Nowhere Man - 3. Chapter 3: Rodeo Clowns

I walked around on edge all the next day. It was like I was waiting for Tyler to show up behind me and swing a Louisville slugger at my head. I was bracing myself to hear telltale words like “Fag” and “Fairy” hurled my way, but none of that happened. I was edgy and it showed.

“Well, that’s a waste of milk, isn’t it?” my sister-in-law asked when she was clearing my cereal bowl off of the table. For some reason, as soon as I spooned the milk and Wheatie-O’s—a less than cheerful generic to Cheerio’s— into my mouth, I felt sick to my stomach. I wasn’t a doctor, and I couldn’t diagnose it, but I knew when it had begun and I knew what had caused it.

As I drove to work, I tried to think about what Tyler was feeling. He’d practically asked me to go down on him and then he got sick to his own stomach right after. Who did that? Was there any worse reaction to a blow job than to throw up after the fact? I’d blown guys at the Flats who’d left right after to deal with their shame on the drive home to their unsuspecting wives, but I’d never imagined that shame could lead to actual upchuck.

While I worked, tentatively and slowly hauling lumber from Cale’s delivery trucks into Cale’s warehouse, I resolved that I couldn’t see Tyler again. I wasn’t sure why, but this decision sort of saddened me. I couldn’t risk upsetting him again. Who knew what he’d do this time around?

“Montgomery!” A booming voice called out and I jumped with a start, dropping two bags of brass knobs onto the floor. “Jesus, Montgomery, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

I apologized to my floor leader and gracelessly bent down to pick up the knobs. The task was easier said than done, as most of the knobs were rolling all over the place. I had to listen to Cody, a guy who was my age and who’s only source of fulfillment in life came from the clipboard he was allowed to carry, tell me that the day manager needed to talk to me ASAP.

I gathered the brass up as fast as I could and went into the corner office that was filled with too much sawdust and too little deodorant.

“Take a seat, Travis,” Jim Pacton said. Here it was. The news had become public and I was being warned to leave town quickly and quietly. I wondered if he’d at least tell me what time the hate mob was rolling in and from what direction. Giving me plenty of time to escape would be entirely too kind. I sat down.

“We’ve been looking at your charts, Travis,” he began. “And you’re one of our best install guys. It’s clear, here, look.” He produced a chart that meant nothing to me, but it had my name above everyone else’s. “I’ve asked some of the guys on the floor if you’re leadership material. They say that you’re quiet, reserved and don’t really talk much. I think it’s time to change that, son. If you’re looking to advance up to floor leader or, hell, even installs manager at some point, I need you to get some of these guys on your side. They won’t work for you if they don’t respect you, hear?”

I nodded feebly and wondered whether he could see the sweat beads on my forehead. I shook his hand and left the office. I actually paused and sighed with relief before returning to the loading dock to return to my silent monotony.

I clocked out at five, with no desire to go home. Going home meant seeing Tyler’s trailer, or at least knowing it was there, right down the street. It meant me having to face what had happened last night and I wasn’t ready to do that. It also meant dealing with Ashley, who was almost always bad-mood-Ashley on Thursdays before she went to work.

I drove to the edge of town to a bar that sat right on the highway. About ten miles down from the bar was another town, exactly like ours, but with a better football team. 35 miles down from that, closer to the outskirts of Waco, were the Flats: a large red barn stocked with porn of multiple genres, discreet rear parking, and private viewing rooms that had holes in the separating walls big enough for the biggest of men to slide their Johnny Walker’s through with ease. Enough men within driving distance were harboring a secret just like mine to keep Whiskey Flats in business and booming. If I left now, I could have a stranger’s dick in my mouth in less than an hour.

I stopped at Big Bar, walked to a stool in the far corner and ordered a Miller draft. There were four other people in the bar— one pouring drinks— but I knew the place would pick up shortly. Drinking after work was a ritual here and people were surely on their way.

I kept to myself, listening to the two old timers at the end of the bar talk about the Rangers and how this was definitely their year.

“Young buck like you drinking alone?” I heard a deep voice say behind me. I jumped in surprise. A few drops of beer spilled onto the counter. “And he’s clumsy. Say pretty lady, get me a cloth will you?”

I turned around to see a guy I’d never seen before. He wore tight jeans, a tucked in flannel and a huge belt buckle to separate the two. Sitting on my bar stool, I came face to chest with him and had to look up at his soft youthful face and big brown eyes. There wasn’t a lick of stubble on his chin and I wondered if he was even old enough to be in the bar.

The server tossed him a cloth and he handed it to me. I wiped the beer that had spilled onto the counter and muffled a thank you. I turned and noticed that he’d stuck his hand out and I hesitated before reaching for it.

“You always this polite to people who offer you a hand?” he asked casually. This guy was way to cool for school. I shook his hand.

“Wade Barker,” he said.

