markwildyr.com,
Post #104
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| Photographer: Bobby Mikul, Courtesy of CCO Public Domain |
Today, we
finish the first short story I wrote about Curt Huntinghawk. I have more, if
you want to read them. Let me know.
Last
time, we left Hawk somewhat stunned after Ramon performed an intensely personal
act for him. Where can it possibly go from here? Read on.
*****
HUNTINGHAWK
They slept together that
night, but both were so exhausted they did nothing. Ramon nestled in the crook
of Hawk’s arm, and more than once the Indian woke, gazing through the darkness
at the warm, human being sleeping so peacefully beside him. What had he done to
merit such trust and adoration? It was a puzzle to Hawk. Sex was not a thing he
took lightly. He always felt uncomfortable after coming back across the border
after being with a puta. But he felt
nothing for this young man except a fondness. He pulled the boy to him and
closed his eyes. In moments he slept again.
As was his custom, Hawk
woke with the rising of the morning star. He was dressed and on the front porch
railing studying the Milky Way when Ramon staggered sleepily outside and leaned
against him, still warm from the bed.
“You’ll catch cold,” Hawk
warned, running his hand up and down the boy’s naked flanks.
“Don’t care. Hawk keep
warm. Come with Ramon. He fix something to eat. How you like eggs?”
“Over easy,” Hawk said,
rising and following the boy back inside. Ramon checked his laundry, and
finding it dry, pulled on clean shirt and trousers. Then he proved he could
cook.
After breakfast, the boy cleaned
up and then lanced Hawk’s foot, proclaiming it better. He was nervous. His movements
went all gawky again. “What… what you do with Ramon?” he finally asked,
standing at the sink, his back to Hawk.
“I don’t know,” the man
answered honestly. “I’m not responsible for illegals, but I do work for the
government. I suppose the best thing is for you to simply head for Colorado.”
“Hawk don’t turn in to La Migra?”
The Indian stood behind
the boy and tousled his hair. “No, I won’t turn you in. You need to rest some
more. We both got pretty dehydrated out there on the desert. Don’t worry about
it today. But you better lay sort of low, okay?”
“Lay low?”
“Stick around the house. Stay
inside out of sight. And if anybody comes, go out the back door and hide out in
the barn behind the house. I’m going by the office to let everyone see I’m
okay. You’ll be okay while I’m gone?”
“Ramon be okay.
When Hawk arrived at headquarters
mid-morning. Amadeo and a couple of others were hanging around the place.
“Told you to take it
easy,” Amadeo growled.
“Just came by so you
could see I’m okay.”
“You go to the clinic?”
“No. I’m okay.”
Grover Whitedeer walked
up and punched Hawk playfully on the shoulder. “Just not so pretty now.” Grove,
a woodland Indian from the southeast, was Hawk’s best friend. They’d joined the
Rezagados at about the same time and often teamed together to track. Grove
had the day off yesterday or they’d have been together.
“Naw,” Amadeo observed,
“but when his head heals up, all he’ll have is a little scar, and he’ll tell
all the muchachas some Mexican tried to scalp him.
“Does look like somebody
tried.”
Convinced that Hawk was
all right, the others directed the talk to the Phantom, or Wolverine as Hawk
called him.
“He’s local and… he’s
Indian,” Hawk proclaimed.
“You saw him?” Amadeo
asked.
“No. But he’s around too
much, so he has to be local. And he’s too good, so he has to be Indian.”
“I think you’re onto
something,” Amadeo said. “Man’s too careful. Knows too much about us. That might
explain why it’s so hard to catch him.”
They hashed over
possibilities until one of the other trackers came in. “Say, Hawk,” Paul Abadou
asked, “where’d you run into grief yesterday?” The young man listened carefully
as Hawk pinpointed his location. “Then how come I seen your prints a mile to
the south this morning?”
Hawk slammed his fist
down on the table. “Son of a bitch! Fucker’s wearing my boots! Burnt everything
else but took my boots.”
Hawk took his companion’s
ribbing for an hour before taking his leave. Grove walked out with him
suggesting they go get laid. Hawk begged off, claiming he didn’t feel well
enough. As Grove strode to his pickup, Hawk watched the smaller man’s form
through changed eyes. He looked good. Grove was a handsome young man a year
younger than Hawk, built a little slighter, but tough as a bear. Hawk mentally
shook himself and crawled into the Dodge.
He made the rounds of a
couple of bars before heading back to the house. He didn’t pay much attention
to anyone, but he checked out the boots in every place he stopped. He had a slight
buzz on by the time he slammed the truck door in his driveway. When he entered,
Ramon peered at him anxiously.
“Hawk okay?”
“Yeah, kid. I’m fine. Brought
us some burgers and fries. You like them?”
"Yes! Ramon like.”
They sat at the kitchen
table and put away the food and a couple more beers.
“What did you do all
day?” Hawk asked to break the silence.
“Clean Hawk house. Watch
TV. Wait for Hawk. Ramon want Hawk come home very much. Want Hawk again. Please?”
Hawk studied the boy. Night
was falling over the desert, but a faint light lingered. “Why?”
“Ramon to make Hawk feel
good. Want Hawk make Ramon feel good.”
Impulsively, Hawk leaned
across the small table and pulled the boy’s head forward. Their lips met. The
touch rocked them both.
“Patron, he never do that! Only Hawk. Hawk do that again?”
Hawk stood and pulled the
boy against him, lowering his head, brushing silky lids, smooth beardless
cheeks, a long upper lip, and then finding the soft, pliant lips again. They
kissed for a long moment before moving to the bedroom where the boy lay on his
stomach and spread his legs. Hawk moved in place over him.
Later, as they lay side
by side panting from their efforts. The boy’s cries still rang in Curt
Huntinghawk’s ears. “¡Aiee, mi Halcón! ¡Mi Halcón colorado!
Te amo…te amo.” Oh, my Hawk! My red Hawk. I
love you. I love you.” That had made the wonderful thing even more glorious.
“Te amo,”
a deep voice whispered. Hawk was surprised because it was his own.
*****
And there you have it. Hawk's first gay experiences seem to have rattled his cage... or was it just the handsome young Ramon? Hawk isn't sure. Remember I have five more short stories tracing hawk and his adventures, including a confrontation with Wolverine. But you'll have to let me know if you want to read them.
Once again... Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. And Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and
Medicine Hair. I still want 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
Email: markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
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.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and
third Thursdays of the month.
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