I was outside the rooming house I had been living in for several months when I saw him.
I'd been out riding and trying to remember why it was I'd come out West to begin with. The gold. Oh, yes. Like everyone else, I had hitched my wagon to that foolish star. Made a stake, found my claim, and a year later - armed only with a piece of exceptional good fortune -- panned just enough to buy a couple of acres of land in California's Pacific Northwest.
Why then, was I still rooming at Mrs. Anderson's hotel? Because, you idiot, I screamed at myself, because you won't budge into the yonder into you've found the one you expect to share it all with. And in six months' lodgings, I hadn't even come close. Oh, a stray heartthrob here and there, content enough to join me for one night on their initial foray into town after months of washing river-bed muck in beat-up pans up in the hills. I hadn't exactly been monkish, had I? But none of them - not one - was Him. He with whom I'd saddle up and settle down. Since I couldn't think of a good enough reason to prolong the search, I'd made up my mind to move on the next day. Make a clean break. Begin again, elsewhere. I'd been in town too long, and my feet longed to tread green earth again. I had resolved to pack up my few belongings in preparation for the next morning's ride out, but seeing the kid changed all that.
Back at the hotel. I was hitching up my horse with the firm resolve that tonight would mark my last full day in town when I first laid eyes on him. Even now I'm unsure of the reasons he fascinated me so. When he pulled up in front of the rooming house and leapt from the mount of his saddle, I had looked up out of curiosity and given him a cursory once-over. His face, tanned and pretty, had a boyish quality, and I suspected he was still in his teens, although his movements contained the exaggerated toughness of one who likes to give the impression of easy masculine authority. And like so many who parade their toughness like a badge, he merely succeeded in calling attention to his own youthfulness.
His face was sporting a few stray whiskers, but I was willing to bet his shaving days had not been with him long; his beard lacked the stubby harshness of mature growth. He had a cute face, deliberately set in a hard line that accentuated rather than offset his youth. His lips were full and what he clearly intended to be a scowl was merely a pout, big lower lip stuck out in a way that looked as though it might tremble at any moment. His hair was long and blond, and while he was short his body was tight -- trim but muscular -- and as he turned to hitch up his colt. I had to admit his backside was one of the prettiest sights I'd seen in some time: round and firm and packed into his faded, worn-at-the-seat blue jeans. I licked my lips, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I liked what I saw, but not enough to stay in this town, even for a better look.
He must have sensed me staring at him, because he turned from his reins and gave me a look of cold, sneering belligerence.
"What the hell are you starin' at?", were the first sweet words I heard from that gloriously kissable mouth.
I grinned, shrugged. "Not a thing, kid."
"Then whyn'cha move on and mind yer own _d_a_m_n_ bizness?"
I smiled again. "Whatever you say, kid."
"An' stop calling me kid. I ain't no boy."
"Sure, ki -- sure thing, pardner. No offense intended."
That seemed to satisfy his honor, or at least end the conversation. He slung his belongings over his shoulder and sauntered up to the rooming house lobby. I watched his cute little butt swing up and down as he went in. If his lips and his ass weren't enough to interest me in at least a few more days' stay in town, that insolent attitude sure as hell was. I went inside.
"What kinda rooms ya got?", he was asking the landlady, a gentle old soul who liked me as much as I liked her.
"Oh, all kinds", she replied sweetly. "What sorta room were you looking for, young man?"
"Just a bed to rest my sore ass on for a few days, lady."
Mrs. Anderson paid his deliberate attempt to shock her no more heed than it was worth.
"Well, sign in, son, and we'll see if we can't find you a sling for it". She looked like a schoolmarm, but she'd been around. She wasn't about to let this rude young boy get her goat.
The kid looked disappointed and shocked at once, and I couldn't help laughing. He whirled around to confront this new assault on his image. When he was it was only me, an odd sparkle came into his eyes, quickly masked by indifference.
"Aw, piss off, stud", he sneered, turning back to pick up his luggage.
Then he turned again and looked me over, longer than was necessary. Another dime-novel attitude he'd picked up, I gathered, but one that didn't disguise the way his eyes lingered on my crotch.
"Any good whore-houses in this _s_h_i_t_-hole?", he asked me, his face daring me to poke fun at the question. "I ain't had a good piece a' pussy in" -- your life, I thought to myself -- "weeks." He rubbed his groin for emphasis, and it swelled appreciably.
"Well, Madame Marcella prob'ly runs the cleanest in town. Least that's what she says. Just between us, if you're in the market for the clap, it's probably the cleanest place to get it."
"_s_h_i_t_. I shoulda known. _d_a_m_n_ pissant little piss-slit of a town. An' me with nothin' on my mind but twat."
Somehow, I didn't believe that, but I let it go.
The room Mrs. A gave him was on the same floor as mine, so as a favor to her I ended up showing the kid where it was. As we walked, he played the same tune, over and over, louder and with more boastful vehemence as he went along. Pussy, twat, cunt, tits, _f_u_c_k_ing, _f_u_c_k_ing and more _f_u_c_k_ing was the gist of it. How much he'd had and how much more he expected to get. It sounded too much like what he thought he should say to have the ring of honesty in it, and I knew if he wasn't actually ready to bend over and take it like a man, he had to be the mouthiest virgin I'd ever met.
I decided it was worth my time to find out, after all.
I left him at his door and went to my room to unpack a few necessary items. It was a slow period at the rooming house, and for all of Mrs. A's chat about "trying to find" him a place, she knew and I knew that the kid and I were the only current occupants. Later, Mrs. A came up and said she had hoped to spend the evening at her sister's home in the next town over, and would I look after the place while she was gone? I said I would. What I didn't say was how happy her leaving made me. Normally, she s great company. But not tonight.
