The Other Boy in Goodwell

Dare got all the way back to his dorm before the enormity of his mistake confronted him like an angry woman, slapping the dumb smile right off his face. Sure, he'd known it was wrong and all, that they had to keep it quiet, but the truth was it'd felt so good, and he'd been thinking about Scott, and feeling all kinds of ways he never done before, and.

Anyhow, he didn't get around to realizing what a real bad thing he'd done, what an egregious sin, till he unlocked his door and saw all the detritus of his regular life.

There was his desk, the pressboard one that came with the room, and when he set his books down on it the Bible he kept there slid out of the way. Black leather cover with the gold embossed letters reproaching him with its grave, ascetic face like a fire-and-brimstone preacher's.

The bed he'd made so carefully that morning, sheets tucked in tight. Hospital corners, like mama'd taught him, and the blanket folded perfectly smooth. It'd been blameless enough when he left. Only defiled by touching himself once or twice, when his roommate was gone and he succumbed to weakness. A few times, too, that his traitor body gave way in a dream and he woke up dirty and ashamed. Not long ago, either scenario would've meant a whipping for Dare if he'd been caught, and he'd not have thought it undeserved.

What he'd done now, though. Shit. About the most wrong thing a man could do. One that carried a sentence of death, according to the Bible, and made fire rain from the sky. That ensured he'd be condemned to suffer all the torments of Hell he'd heard vividly described so many times, growing up.

And if it came to be known, what then? He sure wouldn't be welcome on the Rodeo Team, and even if he didn't lose his scholarship, the result would be the same. He'd have to leave school, but going home would most likely not be an option, either. Ranch work was about all he knew, but no way he'd get a job on some other place once word got out he was like that.

Dare got down on his knees and prayed some, or tried anyhow, but his thoughts kept breaking up and turning into a wordless crackling hiss, like a truck radio losing its signal out on the back forty.

Knew he ought to repent, but words like "sorry ain't good enough," kept breaking in. And anyhow, he didn't exactly regret what'd happened, even if he really wished it hadn't. Couldn't honestly say he'd do nothing different if he got the chance to go back in time and change the way everything had fallen out with Scott.

Hadn't he prayed over and over to not feel this way, since puberty, since before that? Since forever. No divine intervention for him, though. And thinking about it was near as bad as the doing, anyhow. He wasn't no worse than he'd been before, not really. Just now there was no pretending to himself things could be some other way than exactly how they were.

Finally, Dare reached up and snatched the silver cross off him, that tiny chain biting sharply into the back of his neck before the clasp broke and the whole thing fell slack across his hand. Dare opened the desk and dropped his necklace to puddle inside, shoved the Bible in next to it, and slammed the drawer shut. Changed his clothes, put the ones from that day in the bag with the previous day's, and went down to the laundry room to start the machine before he left for the gym.

He stacked the weights on deep, adding reps until he couldn't lift his arms an inch, then switched to leg work. Telling himself, "you need this, boy. Dry up, dry up, it ain't supposed to feel good." Back and forth like that, sweating buckets, making it hurt. Thinking, "you know you need this, Darryl, take it like a man." The litany of punishment.

Alone in the shower, after, he wanted to scream, cry, punch the wall until his fingers broke. He wanted to go find Scott and make sure he was alright. That nobody'd found out about them in the last couple of hours and done to that boy what Dare knew they did to queers.

Then he'd wrap his arms around the other's chest, right where his heartbeat was, and hold him close, standing behind. His face cuddled into Scott's smooth neck. That'd put his crotch right up on the boy's firm ass, where it curved down to meet his thighs...

When his dick started trying to get hard, Dare wrenched the tap all the way around to cold, but the chilly bullets pounding his skin just

stirred the blood more, so now he was freezing and exhausted and painfully aroused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In class, the other boy wouldn't look at Dare, much less return his awkward, "hey, man." Like he wasn't even there, and it pissed him off. Because here he was, ready to forgive Scott for tempting him to sin; shit, he'd about made his mind up to let it happen again if the boy was asking, and now this. Just nothing.

Well, that was fine. Dare was better off without him anyhow. So how come his chest ached like it did? Didn't want to look too close at that.

Dare was coming off rodeo team practice, had kind of been messing around, doing some saddle-bronc riding, even though it wasn't his event. Just laughing and yelling with the other boys, "watch this, y'all," like that, "show your slow ass how to do it."

