Calvin’s Cowboy

by Drew Hunt

  As soon as the phone was picked up, Calvin said, “Tim, it’s me.”

  “Hello me.”

  This made Calvin smile, but it didn’t last.

  “What’s up?”

  “Why should there be anything up?”

  Tim did his usual silent waiting thing.

  Calvin let out a breath. “You know me too well.”

  “So, I repeat, what’s up?”

  “It’s Brock. You remember, the contractor guy I—”

  “Yes, I remember Brock. You’re bailing him out by paying him to renovate your mom and dad’s house.”

  “Yes.”

  “So? Or don’t I need to ask? His business is in a worse state than you first thought and you’re going to give him money?”

  “No…yes.”

  “Well, that’s clear.”

  “Yes, his business is failing. I’m going to go with him Tuesday to see a bankruptcy lawyer.”

  “And?”

  “And,” Calvin let out a breath. Here goes. “And I’m in love with him.”

  There was silence at the other end.

  “Tim, you still there?”

  “I’m here.” The man’s tone was steady. He wasn’t yelling, or telling Calvin he was mistaken.

  “And?” Calvin eventually asked.

  “Are you sure? You’ve only known this Brock for a week…less than a week.”

  “We were in high school together.”

  “Where you couldn’t stand him.”

  “I know. But…” Calvin started picking at the hem of his cut-offs.

  “If you can fall in love with someone in less than a week, how long will it take to fall back out of it? And do you know if Brock loves you as much as you say you love him?”

  Calvin didn’t answer. Although he trusted Tim’s judgment on almost everything, his friend was wrong about him and Brock.

  “I won’t tell you that this is Roger all over again.”

  Calvin resisted the temptation to point out Tim had done precisely that. “I never loved Roger, you never heard me say that I loved Roger.”

  “No, I didn’t hear you say it, but—”

  “I didn’t love Roger,” Calvin repeated. He didn’t care he was sounding like one of his dad’s former students.

  “I know you, Cal Hamilton. A sob story plus a pretty face, and you’re ready to open your checkbook.”

  “Brock’s not like that!” Calvin snapped.

  “Cal, love, he is. And you know it.”

  “Brock is different. I swear he is.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Tim, you haven’t met him. Brock’s genuine, and nice and—”

  “Sexy and hung.”

  “Tim!”

  “Well, is he?”

  “We had this discussion earlier this week. The only man you’re interested in is Bruce Springsteen, so keep your mind above Brock’s shorts.”

  “And up to his face? Is he handsome?”

  “He’s beautiful, and I tell him so, often.”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  “Tim, it’s the real thing, I know it.”

  “There are several things wrong with this picture. But to make it simple I’ll focus on just one. You live in New York. Brock lives in Texas.”

  “I know.” Calvin sighed.

  “Are you prepared to move back to Bumfuck, Egypt?”

  Was he? “No. Manhattan is my home.”

  “And I suspect Parish Creek is Brock’s. Look, Cal, I honestly don’t want to burst your bubble, this…whatever it is between you and Brock, it has no future.”

  Calvin blinked away tears. He couldn’t argue with his friend’s logic. Calvin had expected the man to say exactly what he’d said.

  Tim was continuing. “How much longer do you expect you’ll stay in Texas?”

  “Don’t know.” He was back to sounding like a middle-schooler.

  “Try for a minute to take all your emotions out of this. Looking at the situation purely from a logical perspective, do you need to remain in Texas? You’ve hired someone to renovate the old homestead. You can engage a Realtor. Let these people do what you’re paying them to do and come back home and do what you pay yourself to do.”

  “I’ve been working while I’ve been here.” Calvin fired back, not following Tim’s advice to remove emotion from the situation.

  “Cal, no one has said you haven’t been working. But you know yourself that you can’t do everything from thousands of miles away.”

  Calvin did know that, but just then wasn’t willing to admit it.

  They talked for a while longer, not getting any nearer a resolution. Eventually Calvin looked at his wristwatch and realized he’d been on the phone for nearly twenty minutes.

