Lem - 7. Jeff

'Our arena volunteers, down there in the Wrangler shirts, takin' care of business. Looks like the steer there doesn't want to go home. Here kitty, kitty, kitty! Okay, steer's back through the gates. If you look over to the box on the north side of the arena, Stephen Dorsitt's gonna be your header, and Matthew Hedquist is the healer. They came in third place, yesterday. Let's see how they do in the final round.'

Mattie's horse makes a full turn behind the box; Mattie pulls back on the reins and backs him into a corner, so Oreo's butt's up against two bits of fencing. Oreo has blue tape on all four legs, heel to hock. Mattie's saddle has some blue highlights in it, too.

Oreo's a beautiful horse, a thirteen-year-old black and white paint. His legs and belly are black, and so is his back. He's got white spots on his sides. I could see how he got his name. His personality matches Mattie's, too. He's good natured, sweet, and a little shy, but when you get him out in front of a crowd of people--chasing cans, pole bending, ropin', whatever--he's a different animal. He's all business.

I clap my hands and yell, "come on, Mattie!" I stick my fingers in my mouth and let out a sharp whistle.

It's the last junior rodeo before winter; high school rodeo starts in the spring. I was thinking about keeping myself busy like everyone else in this town and taking up a winter sport, maybe basketball or wrestling.

The steer darts out of the box and makes a break for the other side. Stephen comes out fast, throwing out his rope, and makes the catch right over both horns. He makes the dally, pulls his horse backwards, turns the steer to the left.

Mattie's swinging his rope over his head, throws out the loop and hooks both legs. Oreo pulls back and gets the slack out of the ropes.

'There it is! Fourteen-oh-one's the time. And that's the time to beat for our last three teams.'

Mattie releases the rope and lets the steer run off toward the gate.

I gotta pee, like, right now. I've been holding it so I could watch Mattie, and as my grandpa used to say, my teeth are floating. I get up and head for the hallway, trying to find a bathroom.

Before I take a turn into the men's room, I spot Jeff at the other end of the hall--he's walking back and forth, yelling into his cell phone. I guess he's fighting with someone, but it's none of my business, and I really, really gotta pee.

The bathroom's empty, aside one of the stall doors being closed, and now I have performance anxiety. I step up to the steel trough, fish out my guy and try to start taking a piss; I almost get a stream going.

"Fuckin' girls!" Jeff walks in and stands next to me, unzipping his fly. "God damn, I swear to God chicks are nothing but professional ball-busters." He's got his dick in his hands, pissing, and making chit-chat like we were just hanging out somewhere.

All the muscles that make me pee suddenly feel like they're knotting up; it hurts so bad, just stopping mid-stream like this.

He's got his eyes ahead, like he's talking to the wall. "Just 'cuz she has all these fuckin' ideas about what I should be. Like it makes any fuckin' difference who you are, you know? I mean, first it was we live too far away… then she tries to play the I don't have enough time for a relationship card."

I squeeze my abs and try to start peeing again, but there ain't a lot of pressure. I try to keep my eyes ahead, but it's too much temptation not to take a quick glance down and to the left.

Jeff's manhood--he's got it by his left hand, and from where I'm standing, I can see all of his details and dirty little secrets. A thick tool in a bush of brown hairs; well, it's bigger than mine, at least. There's a vein running along--

"You hear me?"

I snap my eyes forward, and lock on the cinder-block wall. "Wha?"

He nods at me. "Watch what you're doin'."

I'm about half hard and pissing off to the side, all over the wall. Fuck.

He's already finished by the time I regain control of my little situation. He's scrubbing his hands in the sink.

"I said we should hang out. I need to get shitty."

I shake and stuff it back in my pants. I guess I didn't shake good enough because there's a dime-sized spot in the front of my underwear. "I don't know, man. I really can't be caught drinking. I mean… I don't…"

"You wanna drive my truck?"

"What?"

"If you don't wanna drink, would you drive my truck? Take me home?"

"Shit, dude, I don't even have my license, yet. If anyone saw me, we'd both be in deep shit." I start washing my hands.

