The Cowboy Poet

by Claire Thompson

  What if…? Tyler hesitated, then shook his head, pressing his lips together.

  Go on. Speak your mind. I need to hear what you got to say. Clint ran the length of the whip along Tyler‘s torso and stroked its tip along Tyler‘s erect cock.

  Tyler licked his lips. What if I want too much? What if it‘s too much for you?

  It won‘t be, Ty. Because we‘re doin‘ this together. You and me, movin‘ in a circle, the exchange of power just as intense on my side as it is on yours. I give, you take, and by your reactions, you give back again. If it‘s too much, we‘ll both know it. I promise. You‘re safe here with me, Tyler. This whip isn‘t intended to cut the skin, or to cause you pain for its sake. This isn‘t an endurance test. It‘s a way to connect.

  It‘s about trust. It‘s about transcendin‘ the pain to find a higher plain. I know this sounds poetical and lofty, but trust me, there‘s nothin‘ more powerful on this earth than the experience we can find together, if we trust each other enough to take hold of it.

  He kissed Tyler again, a brushing of his lips as he stroked Tyler‘s cock with a sure hand. Tyler, unable to help himself, leaned into the hand with a groan. Clint dropped his cock and took a step back. You ready, boy?

  Yeah, Tyler breathed, flexing his wrists against the ropes, his cock straining above tight balls. With a flick of his wrist, Clint snapped the single tail in the air with a sonic crack that made Tyler wince and draw in an excited breath.

  Clint ran his hand down Tyler‘s torso. I want you to know, I‘m honored by your trust. I want to please you as much as you want to serve me. You‘re in good hands. Now, close your eyes and surrender to the sensations. Show me your strength and your courage. Do it for me, but more importantly, do it for yourself.

  Though his heart was racing, Tyler desperately wanted what Clint was offering. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which he exhaled slowly, willing himself to be calm.

  The first flick of the tail caressed Tyler‘s hip, as gentle as a lover‘s tongue. He opened his eyes, realizing he‘d been tensing with the expectation of sharp and sudden pain. Clint moved his arm, just a slight flick of the wrist, and the tip of the tail again brushed his skin on the opposite hip, more stroke than sting.

  Clint moved behind him and Tyler tensed, expecting the worst, but the leather merely kissed his skin, though with a little more urgency than before. Slow your breathin‘, he heard Clint say from behind him. Deep and easy…that‘s it. You‘re doin‘ good.

  This time the whip cracked and before Tyler had time to flinch, the lash struck his ass, burning a line of fire over his skin. Yes, Tyler cried, the word pulled from his lips by the sudden bliss of pain. Again the whip struck, a parallel line stinging its way just above the first.

  He realized he was dancing a bit on the balls of his feet. Clint struck him a third time, just below the first stroke. That‘s it. You‘re almost there, Clint said encouragingly. You‘re doin‘ great. You have no idea how hot you look standin‘ there with your arms overhead, your muscles workin‘, strainin‘ and sweatin‘ for me. He ran his hands over Tyler‘s stinging ass, lightly cupping the cheeks as he leaned into him.

  Here‘s a confession for you, Clint went on. I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I wanted you bad. And now, watchin‘ you submit so bravely to the whip, I want you even more.

  Tyler leaned back into Clint‘s arms, thrilled and pleased that he was turning Clint on. Clint ran light fingers along Tyler‘s sides and he shivered from the touch. When Clint reached around to stroke his cock, he nearly came on the spot, but forced himself to hold out, as he didn‘t want to stop the action.

  You ready for more, Ty?

  Yes, please, Tyler whispered, excited by the idea of submission as an act of courage, instead of laced with shame. He felt Clint‘s fingers moving lightly over the welted skin.

  Fantastic, Clint breathed. We‘re gonna step it up, now. Stay with me—stay focused. He stepped to the side, snapping the tip of the whip over various parts of Tyler‘s naked body in shockwaves of stinging pain that almost immediately transmuted into a fierce, wild pleasure. He opened his eyes and was at once mesmerized by what he saw. The whip was like an extension of Clint‘s powerful forearm, a snake lunging at lightning speed toward its prey.

  Clint moved in slow, graceful circles around Tyler, snapping the black leather, which curled and licked at Tyler‘s flesh until he was trembling, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, his heart beating a mile a minute.

