Tootsies

by Sarah Black

  “Eek!”

  Quanah Parker laughed, and David felt like biting down on his traitor tongue. What had he done, squealed like a piglet? “I was going into the hot tub.”

  Hands were roaming over his naked chest and belly. “Really? I thought you were going to streak naked through the woods. You don’t want to do that barefoot. You’ll hurt your little tootsies.” And Quanah Parker lifted him higher and dumped him into the water.

  The water wasn’t warm enough. David went under, screamed, came up, and pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. “Shit! It’s cold. It’s very cold. It’s not even lukewarm.” Quanah Parker looked the same, exactly the same, only bigger and older and more beautiful and sexier. David felt something contract in his chest. He would have known his old friend anywhere. Quanah Parker was pulling the sweatshirt over his head, skinning out of his sweatpants, and David stared at his broad brown chest, his narrow hips and flat belly, the dark patch of hair between his legs, and the cock as straight and long as an arrow. Quanah Parker let him take a long look before he climbed into the hot tub.

  “Jesus! The water’s cold.” Quanah Parker pushed over to the little fence that separated the woodstove from the rest of the tub. “How long’s that thing been going?”

  “Maybe forty-five minutes.” David had his arms wrapped around his chest, trying to curl himself into a ball.

  Quanah Parker turned to him, eyes narrowed in his dark face, pulled David into his arms, and tugged until David’s back was pressed up against his chest. He wrapped David up tight. “We need to share a little body heat here. I’ve got one of these down at my place. I usually let the water heat up for a couple of hours before I get in.”

  “I just got it filled up tonight.” His teeth were starting to chatter.

  “How come it took so long? I thought I saw the flatbed yesterday.”

  “The plumbing? It’s not really hooked up yet. Like, to pipes.” Quanah Parker was silent, and David felt the warmth of his broad chest. “I did it with a bucket and the hand pump,” David confessed.

  “You filled the hot tub with a bucket.” Quanah Parker moved his arms down, and David let out a faint yelp. “No wonder you couldn’t wait to jump in. It’s warming up.”

  It was warmer, but maybe some of the warmth was gratitude at not being laughed at or made to feel like a fool. “The plumbing is on my list of things to do.”

  “Did you get a chainsaw, David?” Quanah Parker was nuzzling his neck, running his face over the wet curls plastered against David’s skin. “I’m worried about your woodpile.”

  “I did. I might have a problem, though. I need some practice pulling that rip cord deal and getting it started.”

  “Did you get your propane tank filled?”

  “Yes, but the problem is, I’m not sure if the propane actually runs to the house.”

  “No stove? How have you been cooking?”

  “The woodstove.”

  “Water?”

  “The woodstove.”

  “David, this isn’t going to work come January.”

  “I know. I’m working on it. I’ve got a list.” He rested his head back on Quanah Parker’s shoulder, and they stared up through the trees at a night sky so close and so thick with stars, David felt like he could reach up and snatch a handful. The water was warmer now, and Quanah Parker had loosened his bonds, was running his big hands down across David’s stomach. He reached for David’s cock and curled his fingers around him, and David could feel himself stiffen and swell. Holy shit. Ho-ly shit!

  “Are you mine?” Quanah Parker was whispering in his ear. David could feel him, every inch of beautiful, warm, smooth brown skin, plastered against his own. “Tell me you belong to me.”

  David turned in his arms until they were chest to chest and stared into Quanah Parker’s fierce face. “When you say, ‘Are you mine?’ do you mean in the metaphorical sense? Because…”

  Quanah Parker gave him a little shake. “Let’s try that again. Are you mine? There’s only one right answer, David.”

  “I’ve always been yours.” And he reached up and pressed his mouth against the smiling lips in front of him.