He forgot about everything else when he rode. His left arm, held straight and taut, ached sweetly. Attraction and desire, loss and fear of losing all faded in the face of the moment's urgency, the way his abdominal muscles burned, stretched and tightened as his body moved to compensate each time the horse jack-knifed and skidded. Bucked. And his legs, split wide by the saddle, rubbed hot.

His thoughts, as far as they formed words, went, "stay on, stay on, stay on," while instincts too quick and innate for speech prompted him to shift his weight, dig in his heels.

So caught up he didn't hear the buzzer, and awareness returned slowly to his friends' hollering, "time's up, dumbass," and "give that poor bitch a rest, Dare."

Dare vaulted off, a flawless moving dismount. His signature move, perfected by necessity when he was a kid sneaking rides on the stock back home. No chute, no hands to help him on. No rope but the one he used to catch the steer, and sure as shit no bullfighters to take care of things once the ride was done. One wrong move and he'd've been killed, or worse, got caught.

He'd wanted to be a rodeo cowboy since before he could remember,

but the real thing felt like cheating after the way he'd started out.

"Love ridin' that bronc so much, why don'tch'ya marry her, Dare?" The other boys crowded around him, pushing each other and teasing him.

Normally he wouldn't mind, but Dare suddenly wished for the solitude of a wide open field. He pushed impatiently through the cluster of dust-smudged boys in chaps and hats. The horse following him, docile now that the game was over, gently tugging his shoulder with her whiskery lips. Tickling his neck.

Left behind their rowdy shouts, like, "time for the honeymoon," leading her away until he could hear just the ringing of his spurs. Into the barn, huge and institutional with high ceilings and concrete floors, but smelling like they all did of sweet hay, sawdust and horses.

He finished rubbing her down, put the tack away. Taking a minute to straighten up the saddles, straps, bridles and brushes whoever last used the room had left all over the place.

When he stepped outside, the sun was going down, painting little clouds a glowering copper all across the tremendous horizon. The sky bleeding out its color, turning pale.

Dare reached for his can of wintergreen chaw, replaced in his back right pocket as soon as his boots hit the ground, and he was packing a lip, about spit it right out, cause that was when he saw Scott.

The boy was standing by the door, in the shadow, and he looked like a pen-and-ink sketch on the cement wall. Just the long outline of his harshly angled body, features a suggestion in black and white.

Some movement of his must have caught Dare's attention without him knowing it, or the primitive awareness of being watched, and he stiffened, wheeled.

"What the fuck, Scott?" His mouth was numb and plugged up with tobacco, and he spit dark juice on the ground.

Scott said, "that shit is nasty, Dare," in a flat voice he couldn't interpret.

"The fuck you care." He was furious at the way his heart lifted with the sound of Scott's voice scolding him. "What do you want, anyhow?"

"Wanted to see you ride, cowboy," Scott drew out the last word. Sounded mocking, so how come Dare's cock was pushing painfully against his tight jeans? "You're pretty good."

"Ought to see me on the bulls." Couldn't pass up the chance to brag.

"Saddle bronc's a cakewalk, tell you what."

"Is that right?" Scott's voice sounded strained, his accent creeping in some.

"Sure enough."

"Show me."

Dare's face felt hot suddenly, even though it was fall and coming on to dark, and not a bit warm out. He said, "I cain't... it's too..." and Scott cut him off.

Snapped, "don't be stupid Dare."

"How come you're such an asshole, Scott?" did all queers go this harsh about their courting? He'd never heard anything like that, but didn't exactly fit most of the popular characterization of a fag himself. And didn't the things he'd done with Scott, the ones he was suggesting now, that Dare wanted, if he was being honest, didn't that mean he was? So what was he supposed to think?

Scott didn't have no answers for him, though. He just bit off "shut up," sounding all you-got-it-comin'-now-boy, and Dare felt a sick rush of excitement, fear and arousal. Like that kind of talk had always commanded from him, no matter who was laying it down.

He shut up, wouldn't have known what to say anyhow, and Scott closed the distance between them. Put his hand between Dare's thighs and squeezed tight, and knowing that Scott could feel how hard he was, how easily mastered, shamed him. His jeans were pinching at the inner thighs, now, all stretched at the crotch like they were.

