Monday, December 02, 2013

Sunday, November 03, 2013

I'll Just Leave This Here...

With Michael Forest In Deathwatch (1966).

Watch on YouTube:

Monday, September 09, 2013

Enemy Within

I would like to say that the Devil made me do it but it was Iddy! She was all, “Write me some Kirk smut.”

So I did.

Be careful what you ask for.

~~Enemy Within

We were at Starfleet Headquarters for a Medal Ceremony that I'd run out of excuses to dodge. In reality, I was trying to avoid Nogura who, if she got within arm's reach, would take me off at the neck. In a last ditch effort to get out of it, I appealed to my dear old friend, Admiral Morrow.

He laughed in my face and made disparaging remarks about my parentage.

"I gotta be there, you gotta be there, plebe," he said and clicked off the comm.

Dress uniforms, rubbery chicken and a lot of hot air from the Admiralty. I hated these things. And because of our most recent mission, I was to return in a few weeks for another one. As she pressed the medal to my chest, Admiral Nogura had murmured, "Pull a stunt like that again, and I'll hand you your ass."

"Sometimes you just have to kick in the door, sir," I said.

"Grow up, Jim," she said, smiling for the camera through clenched teeth.

I have an appointment with her in the morning. She'd already put me on report but apparently wasn't done chewing me out. Chris Pike was the only other Starfleet officer to get both a medal of valor and disciplined for the same action. A small part of me was proud to be in his company.

But Nogura was right. It was a bad example to young Star Fleet officers. I took a huge risk and I'm very, very lucky I didn't get myself killed. Even Bones was shocked into silence, his eyes avoiding mine as he grimly attended my wounds. There was no lecture. He didn't try to hold me in sick bay, just grounded me for a week and released me to my quarters with a few pain pills. In that woozy first day, I roused briefly to the soft purr of a Feinberger and big. warm hands turning me gently so I rested on my side. I’m pretty sure it was Bones. I also had a vague recollection of Spock sitting next to my bunk, his fingers steepled in a meditative pose.

Beyond that, Spock, Bones and I have not spoken beyond terse, daily debriefings.

I gazed around the formal dining room. Sulu and General Golan sat across from me having a somewhat chilling discussion about battle knives. Riley was about to find out the hard way that the fey Ker Ambassador was decidedly male and firmly oriented towards females. Nogura had slipped out before dessert was served and Bones disappeared soon after.

They didn't fool me.

Spock and Uhura stood with Sarek and Amanda. Spock and Sarek waited patiently albeit, with slightly glazed expressions--while the women chatted. I had to drag my eyes from the slit in Uhura's gown.

I shifted in my chair. I was tired and hungry. My shoulder ached. I wanted to yawn but my ribs hurt too much. My left knee was sore. My right ankle throbbed. The area deep beneath my solar plexus itched terribly. I can't even describe what was going on with my back. I started to wish I'd taken one of the pills Bones left for me.

To make matters worse, my cock was hard.

It was a post-traumatic stress response--my hard cock, I mean. I generally deal with PTSS with exercise and solitude. It sometimes left in me excess adrenaline and testosterone that coursed through my blood like old-time rocket fuel. I can burn it out on the heavy bag or put in some hard miles alone on the saucer track. Sleeping a lot helped. On rare occasions however, it kicked my libido into overdrive. I needed sex--specifically, orgasm. Not the healing intimacy of sex with another person, not masturbation. I'm talking about fucking someone until I came. That someone only needed to be a female, and not necessarily of the human species. I would become singularly focused on ejaculating. The fucking was a means to an end. That end was me, days later, exhausted, depleted, myself again. It was the enemy within that sometimes took me to a dark place.

I once confided in Spock and he said simply, "I understand."

I looked over at Uhura again. Two and a half years into the mission and we were just starting to get beyond the commander and officer relationship. She spent a lot of off duty time with Spock. I spent a lot of off duty time with Spock. Our time occasionally overlapped. We weren't quite friends but it was closer than I ever got with a female member of my crew. Usually, whenever I was injured, she dropped by sick bay or my cabin, scolded me for being so reckless, her brow furrowed with concern. I'd brush off her sympathy but I had to admit that I secretly enjoyed her attention. This time, she hadn't visited me in sick bay nor had she inquired of Spock as to my health. He would've told me if she had. During the ceremony, she never even looked in my direction. We've had our disagreements before--that's the nature of a good command team. This was different. She was very angry with me. But I didn't care. The stressed and traumatized part of me only wanted to fuck her and come inside her. I looked away.

I squirmed in my seat trying to reposition my erection. So far, my pain kept my libido somewhat at bay but now my pain was losing that battle. I had to get out of here. Now. I had an old friend on sex standby but she was only available until 0100 hours. It was 2350 now. With luck, I could be at her place in ten minutes. She was strong and flexible and could do most of the …work. Two hours of athletic sex might take the edge off; after which, I could pop one of Bone's pills and hopefully put my raging id to sleep.

I rose slowly and walked painfully over to Spock.

Amanda gasped. "My word, Captain. You look positively awful."

"My wife--," started Sarek.

"It's quite all right, Ambassador," I said. "My chief medical officer said as much before we beamed down."

"He should have made you stay in bed," said Amanda.

"Would that I could've gotten out of this that easily," I said. I turned to Spock. "But bed is exactly where I'm going now."