  “I’ve got to go. I’m at a baseball game and—”

  “You hate baseball.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I bet.”

  Calvin explained about Brock’s truck, Junior’s camp, and how he’d offered to drive Brock there.

  Tim sighed. “You’re in deep this time, buddy.”

  “Yep, up to my neck.”

  “More like over your head. Look, Cal, you’re a big boy and—”

  “You back to contemplating the contents of men’s underwear?”

  “Shut up. Like I said, you’re a big boy now. And much as I think you’re making a huge mistake, I’m not going to stand in your way…I can’t.”

  “Thanks, bud.”

  “You’re welcome. Just…oh, shit I don’t know…just be careful.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Calvin pressed ‘end’ and gazed up into the leaves of the shade tree. “I’m screwed, just…screwed.”

  Chapter 8

  “Dad?”

  Brock started and turned from the window to see his son coming into the room, dressed in a wrinkled T-shirt and sleep pants.

  Brock looked at the mantle clock. It was five till five. “Why are you up so early?”

  “Wanted to see you off.”

  Brock saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned back to the window. A white Ford Focus drove down the street.

  Junior chuckled. “I bet you’ve been checking the time and the window for the past ten minutes.”

  It was more like fifteen, but Brock wasn’t going to admit that. “I don’t want to keep Calvin waiting. The roofing crew’s supposed to arrive at five thirty.”

  “Uh huh.” Junior yawned. “Tell me something. Are you and Mr. Hamilton, how would you have said it back in your day, ‘sweet on each other?’”

  “What? I’m not that old!”

  “Whatever. But are you?”

  Brock checked the window again, all the while nervously swinging his hardhat in his right hand.

  “I wouldn’t mind if you were. He’s a nice man. He’s good for you.”

  Brock felt himself blushing. He wasn’t having this conversation. Parents did not discuss their love lives with their children.

  “It’s okay.” Junior came over and gave him a one-armed hug, which Brock returned. “And what’s with the old football jersey with the cut off sleeves?”

  “It’ll be hot today, and I’ll be on Calvin’s roof and—”

  “Oh, I see.” Junior’s smile increased. The little shit probably did see.

  Brock scratched at his bare right arm. “What time did you say Kyle’s mom was expecting you?” Brock hated having to ask the parents of Junior’s friends to mind his son while he went out to work.

  “In a couple hours. Kyle’s got a new game for his Xbox 360. We’ll probably play on that for most of the morning.”

  Brock wished he could afford to get his son more of the technological gadgetry teenagers seemed to crave, but to give Junior his due, the boy had never asked for anything that wasn’t essential for his studies.

  Another car—a white Taurus—passed down the street.

  “Dad, please come away from the window. The neighbors will think you
’re spying on them.”

  Brock did so. Flopping down in his armchair, hardhat on his knee, he looked back up at the clock.

  “It’s only a minute since the last time you checked.”

  Brock stifled a yawn. Then he heard a car come onto the driveway. Standing quickly to see whom it was, he dropped the hat, much to Junior’s amusement. Picking it up, he scowled at his son before looking out the window. It was Calvin.

  Jogging to the front door, Brock paused with his hand on the doorknob. Over his shoulder he yelled, “Don’t know what time I’ll be back. If Kyle’s mom doesn’t feed you, there’s five dollars in the coffee canister on top of the fridge. Get yourself a burger or something from Dairy Queen.”

  “Okay, Dad. Have a good time.”

  “I’m working.”

  Junior appeared in the doorway from the living room. “Uh huh. Now don’t keep your honey waiting.” He grinned.

  Shutting the door behind him and approaching KITT, Brock knew he’d have to have a conversation with his son. But all thoughts of Junior’s teasing evaporated when Brock saw Calvin, left arm bent and resting on the open window. The bright blue, short-sleeved button up shirt, the dark sunglasses: Brock realized he was frozen in place, staring. Calvin looked so…sexy.

  “Brock?” Calvin lowered his sunglasses to ask.

  “Uh—” Brock started moving again.

  “You want to go get your Resistol? I can take it into town later this morning.”

