markwildyr.com,
Post #76
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| 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
Email: markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
Twitter: @markwildyr
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.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and
third Thursdays of each month.
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