Hawk in the City (Part 3 of 3 parts)

markwildyr.com, Post #112

I don’t think Hawk’s visit to the big city is going exactly the way he planned. Or perhaps he didn’t plan anything, just waited to see what would happen. Well, Sam the waiter happened. What will this final installment bring?

*****

A HAWK IN THE CITY

Hawk stared out early and mid-morning stopped at a rest stop where a young man walked up to the urinal beside him.

          “Saw you drive in. You’re headed south, aren’t you?”

          “Yeah,” Hawk said, looking over at the man. Mid-twenties, clean-shaven. Obviously spent a lot of time in the gym. His features were pleasant, no more. But his body was super.

          “Can I hook a lift? Busted, so I can’t help with the expenses, but I sure would appreciate it.”

          “Sure. Going that way anyway.”

          The man seemed relieved. “Thanks. I was beginning to worry about getting pinched for hitchhiking. I hear they’re tough about it in this state.”

          “Where you headed?” Hawk asked, walking to the sink to wash his hands.

          “Corpus Christi. On leave from the marines and headed home. Got in a poker game before I left and got cleaned out.” He gave a grin that made him better looking. “I’m not too good at poker. Name’s Hal.”

          Around noon Hawk pulled into a restaurant. Hal said he’d wait in the car. It was obvious the guy was really broke so Hawk didn’t argue. He went inside ordered two sandwiches, some fries, and drinks and hauled them back to the pickup.

          “Man, you didn’t have to do that,” the marine protested.

          “Gotta eat. Don’t like doing it alone, so take it and make me happy.”

          As they pulled out onto the highway again, Hal made an offer. “Hey, if I can help drive or give you a hand any other way, let me know. Got a valid Texas license.”

          Hawk nodded, but the phrase “or give you a hand any other way” kept rolling around in his head. Fifty miles down the road, he asked as casually as possible. “Give me a hand… how?”

           The marine shrugged. “Don’t know. You name it, and I’ll do it if I can.”

          “Man, I’m not very good at this,” Hawk observed.

          “Just spit it out, man. What you got in mind?”

          “You ever get with a guy?” Hawk blurted.

          The man studied the road for a long minute. “Never figured you for that. But yeah. Stationed in an embassy overseas. Not supposed to get involved with their women, so this buddy and me helped one another out. Without no women, what else you gonna do?” He looked at Hawk. “That what you want?”

          Hawk shrugged. “Just a thought.” He flushed beneath the gyrene’s gaze.

          “Sure, man. You a good-looking dude. What you want? Some head? I can do that.”

          “That’s what you did for one another?”

          “Yeah.” The moment grew awkward. “So what do we do, pull off on the desert somewhere.”

          “I guess,” Hawk said without much conviction. “Never done it in the open like this. Well, I have, but it was with a woman.”

          “You do this for a change of pace?”

          “Guess that’s it.” Hawk spotted a turnoff and followed it a mile or so off the highway. In the middle of nowhere, he turned his truck out onto the desert bed.

          “How we gonna do this?”

          “Shit, I don’t know,” Hawk replied, beginning to regret the whole thing… until the marine put a warm hand on his groin.

          “How about you come sit on the edge of the seat and I’ll stoop down?”

          The man unbuckled Hawk’s belt and stripped his trousers to his ankles. Hal gave a smile. “Never tried an uncircumcised one before.”

           “New experience.”

          Hal dropped to his knees and within moments, Hawk figured the guy had learned well on his gyrene buddy. He soon groaned and pumped his hips until it was over.

          “That okay?” Hal asked, standing. His jeans bulged.

          “Great!” Hawk touched the man’s fly. Hal leaned into his hand. Hawk studied the man’s clear blue eyes. “Can’t return the favor, but if you want to get it off, you can lean against me.”

          “Thanks,” Hal said, ripping open his fly. “You’re a sexy dude, Hawk. Glad you picked me up.” He pressed his back against Hawk’s chest and stroked himself. He laid his head against Hawk’s cheek and sighed. “Feels good, man.”

          Hawk ran his hand over the man’s torso, feeling the difference between him and the kid back in Phoenix. This was a man. With that realization, he began to get aroused again. Hal ground his butt against him, and before Hawk really understood what was happening, he was inside the hunky marine.

          “Oh, shit!” Hal murmured.

