. Taking it easy was not a difficult promise to keep. He told his guest to make himself at home and fell into bed. Hunger woke him late in the evening. He pulled on an old pair of sweats cut off high on the thigh and went into the living room.
          Ramon had laundered his clothes in Hawk’s old washing machine and sat in the living room wrapped in a towel watching the small television set while his clothes dried. His eyes widened, silently begging forgiveness at his audacity for using Hawk’s possessions.
          “It’s okay, kid,” he assured the boy. “Told you to make yourself at home.” He winced as he took a step.
         Immediately, Ramon got to his feet and insisted Hawk sit down while he found something for them to eat. The youth came up with a meal of tuna fish sandwiches, chips, and Mexican beer. During the meal around the kitchen table Hawk learned the boy was eighteen, came from Durango, Mexico and was trying to join his older brother somewhere in Colorado. Hawk watched the play of muscles in the boy’s slender torso. It was a curious thing to take so much notice.
          “Ramon,” he said, getting to his feet and limping into the living room, “we’ve got to decide what to do about you.” Hawk sat heavily in a chair and pulled up a bare foot to examine the a foot that had been bothering him all day. “Damn!” he cursed, discovering a thorn buried behind the ball of his left foot.
          Ramon was at his side immediately, examining the injured foot closely. The boy took charge, asking for a needle and disinfectant, going for the items while Hawk moved to the sofa. When Hawk was stretched out, Ramon knelt at the end of the divan.
          “Try not hurt Hawk bad,” he said softly. “But splinter deep. Hurt some.”
          “I’ll try to handle it,” Hawk said with an amused smile. He watched silently as the boy sterilized the needle with the flame from a kitchen match. The smile slid from his lips when Ramon started digging. A few moments later, the boy held up a thorn.
          “Got it! Hurt bad?”
          “I’ll live,” Hawk said, closing his eyes as Ramon applied disinfectant to the wound. He let out a soft groan when the boy started massaging the foot. It hurt pretty good, Hawk decided. He must have dozed because when he woke, the boy’s mouth was on the inside of his thigh. Hawk’s eyes flew open, but otherwise he did not move. He looked down his torso as the boy’s hand slid beneath the cutoffs. To Hawk’s surprise, he responded. Ramon inched his way up Hawk’s thigh, leaving a moist trail with his tongue.
          “Ramon!” he yelled. “What the hell are you doing?”
          The boy came up to regard him with wide, frightened eyes. “T-try to thank Hawk,” the boy stammered. “O… okay?” he asked uncertainly. When Hawk made no reply, he lowered his head.
          Hawk could not believe the sensations he experienced for the next few minutes. His indignation and outrage died beneath Ramon’s ministrations. Hawk’s mind denied what was happening; even his body relaxed in enjoyment… until his orgasm hit. For a moment, he thought he’d been struck by liquid lightning.
          “Where’d you learn to do that, kid?” he gasped.
          Ramon gave a broad smile. “Patron. He make Ramon do it for him. Io okay?”
          “Great, but let me get this straight. Your patron made you do it for him.”
          “He teach when Ramon has fourteen years. He do good for mother and brothers and sisters because of what Ramon do for him. But… but he die in accident. So I come here for work.”
          “He taught you this?”
          “Yes. Not so good with him, but like with Hawk. Hawk much man.”
          “Ramon, you don’t have to do anything for me. But what do you get out of it? I mean, I got the climax of my life, but what did you get?”
          “Ramon get most beautiful man, El Guapo.” The boy smiled again. “Is true. I see you without clothes on desert, I know this man different. Mexican? Maybe not. He more rojo, red, you know. Big muscles. Wide shoulders. Much man.”
          “So you like to do it?”
          “Is okay with patron. Not at first, but finally Ramon don’t care so much. But with Hawk? I like. Ramon do it again?”
          “No,” Hawk said sharply. “Maybe later.”
          Ramon gave his dazzling smile. “Good.”
          Hawk mentally shook his head, amazed at the fondness he felt for the boy at that moment. He had never experienced any sort of attraction for another male, except for the proper love for his father and older brother. Once he had severely beaten a fellow logger when the man groped him when they took a leak together in the woods. Now he wondered if he had acted out of fear.


Looks like they’re compatible. Glad to see the kid took some kinks out of Hawk’s rope. But wait… there’s more next time.

Now my hopes for 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:
Twitter: @markwildyr

The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

And now my mantra: 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 the month.

No comments:

Post a Comment