Markwildyr.com, Post #213
* * * * *
GABACHO
IN WEST TEXAS
Slick and me avoided the
freeways—most blacktops, actually—which made for slow going over back roads.
Slick’s my flea-bitten gray that’s hauled me from South Texas to Northern
Mexico and across over into New Mexico on the way back to Huntsville, Texas.
That’s where my family lives, although I was born in Roswell, New Mexico, a
place I hadn’t even recognized when I rode through it a day or so ago. Didn’t
see a single little green man or UFO on my way through.
Sometimes when I ride, I get contemplative.
You know, think back over my life. And what was on the mind at the moment was
my sex life. Although I’m always on the move, I have a pretty good one… sex
life, that is. What was kicking around in my head at the moment was that the
last three tumbles I’d had were with guys… men. What was going on here?
I’d always kept myself in
shape, and the gals on this side of the border and the señoritas on the other
side always told me I was decent looking. Cute. Handsome. Guapo, they’d said
depending upon which side they hailed from. My take was that I was okay
looking. I don’t remember the name of the first gal I tumbled… I was sixteen at
the time… but I sure remember Carlos Salvador y Bachicha, the first guy I chose
for a session in a line shack. Opted for him rather than his seriously sexy
twin sister, Carla, as a lark. Turned out to be a hell of a lark.
That had been last year. Then
as I made my way west in Mexico toward the Antelope Springs border crossing, I
ran into another young hidalgo named Tomas on the Arrowhead Ranch. He knew
Carlos, and my line shack lay had blabbed it all to him. He just walked up to
me and fondled my basket before spreading his legs for me. Also kinda pleasant.
I’d made the crossing at
Antelope Springs without trouble, although I was anticipating some. I
originally swam the Rio Grande into Mexico because of a bar dust-up that had
the law dogs on my tail. Wasn’t much, but I didn’t even want an overnight in the
Bar Hotel, so I’d run. The fact I’d come back over without any trouble let me
know it had been a local tango that didn’t matter much.
But that’s not the point.
While resting for the night in Deming, I’d gone to a bar and met a Navajo blood
named Billy John and wound up spending the night at his sheep camp. Hadn’t been
looking for anything other than a place to lay my head, but sure found a lot
more. This one was different, somehow. That guy drove me to the limit and
wanted more. I walked on rubber legs the next morning. But what scared me was
that it kinda tugged at my heartstrings to ride away from him. That was
something new.
I slid my hat back on my head
and spoke to my horse. “Yeah, Slick, that was scary. I still think of Billy
more’n I oughta. Woulda been easy to hang around and help him with his flock.
What do you think, boy?”
I halfway expected him to look
over his shoulder and say, “Gabacho—” My name’s Gary Hawthorne, but everybody
calls me Gabacho.—“ you got your problems, and I got mine. In case you ain’t
noticed, I’m a gelding.”
He didn’t, of course, Hell, Slick
didn’t even favor me with a snort. Did that mean he didn’t give a damn what I
did, but he’d always gone for mares before… well you know.
“Slick,” I told him. “I ain’t
no gelding. So I gotta get things back on track. Nothing but women for me from
now on. Okay, boy?”
Apparently so, because he gave
me a little snicker that time.
****
My bankroll was getting kinda
low, so I paused in Carlsbad long enough to satisfy myself none of the local
ranches were looking to hire, but I lucked into a job as a bartender at one of
the watering holes between the Living Desert State Park and Happy Valley. The
week I spent there did my pocketbook some good but didn’t help salt my bacon.
There were plenty of gals around, but by the time I got off work, nobody was
left but some two-o’clock girl who didn’t raise my interest. I wasn’t that
desperate. Not yet, at any rate.
Slick got some needed rest. I
boarded him at a livery stable and usually bedded down on some hay alongside
him. Think he appreciated the company, but it wasn’t reciprocal. He wasn’t
doing anything to settle my rising appetite. When a couple of guys at the bar
started looking good to me, I figured it was time to head east. The following
Sunday—my boodle considerably fattened by my wages and generous tips—I saddled
Slick and started for Texas.
I lose track of the days when
I’m on the road, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m not a guy mated with a
calendar… or even a clock, for that matter. Each day comes, and each day goes.
All the same to me. But it was several days later when I looked around and
figured I’d crossed the line and was now in Texas. That sounded good until I
realized I now had to cross virtually the entire damned state. That’s like
crossing a whole country in most places. Oh well, like I say, one day after the
other.
My money was holding out
well—doesn’t take much traveling the way I do and laying my head on the saddle
every night while Slick dozes and munches off the grass all night long. No,
money wasn’t a problem… my itch was. Got so bad that I took care of it myself
one night. But all that does is relieve the pressure. Doesn’t do a thing to
take care of the itch.
So the next town I came to, a
little one-traffic light dump that woulda been called a village across the
border, I determined to find me a real-life partner. Wouldn’t you know it? The
first person I came on was this trim, cute cowboy loading bales of hay into a
pickup. From the glances he tossed my way as Slick and I passed, he was either
interested or checking out potential competition. I gritted my teeth and rode
on.
A little diner I tried had
good fare and a cute waitress. I flirted a little, and she flirted a lot. But
that ended when the cook—who turned out to be her husband—came out of the
kitchen and plopped down on a stool at the counter to keep an eye on her. I
cleaned up my blue plate special and cleared out. Figuring this dump was
deader’n my sex life, I took to Slick’s back and rode on.
* * * *
Doesn’t seem
like a guy as good-looking as Gabacho oughta be hard up, but I guess he is. With
his vow to stick to women from now on, he’s cut his options in half. And it
looks like he’s already passed up one possibility with the cute cowboy loading
hay bales into his pickup. So let’s see how desperate he gets.
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
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Twitter: @markwildyr
Now my
mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!
See you later.
Mark
New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.
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