Calvin’s Cowboy

by Drew Hunt

  Calvin fluttered his lashes. “I hope you don’t think this means I’m going to put out.”

  * * * *

  “Oh, God, this is the bit that always turns me on the most,” Calvin whispered, snuggling up closer to Brock’s side.

  On the screen, the camera was looking up at Gary Cooper as he stood in the middle of the street.

  “Yeah, I can tell.” Brock used his left hand to press at the hardness between Calvin’s legs. Brock’s right arm had been around Calvin’s shoulders since they’d arrived.

  All through the movie Brock had studied the lead actor and couldn’t see the resemblance Calvin said existed. The guy had dark hair for a start.

  “But he’s not as beautiful as you,” Calvin said for the…Brock had lost count. Each time Brock had snorted in disagreement.

  When the credits began to roll and cars around them started their engines, Calvin gave Brock a squeeze.

  “Gary Cooper was fifty in that movie. You’ve got fifteen years on him.” Calvin kissed him. “And besides, you’re here, alive and in color. Gary Cooper’s just a black and white image on a strip of celluloid.”

  That didn’t make Brock feel much better. The movie probably hadn’t been the best choice with its theme of one man standing up for what was right. Brock had never done that. He was no Will Kane. But Calvin’s lips all over his face, and Brock’s eagerness to return the kisses soon had him forgetting about the movie.

  “So, you gonna take me home and we can make your bedsprings sing?” Calvin asked when Brock thought he would come just from making out.

  “Anything you say, Grace Kelly…Ouch!” Calvin hit him on the arm. “What was that for?” it was his injured pitching arm, too. The arm that had been aching all evening.

  “I’m not a woman.”

  “Never said you were. Was just gettin’ back at you for all the times you called me Gary Cooper.”

  “Okay then. But just so you know,” Calvin grabbed his crotch, “I’m all man, baby.”

  “Yes, you are,” Brock chuckled, still rubbing at his arm.

  “Sorry. Did I hurt you?” Calvin started to rub Brock’s arm for him.

  “Nope, it’s just that was my pitching arm, and—”

  “Shit. I really am sorry.”

  “’sokay.” The pain was easing anyway.

  Brock turned the key, the engine spluttered, but didn’t catch. “Shit.” Brock tried again, and mercifully it came to life.

  “You need to get this thing looked at,” Calvin said, moving to the other side of the bench seat and reaching for his belt. “Seatbelt.” He told Brock.

  Brock rolled his eyes.

  * * * *

  “Can you pull over?” Calvin suddenly announced when they were about halfway home.

  “Huh?” Brock began to look for a parking space.

  “I need to visit that drug store.” He pointed out the window.

  “Oh?” Brock pressed on his dick, which had begun to sit up and take notice.

  “Horndog! I was getting some liniment for your shoulder if you want to know.”

  “Oh.” Brock was by turns disappointed that it wasn’t about sex, and touched that Calvin was still thinking of his shoulder. “You don’t need to. I’m sure a soak in the tub will take care of it.”

  Brock flipped on his turn signal and parallel parked. Remembering the trouble he’d had starting the engine, he told Calvin he’d stay in the truck with the engine running.

  “So we can make a quick getaway, huh?”

  “Something like that.” Brock watched Calvin climb out of the truck and walk into the brightly lit store.

  Getting bored with waiting—what was Calvin doing, having them mix up something to order?—Brock turned on the radio and found some quiet country. He slouched lower in his seat. It had been a great evening. Brock hadn’t seen much of the movie, preferring to watch Calvin instead. The man’s smooth skin, soft brown hair, and the way his cute little nose twitched whenever he took in a deep breath. God, he had it bad. Best of all he liked how Calvin had snuggled up to him, and occasionally would kiss him. Brock hadn’t realized how much he liked being touched. Calvin was a very tactile person.

  “Okay, home James,” Calvin said on opening the passenger door.

  “What did you get?” Brock asked, eyeing the large paper bag Calvin put on the seat. Brock reached for it, but had his hand slapped away.

  “All will be revealed in good time, beautiful.”