  “Oh, uh, okay.” Brock turned and re-entered the house. “Me again,” Brock called out, walking down the hallway to his bedroom.

  On his return trip, misshapen hat in one hand, hardhat in the other, he saw Junior leaning against the doorpost of his own bedroom, a smirk on his face.

  “Would it help if I stayed at Kyle’s tonight?”

  “Help?” Brock stopped to ask.

  “I know I’ve only just come back from camp an’ all, but…you know…me being out will give you an’ Mr. Hamilton a chance to be alone and…”

  “Thanks, son.” Brock didn’t stop to analyze the offer. He was running late. “See you later. And you be sure to mind Kyle’s mom.”

  “Yes, Dad!” Brock could hear the eye roll in his son’s voice. “And you make sure to—” the rest of Junior’s words were cut off by the closing of the front door.

  “Sorry about the early start,” Brock yawned, “but the guys will need to get as much done as they can before it gets too hot,” he told Calvin after situating himself in the car.

  “Seatbelt,” was Calvin’s expected reply.

  Brock had gotten so used to it he’d started to deliberately forget to put it on, just so Calvin would tell him about it.

  “I was worried that the bundles of shingles the home-improvement store delivered yesterday afternoon would fall off the roof overnight.” Calvin handed Brock a Styrofoam cup.

  “Thanks,” Brock peeled off the lid and took a sip of the hot coffee. “They didn’t fall off, did they?”

  “Nope.” Calvin reversed down the driveway, Brock balancing the cup to try to avoid spillage.

  * * * *

  Brock was pleased to see the crew hadn’t arrived by the time Calvin pulled up outside his folks’ house.

  “Better put her in the garage, don’t want any roofing material falling on her,” Calvin said, driving into the garage.

  “I thought KITT was a him?”

  “Whatever.”

  “And there shouldn’t be much by way of falling shingles, remember we’re not ripping off, just putting another layer on top of the old.”

  “Uh huh.” Calvin yawned.

  “Too early for you?”

  Calvin undid his seatbelt, leaned over and kissed Brock’s cheek. “It’s never too early for my beautiful cowboy.”

  Brock turned his head so he and Calvin could kiss on the mouth. Calvin’s sunglasses got in the way, so Brock pulled them gently away.

  “Bit early for dark glasses isn’t it? Though they look sexy on you.”

  Calvin took the glasses and put them on Brock’s face. “They look even sexier on you.”

  They kissed again; evidently Calvin didn’t mind the glasses getting in his way.

  “You don’t taste as though you’ve put on any sunscreen,” Calvin said once they’d parted to draw breath.

  “Nah, don’t usually bother with it.”

  “Well, mister, you will be bothering from now on.”

  Calvin opened the car door and got out, Brock doing the same at his side, but on trying to exit the vehicle realized he hadn’t undone his seatbelt, which made Calvin snicker.

  * * * *

  “Good thing I got some high factor sunscreen the other day,” Calvin said, coming back into the kitchen where Brock was leaning against the counter, finishing his cup of coffee. “You’re blond and light-skinned; you need to look after your skin.”

  “Uh huh.” Brock yawned. He wondered if there was any more coffee.

  “I’m serious. It’s the only skin you’re going to get.”

  Brock shook his head. This was more of the same from when Calvin had thought he had skin cancer.

  “Want me to put it on, or can you manage?”

  Brock smirked. “Which would you rather do?” He knew which he’d prefer.

  “I’d rather you let the crew do all the work while I take you back to bed and love on you all morning.”

  Brock chuckled. “Then what would we do in the afternoon?”

  “You could love on me.” Calvin popped the cap on the bottle of sunscreen and squirted some into his palm. “Arms first.”

  Brock could have predicted that. Calvin sure kept jonesing on his arms. Brock did a bodybuilder-type biceps pose as Calvin began to rub the lotion into his skin.

  “God, that’s sexy,” Calvin groaned into Brock’s ear.

  Next came Brock’s face, Calvin asking him to put on the hardhat. “And why’d you take off the shades?”