  * * *

  It didn’t take David long to realize that Quanah Parker knew exactly what he was doing. That he was, in fact, significantly more experienced in lovemaking. All David could do was hold on and try to control the hyperventilation while Quanah Parker used his mouth and hands and cock to bring him to screaming delight. A panic attack, David thought, would not be out of order. Not only had he clutched Quanah Parker’s body like they were floating in the North Atlantic and sharks were circling, but he had taken about forty-five seconds to have his first orgasm, and he had humped Quanah Parker’s leg, and when he came the second time, he had shrieked like a pig getting its throat cut. It was a shameful display of sexual neediness, and there was no way to put a good face on it. Quanah Parker looked both satisfied and as if he had expected nothing else. They were bobbing gently next to each other, the water steaming in the cool night air, and David confessed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so hysterical. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “About what? Woodcutting?”

  “No, sex. I mean, I’m not exactly…” David didn’t even know if Quanah Parker had had an orgasm during the preceding hour. Shouldn’t a thoughtful lover know that? Sort of…keep count? Make sure they were even?

  Quanah Parker opened lazy dark eyes and surveyed him. “I don’t think it’s a standard skill set, David.”

  “It seems like it is. I mean, you seem pretty skilled.”

  Quanah Parker dipped his head back, dunking his long hair. He raised his hand and drew circles in the water. “It’s like this—friendship, sex, happiness, satisfaction, they’re all part of the same thing. You’re strong in yourself, so you can be strong in your relationships. You’re happy being you. Then you can let your heart and your imagination free. You can play.”

  Play? “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t think so much, David. You need me. You’ve always needed me, so why should this be any different? And in case you didn’t notice, I’m quite satisfied. Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t want to walk home with wet hair.”

  You can stay with me forever. “Sure.”

  Inside the cabin, David lit the candles next to the bed and on the table, and in the soft golden light Quanah Parker took a slow look around, taking in the mountains of foodstuffs, the woodstove, the bed with its thick down quilt. David pulled a towel out of a stack next to the pile of his clothes. Quanah Parker pulled his sweatpants on, and David sat him down in a chair and set about drying his long black hair. It was nearly to his waist, and heavy, but David refrained from burying his face in it, just combed it out and rubbed it with the towel. He threw some more wood into the stove because the cabin was chilly, and Quanah Parker took the towel out of his hands. “Now let me dry you off.”

  His head was scrubbed, and Quanah Parker combed his brown curls, rubbed them again with the towel, buried his face in them, and stroked softly down David’s neck with rough fingertips. The towel was gentle on his chest and back, down each of his legs, and then Quanah Parker pulled him over to the bed and laid him down on top of the quilt.

  “I brought you something,” he said, and David noticed the gym bag just inside the cabin door. Quanah Parker reached in and took out a jar of pink cream that smelled like rose petals. He pulled David’s feet into his lap. “This is my favorite foot cream,” he said and started working the cream into David’s skin. His fingers were rough, and he stroked the soles of David’s feet over and over, rubbing the cream in between the toes, circling his thumb over the balls, knuckling the heels. He reached down and sucked David’s toes into his mouth, one by one, nipping on the tips with his strong teeth, and David fell back against the pillows, his cock straining fit to burst.

  “Oh, my God, that feels so good. What are you doing?”

  Quanah Parker slid one hand up inside his thigh, fingertips against his te
nder skin driving him mad. “Not yet.” He took a pair of moccasins out of the bag, soft, pale yellow hide, and pulled them onto David’s feet. They fit him like they were made for him, and he grinned, remembering his strangely moving boots.

  “Wow, how did you get them to fit so good?”

  Quanah Parker slapped him on the ass, and David held his feet up, looking at the moccasins. They had a decoration on the toes and the sides, colored leather stitched like an appliqué. It was olive green and scarlet, a sockeye salmon. David had never seen anything as beautiful, and the feel of the hide against his rosy, tender toes was unbelievable. “What kind of leather is it?”

  “Elk.” Quanah Parker climbed up next to him, pulled David into his arms. His brown throat was warm and silky, as thick as a tree trunk, and David pressed his mouth to the pulse, felt Quanah Parker’s strong heart beating against his lips. “They don’t last as long outside, but elk is the softest skin for bedroom moccasins.”