He leans against the wall next to me and wipes his hands on some napkins from the dispenser. "Stop being such a pussy. It'll be dark. You've driven before, right?"

"Of course I have. I've even driven with the horse trailer, but what if we get pulled over and I'm driving with a permit?"

"Stop worrying so much! I just need an ear for a while. Might as well be you."

I sigh. "Whatever… I guess. Fuckin', you owe me one. Don't tell Ronnie about this."

"I don't talk to him much anymore. Got all good on me."

"I thought you said you two got high all the--"

He puts his hand on my chest and leans in to shush me. "We don't say the H word in public, Susan." He blinks a few times and backs away. "Just find me after your ride. Meet me at my truck." He walks out of the bathroom.

I dry my hands, and walk back to my seat. I come over the top of the steps and see Mattie standing on one of the steps next to the seats. He must be looking for where he left his bag, I guess.

He's got on his dark Wranglers, the ones that make him look like he's all legs, with his blue and white plaid shirt tucked in. He's wearing the biggest belt buckle he owns, made from Montana sterling and fake gold, with an engraving of an eagle scooping a fish out of the water. On his body it looks like it could pick up signals from Sputnik or something. I bet the folks at SETI would like to talk to him about licensing time on his belt buckle to listen for little green men.

Tonight, he's wearing the gray hat--the one with the flat brim. It looks a little big on him, and kinda pushes his ears out further than they really sit. Little bits of his hair stick out on the sides. His boots, covered in dirt, have no luster--they're the dark tan pair he uses for riding, with the rounded toe.

He watches me walk down the steps.

My spurs click and clack with every step, so I guess I wouldn't have been able to sneak up on him very easily.

The last roping team has their steer by one foot and around the neck, which is a penalty. A few people on the other side of the stands cheer.

'Looks like the belt buckles for Team Roping are going to Stephen Dorsitt and Matthew Hedquist this afternoon. They came in first at foooouuurrrrrteen seconds oh-one. Those belt buckles provided by Big Horn Dodge of Great Falls. That calls it for Team Ropin', so we're gonna get the Linton's Big R tractor out there and get all set up for the first half of Barrel Racing!'

Mattie cracks a big smile at me.

"Holy shit. Good job!"

He blushes and kicks his boot. "Good luck, I guess."

"That wasn't luck. You had that thing good and tight. Oreo looked really good, too!"

Mattie grins at me with that wide smile of his. "Heh. Thanks, Lem." He only smiles like that at me, since he doesn't like the way his teeth look. They're not all bad; his pointy ones sit back a little. He thinks the ones in front are as big as horse teeth because Jason used to kid him about it. Jason would throw carrots at him when Mattie would come over.

That's about the time Ronnie stopped hanging out with Jason. I don't know what Ronnie ever said to him, but Jason never even acknowledges Mattie when he's over. Jason knows Ronnie could kick his ass.

Mattie sits down next to his bag and puts his feet up on the chair in front of him, watching me as I maneuver into the aisle. "Wanna hang out tonight?"

I sit next to him and lean forward on my knees. "I got some shit I gotta take care of tonight. I reckon tomorrow would work for me, if you're up for it."

He smiles. "Okay. I'll see what Mom says."

"By the way, NASA called. They want their satellite dish back."

He looks down at his buckle. "Well, damn. Right when I finally figured out how to get the premium movie channels on it!"

* * *

Backdraft has his own theme song. Whenever he's in the chute, waiting with a rider on his back, they always play a song called When It Comes, by Incubus.

The song was chosen during Backdraft's early years, at the NCFR in Casper. He was drawn two times in one night, and they were playing the song when he was in the chute the second time.

The rider on the second ride was the one that broke his jaw. After that, the song just stuck.

* * *

The wind smells like it's gonna turn cold, but it hasn't yet.

We're having Indian summer in the middle of October. We'll get a few inches of snow sometime before Halloween, and it's gonna melt off until the first week of November. Then, we'll get dumped on. After it snows, the wind's gonna take it all and blow it off to Kansas.

