Next Up – Echoes of the Flute

 

Markwildyr.com, Post #152

Artist: Maria Fanning:

 

JM Snyder Books has published Cut Hand, River Otter, and Wastelakapi…Beloved, and is closing in on Echoes of the Flute. I completed my response to the first publisher’s edit, and am awaiting receipt of the second. After that, they move pretty quickly, so suspect it will become available in April. Then follows the reprint of Medicine Hair.

 Last November, I gave you a look at Echoes, by posting a scene from Chapter 3 which featured the return of Matthew Brandt (Bear) to Teacher’s Mead from one of his prolonged jaunts. He finds his closest friend and spiritual brother, John Strobaw (War Eagle), swimming in the Yanube River. In the joy of their reunion Matthew makes a move on John, kissing him boldly. John, while yearning to accept the approach is uncertain, which Matthew takes as rejection. The chapter ends with Matthew storming away, and John, already regretting his loss, tells Matthew that if he goes away, never come back.

 

The scene below starts Chapter 4 as John recalls Matthew’s kiss and starts wondering….

 * * * * *

ECHOES OF THE FLUTE

 The incident at the river shook me right down to my heels. My response to Matthew—not to mention my reaction opposing him—left me doubting my horse sense. The lingering shadow of his lips on mine haunted me. I’d never been moved by a kiss like that before. Hell, I’d never been kissed before. That made me want to go find a girl while it was fresh on my mind…or on my lips. You know, to compare. But there weren’t any girls around except Rachel Ann and Hannah, and I wasn’t about to kiss my own sisters. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Minnie Killpenny lived just a few miles up the river.

Then there was that other thing. I got hard remembering Matthew’s hand on my rod. I might be able to snatch a kiss from Minnie, but could I finagle her into groping me too?

There was no free time until the following Saturday. Then I hogged the bathing room until Rachel Ann banged on the door wanting in. I told her to go to one of the necessaries the coach passengers used. Squeaky clean, I plied pa’s straight edge to my sideburns and to take out a couple of whiskers on my chin. His razor always had a keen edge because it didn’t get much use. None of the men in our family had facial hair worth mentioning.

I pointed Arrow’s nose north instead of heading upriver. Pa’d told me Matthew had set up camp on the north side of the hills along Strobaw’s Crick. Nobody’d seen or heard from him since he went steaming away from the swimming hole. I found him all right. His camp, at least. He’d rigged up a tent…it wasn’t quite a tipi…and his things were still stowed inside. There was no sign of him or Wind Rider. His tracks led up the creek, but it looked like he was out hunting, so I gave up and headed for my real destination.

I’d wasted a good bath by the time the four miles to the Killpenny Farm were behind me. I was sweaty from the sun and kinda smelled like Arrow Wind. At least, it seemed that way to me. What kind of reception would the Killpennys give me after Matthew’s stunt last year?

The farmer made me welcome and took time to sit on the front porch of his place with me and have a drink of water. He offered spirits, but despite craving some to bolster my intent to kiss his daughter, I declined.

Mr. and Mrs. Killpenny were plain folks, but their fry came out fairer than their parents. Esau was twenty and my height, about five-ten, but he outweighed me by twenty pounds. Wasn’t chubby, he just carried his weight solidly. Blue-eyed, he was pleasant to look at and friendly, especially if you’d talk hunting with him.

Minnie—she let it be known she liked to be called Min—was easy to look at. Ma was fond of saying, “that Killpenny girl wasn’t but seventeen and looked to be twenty.” She was blonde, like her brother, but her eyes were green. Pretty as all get out. But shy. How in the hell had Matthew gotten her out in the trees last year?

The Killpennys must have been wondering that, as well, because they stuck real close while Min and I sat on the porch and talked. At least, I talked. She just did a lot of smiling and dimpling. Esau hung around until I showed no signs of going hunting with him, and then he took off. As he strode around the side of the cabin, I noticed his bottom was broader than Matthew’s. Now where in the hell had that come from?

After an hour, I figured I’d worn out my welcome, so I said goodbye to everyone and went to get Arrow. I’d ground hitched him, but he’d wandered a bit, following the vegetation as he grazed. He was around behind the barn, and when I walked over to get him, Min came along with me. As soon as we were out of sight of the house, I grabbed her. She must have thought a wild Indian was attacking her, but she didn’t do anything except give a grunt when I jerked her up against me and planted my lips on hers. Had to… or I’d have lost my nerve. After about thirty seconds, I came up for air, muttered something—not sure what—and vaulted aboard Arrow. I remembered to doff my hat before laying heels to the horse’s flanks and racing away.

Half a mile later, I reined my gelding to a walk and considered things. Wasn’t sure if I’d reached any conclusions, but one thing was for sure. The two kisses didn’t even compare. Min’s was soft and sweet…and kinda like kissing my sisters. Matthew’s had reached right down inside me and yanked on my innards.