          Imprisoned between the car seat by the weight of the marine’s body, Hawk let Hal do all the work. The marine muttered, more than to Hawk, until he stiffened and let out a groan. The marine’s orgasm brought Hawk over the edge. Breathing hard, they remained cuddled against one another for a few minutes until Hawk reached behind the seat and drug out a canteen. Hal cleaned them both. There wasn’t as much awkwardness as with the kid in town, but there wasn’t any afterglow either. Hawk was glad the man was quiet when they were back on the road. Hawk made sure he had some eating money when he let Hal off at a truck stop on I-10.

           Arriving home in the early evening, Hawk unloaded the pickup, took a long, hot shower, and went to bed early to review the past few days. The trip hadn’t been a waste because he’d learned something about himself. Casual, promiscuous sex with males wasn’t his thing. It felt too sordid, wrong… sinful even. And that wasn’t right, because there was nothing wrong with what he’d had with beautiful Ramon and handsome Brit.

           Hawk rose with the morning star to sit on his front porch in the darkness and sip a cup of black coffee. This morning he’d go to work, and Grover Whitedeer would be there demanding to hear about his vacation. Handsome, sexy, funny Grove. Of course, there wasn’t much he could tell him except how great the Grand Canyon was.

*****

I get the feeling Hawk’s finished experimenting. He now knows what… or who… he wants. As single-minded as he is, he’ll probably got at it with determination. Will it result in a love affair or a broken friendship?

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 the first and third Thursdays of the month.

Huntinghawk and Wolverine (Part 4 of a 5-Part Story)

markwildyr.com, Post #108

Courtesy of clipart-library.com

NOTE: For the remainder of the segments in this story, I’m posting one at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday. Once the five-parter is finished, I’ll revert to my first and third Thursday schedule.

What a meeting of two macho men! But Hawk came out on top… literally. But what will come of Hawk fucking the enemy? Will he convert the drug runner? Oh, wait! Will the drug runner convert Hawk? Read on.

*****

HUNTINGHAWK AND WOLVERINE

          When he went outside with his cup of coffee at the morning star’s rising, he thought of Brit Guerrero spread naked over the back of the chair and the hair on the back of his neck rose. What had he been thinking? Crap! He’d gotten together with Wolverine, with a drug runner. With the enemy. His mind swirling, he got up to go get ready for work.

          Naturally taciturn, Hawk guessed he’d overdone the silence thing when he caught Grove glancing over at him from behind the wheel of the four-by as they patrolled a patch of the border.

          “What’s the matter, bro?” Grove finally asked.

          “My boots showed up on my front porch this morning.”

          “What! Man, why didn’t you say something? Maybe there’s fingerprints or something.”

          “Hell, Grove, we aren’t some high-tech outfit. We don’t even have hand radios or cell phones for Christ’s sake! We find somebody, we gotta hike back to the truck radio or send up smoke signals.”

          “Ain’t that the truth? Surprised we aren’t on horseback.”

          “Hell, we are sometimes,” Hawk said, tearing his eyes away from Grove’s handsome face and taking in his friend’s crotch before staring resolutely out the windshield. Man, they’d taken a piss together a hundred times, on the desert, in bars, but Hawk had no idea what Grove looked like down there, not even if it was cut or not. He almost let out a startled exclamation when he realized he wanted to know.

          After they returned to headquarters that afternoon, Hawk found a phone and made a call to the Motor Vehicle Department. Fifteen minutes later he had confirmed the black Blazer belonged to Brit Guerrero. Next, he picked up a small magnetic radio transmitter and a receiver from a surveillance specialty store without plundering all of his savings. On the way home, he detoured by Brit’s address and parked a block away. Hawk got out and walked the neighborhood until he spotted the right house. A Lexus and a Chevy Blazer, the two cars registered to Brit sat in the proper driveway. Brit wouldn’t take the Lexus into the desert, so he bugged the coal black Chevy.

          The rest of his half-baked plan was trickier. The receiver had to be within a mile of the transmitter in order to work. He debated over taking Grove into his confidence, but in the end decided he wanted to do this alone. By midweek, he had not found the opportunity to track the Blazer’s movements except in the evenings on his own time.

          He was surprised one night when the bug led him to his own house. He parked in the drive and got out, trying to cover his nervousness.

          “Hello, Hawk,” the words came from over by the barn at the back of the house.

          “Hello, Brit. Skulking again?”

          The laugh was soft and didn’t seem to hold any malice. “Yeah, I’m a good skulker. Can lurk like hell too.”

          “Well, quit it and come on in.”