  “Seatbelt,” Brock said, smirking at his passenger, who flipped him the bird.

  * * * *

  They’d just found an open stretch of country road and Brock was stepping on the gas when a clunk came from somewhere, followed by clouds of steam billowing up from under the hood.

  “Fuck!” Brock slowed and pulled over.

  The engine continued to grumble as the coolant boiled, and there was an unpleasant odor of hot antifreeze. Brock had no idea how the hell he would be able to afford the cost of a tow, let alone the garage bills. Assuming the heap of junk could be fixed. Brock closed his eyes and let out a long breath. This wasn’t happening.

  “Well,” Calvin eventually said, “at least it’s a different angle to ‘oh, we seem to have run out of gas’.”

  “Shut up,” Brock mumbled. He didn’t need Calvin’s sarcasm.

  “Sorry.” The cab fell silent for a couple of minutes. Then Calvin asked, “Are you with Triple A?”

  Eyes still closed, Brock shook his head.

  “Good thing I am, then.”

  Brock heard the beeping of keys on a cell phone.

  “What you doing?” Brock asked, opening his eyes.

  “Calling for a tow truck.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “I’m covered. Don’t worry. Yes, hello. We’ve broken down on the…” Calvin asked Brock where they were, Calvin relaying the information to the dispatcher.

  A couple of minutes later Calvin hung up and said that someone would be with them within the hour.

  “Thanks.” Brock closed his eyes again. What had started out as a perfect date was now ruined.

  “Brock?”

  Brock didn’t respond.

  “It’ll be okay, man. Help’s on its way.”

  “They won’t be able to fix whatever it is by the roadside.” Brock’s voice was flat. “All they’ll do is tow us to a garage and—” Brock left unsaid the bit about how he wouldn’t be able to afford the cost of repairs.

  “It might not be as bad as you think.” Calvin took Brock’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  Brock’s eyes shot open. “Shit!”

  “What?” Calvin let go of his hand.

  “I was supposed to pick Junior up from camp tomorrow, go see him play and—”

  Calvin took Brock’s hand again and kissed his knuckles. “I can drive you there in my car. That’s not a problem.” He started rubbing his thumb along Brock’s fingers.

  Brock slumped back against the seat. “I’m such a fucking failure. In business. To my kid.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “What the hell would you know? You’ve always had money, you’ve always…” Brock snapped his mouth closed; it wasn’t fair to take it out on Calvin. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Calvin twisted round, worked his left arm behind Brock, and pulled the man toward him. “We’ll work something out. Honestly, it’s going to be all right.”

  Brock didn’t see how. Unless. “You’re not paying for it.”

  “Huh?”

  “I won’t let you pay the repair bill. No way.”

  Calvin let out a breath, Brock was sure that was what Calvin had had in mind.

  “You can’t keep bailing me out. I’ve gotta do this myself. I can’t rely on you all the time.”

  “Brock, you’re not Will Kane. You don’t have to do it all yourself. Unlike the marshal, there are people who will help you.”

  “And what’s going to happen the next time something else goes wrong and you’ve gone back t
o New York? I have to take care of myself and my kid.” He shivered.

  Calvin gave him a squeeze. “How bad is it? The debt I mean?”

  Brock buried his head in Calvin’s shoulder.

  “Brock?” Calvin rubbed his spine.

  “Fuckin’ bad.” Brock let out a breath. “It’s got to where I don’t answer the phone no more.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s why you had to leave a message on the machine. I was home, but I screen most of my calls.”

  “Oh, Brock.”

  “They’re fuckin’ relentless.”

  Calvin began to rub circles on Brock’s back. “They’ll go after any assets they can, such as the business, especially if it’s in your dad’s name.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about his house?”

  “Sold.”

  “And yours?”

  “Rented.” Brock thought he might as well come completely clean. “And I’m behind with the rent, and the landlord is starting to make noises about eviction.”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll have to declare bankruptcy.”

  Brock didn’t answer.

  “John, look at me.”

  The unexpected use of his given name had Brock disengaging from Calvin, opening his eyes, and looking at the man.

