The Cowboy Poet

by Claire Thompson

  It‘s mine! Gimme it!

  No it‘s not! I had it first! Two small boys tumbled into view, both holding tight to a metal toy tractor painted bright green. The baby continued to cry with a piercing wail, and their grandmother looked as if she might start bawling herself.

  To Tyler‘s surprise, Clint held out his arms. You take care of the boys, Mabel, he said calmly. I‘ll see to the baby. With a helpless look of gratitude, she handed the squalling bundle over.

  Clint put the infant against his chest, her wet cheek resting on his shoulder. He began to rock on the balls of his feet, crooning a quiet lullaby in his raspy whiskey voice. To Tyler‘s surprise the baby quieted almost at once, relaxing her rigid little form in Clint‘s strong arms.

  Once Mabel had seen to the boys, and they were settled in another room, she returned and stood watching Clint, her hands on her hips. Well, I declare. You have a way with you, Mr. Darrow. You got children of your own?

  No ma‘am, Clint said. But I‘m right partial to young uns. The baby had fallen asleep in his arms. He continued to rock her gently and the easy tenderness with which he held her moved something deep inside Tyler.

  Mabel held up her hands as if in prayer. Would you mind terribly layin‘ her in her crib? I‘m afraid we might wake her if we switch hands. I haven‘t had a moment‘s peace all day.

  Clint nodded, smiling. Lead the way.

  He followed the woman out of the hall. Tyler stayed behind, twisting his hat in his hands as he waited. He could see into the sitting room beyond. The house reminded him of his parents‘ house, over-furnished in a country way, complete with an oxen yoke

  over the doorway and braided rag rugs scattered on the floors. He saw that the chairs were black-and-white spotted armchairs, probably covered with actual cowhide, and there were reproductions of famous cowboy paintings on the walls. A sudden intense longing for home washed over him. He‘d left in the heat of anger, hounded by his own shame. Was there ever any going back?

  Clint and Mabel returned a few minutes later. Thanks ever so much, she said, smiling at Clint. Thunder rumbled and then roared and they tensed, listening for the baby‘s cry, but all remained quiet, other than the sound of the TV in the next room, where Mr. Rogers was exhorting the children to be his neighbor.

  The rain was falling hard with no signs of letting up. I do hope you didn‘t make the trip all the way out here in this weather just to see Lucky. I‘m really sorry he couldn‘t be here, but I do expect them back bright and early tomorrow morning.

  No trouble at all, Clint replied. We‘re makin‘ a circuit of some of the ranches and farms affected in the area. We were headed this way in any event. Now we‘ll get out of your hair. Would you by chance know of a motel in town?

  I wish I could offer you accommodations here, she answered, her face falling. But with the kids and all, there just isn‘t room.

  It‘s no problem, Clint began, but she interrupted him, her face brightening.

  I know! she cried. Y‘all can stay in the bunkhouse. That‘s where Pete and Jim, our live-in ranch hands, stay, but they‘ve gone with Lucky. There‘s a spare bunk with two beds. It‘s not luxury accommodations, but it‘s warm and dry, and Prancer and Gracie can keep you company.

  Horses, Tyler said, understanding at once, though it seemed to take Clint a moment to catch her meaning.

  That‘s right. Gracie gets a little spooked from thunder. You can give her a carrot if you want. There‘s a basket of them right inside the stable, which is just off the tack room from the bunkhouse.

  That‘s mighty nice of you, Mabel, Clint said, ducking his head toward her in appreciation. That suit you, Tyler?

  Tyler nodded, his heart jumping at the thought of spending another night alone with Clint.

  It‘s right down the drive a ways, Mabel continued. I‘ll turn on the floodlights. You can drive your truck down since it‘s raining. Do you have dry things to change into?

  They assured her they did, and, once she‘d pressed fresh sheets and blankets, ham sandwiches, apples, cookies and a thermos of coffee on them and they‘d offered their sincere thanks and good nights, they made their dash to the truck.

  The bunkhouse was a long, rectangular room with whitewashed walls and wideplanked pinewood floors. There were two freestanding beds neatly made with patchwork quilts on them and a table set beneath a window against one wall. In one corner was a kitchen, complete with a stove, sink and small refrigerator. There was a screened-off area beside it that Tyler presumed was the bathroom. Along the far wall sat an unused bunk bed with narrow twin mattresses that presumably Mabel Harding had meant for them to use.