Right now, you can get by in a pair of jeans and a teeshirt, but it's a good thing to keep a sweater or jacket on hand in case the wind kicks up. Montana has some hellacious wind sometimes.

I'm looking for Jeff's truck in the parking lot when I realize that he might be on the other side of the arena. I walk along the side of the building and look out over Great Falls.

I stop at the entrance facing the west side of the ExpoPark. Jeff's truck is out on the dirt lot by the entrance. The truck is sitting there, alone, in the middle of a lot of nothing.

There's a chill in the air, so I put on my jacket before going on, and rub my arms to warm them up. I walk up to his truck and look inside.

He's not here. I look around, not like there's anything to see, and pull the tailgate down. I hop up in the back and sit against the wheel well.

His beer cooler isn't here. Maybe he's gonna stop at home and get it, which makes me wonder if he's got other ideas. Maybe he has something stashed away at Dawson's. Maybe it's Ol' Dawson that buys his booze for him.

I close my eyes and feel the cold wind on my face--breathe it in. It smells like a rodeo, like livestock--just dirty. My mind goes places, back to the bathroom, and Jeff holding his dick.

I'm hard as a rock, and it's pressing against the inside of my jeans. I mash into it with my hand and try to push it down so it doesn't look so obvious, but who's around to see it?

I squeeze my cheeks together, making my cock jump in my pants. I push down on it again, rub it, bend it around, squeeze it. God, I want to keep going, and I might just figure out a way. Maybe if I take off my under-shirt and use it to clean up with--I could hide it easy enough.

The more I think about Jeff, the more I want to finish this. I got my head in my hand, separated only by cotton and denim.

Squeeze.

Push

Rub.

I'm really thinking with the wrong head, because I up and put my hand down my pants, pushing against the a patch of skin just above the base of my dick, tickling the tips of my fingers with a bush that's taking it's damn sweet time to fill in. A person wouldn't think it by looking at my parts, but I can rush like a man. I wrap my fingers around it, squeeze my balls a few times, and bend my dick around in my shorts. Fuck…

Suddenly, I spot Jeff walking toward me.

I pull my hand out of my pants and hope to God he didn't see what I was up to. I hop out of the back and shut the gate, wood pressing hard against my zipper. It's hard to walk, the damned thing's so worked up.

"Thank fuckin' God for Fridays." He walks past me, throwing his bag in the back. He unlocks his door, hops in, and unlocks my side. "Let's blow this Popsicle stand."

The truck roars to life.

* * *

It takes us a little over two hours, but we pull into a little spot near Clearwater Crick just after six. We stopped for a bite to eat in Cutbank; I thought it was because Jeff wanted to track Hope down and work things out. We just went right through.

Not once did he bring her up. We talked like old friends the whole way back, about rodeo, the future, what we want to do with our lives, and where we came from--a whole lot of bullshit making a big deal out of a lot of little nothings, like we were the kings of the world. We didn't talk girls, we talked horses, ranches, and living in the scrub all rough 'n tumble.

The war scars of our youth.

It got a lot colder after we left Great Falls. I wouldn't be surprised if we got an early snow tonight, maybe just a sprinkle. I can't see my breath yet, but I know it's not too far off.

Jeff pulls into a spot under a thicket of trees. We get out and head to the bed of the truck to look off the side of the hill. It's dark enough that you can see headlights on the highway far off in the distance; little points of floating light.

Jeff opens the tool box compartment in the middle and pulls out a few blankets. He lays down a wool saddle-blanket over the bed, draping it over tool box. He's got two more, so he throws me one of them.

I crawl in the back and sit next to him, unfold the blanket and pull it up under my chin. "I thought you said you wanna get fucked up."

"I intend to." He puts a hand in his pocket and pulls out the bag he keeps his piece in, offering me the first hit.

"Not this time. Maybe I will sometime when I don't have to go home."

He shrugs, pulls out his lighter, and takes a good long hit.

"You okay, man?" I ask it all manly, like I'm not just some kid.