“Travis,” I tried to mimic his confidence.

“You got a last name, Travis?” he asked.

“Montgomery,” I said.

“Montgomery,” he said loudly. “Like the great ol’ state of Alabama.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “How about I buy Alabama a drink for making him clumsy enough to spill his, no?”

“Say, ma’am, I need two Miller drafts,” he said to the bartender. I wondered how I’d never seen this guy before, but thought better than to ask. I came to Big Bar at least once a week and someone this cute would have caught my sometimes too wandering eye.

We toasted the first draft and Wade quickly ordered another. It was a task trying to keep up with this guy, but I resolved to do it. As long as he was laying the dollar down for each round, I’d drink what was put in front of me. Definitely a change of pace from drinking with Tyler. If Tyler was a glacier moving down its path, this guy was a roaring river taking zero prisoners.

Four toasts later I felt more or less loosened up. It was more than I usually drank when I came to the bar after work, but this guy was buying and he was more than encouraging.

“What do you want to hear?” he asked me, his voice booming even more than before. He tossed me a quarter and pointed towards the jukebox. I hopped off my stool, popped the change in and selected my favorite country anthem: “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem.”

“Ah, I love this song,” Wade jumped up. He turned to the bar tender. “Lady, you’ve gotta dance with me on this. Travis, tell this girl she’s gotta dance with me.”

And before I could tell her anything, Wade had jumped up to the bar and was trying to get the bartender to stand up there with him.

“No? No dice, pretty lady? You gonna leave me hanging? Well then I’ll have to dance with myself,” he said. It was remarkable how much confidence this guy had. He didn’t care at all that the dozen or so people in the dive, mostly guys, were looking at him like he was a fool. He was committed.

While everyone else went back to what they were doing, I kept my eyes glued to this tall stranger. Halfway through the song, he made eye contact with me and I turned my head quickly and took another drink. I looked back up at him and he was still looking down at me. He smiled and mouthed the words to the song.

At the last chorus, still making intense eye contact with me, he started to undo his shirt. “No shoes, no shirt, no problem,” he sang with a big smile. When the music finally faded, he was four buttons down, revealing the first lick of hair I’d seen on his body. He jumped off the bar and said to me, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

I finished the rest of my draft in one gulp and followed him out.

“You look like the kind of guy who knows how to have a good time around here,” he shouted as we walked to a shiny red pickup truck, double cab. “Mind showin’ a guy a good time?”

I wasn’t sure what he was alluding to, but I decided I’d figure out what his story was before I betrayed anything about myself. I was still on edge about Tyler, I didn’t want to have two guys riding around town knowing too much about me.

“What do you wanna see?” I asked. He turned around to face me.

“I don’t wanna see anything.” That said it all. I’d never picked anyone up at a bar before, but I guessed this was how it was done. He seemed like a pro at it and I hopped in the passenger’s seat and he drove away. “You know any place we can go?” he asked.

He pulled out a lighter and started to light up something that was too skinny to be a cigarette. He offered me a puff, but I declined. I’d never smoked pot before, but I didn’t want my first time to be in a semi-dangerous environment with a guy I didn’t know. I told him to turn left at the bridge that led to a fairly secluded river bend.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked me as we zipped around the outskirts of town.

“Three months,” I said.

“Must be a drag for a guy like you.”

“How do you know that I’m a guy like me?” I asked.

“It’s called a gaydar, friend,” he said like I was stupid. “I’ve been in enough bars in enough towns to spot a guy like you from a dance floor away. A guy like you orders the sausage and biscuits and not fish tacos.”

“But I wasn’t doing anything when you came up,” I replied.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, taking another swig. The smoke smelled like a rotten version of what regular smoke smelled like. “Most guys, you offer to get them a drink and they decline. Sometimes politely, sometimes not. You can always snuff out the ones that take the brew, though.” He looked at me. “You took the brew, my friend.”

I was blown away by how carefree this guy was. I would never have dreamed of having the courage to waltz up to someone in a small town bar and offer myself up to them. It sounded liberating, exciting and extremely dangerous.

“Why do you visit so many bars in so many places?” I asked. I pointed to more directions and we were soon driving down paths that hadn’t been driven in a long time.

“I work the rodeo circuit, bud,” he said loudly. “You’re looking at Texas and Oklahoma’s premiere Rodeo Clown.” I smiled at him, trying not to laugh. “Don’t laugh, buddy. This clown makes a pretty penny dodging bulls and riding cowboys.”

“You don’t ride cowboys,” I said, more intrigued by that than how much money he made.

“Wanna bet?” he asked. I knew better than to take that bet. Without me having to direct, Wade pulled off into a clearing on the side of the road and undid his seatbelt. “I’m tired of talking.”