  Tyler looked doubtfully at them and turned to Clint with a grin. You want top or bottom bunk?

  Clint swept Tyler with another of those dark, dangerous gazes that set his innards to melting. I got a better idea. How bout let‘s put these mattresses on the floor? Give us more space.

  Tyler grinned. Works for me.

  Clint dropped his wet hat onto the table and reached for Tyler, pulling him into his arms. He kissed him hard, holding Tyler‘s face in his hands as he hungrily explored Tyler‘s mouth with his tongue. Tyler responded in kind, drinking in Clint‘s kisses as if he were dying of thirst.

  I‘ve been waitin‘ all afternoon to do that, Clint said, when he finally let Tyler go. And now we got all night, just you and me, boy. Just you and me. There was a fire in Clint‘s dark eyes that made Tyler look away, lest he tumble headlong into it and be burned to smithereens.

  Ever since Clint had made him come in the truck several hours before, Tyler‘s mind had been going at full throttle, coming up with a thousand reasons why he needed to nip this in the bud, even while his body ached for a repeat performance.

  After the whole mess with Wayne, Tyler had promised himself never again. Never again would he allow himself to be so vulnerable with another man. Never again would he hand over the reins of his desire to someone else.

  And yet…

  And yet since the moment he‘d laid eyes on Clint Darrow, something that had been playing possum inside him these past months had leaped wide awake, eager, even desperate, to rekindle the flames he‘d tried so hard to douse.

  Tyler stood trying to catch his breath, his heart thrumming, his skin actually tingling with the need for Clint‘s touch. Though he couldn‘t deny his physical attraction to the cowboy, he knew whatever was happening between them wasn‘t right. He had to get control of himself. He was his own man.

  The rain continued to fall and a sharp crack of thunder was followed by a soft, restless whinny coming from somewhere beyond the kitchen door. Tyler headed toward it, glad for a reason to get away.

  The door opened onto a tack room, the warm smells of saddle leather and damp straw causing a sudden, sharp pain of longing for his own horse, left behind at the Double S. Beyond the room were the stables, and, as promised, a basket of carrots stood at the ready.

  Taking two, Tyler headed toward the horses, one with a mahogany coat and black mane who stood regal as a king. Tyler offered the dark horse a carrot, which he accepted as his due. The other, a dappled gray, was pawing the ground nervously and tossing her mane, her large eyes rolling.

  Hey there, Tyler said softly. You must be Gracie. He moved slowly toward her, his voice low and soft. I know how you feel, Gracie. It‘s scary sometimes, the things we don‘t understand. But it‘s just thunder. Clouds bumping. Nothing to be afraid of here all cozy in this nice dry stable. He reached toward her with a gentle hand, lightly touching her forehead with his finger, which he moved in a slow, easy circle. Gracie lowered her head, snuffling softly as she accepted the offered carrot.

  That‘s true, what you said. Tyler heard Clint behind him but didn‘t turn around. He continued to stroke the horse‘s velvet-soft head. It‘s scary sometimes, the things we don‘t understand.

  Tyler didn‘t reply. Clint continued. Us cowboys, we grow up with this code, pounded into us from the moment we‘re born. You gotta be tough. To be vulnerable,
to need another person, is seen to be weak, and no self-respectin‘ cowboy wants to be seen as weak. The way I see it, you and me, we was born with the deck stacked against us, seein‘ as we‘re already what you might call sexual outlaws—hankerin‘ after our own kind instead of the opposite sex. For you it‘s even tougher, at least on the surface, than for me. Because you‘ve got this desire—this need—to submit to another person and to belong to him deeper than most folks will ever understand.

  I don‘t— Tyler whirled toward Clint, ready to protest, but Clint silenced him with a hand and a word.

  Hush. Hear me out, Ty. Just listen for a little while, then you can tell me all the reasons I‘m wrong.

  Tyler turned back toward Gracie, who nuzzled her soft nose against his hand. Fine. He‘d let Clint talk, then he‘d set him straight.

  I‘ve been payin‘ attention, Tyler. I know what makes you hot. I know what you need, maybe even better than you do at this point. But I also understand that it ain‘t somethin‘ that comes easy for a strong man.