  When Clint aimed the whip so it caught Tyler squarely across his nipple, Tyler cried out, dancing backward despite his intentions of staying still. In quick succession, Clint caught the second nipple with a fiery bite of leather.

  Oh, god, oh Jesus, oh…! Tyler felt himself teetering on the edge of something dangerous and wonderful, more powerful than he‘d imagined. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to hold Clint, to taste him, to somehow convey the gratitude and love he felt welling inside him. His body and his soul were on fire, a bright, blissful fire lit by the sexy cowboy standing in front of him.

  Clint continued to flick the whip, letting the lash curl around Tyler to stroke his ass with its fiery kiss. Please, oh god, please…yes…please… Tyler knew he was babbling, but he couldn‘t stop. I need you. Oh, Clint, I gotta have you. I want you in my mouth. I want to worship your cock. Please…

  Clint dropped the whip and pulled Tyler into his arms. Come here lover. With a few deft movements, Tyler‘s hands were free, and he brought his arms around Clint, whose rough, calloused fingers were moving over his body, soothing the skin he‘d struck a moment before.

  Tyler couldn‘t remember feeling more aroused in his entire life, or more…grateful. Still trembling, he sank to his knees. With shaking fingers, he tugged at Clint‘s belt buckle and pulled at the buttons of his jeans. Clint didn‘t stop him, nor did he help. He put his hands on Tyler‘s shoulders, staring down at him with that wolfish smile.

  Tyler pulled at Clint‘s underwear and Clint‘s cock sprang free, erect and dripping. Hungrily, Tyler closed his mouth over its girth, taking it in as deep as he could before sliding back, his tongue dancing along the smooth, taut flesh.

  He sucked with abandon, as if he could take the whole of Clint into himself, as if they could become one person. Lust, gratitude and a curious, powerful joy threatened to overwhelm his senses. He forced himself to focus on pleasing the man standing before him, aware of his own cock rubbing against Clint‘s denim-clad leg with each deep-throated kiss.

  It wasn‘t long before Clint was coming, shuddering and arching against Tyler, his hand on the back of Tyler‘s head as he climaxed. Tyler sucked and licked, eagerly swallowing Clint‘s cum. He turned his head so his cheek rested against Clint‘s bared thighs, his heart beating in time to the throb in his cock.

  Clint reached down, stroking Tyler‘s hair, pushing the matted, sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead. Tyler felt he could stay there forever, his arms around this amazing man. He felt a tenderness that was new to him, especially in the context of the kind of sex he had just shared with Clint. When Wayne had used him and roughed him up a bit, Tyler had been exhilarated, frightened, even thrilled. He‘d been grateful for whatever Wayne cared to toss his way, while also deeply ashamed that he craved it so bad. But this was different, so different. He looked up at Clint, making sure he was really there, and not just some much longed-for dream.

  My, oh my, Clint said, looking down at him with a smile. That was amazin‘ boy. Now it‘s your turn. I want to make you come.

  Uh, looks like we might be a little late. Embarrassed, Tyler looked down at his gooey cock and back up at Clint with a sheepish smile. Sorry about your boots, Sir.

  Not to worry, Ty, Clint laughed. You‘ll be lickin‘ em clean.

  Chapter 5

  This here‘s where we keep our tanks. Lucky Harding, a tall man with a bald head and a long, drooping gray mustache, led Clint and Tyler into a small building off the main barn. The door was padlocked, and they wa
ited while he dug into his pocket for the key.

  Clint and Tyler had awoken early, setting the mattresses back in their frames and taking turns in the tiny shower stall before heading into town for breakfast. Upon their return to Harding‘s ranch, they‘d been greeted by the owner, who apologized for being absent the day before. They exchanged the requisite small talk before getting down to the heart of their visit.

  I can‘t believe the day‘s come where I got to lock stuff up, but that‘s the modern world for you. Lucky frowned and shrugged as he opened the padlock. He moved toward the large study metal shelves where several rows of semen tanks stood. He pointed to a medium-sized tank labeled Mama’s Boy. This one here‘s worth quite a pretty penny. That bull‘s sperm has impregnated half the cows this side of Abilene. We sell in New Mexico and Colorado too. Lucky patted the canister with a look of satisfaction.