  “Bedroom moccasins?”

  “Yeah. I want you to sleep with them on. Nothing else. So when I climb into your bed, you’re naked and waiting for me. And your sweet little tootsies are wrapped up in my moccasins.”

  David felt his cock give a thump and a lurch, and he pressed himself hard against Quanah Parker’s thigh. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said when he could breathe again.

  “Just you and me, David. This is just you and me. I’ve been waiting a long time to make love to you.” He nuzzled a bit, mouth moving along David’s throat, along the curve of his collarbone. “You taste like sweet cream. When we were boys, I used to wonder if your mouth would taste like chocolate. Your eyes were the color of chocolate, you know, and you were always looking at me, your eyes so big and startled. I thought if I kissed you on the mouth, your tongue would taste like chocolate.”

  “You smell the same to me,” David said, pushing back a waterfall of black hair and pressing his mouth to the side of Quanah Parker’s neck. “This is what I remember, the way your neck smells underneath your hair. When I would ride behind you, I used to put my face against your hair so I could smell you.”

  “I know.” He nudged David over onto his back. “Tell me what you like when you’re making love.”

  David opened his mouth, couldn’t think of anything to say, closed it again. He studied the ceiling a bit. “Well, I suppose what I like the best is actually knowing the other person. And I guess I would say that when no alcohol is involved, that’s better than when there is a lot of tequila in the mix.”

  Quanah Parker bit his lip, obviously trying not to smile. “Okay. Well. I can see I got here just in time.” His mouth moved down David’s chest, down his belly, and his black hair slid across David’s skin, pooled between his thighs. “I’ll show you everything, David.” He turned his head, let David’s cock kiss his cheek, a damp, sticky kiss. “You can trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”

  It was almost too romantic, like Quanah Parker knew the very words to turn his belly hot and fill his heart to bursting. For the first time in his life, words seemed to desert him, and when Quanah Parker opened his mouth, licked a rough tongue across the head of David’s cock, then sucked him down deep, his mind seemed to fracture. He reached down, held two thick fistfuls of Quanah Parker’s black hair, and the only poetry he could remember were the lines by DH Lawrence about the great passionate lovemaking of the whales.

  Quanah Parker laughed at him when he started reciting the lines. When David splashed the back of his throat moments—seconds, even—into the first truly romantic blowjob of his life, Quanah Parker swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, his fingertips gentle against David’s skin. Then he rested his head in the curve of David’s hip, held his softening cock between his lips, and closed his eyes.

  Quanah Parker crawled up the bed, pulled David into his arms, wrapped him up tight, chest to chest, belly to belly. “Now,” he said. “Now you’re mine.”

  David drifted off to sleep with a handful of hair in his fist.

  Chapter Six

  David awoke, and the candle was lit on the bedside table. The coffeepot was perking on the woodstove, and Quanah Parker was sitting up, back against the headboard, reading Sand Creek. “It’s good, David,” he said, and David could see that he was really reading, paying attention, poring over the words and images and lines. “Did you get an MFA?”

  David nodded. “How about you?”

  Quanah Parker shook his head. “I went to school back east, studied art, but I left after my BFA.”

  “What school?”

  “Dartmouth. They have a special program for Native American students.”

  “So what was your BFA in? What concentration?”

  “Printmaking. You?”

  “Poetry.”

  “So what have you been doing?”

  David pulled the covers up over his face. It seemed like a lifetime ago, at least. Did he have to explain to Quanah Parker what an utter, easily manipulated fool he was? He thought about this, under the dark and warm quilt, and he fell asleep again.

  When he woke up the next time, Quanah Parker was drinking coffee out of a mug and was nearly halfway through Sand Creek.

  “I don’t want you to think I’m a fool.”