He took one more puff from his joint, took off his cowboy hat and then leaned in to kiss me. I’m embarrassed to admit that this was my first ever male on male kiss. Most guys don’t make time for kissing when they’re separated by a vanity wall with a donut sized hole in it. But this was different. It felt a hell of a lot hotter than my high school kisses with girls who turned out to be pregnant-prone.

“You’re gonna have to loosen up buddy,” he said to me. “Come here.” And he pulled my face into his again. This time, I wasn’t cautious. I returned his kiss the best way I knew how.

Being with Wade was new and awkward. He wasn’t the kind of guy to take things slow. He knew what he wanted, and he went for it. That night, he wanted my Mr. Goodwrench, and after kissing for a couple of minutes, he went right for it.

Before I knew it, we were lying in the flatbed of his truck with Wade on top of me asking, “You know what you’re doing, right?” I had no clue, and I figured he was the expert at riding cowboys, so lying to him wouldn’t be the best idea.

“Actually, no,” I said meekly. “I’m, uh. I’ve never done this part.”

He looked at me, obviously suppressing his surprise.

“Do you want to?” he asked me with big eyes. A polite cowboy rider; how nice. When he asked me that, I took a little bit of pause. I was, still reeling over last night’s craziness about to have sex for the first time with a rodeo clown in the back of his truck. A flash of Tyler went through my mind, but I decided I definitely wasn’t going to hold out for a guy that threw up whenever he saw me. I nodded up at Wade and a minute later, he was slipping down my axle rod.

The first time I came, it was quick, unexpected and abrupt. I was so caught up in what he was doing above me that I didn’t even realize that I was having an orgasm until my eyes felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets. When I returned to earth what felt like a million moons later, Wade was still on top of me and he was laughing.

“Not bad, huh?” he said with a smile. At first I thought he was laughing at me, but then I realized he was just amused that a guy like me had the experience level of a 15 year old. I was still hard and inside of him, so instead of replying, I just bit my lip and thrust upwards into him.

“Oh fuck yeah,” he said. “Get it cowboy.” The second time I came, it lasted a little bit longer. Three minutes to be exact, but I wasn’t counting. It felt great being in his asshole which was neither loose nor tight. It felt like a firm, warm piece of pie was gripping my cock. Who the hell was I kidding? It felt great.

The third time I came, Wade was finally ready to spew. I felt bad asking him to give me a minute after the second time, but he didn’t seem to mind hopping off me and making out, stroking himself slowly until I was ready to go again.

This time around, I tried something new. I rolled over on top of Wade and pulled his legs back so that I was entering him from above—missionary. I was able to go for a lot longer during this turn, taking in his yelps and moans and not worrying that anyone could hear us.

As soon as I felt Wade’s ass tighten around my dick and watched him shoot his load over his chest, I lost myself a third time in one night. Even during my best jackoff marathons, I’d never accomplished a feat quite like that.

With no post-coital ceremony and very little talking, Wade slid into his pants and hopped into the truck.

“How do we get out of here?” he asked, sounding different to me. He didn’t sound as carefree and seductive as before. His job here was done. I gave him the direction and stared out the window as we drove in silence.

As we neared the bar where I’d left my truck, Wade said, “I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us.”

I had no intention of telling anyone anything, I thought, and I was glad he didn’t either.

“I’m gonna be in town for another couple of weeks and I don’t want people talking too loudly about me,” he said. I looked at him and agreed with a shrug.

“You wanna get together again?” I asked him as he slowed down in the gravel parking lot.

“We’ll see, kid,” he said. He reached over me to open the truck door and looked at me as I got out. I thought to try one more time, not ready to let go completely of the incredibleness I’d just experienced. Who knew when someone like Wade would roll in to town again? Even worse, who knew when I’d be able to get out of town to find someone like Wade?

I climbed out, smiled at him, and shut the door. He sped off, leaving me standing in a cloud of silver gravel dust and diesel exhaust smoke, honestly wondering if I’d ever see him again.

Almost immediately, the same feeling I got any time I left the Flats came back over me like that very dust cloud I was walking through to get to my truck. Being with a guy, in this town at least, was so tawdry and dirty. It was the back of a pickup truck dirty. And whatever joy I’d felt, whatever excitement, had just sped away leaving me feeling alone and smelling like diesel fuel.

I drove home wondering what Tyler was up to since I hadn’t stopped by to see him. I hoped he wasn’t expecting me too. His body had rejected me last night in the most decisive manner; there was no way I was going back there again. And yet I was still thinking about him for some reason. He didn’t consume my thoughts, but he certainly occupied them.

I pulled up to the trailer, closed the door to the truck behind me and was ready to creep into the house and pass out. Morning would be here before I knew it.

“Need a light?” I heard from behind me as I approached the stoop. I turned around and put familiar face to familiar name. Tyler was standing right there, flicking a Bic lighter on and off and glaring at me with an expression I didn’t quite understand.