Instead of going back to the Mead, I headed for Matthew’s camp again. But it wasn’t there anymore. The spot where his tent had been was pristine. The earth had been wiped clear of any sign he’d ever been there. He’d come back and seen my tracks and wanted no part of me. I must have hurt him awful bad that day at the swimming hole.

I could have ridden in a big circle and picked up his trail, but this made it plain he was through with me. Arrow turned down the crick and bore me home with the hole Matthew always left in my chest back in place—except bigger this time. 

* * * *

Hope this sparked your interest and motivates you to want more. The publisher has settled on a new cover, but I’m unable to locate the new one, so have provided the previous cover.

 By the way, if any of you have read Wastelakapi, please post a review with Amazon and give me some stars. All the previously published books have multiple readers’ reviews, but poor Wastelakapi sits there with no reviews and, alas, no stars.

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

Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 Until next time.

 Mark

New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Hawk in the City (Part 2 of 3 parts)

markwildyr.com, Post #111

Time for the second installment of “A Hawk in the City.” Hawk’s about to go on a new venture, so let’s go along with him to see how it turns out. This segment picks up right after Hawk put his hands on a passed-out Grover Whitedeer and discovered a lust for his best bud.

*****

A HAWK IN THE CITY

          For the next few days Hawk fought an almost overwhelming need to confess what he had done to Grove. How would the guy react? He’d either get pissed off and rupture a friendship or give a belly laugh and make a joke out of it. One thing Hawk knew for sure… it was no joke. Not to him.

          The battle to get himself back under control almost cost him his reputation as a competent, unflappable professional of even temper and firm ideas about how things are done. Hawk laughed to himself. If they could only see him on the inside.

          He asked Amadeo for a few days off. Now that he had it, Hawk had no idea what to do with it. There was no reason to go home, his parents had gone over, and is brother lived in New York.

          “Hey, man,” Grove advised, “go to Tucson or Phoenix.”

          “Why?” Hawk demanded.

          Grove shrugged. “Find some girls. And live it up.”

           In the end, Hawk chose Phoenix, probably because Grove claimed it had the biggest bar in the southwest. Maybe he’d go on up to the Grand Canyon if he had the time.

           The drive was long, but reasonably pleasant. He got sidetracked by places like Cochise’s Hideout and Tombstone and drove straight through Phoenix to the Grand Canyon. The next day he found a decent motel on Van Buren, which seemed to be a main east-west drag through the city. With nothing better to do, that evening he hit the advertised “biggest bar in the west”. It was like every other bar in the world except you could have played football in it if you cleared the tables away. The Friday night crowd kept the joint jumping. He knew absolutely no one, but he’d been in hundred strange bars before, so he found a table and sipped on a brew while he waited to see what would happen.

          What happened was half a dozen women stopped by to chat, have a drink, and take his measure. He was tempted to latch onto one for old Grove, but that wasn’t the itch that needed attention. That realization surprised him. He’d been intimate with two men and had strong feelings for each. Women he’d got with on a whim, but sex with males had been accompanied by a strong mutual attraction. Now, he just wanted one to haul his ashes. Was that a deterioration of his ethical code? He snorted! What ethical code?

          A little before 2:00 a.m., he’d had his fill of the place. As he stood to go to the men’s room, Hawk discovered he’d had more to drink than he thought. He never staggered like some drunks, but he knew when his head wasn’t right… and his head wasn’t right.

           “Sir,” someone said at his side. “Last call if you want another drink before closing.”

          He turned his eyes on the waiter who’d spent the evening slipping back and forth between the tables, laughing and joking with the patrons as he took and delivered orders. Hawk took a good look at the kid. Had to be twenty-one to serve drinks, but he looked younger. Blond hair turning brown. Slim-waisted. Short. Wasn’t more than five-seven. Good-looking in a snub-nosed way.

          “Yeah, sure. Another beer. Right now I gotta go find the men’s room.”

          “It’s over there,” the kid said, pointing with his chin since his hands were full of dirty glasses. “If you want more than one I’ll have to bring it now. Can’t serve after this.”

          “Okay. Two if you’ll sit down and talk to me.”

          “Can’t. Working. There’s an after-hours joint up the street where you’ll find someone to talk to,” the kid answered.

          “Will you be there?”

          “No. Well. Sure, why not. I can unwind for an hour or so. Name’s Sam.”

          “Hawk. I’ll wait in the parking lot. Blue Dodge pickup…older model,” he added as an afterthought.

          When he returned from the men’s room, Hawk worked on beer as the place slowly emptied. He caught occasional glimpses of Sam as he rushed to clean his tables. The boy stopped by once.

          “Gonna take me half an hour to get outa here. It’s okay if you don’t want to wait.”

          “I’ll wait.”

          Exactly a half-hour after the joint closed, Sam walked to the pickup and crawled into the passenger’s seat. “You’ll have to take me home later, okay? The after-hours place is north of here.”