  I think maybe you got the notion that what attracts you somehow makes you somethin‘ less than a man. The power you have in the situation is in your willingness to trust yourself and your judgment of the man you choose to give yourself to.

  Tyler turned toward him. Those are fine words, but I‘ve been down this path before. I thought it was what I wanted—what I, he hesitated, stumbling over the word, …needed, but I was just fooling myself.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to let that whole horrible mess come washing back over him like a mudslide. Something‘s twisted inside me—something that yearns to be used rough and taken hard. But that doesn‘t mean a man has the right to humiliate me or take what isn‘t freely given.

  Clint stepped behind him, and strong arms encircled him. Clint rested his head lightly against Tyler‘s back. You been hurt, Tyler. Sounds to me like some kind of bully got ahold of you and took advantage of your nature. I‘m right sorry that happened to you, but it‘s got nothin‘ to do with what you and me are sharin‘ right now. You ain‘t twisted and there‘s nothin‘ wrong with you. Let go of whatever shame it is you‘re holdin‘ onto. Shame‘s like a rock, Ty. It weighs you down. Toss it away now—you don‘t need it no more. Not with me.

  Clint lifted his head and kissed the back of Tyler‘s neck, causing all kinds of mixed emotions to course through him. As for me, Clint continued. I don‘t hold much truck with any kind of disrespect. For me it ain‘t about one person usin‘ the other, or takin‘ what he wants cause he can. It‘s about connection. It‘s about trust. And trust can‘t be demanded. It‘s got to be earned.

  Clint pulled Tyler toward him. Now come on, the rain‘s let up and Gracie‘s fine. Come on back with me to the bunkhouse and I‘ll show you what I mean. If you can trust me, Tyler, I can help you get back that spark I know still burns inside you. I‘ve got a single tail whip that will show you more than a thousand words could tell you.

  Tyler followed Clint back into the bunkhouse, his mind still rebelling, but his body ready, willing and eager. A single tail whip! Unbidden, unwelcome, the memory of Wayne with the riding quirt in his hand as he held Tyler against the wall, his pants around his knees, burst into Tyler‘s mind. He‘d nearly come just from the feel of the stinging leather raining over his body, something which had confused and upset him at the time.

  How humiliated he‘d been when, after the whipping, Wayne had jerked him around and pushed him to his knees. He‘d nearly come from that whipping, but as usual Wayne had stopped too soon, too intent on having Tyler suck him off to pay attention to Tyler‘s reactions.

  The whip, Tyler came to realize later, much later when he‘d escaped Wayne‘s corrosive control, was merely a tool for Wayne. It was a way to get himself hard, and make himself feel superior. There was none of this poetry and connection Clint had hinted about. None of the passion and sweetness they‘d shared the night before.

  With Wayne, all too often Tyler had been left aching and on the edge, somehow certain there was more—there had to be more—and yet nearly always feeling as if the rug had been yanked from under him just before he‘d achieved what his body and soul seemed to crave.

  And yet even that, he was still ashamed to admit, was better than nothing. More than a lonely man who yearned for things he didn‘t understand could hope to find on a solitary horse ranch in the middle of West Nowhere. And so he‘d stayed with Wayne, for far longer than he should have. Would he be there still, if Wayne hadn‘t forced the issue?

  Clint moved toward the duffel bag he‘d dropped to the floor when they‘d entered the bunk house. He lifted it to the table and unzipped it, drawing out a long, coiled black whip with a short braided handle. Tyler stared at it, unable to deny the thrill just the sight of the whip produced deep in his gut. Maybe this time it would be different. Don’t be a fool, a voice of caution whispered inside him, but he was too excited to listen.

  You have experience with a single tail, Ty? Clint‘s voice was low and seductive.

  Yeah. Tyler nodded, unable to look away from the long, supple strand of soft leather.

  Clint pulled out one of the chairs from the table and settled himself onto it, stretching out his long legs and letting the whip dangle to the floor between them. It ain‘t so much about the pain, is it, Ty? It‘s about getting past the pain. Or no, maybe a better way to say it is, it‘s about connecting with the pain. Harnessing it, bringing it under control, same as a wild horse, so that it gives you a power you never dreamed of before. The thing of it is, you can‘t get there alone. We go together, and when the connection is right, it‘s as intense and powerful for the one usin‘ the whip as it is for the one takin‘ it. I‘ll be right there with you, every step of the way.