"What'dyou think?"

"You really liked her, didn't you?"

He lets out the smoke and starts a good round of coughing; his eyes are watery. "I thought I did. I just 'bout thought she could be the one, y'know?" He takes another hit and holds it in a second. "Just don't know how an ugly guy like me got a chick that fine."

"I don't think you're ugly." I should really think before I say these things.

He cocks his head toward me and looks at me out of the corner of his left eye.

Shit.

"I guess I should say thanks," he says.

"I didn't mean it like that."

He shakes his head. "I know what you meant."

I sit up and cuddle up with the blanket. It smells stale and mechanical, like it's been in the tool box for a while. It's dingy, but I don't care--it's nice and warm. "Well, if you need an ear…"

He sits there for a second. "Girls fuckin' suck. That's 'bout the long and short of it."

I look at him. "Wanna talk about it?"

He smiles with the kind of grin that lifts on one particular side of his face. "Nawww. Just wanted the company." He hits the peace pipe. "Sucks to be alone when shit like this happens."

"Never happened to me before."

"What, girl never broke your heart?"

I laugh softly. "Dude, you know Brooke's my first girlfriend. Well, sorta girlfriend. I don't even know if we're official or anything."

"Still feeling a bit gun shy?"

"I guess. I don't know what to think. I mean, a girl like that could have a better guy than me."

"You know, I'd consider you one of the luckiest little son'sa bitches. You don't try, you're practically uninterested in this girl, and she throws herself all over you. You got something goin' on."

"I don't know what the fuck it is."

He slides down so he's looking at the sky, glances up at me and smiles. "I bet you do."

"Fuck that shit." I just laugh it off and sit for a minute. The tool box's starting to hurt my back, so I slide down so I'm laying next to him. I look up in time to see a shooting star. "What'd you wish for?"

"What, that meteorite?"

"Yeah."

"I can't tell you."

I decide to poke some fun at him. "Why the hell not?"

"Because you said it was bad luck." He smiles at me and looks back up. He closes his eyes and moans with a grin.

"What?"

"Stoned."

"Oh."

"How did you like your first time? In Helena?"

I think back and wonder how much I should tell him. "Dizzy."

"That's it? You were dizzy?"

I sigh.

"What?"

"Really, really fuckin' horny." I blush.

"It happens."

I giggle. "What, got a case of blue balls?"

He raises an eyebrow. "What if I do? What the hell would you know 'bout it, Susan?"

I'm looking right into his eyes, and I can't leave his stare. He's holding me by the soul, like the universe could turn sideways or upside down, and he has the power to move it at will. Those voids of brown--I would give everything to lower my face on his and rest these nervous lips on his lips. All I know is I got to keep my head about me. Why? Why the fuck do I feel like th--

He's got a hand around the back of my head, locking me to his mouth, our breath hissing. He takes my tongue into his mouth and sucks on it.

It all feels strange, flighty.

He props himself up on his elbow, and lowers his upper body on me, licking my neck. His warm hand travels under my shirt, he sucking on my collar bone.

Every sensation is there until he glances my nipple. He rubs it with the tip of his finger, and tugs it a little.

Gently.

Softly, again, we kiss.

My head spins. "God, Jeff…"

He sighs next to my ear, and has the button of my pants undone before I even realize he's unbuckled my belt. Slowly, he lowers the zipper and rubs me through my boxers. He breaks the button holding the front flap of my shorts closed, just to have at me, and puts his hand through the opening. He tugs and rubs me, feels me, all of me--all of the parts that make me a boy… the things that make me a man.

He puts his fingers where Mattie did once, but rubs up and down the crack a little further.

Do it, whatever you're gonna do, just fuckin' do it.

He slides down, kissing my chest and stomach as he goes lower. He looks up at me and stops for a second. "You okay? With this?"

I moan, close my eyes. "Go."

"Lem?"

"I'm fine," I whisper. "Go."

He lifts my shirt up, licks my belly button, and starts yanking my pants down. He feels up the leg of my shorts, playing with my balls.