She made her departure early, about four, and told me to fix whatever I'd like for dinner. I did, sharing it with the kid, who spent it looking down at his plate in surly silence, resenting me for dishing out his portion or pouring him more coffee. All the same, I felt his eyes on my back when I left the room and saw them dart to his plate again when I came back. I had more than a hunch about this big stud, and my plans lay waiting for execution.
"Mrs. A has a _d_a_m_n_ nice bathing tub in her kitchen, if you want to wash some of the road off yourself", I said as casually as I could.
"Might just do that", he slurred through his last forkful of grub. Still chewing, he wiped his delicious mouth with his shirt-sleeve and pushed his chair away from the table.
I cleaned up the dishes and pulled the shades in the kitchen, then went to my room to wait him out. It didn't take long. Soon enough I heard his door open and the sound of bare feet padding along the hallway. Then from the lower rooms the sound of water being pumped and the whistle of a tea kettle. Knowing it would take a dozen or so kettles and pans to make even a decent amount of bath-water, I perused an old magazine in my room and waited. After a half-hour I stripped, put on a robe and went downstairs.
While I was making sure the front door was locked, I heard him get into the water. I waited a reasonable length of time as the kid bathed, and when his lack of movement in the water indicated he had settled back to enjoy the steam and heat and relaxation, I casually went out to the kitchen.
His eyes were closed in calm appreciation of the hot water, and I stood for a moment and looked at this naked boy's face.
I took in his features: the bushy eyebrows, half-hidden under the blond hair that fell onto his forehead; the long, almost girlish eye-lashes now closed over eyes that shone with a brown of more warmth than their owner wished admitting to; the pug nose with its look of boyishness enhanced by the wide nostrils above that lush mouth; the lips, parted, were even fuller and more rubbery-looking in the heat from the tub -- they glistened with moisture, and I imagined how they'd feel clamped on my mouth.
My eyes drifted down to his hairless chest, pink now from the heat, with its sculpted firmness and tight brown nipples, hard and firm now in the steamy atmosphere of the tub. His arms lay along either side of the tub, sinewy and hard, and his belly was soft with fuzz but tight, lean, without fat. A wisp of pubic hair began just above his navel, and led to the water-line, below which I could not see but imagined his genitals lay. And his butt. That round seat which had so enticed me as I watched him walk ahead of me, from which splayed his short but muscular legs. All this glory was hidden from my view. But not for long, I thought as I wrenched my eyes from his beautiful form.
How old was this boy, anyway? My guess was 18, maybe 19. From his body, I deduced he was surely no younger than that. That was half of his problem, I knew; his face made him seem like a boy a good three or four years younger, so I supposed he felt his manner had to make up for his youthful looks. I thought I knew the other half of his problem as well, having had it myself at his age.
I walked around him then, taking the kettle and filling it from the water pump before setting it on the stove. As I pumped another pan full of water and put it on the stove as well, he opened his eyes and glared at me with his hatred.
Whatta you want? , he snorted.
A bath, kid, a bath. If you ever stir your ass outta that tub.
Go _f_u_c_k_ your horse , he murmured with surliness. I got here first an' I'm stayin' in this seat as long as I feel like it.
You can stay in there til your ass wrinkles up like an old woman's for all I care.
Good. Now shut up an' leave me be.
Silence for a few minutes. I sat on my stool and gazed longingly at the back of his head, knowing he could feel my eyes on him and waiting to see how long it took for him to feel uneasy enough to break the silence he himself had imposed. It didn't take long.
Aw, get outta here, he said with anxiety. You make me as nervous as a _d_a_m_n_ cat.
Ignoring his command, I stood and picked up the kettle, whistling now with its load of scalding water. I took it to the side of the tub and stared down casually into the water. His _c_o_c_k_, uncut, lay like a hooded snake against his legs. It was difficult to judge its size under the warm fluid. But I could see it stir slightly and guessed I would have a good enough look at it soon.
Have some more hot, kid? , I asked.
He looked at me, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Why?
Well, kid, I made it for myself, but since it's ready to go and you're not, you might as well have it.
Silence while he considered this logic. What could my motive be, I could see him wondering. Then, he nodded. Okay, sure. Why not? You wanna play flunky, it's all right with me.
I poured the water, aware of his eyes on me. When the kettle was empty, he grunted in appreciation of the new batch of heat surrounding his limbs, but said nothing.
Where I come from, kid, it's the custom to say thank you when someone does you a turn.
He stared at me in disbelief and his own brand of boyish arrogance straining for manly toughness. Why the hell should I? You made the offer. Stupid bastard.
I pulled my stool next to the tub and looked at him with amusement. Grinning, I spoke. Y'know, kid, you're a snotty little punk.
He snorted. Yeah? What're you gonna do about it?
I think it's time someone tamed your sassy little ass.
Aw, _f_u_c_k_ you, stud.
With a savage swiftness, I got up, pushed the stool away and grabbed his right arm, twisting it behind his back. He squealed in surprise and pain, and I pressed my lips to his ear.
Oh, someone's gonna get _f_u_c_k_ed all right, kid, I murmured. But it ain't gonna be me.
He froze for a beat in shock. Then, as the threat made its self vivid in his mind, he struggled to free himself from me grip, making me clench his arm more tightly and raise it up toward the back of his neck.
Now who's gonna _f_u_c_k_ who? , I snarled.
I looked down at him from above and saw the ropy sausage at his groin begin to stir in the water. The harder he fought, the more it grew. I grinned to myself. I had been right all along. For all the whore-house talk and the boasts about the milk-maids back home, it looked like the little faker took it up the ass after all. It isn't worth it unless they want it as bad as you do. This was definitely going to be worth it.