  “You have to. You’ll lose the business anyway, but at least declaring yourself bankrupt will clear your debts, help you start again.”

  “And do what? I’m a failure. I failed my daddy, my—”

  “Stop it!” Calvin shook him. “You did the best you could.”

  The two fell silent. Brock started to shake again, both from the cold and from the fact he didn’t know what to do.

  Noticing this, Calvin pulled him back into a hug and held him tight.

  Right away Brock felt safer.

  * * * *

  Through the rear-view mirror Brock saw a set of headlights approach and slow down. The tow truck moved in front of them and parked. The driver got out of his cab and started toward them. Despite the passage of time, and the man’s increase in weight—his bulk barely contained by his grease-stained T-shirt—Brock recognized him instantly.

  “Fuck!” Could this day get any worse? Mean Mitch Madison had come to tow them. Mitch was the baddest, meanest, most evil SOB of Parish Creek High during their time there. Brock disengaged from Calvin and climbed out of his truck.

  “Stay in here,” Brock growled. He had to keep Mitch away from Calvin, somehow. The man had been Calvin’s worst tormenter.

  “Howdy, Brock. Heard someone had broken down,” Mitch said through his chewing jaws.

  Jeez, Brock thought, I should have added ‘stupidest’ to my list, too.

  “Yeah, that’d be me.”

  “But yours wasn’t the name I was given.”

  “Uh, no, my passenger called for assistance. But this is my truck, so you can deal with me.”

  The door behind Brock opened. Then Brock remembered his letterman jacket. He just knew Mitch would make something of it, and it wouldn’t be pleasant.

  “You’ll need to see my Triple A card,” Calvin said.

  Brock heard shoes on the pavement. Calvin came toward him. Brock turned round to see Calvin, minus the jacket. He let out a breath.

  “Thanks. Just needed to check.” Mitch glanced at the card before handing it back to Calvin. “’Course I remembered who you were anyway.”

  Brock’s muscles tensed. If Mitch said one wrong word to Calvin he’d lay the fucker out. This wasn’t high school anymore. Brock wasn’t scared to defend Calvin now.

  “And I remember who you were, too.” Calvin didn’t look the least bit intimidated.

  “Yeah…well.”

  “Mean Mitch Madison, the guy who made my life a living hell at school.”

  “Well…I…look, I live in Austin now, an’ there’s a lot of you queers who live there and—”

  “The word is gay, or homosexual. But as that’s got a lot of syllables in it, and I wouldn’t want to tax your brain, just think of me as gay.”

  Mitch outweighed Calvin by a hundred pounds or more. Okay, much of that was fat, but even so. Brock moved to get between the two.

  “Guess I cain’t blame ya for still bein’ sore with me.” The man spat out a stream of tobacco juice. “But like I was saying. I live in Austin nowadays an’ there’s quite a lot of qu…gays in the neighborhood. An’ for the most part they’re all right. They don’t bother me none, and I don’t bother them.”

  “Mighty neighborly of you.”

  “About my truck.” Brock thought he better get the conversation back on track and hopefully defuse the escalating standoff. “Calvin, get back in the truck. It’s starting to rain.”

  Calvin stared at Brock for a moment—Brock was sure the man would refuse—then Calvin nodded and did as he was asked.

  Brock let out a breath and turned back to Mitch. “I hope you can get us going.”

  Mitch asked what happened and Brock told him. As Brock had expected, the guy couldn’t repair his truck, though Brock had to admit he probably went above and beyond in trying.

  “Your radiator’s shot.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Brock admitted none too happily.

  “I’ll tow you back to Bill’s garage in Parish Creek. He can take a look at it in the mornin’.”

  “Okay, yeah.”

  The wind was getting stronger and the rain was falling harder.

  * * * *

  Brock and Calvin stayed in the cab of the tow truck until Mitch had finished unhooking Brock’s truck. The journey back to Parish Creek had been tense. Brock had made sure he was in the middle, just in case.

  Coming around to the open passenger window of the tow truck, Mitch offered them a ride to wherever they needed to go. Brock was about to suggest he take them to Calvin’s—where at least they could pick up KITT—when Calvin said that he’d call a cab.