  We had a tank go missin‘ too, with prize quality semen, same as Mama‘s Boy there. Clint nodded toward the shelf. The odd thing of it is, we keep a watchful eye back at our place. Ain‘t no one comin‘ or goin‘ that we don‘t recognize on sight. How about you? You had any strangers millin‘ about the place? Anything unusual you can pinpoint during the time your tanks disappeared?

  Lucky scratched his head, lost in thought. Nope. Can‘t think of a single stranger. It ain‘t like folks just wander in. We‘re not exactly on the beaten path. That‘s the mystery of it.

  Clint nodded, thoughtful. Tyler said, Can you tell us exactly who came and went on the day and maybe the days leading up to when you realized the tanks were gone? He held his pad at the ready. Clint nodded, figuring that was as good a place to start as any.

  Let‘s see, Lucky said, again scratching his bald pate as if this helped to jumpstart his brain. There was Frank Corsair, deliverin‘ the hay. And Hoss Johnson and his boy were by earlier. In fact, that‘s when we figured out we was missin‘ some—Hoss prefers Buffalo Bill‘s seed—cheap but gets the job done.

  He grinned, and then pursed his mouth in concentration. Oh, and Doc Crawford came by for his regular visit. He brought out the big truck for the annual exams. Got all that fancy equipment nowadays. Must have cost him a fortune, but I imagine we‘ll all be payin‘ for it, one way or the other. Don‘t nothin‘ come cheap anymore.

  That sparked something in Clint‘s mind. Now that you mention it, the vet was supposed to be out at our place around the time the tank went missin‘. I was away on ranch business, though, so I can‘t be sure.

  Ah ha! Tyler said, scribbling on his pad. We have a clue. The vet was here and he was at the Ransom Ranch. And didn‘t Seth Blake mention that‘s when he discovered his missing tank? When the vet was out to check on his cow? I think we may have found our connection!

  Lucky laughed, shaking his head. Hank Crawford is the kind of guy you‘d trust with your babies. Or your prize bulls, for that matter.

  Clint nodded his agreement. Yeah. Doc Crawford would never stoop to stealin‘ bull semen. Besides, he‘s been a fixture in these parts nigh on twenty years.

  They talked about other possible leads, including a group of ruffian teenagers Lucky had noticed in town loitering around the country store, looking like they were up to no good. Sometimes these kids just go on a stealing spree, for no other reason than to show off for each other. They probably didn‘t even know what they were takin‘.

  That might hold water if yours was the only incident, Lucky. But we‘ve got at least four places been hit over the past month, and over the whole dang county. And that‘s just the ones we know about. No, it‘s somethin‘ more organized.

  Well, it don‘t make sense, Lucky said. Who would buy stolen semen? It‘s all documented. They wouldn‘t be able to sell it for anything like its actual worth. What‘s the point of takin‘ it?

  That‘s what I aim to find out, Clint said. I hope once we make the rounds of the other farms and ranches affected, we‘ll get more clues and start puttin‘ the pieces together. Whatever‘s goin‘ on, we got to stop it. We can‘t wait on the local authorities to take their sweet ass time.

  Any trace of the thunderstorm the day before was long gone, the air hot and arid, and getting hotter by the minute. A real scorcher today, Lucky noted, wiping his gleaming dome with a kerchief. Summer‘s in full swing, that‘s for sure.

  Yeah. I guess we ought to head on. We‘re going to stop by Hoss Johnson‘s place. I‘ll keep you posted if we figure this thing out. Meanwhile, keep those padlocks in place. Can‘t be too careful these days, Clint said.

  Amen to that, Lucky agreed.

  ~*~

  The trunk bounced over the rutted road as they headed toward the Johnson farm. Clint tried his cell phone and got a signal. He placed a call to Hoss Johnson, but it went to voicemail. He left a message asking if they could swing by, and to please give him a call at his earliest convenience.

  It was hot in the truck and the air conditioner, while doing its best, just wasn‘t up to the task of cooling the hundred degree air that day. He‘d replenished the Dr. Pepper supply, and reached now for a cold one, his hand brushing Tyler‘s thigh as he opened the cooler.

  Boy, it sure is hot, Tyler said.