  Quanah Parker studied him, then climbed off the bed and filled a second coffee cup. “I meant it when I said you belonged to me. You’ve always belonged to me.” David felt the breath catch in his chest. “Don’t you? Tell me you’re mine. Tell me in the light, while you’re looking at my face.”

  David stared at his harsh, dark face. “Okay, I’m yours. And no, I don’t understand you. I mean, I haven’t even brushed my teeth!”

  “Do you think I’ll toss you back, like you’re a skinny little fish under the weight limit?”

  “I don’t know. You might be tempted to when you find out what I’m really like. Who I am.”

  “I already know who you really are. So, what happened?”

  David explained about the publication, dancing at the Top Hat, the blowjob, the pictures, the meeting with the dean. “So I decided to come up here, spend some time alone, write some poetry, and think things over.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  David shook his head. “It could be any of them.”

  “Is it important to you? To know which one?”

  “I don’t think so. I just want to…to stay up here.”

  “To hide up here.”

  “It doesn’t seem like hiding to me. It’s more like I want to spend some quiet time with myself.”

  “Is that all, David? Is that the only reason you came?”

  “Maybe I was hoping to run into an old friend,” he admitted. Quanah Parker reached for him, ruffled the brown curls.

  “It’ll be good for us to spend some time together, getting to know each other.” He leaned over and pulled David close to him. “But don’t…think too much about all of this, David. You and me, we’re not like other people. We’re not guys starting a relationship. We’ve belonged to each other since we were kids. A blood bond.” He brushed a thumb across David’s left palm, rubbed the little scar. “It doesn’t matter if it makes sense. You know and I know.” He stood up and put his coffee cup in the sink. “I’ve got to get to work. Maybe later you can come down the road and I’ll show you my workshop.”

  “I met your boys yesterday. Fred and George, Crazy Horse, Jerry Rice. Jerry Garcia wouldn’t come to the fence to get petted, though.”

  “Have you ever worn alpaca socks?”

  David shook his head.

  “Just you wait. I’ve got a pair from Crazy Horse that will fit you perfectly.”

  “Hey, before you go? Can you help me fire up the chainsaw?”

  * * *

  David was a basket case all morning. His head felt like it was full of bees swarming, and his body was acting like a giant erotic compass, his aching cock rising and pointing north whenever he turned toward Quanah Parker’s house. Well, what had he been expecting? Nothing. Hoping for
? Maybe he had been hoping for something, a shooting star across the night sky, and instead he had watched a star go supernova and turn his bed into the black hole of erotic sex. What was with Quanah Parker? Was it all…bedroom talk? He didn’t talk like that to everyone, did he? How did Quanah Parker know that being so bossy and overbearing would cause David to melt in his arms like pink taffy left out on a summer sidewalk?

  David and Viktor worked all morning on the woodpile, and when Viktor ran out of gas, David didn’t even take a break, just took up the ax and started chopping. Maybe there was something left over from their boyhood relationship. Innocent as it had always been, there had never been any question that David would be the one tied up. It was inconceivable that he would ever master Quanah Parker. But was all this “you belong to me” stuff some weirdo prelude to more tying up? Masks, gags, masters and slaves, spankings, and who the hell knew what else? Oh, hell no. Surely they weren’t ambling together down that path, with Quanah Parker holding his leash? He was a man, for crying out loud, a man and a poet, and there was a limit to how far he would be pushed. Then he turned toward Quanah Parker’s house, and his insides felt like melting cotton candy, and it was all he could do to put his tools away properly and not run up the road like a lovesick fool.

  The workshop had a sign outside. TOOTSIES: MOCS AND SOCS. WORLD HEADQUARTERS. STANLEY, KETCHUM, SUN VALLEY. David pushed the door open. Quanah Parker was working at a strange machine with a round handle on the side. Yarn was going into the top, and out the bottom—David bent and looked—was a pair of socks.

  “What is that thing?”

  “It’s an antique circular sock-knitting machine,” Quanah Parker said. “This is a Legare, made in 1901.”

  “You make socks? And moccasins?”