  “Look, man, I know we’ll never be best buds or nothin,’ but let me do this. It’s not out of my way or anything and—”

  “Is this your way of apologizing for all those times you ripped up my homework, or punched me in the stomach, or tried to cram me into my locker?”

  “Well…I—”

  “Didn’t think so.” Calvin opened the door—almost knocking Mitch over in the process—and climbed down from the tow truck. “We’ll call a cab. Goodnight.” With that Calvin turned his back on them and started pressing buttons on his phone.

  Mitch shrugged up at Brock. “I tried.”

  Brock jumped down from the cab. “Not soon enough,” he mumbled, slamming the door and walking toward Calvin.

  A minute later Brock heard the tow truck’s engine start up and drive away.

  “You okay?” Calvin asked.

  “What? It should be me asking you that. I’m sorry it was him.”

  “Not your fault.” Calvin was tight-lipped and shivering in the relentless downpour, the wind whipping at his now semi-translucent shirt.

  “Come on let’s get back in my truck. We’ll at least be dry in there.” Brock put an arm around Calvin and led him to the passenger side door.

  * * * *

  “Well, this certainly was a date to remember,” Calvin said, taking off Brock’s letterman jacket as they stood dripping in Brock’s hallway.

  The storm was getting closer, rumbles of thunder becoming more frequent and louder.

  “Sorry. I wanted it to be perfect, but instead…” Brock trailed off.

  “Parts of it were perfect.” Calvin started to peel Brock’s denim jacket off him. “Spending time with you,” Calvin kissed Brock, “watching a movie cuddled up to you,” he began to unsnap Brock’s shirt, “knowing I was with the most beautiful man south of the Mason-Dixon Line…that was all perfect.”

  “Thought I was the most,” Brock groaned when Calvin unzipped Brock’s jeans, pulled out his dick and began to tug on it, “beautiful man in the state.”


  “You got more beautiful when you stood up to Mitch Madison for me.” Calvin led Brock by his dick along the hall to his bedroom.

  “Should have done it years ago.”

  Calvin pushed Brock face down onto the bed. Straddling him, Calvin said, “Yes, but you stood up to him in the end, that’s the important thing.”

  Brock felt Calvin pull away his shirt and begin to rub his shoulders, making Brock moan.

  “Hang on, let me get the liniment. Don’t move.”

  Brock had no intensions of getting off the bed. However, he began to work his belt buckle loose; he needed out of his damp Wranglers.

  There was a flash of lightning, Brock counted, one-thousand, two- thousand…he got to eight thousand before the roll of thunder hit.

  Calvin came back into the bedroom and told Brock off for moving.

  “I’m still on the bed aren’t I?”

  “Which part of ‘don’t move’ didn’t you understand?”

  “Jeez. Aren’t you Mr. Bossy this evening?”

  Calvin lightly slapped Brock’s ass. “But seeing as how you started, you may continue.”

  “Oh, thank you. You’re so kind.”

  For that he got another swat. He’d never admit it, but Brock kinda liked a bit of spanking now and again.

  Belt and waistband loosened, Calvin started to peel the jeans down, and then stopped. “The fuckin’ boots again.”

  Brock couldn’t help his bark of laughter.

  “Turn over onto your back. Jeez, talk about déjà vu.”

  Brock complied. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

  “Huh. Now come on, cowboy, left boot first.”

  Footwear finally removed, Calvin pulled at the bottom of Brock’s Wranglers.

  Jeans and boxers off, Calvin climbed up toward Brock’s face, laying a trail of kisses as he ascended. “This is so much easier on a real bed.”

  “Yeah.” Brock put his arms around Calvin and held him tight. Outside the storm raged, but inside Brock felt safe and warm. Between kisses he said, “Like how you take care of me.”

  “Like taking care of you.” Calvin bit at Brock’s bottom lip then let go. “Come on, beautiful, time for you to roll over so I can work the kinks out of your shoulder.”

  Brock did as he was told. Resting his head on his forearms, he waited. “Shit! That’s fuckin’ cold.”