  Yeah. This old truck‘s bout had it, Clint agreed. He cranked down the windows and Tyler reached for the radio. Merle Haggard‘s distinctive, gruff voice filled the cab.

  Good ol‘ Merle, Tyler said, surprising Clint that he knew the old-time artist. He‘s so good you can almost forgive him his politics.

  Clint laughed, and began to recite from Haggard‘s famous anthem about being an Okie from Muskogee.

  Tyler chimed in with the line about white lightning. They grinned at each other, and Clint felt something ease inside him. True, they were only nine years apart, but sometimes that was enough of a gap to include a whole generation.

  Another song came on the radio, the man‘s voice rich and powerful, the soulful guitar licking beneath his words like a lover‘s kiss. The man singing warned his lover to keep their distance, that they must give all or none at all.

  That‘s Richard Thompson, Tyler announced, further impressing Clint. I saw him live in Austin. He‘s amazing.

  Can‘t say as I know him, Clint said. But I like the sound of this music. It‘s mournful but with a kind of hope, if you know what I mean. Tyler nodded and Clint felt he really did know. They rode on in companionable silence for a while, listening to the radio and drinking their soda.

  When they were only a few miles from Hoss Johnson‘s place, Clint tried again to reach him on his cell, but had no luck. The back of his shirt was soaked and sticking to the leather of the seat. He turned apologetically to Tyler, whose blond hair had darkened with sweat, his fair cheeks flushed from the heat. Guess we should have taken your fancy car, huh? Sorry about that. This heat spell came on pretty sudden.

  Tyler shrugged. It‘s okay. I‘m no stranger to West Texas summers.

  Taking this as a lead-in, Clint ventured, You wanna talk about it some, Ty? Why you really left the ranch? What happened to make you so gun shy?

  Tyler wiped his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve, pushing a wing of damp hair away, though it promptly fell back again. I‘m too hot to talk about anything. Tyler looked out his window so Clint could no longer see his face.

  Clint nodded, accepting that for the time being. After all, despite the intensity of their experience so far, they really barely knew one another. And in fairness, he‘d told Tyler next to nothing about himself. Not that there was all that much to tell. Shouldn‘t there, he suddenly thought, be more to tell? Yeah, Tyler had run from something, but was Clint any better? He‘d let life slide over him, taking small pleasures and accepting things as they came, but at what cost? Had he, in these passing years, lost the power to yearn with the intensity he‘d felt in Tyler over these past two days?

  Sensing he had to give Tyler room, he kept his tone light. Now wasn‘t the time to speak of things that mattered. He forced himself to focus on their mission. After all, his boss had given him a specific task—t
o find out what had happened to their tanks and, if possible, to get them back.

  If only Hoss would call back. He drummed his fingers a moment on the steering wheel as he marshaled his thoughts. He stared at the cell phone on the seat beside him, willing it to ring.

  It‘s too hot to wait in the truck, Clint said, turning to Tyler, but I don‘t want to go on without checkin‘ out Johnson‘s place. I got an idea. If memory serves, there‘s a creek off the road not too far from here. We could take a swim and cool off. I got towels and stuff in the back of the truck. How‘s that sound?

  Sounds great, Tyler said, turning back to him with a smile.

  Clint maneuvered the truck onto a narrow rutted dirt road that paralleled a thicket of trees. He drove alongside it a while until he found a break in the trees. Turning the wheel, he drove through the brush, following the sound of the water, now an audible rush and tumble in the quiet.

  Past the thicket the creek appeared, the water frothing and sparkling in the sunlight, surely as inviting as any oasis in the desert to the hot, sweat-soaked men. Clint pulled up alongside the creek and switched off the engine. The place was just as he‘d remembered it.

  How‘d you find this place? Tyler asked, as they climbed out of the truck.

  Friend of mine used to be from around here. Fellow by the name of Lee Spencer.

  Used to be? As in past tense?

  Well, he‘s still a friend, but back when we first met I was wet behind the ears, maybe twenty or so. He pulled up the tarp that covered the truck bed and rummaged for the bag where he kept spare towels and blankets. I was still explorin‘ back then. Figurin‘ out who I was.

  Meaning if you were gay or not? Tyler asked.

  Nah, I knew that since I was in grammar school. He paused, adding, Remember that show, Bonanza?