I'm real mixed up; I've never felt this way, and I know it'll end as soon as I cum. This is a fluke. He'll probably never talk to me again. Maybe it's a dream.

He presses his face between my legs, into the leg-hole of my boxers, and lets his tongue run at the spot between my sack and my groin, like he'd be eating me out if I was a girl.

He puts a nut in his mouth and sucks on it. It feels good until he sucks to hard, but he knows just when to let off. He gets my boxers around my ass and down my thigh, licking on both my balls like they were candy. I have my knees outward, down on the bed of the truck. The air is cold on the spokes--just enough to feel good and drive me wild.

He licks up the length of my dick, stops where the head splits, and follows it to the top, moves his tongue around it. There's a feeling of warm suction all the way down.

I glance down at him, and he's sucking me off like one of the chicks in Jason's Penthouse collection.

It's Jeff; I've thought about this, but it was never real. It can't be. It's just some figment of my fucked up imagination.

Up and down, up and down. I want to tell him I'm almost ready. I need to tell him to get off, because I don't think he wants my jizz in his mouth.

God fucking damn it!

His finger gets a little lower, and a little lower. It brushes with the top of my hole, and I'm feeling a little funny about it. I want him to keep going on top, but I want him to stop the rest of it.

The finger lifts. I gasp 'cuz I'm so close, but I don't think it's gonna happen just yet. I feel the finger again, wet this time.

He just up and sticks it up my ass, all the way up to his knuckle.

I sit up, scurry back. "What're you doing?"

"Lem…"

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"Dude! What the fuck?" I pull up my boxers and work my pants back on. "Seriously. Damn it."

"Would you just settle the fuck down a minute?" He yells.

"I don't wanna know what you were just thinkin' then. Fuck it, man. I'm done. I'm goin' home." I hop off the back of his truck, over the side, and start walking up the dirt road.

I hear him behind me, trying to get my attention. "Lem, take it easy. It's not like that at all. Just… fuck… stop!"

I keep going because I'm pissed, but I don't know why. I don't feel like I was hurt or anything; I just feel dirty. I mean, it's my ass. It scared me because… I don't fucking know. Something like that's not supposed to feel that good.

What's wrong with me? What's wrong with my brain?

With all this noise in my brain, I don't even hear Jeff drive up behind me.

"Lem, let me drop you off at least. Would you just let me take you home?" He drives along side me.

It's dark and hard to see where I'm going; I'm fixing on a streetlight on the highway. "Just go on home."

"Don't freak out so much." He smacks the side of his truck. "Get in, would you?"

I stop and stare at the ground, feeling something short of my worth--unclean, or maybe invincible. I would have let him go on, too, had it not been for all that little eye-opener.

I curse my luck, walk around the back of the truck and get in, staying as close to the door as I can.

"We gonna talk about this?"

"Just fuckin' take me home."

"Lem, it went a little far. It was the weed, man."

"Jeff, I don't wanna talk about it. Just take me home."

He pulls it into gear and drives me all the way to my driveway; he never even say a thing. He doesn't say he's sorry when I get out.

Then again, I don't say anything either. I don't feel the need.

He drives off, maybe too afraid to look back, or maybe too angry.

I walk up to the house and go through the back door. The lights in the basement are on, so they must be watching the television set. I go downstairs to settle Momma's mind, and tell her I'm in.

Dad's asleep in his reclining hair. Flicka is playing on the screen. Chase has her head in Momma's lap, laying across the couch.

"Momma?"

She looks over.

"Just wanted to let you know I was home."

"Okay. Mattie called. Said he wanted you to call him back. Might be a bit late now."

Fuck, it's already after nine. "I can get him tomorrow. I think I'm gonna take a bath, and scrub up good."

"Just make it quick." She smiles at me.

Why do I feel like she knows what happened? Why do I suddenly feel so guilty?

I head upstairs, just to get away from them and their looks. I want to wash this feeling off me, this feeling for Jeff, this thing and how I dreamed it -- all of it needs to go down the fucking drain with the dirty water.