          Brit strode out into the moonlight, and Hawk was shaken when he got a good look at him. The traficante was even better looking than he recalled. He was dressed in black, and his handsome head seemed to float through the night… like a phantom, like El Espectro.

          As they walked to the back door, Brit spoke. “I don’t know what spell you used on me, but I want you to call it off. I can’t stop thinking about you…about us,”

          “Didn’t know there was an us.”

          “Of course, there’s an us. Has been since you joined the Rezagados. And now there’s another us.”

          “Okay, I’ll accept that. And I’ll confess I’ve been thinking about you. Both of you… Wolverine and Brit.”

          “And what do you think about when you think of Brit.”

          “A handsome, vital man. Somebody I could like a lot if he didn’t make his living the way he does. If he didn’t shoot people when it suits his purposes.”

          “Can I come inside?”

          “Same condition as before. Don’t sandbag my house.”

          “If I come in, are you going to fuck me again?” Moonlight collected in Brit’s eyes and flashed back at Hawk.

          “Guess it depends on who comes inside, Brit or Wolverine.” Hawk turned to go inside but was stopped by the man’s hand on his arm.

          “Deal. Wolverine won’t ever enter your home. But while Brit’s there, the Rezagado goes away too. Here in this house, it’s only Brit and Hawk, okay?”

          Hawk considered carefully before replying. “Deal. From this moment forward, Brit and Hawk here. Wolverine and Rezagado everywhere else. But make no mistake, Brit. I’m going to get Wolverine. I’m going to see he’s locked up for a long time.”

          “We’ve got a deal, Hawk, but I can promise you one thing. You’ll never lock him away. I know him too well. He won’t permit it.”

          “He won’t be able to stop me.”

          “He will if he kills you.”

          “That’s the only way.”

          Brit hesitated a moment. “Maybe not, Hawk. But this is Brit, not Wolverine. And Brit wants to go inside with you.”

          Hawk had not even snapped on the light when Brit came for him. He tensed as the arms came around him.

          “God, Hawk! I can’t stop thinking about you… about us, what we did. I can’t even make love to my girl without thinking about you. What did you do to me?”

          Hawk shrugged. “I was just being me, Brit. Nothing magical about that.”

          “I’m not so sure. I keep feeling you inside me. I wake up at night dreaming about it.”

          “You left here halfway pissed off last time. Is it going to be that way again?”

          “No, I promise. And you promise me you’ll love me better than you’ve ever loved anyone else.” Brit’s hands wandered “Promise!”

          “Donno about the loving part. But to be crude, I’ll fuck you the best I can.”

          Brit insisted on a light, so Hawk turned on a small lamp on the bedside table while Brit tore off his own clothing. Then he undressed Hawk slowly before kissing him. Damn! He really felt that one. As Brit stood back and gazed into his eyes, Hawk wondered if he’d said that aloud.

          “You’re a witch, Huntinghawk. A damned witch. And I’m going to prove it. I’m going to do something else I’ve never done.” Brit sank to his knees, and Hawk felt his mouth on him. Brit wasn’t very good at it, but the idea of reaching orgasm like this was appealing.

          Sooner than expected, his contractions hit. Halfway curling his naked body over Brit, he whispered words in his native tongue as he held the man’s head tight against him. When it was over, Brit looked up at Hawk.

          “You bastard, I didn’t intend to take you all the way like that.”

          “You started it, Brit. Don’t start something unless you can finish it.”

          “I just wanted to get you hard and…”

          “And see what it was like,” Hawk finished. “Now you know.”

          “Are you still going to make love to me?”

          “Like you wouldn’t believe. But first I’m going to have a beer. Want one?”

          They lay side by side on the bed and rested cold cans of beer on hairless, muscled chests between sips.

          “Hawk, can we be friends?”

          “Sure. You give yourself up, serve your time, and I’ll be there to help however I can when you get out.”

          “I can’t do that. You ask too much. They’d kill me if I turned myself in.” Brit threw his leg over Hawk’s.

          “There it is then.”

           “So we can be lovers, but not friends.” Brit paused. “Curt, make love to me. Down deep where it counts.”

          “Nobody’s called me Curt in years. Sounds good after all this time.” He turned to his willing partner, pausing to rake his eyes over the strong man spread on the bed before rolling on top of him to keep his promise.

          Thirty minutes later, he fell back onto the mattress, bathed in sweat and panting heavily.

“Well, how’d I do?” he gasped.

          “Infuckingcredible! Man, I’ve been truly fucked!”