The last smears of orange dissolved overhead, and the sky deepened, royal blue toward black, then parted like hundreds of eyes opening as the stars broke into view. Scott turned loose of Dare, spinning him by the hip so he half faced away. Nebulous, urgent need beating hard in him now.

Scott said, "spit that shit out and let's go," and he did. Following the other boy so close he could smell musky, spiced cologne and fresh, faint sweat.

But when they were alone in that half-lit room, and Dare unthinkingly put his mouth on Scott's, the boy pushed him back and said, "tastes like ass."

"What do you want, Scott?" Dare ground out, low. He felt like hitting something.

"What do you want, Dare?" The boy tossed back at him.

"Fuck if I know." He raised his hands, let them fall loose to slap his thighs hard. Leather stinging his palms, grounding him a little.

Scott reached out and started slowly working the strap out of the buckle on Dare's chaps. Growled, "reckon you do."

"I guess so," Dare forced out. He'd held back all week, tried to deny or forget ever wanting this boy, this thing between them.

Suddenly felt like he couldn't take another second of waiting, and reached for the buckle himself, wanting to hurry things along, but Scotty wasn't having it. He smacked Dare's hands away with a violence that made his cock jump a little, that ramped up the arousal and needing. Dragged a soft groan from Dare's throat, when he'd promised himself he wouldn't make a sound.

Scott finally got the chaps undone, let them fall around Dare's boots. Stopped him with a bruising grip on his forearm when Dare tried, automatically, to pick them up. Undressed him the rest of the way just as slow and messy, and Dare was shaking by the time he was finally naked. Standing there in front of Scott, his hat and clothes and boots all lying where the boy had dropped them. One thing feeling almost as wrong as the other.

"Take mine off, Dare," Scott told him, and Dare had to pry his fists open to do it. His hard-on kept getting in the way. Leaking all over the place, and neither one had even touched it since Scott groped him out by the barn.

Coarse, dark hair spilled down Scott's belly, visible when Dare pulled the boy's long-sleeve black tee-shirt up. His hands felt clumsy as he brought it over Scott's head, the collar catching on his chin and nose.

Scott lifted his arms, and Dare had to stand up on his tiptoes to get the sleeves all the way off. The shirt ended up inside out, and now you couldn't see that the front had pictures of flames and waves and music notes lined up across it like letters in a word.

He could see Scott's small-boned chest, though. And see that the nipples were standing out on his lean pectorals like scrunched up little balls. Reminded Dare of Indian bead-work on a leather belt, and when he reached out and touched one with the back of his fingers, Scott breathed out hard.

His dark jeans fit so tight that they bound at the thighs when Dare tried to push them down from Scott's waist, and he had to work them off slow, from the ankles. About took forever, and Dare knew what he was missing now, too. Wasn't the only one going out his mind, neither, cause that other boy sucked air through his teeth, loud, as Dare slid his hand up to brush Scott's dick where it stood hard against his waist. So hot it like to burned Dare, and Scott muttered, "oh, shit."

They were cut the same, so much skin taken off it pulled too tight. Hurt to get as hard as they both were now. The scars looked real bright under their dick heads when the shafts flushed this dark red with wanting.

Scott put his hand over Dare's, laced their fingers together, and lifted joined hands to capture both their cocks, squeeze them together. The tip of his nudging Dare's belly, Dare's cock head brushing Scott's balls. Jacked them off like that, gently, dry.

Dare grit his teeth. It was almost too much, Scott's silky length pressed over his, the rope- and rein- callouses on his own palm and fingers scratching elsewhere.

He couldn't swallow a little groan, and the other boy turned loose of him, said, "let me get something."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scott brought out the condoms and the lube from his desk drawer. No chance this rough-broke cowboy knew the first goddamn thing about how to fuck, but Scott inferred from the way he rode a horse that Dare might have potential.

He'd have to do his own prep, though, that was for sure. Should have done the whole damn thing for himself, and kept away from a situation that was bound to end in trouble. And he'd tried.

All week, he'd avoided Dare, ignored his mumbled greetings in class. Scott had buried himself in his campus bookstore job, his schoolwork. Gone for long bike rides alone, to nowhere, trying to clear his head.