All the dirty parts need to go away and leave me alone.

I get naked and start the water in the tub. I'm so ashamed I don't even want to look in the mirror.

I want to call Jeff, want him to finish this off, but I'm scared of him now, and the way he looked at me.

He was scared; I know it inside me. I could feel it.

I could call Mattie, but that wouldn't solve anything. I don't even trust myself right now, don't expect he'd know what to do.

I'm holding my balls by the scrote, kinda pulling the skin out a bit. A habit from when I was a little kid--one of those things Momma always used to tell me to knock off when I was in the tub and she'd catch me at it.

There's an unfamiliar black dot.

Damn fucking ticks! Guess it's about that time of year, the last chance to get blood before they have to burrow.

I get into the cabinet and find the tweezers. Getting it right above the head, at the skin, I start pulling it out.

It's little legs are going.

I fucking hate these things; I pop it's head it the tweezers, and drop the body in the toilet. I figure I better check everything else: around my junk; between the toes; in the armpits; around the ears.

There's a mirror on the back of the door that goes from the floor to the top. I turn my back to it, lean over with my hands on my cheeks, and pull them apart. I don't see any tics, but I find myself fixing my sights on my hole, the little pink slit that caused this trouble.

I can't stop looking at it.

Maybe I was expecting it'd be broken or something, but there it is, where it's alway been, and here I am, paying it more attention than I ever have before. A hole with a texture, a color, like rare steak.

God, if there's one person in this county that's cleaner there than I am, it'd be Mattie. He's paranoid about his hygiene. Brushes his teeth three times a day. Freaks out if he doesn't get to shower in the morning. Even if he's got the day off, and he's not doing anything, he's got to take a shower before he'd even consider walking to the mailbox.

My ass is still attached, and it's not really going anywhere. I stop the water, and feel it to make sure it's nice and hot.

I sit in the tub, sink, let my face under the water.

* * *

I lay down in bed and stare off into the dark, where the ceiling should be. Thoughts of Jeff start playing out in my head. I try to push them out, but they start getting the better of me; I'm hard as a rock.

I can still feel it in my mind, the way it felt when he had me in his mouth. I can't describe it, I just remember it.

My dick jumps when I touch it. I wrap my fingers around and start slowly. I have two fingers behind my nuts, in that spot that makes me that much harder.

I throw dice, slowly, letting it build up a bit. My fingers are going lower, little by little. My ears are ringing, like there's a train outside, going past my window.

I stop for a second and think; I have my finger right on my asshole. The pad of my finger isn't in, but it's smearing things apart. My adrenalin kicks in just by thinking of Jeff. I keep the hand around my dick still and push on my hole.

I get in a little ways, but it kind of hurts--it burns just a little. I pull my hand up to my face, because I'm about to stick my finger in my mouth, but I stop. This has just been in my ass.

I start stroking again and stick my middle finger in my mouth, sucking on it to make it nice and wet. My hand travels down again, circling around the hole softly.

I want more.

I sit up and spit on my pointer and middle, spread it around. I spit on the fingers again and rub.

My nerves are alive with this feeling. I spit again. This time, slowly, my pointer starts in: one knuckle; two knuckles; all the way to the last knuckle.

Here I am with my knees pulled back, a finger up my ass, the ring-piece grabbing my finger like a suckling calf, and me not used to something being inside like that.

I curl my finger to feel around, afraid of what I'm going to feel. My finger rests against the wall; it's slick and smooth. My dick gets harder when I pull forward and back, like I'm going toward my nuts from the inside. I hit a spot where I feel like I'm either gonna piss myself or cum. Moving my finger side to side, around the spot, I push up on it again and my cock jumps on its own.

I keep pushing up on the spot.

God! This feeling.

I roll over on my belly, still inside myself, put my ass in the air and just start going in and out, pushing this button I've discovered. I smash my face into the pillow and curl my toes, feeling like I'm going to let go. I grab the head of my cock with my free hand to catch my cum. I'm dripping, dousing my palm, and I'm not even cuming for real, yet.

It just keeps going and going.