  “We’re indoors. And you can’t add sunscreen if I’m wearing glasses.”

  “I guess,” Calvin conceded. “Now come on, put on the hat.”

  “Why?”

  “‘Cause you look beautiful in it.”

  Brock did as he was told, and Calvin began to slather the lotion on Brock’s cheeks, nose and—lifting the hat, much to Brock’s amusement—his forehead.

  “And besides, I want something to jerk off to while I’m in here by myself and you’re up on the roof hammering in nails.” Calvin spread the stuff all around Brock’s neck, even under the collar of the jersey.

  “We use a nail-gun these days, not a hammer.”

  Calvin sunk to his knees. “And what a gun you have.” Calvin bit at Brock’s jeans clad dick.

  “Calvin!” Brock stepped back a pace.

  Following him, Calvin kept on biting Brock, who tried to take another step backward, but only managed a half step before coming up against the cabinets.

  “Need to get at this nail gun!” Calvin growled.

  “You’ll get sunscreen on my jeans.”

  Calvin looked up at him with a devilish expression. “Who needs hands?”

  Flicking out his tongue, Calvin captured the zipper tab, gripping it between his teeth and pulled down.

  Snuffling inside the fly, Calvin said, “My cowboy is going commando!”

  “Yeah, well, it’s going to be hot today.”

  “It’s hot all right,” Calvin said, licking the underside of Brock’s dick, which was painfully trapped inside the jeans with no more room to grow. “Need to free this bad boy.”

  Calvin raised up slightly and within a few seconds had undone the button on the waistband, separating the flaps with his nose.

  “Calvin, don’t.” But even to Brock the protest sounded half-hearted.

  Brock’s jeans began to slide down his legs. Before Brock’s dick could slap his belly, Calvin had it in his hand.

  “Got you now, my pretty!” Calvin kissed the weeping head. “Yep, this is a mighty fine tasting gu
n. Tonight, or just as soon as the crew finish, I want you to nail me with it.”

  Brock groaned as Calvin slid his mouth all the way down his length. “Yeah, darlin’, that’s it.”

  It was a good thing Calvin was sucking him off now, because otherwise he’d be hard all day just thinking about getting inside the man’s hot ass. The slurpy noises, sensual licks and the wicked suction, all combined to scramble Brock’s brain, making rational thought almost impossible.

  “Yeah, darlin’ just like that. Swallow it all, yeah.”

  Brock’s hands found their way to the sides of Calvin’s head, directing the action. God, this man was an expert cocksucker. He’d go right down, then slowly pull back, increasing the suction as he went. Then when the head was at his lips, Calvin would work his tongue around the foreskin, rub along the pee-slit to capture the steady ooze of pre-seminal fluid that Brock knew he was producing. Now and again Calvin would gently bite on the loose foreskin before moving his teeth out of the way again for the rapid descent, swallowing Brock to the root. And while all that was going on, Calvin’s oily hand kept rolling Brock’s balls around in their sack.

  “Jesus, man, you’re killing me.”

  Brock felt Calvin laugh around his cock-head, which just then was down Calvin’s throat.

  Through the fog of lust Brock heard the rumble of a truck engine. He looked out of the window.

  “Ah shit!”

  Pedro, José and Juan were here, the last lowering the front passenger seat to get out of the back of the truck’s cab.

  “What?” Calvin said, pulling off.

  “The crew is here.”

  “Oh, that is bad timing.” Calvin’s look was pure evil.

  Cursing up a storm, Brock pulled his jeans up and made for the door, hoping the guys wouldn’t notice he was packing wood. It had definitely been a bad idea not to put on underwear.

  “Ask them if they want some sweet tea. I made up a pitcher last night.”

  “Okay,” Brock said, leaving the house. “Hey guys. Looks like it’ll be another hot one.” He looked up into a clear, cloudless sky.

  “Si,” Juan observed.

  Brock offered the tea, which they drank while the air compressor for the nail guns built up pressure.

  * * * *

  It was about nine thirty when Calvin came out with more tea, telling Brock he was heading into town.