But now he caught Dare's eye, sat back on the bed and spread his own thighs. Pulled his left knee up to his chest while the cowboy watched, blue eyes open wide as they'd go. His lips were parted, softer than Scott had ever seen them. The usually twitchy muscles around his mouth now still.

Scott slicked his middle and index fingers, arched his back, and slid them deftly between his ass-cheeks. Watching the other watch him, and waiting for an epiphany: rejection or lust. Rage or desire. Disgust or attraction. It frightened Scott that he cared so much about Dare's response.

Frightened him that he'd let the girls from work to drag him out to watch the rodeo team practice, just to see the one cowboy he couldn't stop thinking about. And so did the impulse that caused him to slip away and follow Dare when it was over.

This wasn't just a whatever fuck. He didn't know what it was. Only one way to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dare watched, stunned, as Scott's fingers disappeared inside his body, and his legs and arms twisted around to hold himself open. He parted smoothly, pale flesh giving just a little where he pressed with a hand or a wrist.

The boy's dark eyes bored into him like an awl bites into leather, piercing a new notch on a bridle strap. Binding and challenging him, both.

Dare put a hand on his own dick, flinched right off and let go like it'd bit him. A harshly conditioned response he couldn't help, but Scott sounded impatient when he said, "touch it." Like Dare was the one misbehaving, and just then stopping felt wrong, so he did like the boy told him. Not willing to admit he was scared of a little thing like jerking off in the face of Scott's sex-charged doings on the bed.

The boy's first two fingers were buried far as they'd go now, and he started working them in and out, picking up speed, and making little sounds in his throat, like whimpers Dare could hardly hear. His cock and balls riding gently up and down when Scott twitched his hips with each stroke.

"Should be alright now," he said. "Come on, let's fuck."

"I don't know how," Dare confessed. But he wanted to, so he got up close enough to touch Scott. Close enough to see that pink band of muscle stretching so wide around the boy's fanned-out fingers.

Scott said, "nothing to it," and snatched his hand free. Making the same noise, the same soft, wet pop, that you'd get from lips parting after a kiss.

Dare had never seen an unwrapped condom, just boxes on a drugstore shelf, but Scotty tore one open and rolled it right onto his prick for him, easy as could be. Felt clammy and too tight, but he was glad for the tamping down of sensation that came with it, dimly aware that he ought to try and last if he was gonna make this any good for Scott. And not wanting it to be over too quick, anyhow, on his own account.

That boy always known what to do, and now he bridged his hips to stuff a pillow under, raising his ass to the perfect angle for meeting Dare's cock. Thighs wide, heels pressed into the edge of the mattress.

"Slick it up with this." Scott handed him the bottle, rapped out, "more," when Dare awkwardly squeezed out a little and rubbed it over his latex- wrapped dick meat.

Must have finally gotten enough on there, because Scotty wrapped his legs around Dare's waist, feet resting right over his ass, and pulled him in so that his cock nudged the boy's slightly yielding split. His hard calves dug in like like a pair of steel tow-cables, stronger than Dare had guessed.

Scott reached under to spread himself, and Dare felt his dick slide between the boy's glutes to mash against his opening. Dare drove his hips forward without knowing he was going to, guiding the direction of the thrust with a hand around his shaft. The other boy whimpered a little, and maybe it felt good or maybe it was hurting him, but Dare was holding on with just a rope now, and there wasn't no pulling back.

He felt Scott's hole twitch under him, dilating and pushing out, both, and Dare ground down again, rolling the muscles in his belly to push harder without letting up a bit. Sure it wasn't gonna fit, but Scott lifted up to meet him, and the crown of his cock-head burst through that band of tight resistance, and the boy was dragging him hungrily inside.

Then it was easy, feeling when to reverse a little so he could put on some speed, when to drive deeper. The heat of Scott's insides blew Dare away, and how that boy hugged his cock, like he never wanted to let go.

Scott hollered "oh, shit!", and startled under him like a fly-bit horse. "You're hitting my spot, Dare. Oh, fuck," his voice gone all hoarse and breathless. He turned loose of his own ass, leaving just Dare's cock to spread him, and started jerking himself off.

Dare slid his hands down, where Scott's had been, so he could lift the boy into it every time he snapped his hips forward. Scott was shuddering around Dare's cock every time he drove it home, stroking his own in sync with the fucking so that he was gripping the head whenever Dare bottomed out.