          “But don’t ask me to do it again. At least not tonight.”

          “You’re a hell of a lover,” Brit said into Hawk’s ear. “But I guess you’ve been told that a lot. Was it as good as with the Mexican kid?”

          Without waiting for an answer, he dressed, refused another beer, and caressed Hawk’s cheek affectionately. As he moved to the door, Hawk’s voice stopped him.

          “Nothing’s changed, Brit. I’m still coming after you.”

          “Nothing’s changed except I’m in love with you,” the other man answered bitterly. “But I understand.”

          “You won’t consider my terms? I’ll wait for you. If you want me when you get out, I’ll be there for you.”

          “Thanks. That means a lot. Strange isn’t it? I shot you once, and now we’re lovers. I can’t, Curt. They’d kill me. Inside prison or out, they’d kill me.”

          “Together we—”

          “Is it true the Mexican kid was the first for you?”

          “Yes.”

          “Well, you’re my first and my last. I’ll never permit another man to touch me. But I’ll do it with you any time you want.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.

*****

Looks like Hawk still in control of the situation, but his effort to turn Wolverine seems to have failed. Now what? Does he continue to consort with the enemy, or does the scheme he has working in his brain hold a solution to that problem? We’ll have to see next week with the conclusion of the story of Huntinghawk and Wolverine.

For those of you who have not already done so, please order  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 posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of the month.

Huntinghawk and Wolverine (Part 1 of a 5-Part Story)

markwildyr.com, Post #105

  

Courtesy of en.wikipedia.org

Several of you have asked for more of Curt Huntinghawk’s story, so I’ll give you the second story I wrote about him and his adventures. Remember, you asked for it.

During this five-part series, I will post a segment weekly, returning to my usual first and third Thursday postings when the story is complete.

Here we go with the story of Huntinghawk and Wolverine. The first installment is rather long, so hang in there. I hope you enjoy.

*****

HUNTINGHAWK AND WOLVERINE

          The raw, cruel beauty of the Lower Sonoran Desert failed to work its usual magic as a cold anger seeped into Curt Huntinghawk’s guts. He abruptly obscured the footprint made by his own boots. Grover Whitedeer, his best friend and fellow tracker, appeared at his side.

          “Found another one, huh?” The young Indian knew this was serious business to his friend, but he couldn’t keep the teasing out of his voice.

          “Fucking Wolverine! He’s playing with us.”

          “Wasn’t playing when he shot you two months back,” Grove observed, turning serious.

          Huntinghawk and Whitedeer were two of the Rezagados Colorados, a small band of Indian trackers hired by the Border Patrol to help run down drug runners bringing marijuana and cocaine across the Mexican border some six miles to the south. It was a matter of pride to the twenty or so Native American trackers that they were responsible for seventy percent of the drugs confiscated in this area.

          But they hadn’t caught Wolverine, as Hawk called the elusive traficante, who was named El Espectro or Phantom by the others. Two months ago, Hawk had gotten close and received a crease in his forehead from a high powered rifle for his troubles. As he lay unconscious, the smuggler had stripped him naked and left him to die in the Sonoran furnace. Now the Wolverine was wearing Hawk’s boots when he made his runs.

           A chance encounter by a young Mexican illegal lost in the desert had probably saved both their lives. The boy, Ramon Aquila, and Hawk had become lovers until the pressure of living as an illegal in the midst of the people responsible for deporting them had driven the boy north to find his brother in Colorado. The kid had opened Hawk’s eyes to the vague longings he’d sometimes experienced, but he left a hell of a hole in Hawk’s heart when he left.

          Hawk studied the horizon carefully while Grove looked about some more. “Got another one,” the smaller Indian called. “Kinda old, though. How old was your track?”

         “Five, six hours.”

         “Yeah, that’s about right. Doesn’t look like you’re going to get shot this time out.”

         “Dammit, Grove!” Hawk snarled before turning away and stalking off to where they had left their four-by-four. He was seated in the cab, baking in the heat, by the time Grove crawled in and kicked over the motor. Hawk knew he wasn’t acting rationally. Hell, the guys kidded one another all the time, and getting shot by your quarry was just too good to let go easily. It appealed to the Indian sense of humor shared by the group, even if they were from tribes scattered all across the country.

         “Sorry,” Hawk said. “Guess the scar on the outside of my forehead’s healed, but the one on the inside hasn’t.”