  These words startled Tyler, so different from what Wayne used to tell him: You’re mine, boy. You’re a piece of ass to be used for my pleasure. I own you. I own your orgasms, I own your pain, you belong to me, and don’t you forget it. The words had never felt quite right, but Tyler hadn‘t argued, too desperate for the experience to question Wayne‘s words. Wayne, he realized now, was into power solely for its sake. Clint, it seemed, was more focused on what Tyler would get out of this. The notion confused him—at odds with what he thought he knew of men like this.

  You want what I‘m offerin‘? Clint asked softly.

  Tyler did. More than anything. Clint wasn‘t Wayne, and Tyler himself wasn‘t the man he‘d been back then. Maybe Clint was right. Maybe it was time to trust—both Clint and himself.

  Clint was watching him, all the while stroking the long leather whip with a lover‘s caress.

  Without being asked, Tyler found himself pulling at his shirt and belt buckle, unzipping his jeans, kicking off his boots. Drawn by Clint‘s unspoken command, Tyler moved to stand in front of him. He was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but his cock didn‘t seem to notice, pointing straight toward Clint like a divining rod.

  How you want it, Ty? You want to be on your knees? Standin‘? Clint looked up at the ceiling. A long, thick horizontal wooden beam stretched its length across the room. Maybe a little rope to put you in the proper frame of mind?

  Wayne had never asked. In a way that had been easier, Tyler now realized, if less satisfying. But maybe it wasn‘t just about easy. I want… Tyler began, then faltered. Why was this so hard? He tried again. I‘d like…to be tied. The feeling of the rope…arms overhead… Again he trailed off, pleading with his eyes for Clint to understand what he barely understood himself.

  Clint nodded. He stood and moved toward the duffel bag, from which he extracted the rope he‘d used the night before. He took Tyler‘s hands in his and lifted his arms overhead. Stay that way for me, he ordered softly. He looped one end of the rope around one of Tyler‘s wrists and then gave the other end an expert toss over the top of the beam. This he used to tie Tyler‘s second wrist, pulling it taut until Tyler was forced nearly on tiptoe.

  Tyler was electrified with the thrill o
f being bound and nearly suspended, naked and at another man‘s mercy. His rational mind scolded him—he‘d spent all of two days with this man—could he really trust him? But his gut knew the answer, and he relaxed a little.

  Clint offered a low, appreciative whistle. What a right pretty sight. He licked his lips and grinned, but something in Tyler‘s expression must have given him pause, because the smile fell away from his face.

  He moved close, pressing his palms gently but firmly against Tyler‘s chest. This is for you, Tyler. You set the pace tonight. Every step of the way. Clint stepped behind him and let the whip‘s lash dangle down over Tyler‘s shoulder to his chest as he leaned heavily against him. A shudder moved its way through Tyler‘s body, part lust, part fear.

  You want this, don‘t you, boy? This is what your body craves, even if your mind ain‘t quite caught up yet, Clint murmured, his lips brushing Tyler‘s ear.

  I never had it…that is, when I‘ve been whipped, it wasn‘t…enough. I mean, it was good but it never was…enough. I was always left…wanting, somehow. I know I‘m not making any sense.

  Clint moved to stand in front of him, taking Tyler‘s face in his hands. He kissed him gently on the lips. You‘re makin‘ perfect sense, and I understand. This time you‘re gonna get all you want, Tyler. And all you need. I promise.

  Clint‘s eyes were glittering. We‘ll start nice and easy. If you want more or you need me to slow down or even stop, you tell me that, okay? Think of it like a dance, and we‘re learnin‘ the steps together. Forget whatever it was that went on before. That ain‘t about us. We‘re startin‘ fresh. Both of us.

  Tyler nodded, an explosion of barely articulated hope moving through him. That elusive experience he could never quite articulate but had always craved seemed to be waiting like a promise, like a prayer, if he could find the courage to reach for it.

  We‘ll work our way up nice and slow, Clint said as he massaged Tyler‘s shoulders. Get a sense of your pain threshold. Your job is to focus. To take what I‘m givin‘ you and use it to get where you need to go. It‘s a journey, Ty. One we‘ll take together, you and me. You got any questions before we start?