           Hawk exited the parking lot with exaggerated care and turned north. He sure as hell didn’t need a DUI in a strange city. The tiny joint was about as crowded as the bar had been, mostly with younger people. Hawk hadn’t been thinking straight, assuming they’d be left alone to talk. A couple of times Hawk saw the kid watching him talk to some woman who stopped by.

          Hawk stood. “Let’s get out of here.”

          Sam drained his cola, and they made their way out of the place.

          “Sorry to drag you here and then chicken out on you, Hawk said. “Somehow I thought it would be quieter.”

          “Yeah. You said you wanted to talk. How about here?” Sam suggested as he crawled into the cab of the pickup.

          “Fine with me,” Hawk said, and then promptly fell silent.

          Sam finally broke the quiet. “Lots of women stopped at your table to talk. You could have left with any of them. How come you didn’t? They’d talk to you. And you could have got something extra.”

          “Wasn’t in the mood, I guess. Fed up with women… for a while anyway.”

          “Oh, woman trouble, huh?”

          “You could say that? How about you?”

          “Don’t have one… right now.”

          “What do you do for diversion?”

          The kid’s eyes flicked over him. “Swim. Run some. Read. Work. Not much.”

          Hawk turned in the seat. “Sam, we can call it a night, and I can take you home or…?”

          “Or?”

          “Or I can take you to my motel.”

           Sam licked his lips nervously. “You aren’t…”

          “Aren’t what?”

          “You’re not trying to trap me, are you? I mean, you seem straight to me. I can tell you have lots of experience with women. You don’t act gay.”

          There it was, finally come to slap him in the face. Hawk considered the kid for a moment. “I don’t know if I am or not, Sam. But right now I want to go to my room with you and make love until you holler uncle.”

          Even in the darkness Hawk could see the boy color a bit. “I’m… I’m not very experienced at this kind of thing,” Sam said. “Only been with a couple of guys. Mostly just fooling around.”

          “What’ll it be?”

          “Will you take me home tomorrow morning?”

          The shy boy sitting beside him seemed completely different from the waiter trading insults with a host of drunken patrons. Neither of them spoke again until they entered the motel room.

          When Hawk undressed him, Sam clamped his hands over his genitals and blushed, reminding Hawk of a painting he’d seen once by someone named Rockwell. The Indian walked around behind the boy and gently massaged his shoulders until he slowly relaxed. A little later, as they lay naked side by side on the bed, Sam turned to him.

          “Can I just touch you? Anywhere I want?”

          “That’s what we’re here for.”

          “You’re so handsome,” the boy said. “And such a man! Why are you interested in me?”

          “You caught my eye in the bar, and I kept thinking it would be nice to feel your hands on me.”

          “Is it?” Sam asked, laying his head on Hawk’s chest.

          “Yes. Nice.”

          “You have such pretty skin. It’s different. Smooth like silk. And it’s—I don’t know—resilient, I guess you’d say. Like baby’s skin, only tougher.”

          Hawk laughed. “First time I’ve heard that.”

          Sam’s hands started to wander, stoking sensations inside Hawk. He’d expected more than masturbation, but he closed his eyes and allowed the boy his way. Hawk’s eyes snapped open as his ejaculation came almost without warning, which somehow made the orgasm more intense.

          “Did I do all right?” Sam asked.

          “You did something right!”

          “Will… will you hold me while I get it off?”

          Remembering Ramon’s shyness when they first explored one another, Hawk came up on his elbow to explore Sam’s fine body until the youth groaned through his own climax.

          Experiencing an awkwardness that Hawk hadn’t had with Ramon or Brit, made him realize he and this stranger had simply satisfied a biological urge. There was no love involved. He thought seriously of driving Sam home right then but took the lazy way and drifted off to sleep beside him.

          Sometime before dawn, he felt the boy stir. Moments later, a warm mouth closed over him. He hardened. Without either of them speaking a word, the boy worked over him until Hawk climaxed silently. Still without words, they fell back asleep.

          After a breakfast at the motel’s café, Hawk drove the boy to his rooming house. Sam shyly offered to meet him after work that evening, but Hawk said he was heading home this afternoon. Actually, he spent the next night in Phoenix as well. He found a downtown flea-market and got caught up buying little trinkets for the rest of the Rezagados. He bargained hard, but still spent too much. He didn’t care. Every one of his compadres would appreciate the joke the little gifts represented. He had dinner alone, got a good night’s sleep, and started back on Sunday.

*****

I sense mixed feelings from our friend Curt Huntinghawk. Think maybe his Phoenix trip simply confused him more. But he isn’t back home yet. Let’s see what happens next week. Remember, I’m posting weekly until this story is told. Then I’ll go back to first and third Thursdays.

Please consider ordering Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns from Dreamspinner Press. I’d like to convince them to publish the rest of the Cut Hand Series, including the unpublished manuscript Wastelakapi… Beloved, 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:

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

Until next time.

Mark

New post at 6:00 a.m. on Thursday.