         “Better work on it, bro. This one’s gonna haunt you for a long time,” Grove said.

          Hawk was a northern plains, and Grove was a southern woodland. They were both different from the other Rezagados, built more like range bulls, leaner and meaner. The local Indians tended to be shorter and heavier and more placid by nature. Hawk carried a hundred-eighty pounds and stood an even six feet while Grove came in twenty pounds under and two inches shorter. Still, Hawk would think twice before getting in a knock-down-drag-out with his friend. They’d backed one another up too often in bars for the bigger man to underestimate his companion.

          “Hey, man!” Grove said as they bounced across a faint track in the desert. “Let’s go across the border tonight and buy a couple of gals.” His suggestion brough his narrow, handsome features alive.

          “Naw. Gonna hang at home tonight.”

          “Shit, Hawk. We haven’t gone catting since you got shot. You sure he didn’t shoot something besides your head?”

          Hawk grinned. “Naw. It’s still there.”

          “Then come on! Let’s get some poontang!”

          “Man, you are from the south, aren’t you?”

          “Poontang’s a good word. Means the same here as it does back home.”

          “Well, my poon done got tanged,” Hawk made a joke out of it. In truth, he wanted to be with Grove this evening. Hell, if he was honest about it, he was attracted to the handsome shit! But he wasn’t ready to turn to women again …not after Ramon. Not yet, anyway. Was he afraid to get with a woman again? There’d been plenty of them in the past, but none since he found what he had with Ramon. That didn’t make any sense. He had his mouth opened to accept the offer when Grove spoke again.

          “Okay, then, how ‘bout we go to the Blue Mesa?” The Blue Mesa was a rowdy bar on the edge of town frequented by Indians.

          “You’re on. I could stand a brew or two.”

          “You got it!”

          But the day wasn’t done yet. Grove slammed on the brakes when he spotted footprints crossing the dusty ruts. Boots. Fresh. Two people. Neither of them was the Wolverine. The two Indians reached for the 30-30 rifles they weren’t authorized to carry and took off at a lope. An hour later, two specks grew into two men loaded with packs. The mules didn’t even bother to look behind them until the two Rezagados drew within twenty yards.

          The two drug-runners weren’t inclined to defend their cargo, they tried running instead, but were easy pickings. The Rezagados were not granted police powers, but most people were not aware of that fact. If the traficantes had resisted, they’d have had to back off and call for sworn officers, but when the men surrendered, he and Grove hiked them back to the truck and drove them to the Border Patrol. It was a good haul. Ten pounds of raw cocaine and a hundred of marijuana.

           Celebrating that night at the Mesa, they swigged beer to replenish the moisture they’d lost… or so they told themselves. Grove got a good buzz quickly; Hawk took longer. He sat on his side of the table as frantic activity swirled around him and watched his friend. Grove was as handsome as Ramon had been. To be honest, probably more handsome because there was more of a man in his looks. Ramon had been as pretty as a budding woman; Grove was man-handsome. Smooth cheeks free of facial hair. Big, lash-fringed brown eyes and a firm chin with a stubborn look about it. Shit! Grove was pretty too.

          The girls who stopped by confirmed his opinion. They descended on the two men in droves. Hawk played the game, but without real interest. Grove played it enthusiastically. About one a.m., Grove came off the dance floor with his arm around a girl.

           “Hey, man, we gonna head out. You fixed up for the night?”

          “Think so. See you Monday. Don’t get bombed, you hear?” Damn. Grove was better looking than the girl, and she was downright pretty.

          It took some doing, but he made it out of the bar without a woman in tow. Halfway home, he was getting so blue he figured he’d made a mistake. Closing was in half an hour, so he decided to stop by a small bar at the edge of town. Might not be any women left unclaimed except for some two o’clock gal, but that’s probably all he deserved.

          The Branding Iron was still pretty crowded, and half of them were Indians. Unfortunately, three-quarters of them were males, and at first glance he didn’t find a stray woman in the joint. About thirty seconds later, he lost all interest.

          Hawk didn’t consciously check out boots, but ever since Wolverine had stolen his, he sort of made a sweep of the floor in every bar he entered. Two tables to the left, one brown, calfskin work boot with a distinctive red bird emblazoned on the sole caught his eye.

*****

Hawk’s found his boots. Does that mean he’s found Wolverine, as well? If so what kind of sparks will fly between these two macho men? Next week, we might find out.

For those of you who have not already done so, please order  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 posts at 6:00 a.m. on Thursday.