Spock studied me for a long moment. "I'll assist you," he said.

"I'm fine, Spock. I don't need help," I said. I stared into his dark eyes. He knew that I was lying through my teeth.

"Lt. Uhura, please see that the captain arrives safely at his quarters," he said.

"I really don't need anyone's help Miss Uhura," I said.

"It's no trouble, Captain," said Uhura.

"But--." I tried to raise to my most imposing command posture. It hurt like hell. And it didn't work.
Uhura gave me a flinty glare, her eyes as dark as Spock's. I began to rethink my desire to be alone with her. I didn't need another broken bone.

"Dr. McCoy's orders were to see you turned in early, sir," said Uhura, nodding toward the exit.

"Mr. Spock."

"Goodnight, sir," said Spock. His tone was severe, his body stiff.

I looked from one to the other. It suddenly occurred to me that Spock and Uhura might be more than just music recital partners.

"You are outnumbered, Captain," said Sarek.

"Apparently," I said. "Good evening, Ambassador. Lady Amanda."

Uhura gripped my elbow and propelled me toward the exit. On the way out, I had to lean against her for support. I refused to use the cane Bones gave me. I had to stop for a moment at the door to brace myself against another spasm of pain. I exhaled slowly through my nose. Uhura held me by the arm.

"Can you make it, sir?" she asked.

I looked at her face and that small frown of concern was back. The perfume she was wearing had a subtle spicy fragrance, like cloves or anise -- a scent I normally associated with Spock. I could feel the side of her breast against my arm. Even through all of this pain, I couldn't stop myself from wondering how I could work this to my advantage with Uhura. I glanced back. Spock was watching. He took a step forward.

"Yes, yes. I can make it, Miss Uhura," I said.

Outside at the transporter site, Uhura and I stood apart. She flipped open her communicator and called the ship.

"You smell really good," I said and immediately felt foolish. "Uh, maybe Spock should escort me to--," I began.

She turned to me. "Two to beam up," she said.


Uhura stepped off the transporter dais and stood at the door. I limped down the stairs, trying not to wince.

Scotty stood by the controls, hands on hips.

"Need any help?" he asked, not moving an inch to assist me.

"No, Scotty. I think I can make it," I said.

He retrieved a padd from the console. "Department reports, sir," he said.

I held out my hand but he gave it to Uhura instead. Uhura gripped the padd tightly at her side.

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow, Captain," said Scotty.

I opened my mouth, closed it, decided to let it go.

"Very well, Mr. Scott. Goodnight."

"Aye," said Scotty. He fiddled with the console, not looking up.

Uhura walked through the door ahead of me without waiting to see if I followed.

Dangerous stunt or not, I was starting chafe at all the subtle chastisement from my senior staff. I am the Captain. I make the decisions and I am not bound to explain myself to my crew, regardless of the closeness of our relationship. This is not a democracy. It was time to remind them of that. I frowned at Uhura's stiff back. Her gown was made of some shimmery red fabric that clung to her curves and plunged to her waist in the back, leaving a lot of skin exposed--a lot of smooth, brown skin. I watched the muscles in her back flex as she walked down the corridor and entered my quarters.

I stood uncertainly at the door of my own cabin. I peered in. She was standing at my desk. She carefully placed the padd on the far side of the computer. The fabric of her dress shifted over her skin as she straightened. I clenched my fists against a surge of lust. I could see that she was still angry but I was emotionally disconnected from anything she might be feeling.

Her eyes flicked over my shoulder at the sound of voices coming down the corridor.

"You'd better come in," she said.

I fought the urge to reach out and grab her breasts. I actually took a step forward before I stopped myself. The door swished shut behind me. I walked slowly over to the partition that separated the sleeping alcove from the living area. I leaned my hip against the half-wall, laced my fingers through the lattice and held on. To my credit, I kept my eyes from drifting lower than her chin.

She fingered the small bottle pain pills. "You should take one of these," she said.

That was the last thing I wanted to do. Those pain pills could kill the boner on a Rigellian water beast. As troublesome as these spells were, I did rather enjoy them -- as did the friend who was waiting for me. I felt a warm, fluttery, slightly painful tightness in my balls that had nothing to do with my injuries. I resisted the urge to glance at my chronometer projection.

"I'll take one after a hot shower," I said. That was actually the truth. "You've seen me safely to my quarters, lieutenant," I said. "You are dismissed." I smiled, waiting for her to leave. I wanted—needed--to go back to the transporter room, beam out and go get my dick sucked.

Uhura didn't move. In fact, she stared me down.

I had enough of this.

"I did my job, Nyota" I said. "I took a risk. It worked out."

She nodded. "A very big risk," she said.

"Once the Enterprise was out of danger, I had to go back."

"I know."

"All those people -- I couldn't. I had to go back."

"I know, Jim."

That was the first time she'd ever addressed me by my first name. I a bit taken aback but I was on a self-righteous roll. "I'm not sorry for what I did and I need my senior staff to knock off the judgment."

"You scared us, that's all."

I took a deep breath that hurt very much. "I'm sorry if I scared you," I said. I wasn't. Not really.

"Until the next time," she said.

"Until the next time, yes," I said.

I risked another deep breath. Holding myself upright was increasingly painful. I grimaced.

"You're tired. Go to bed," she said.

Kind words, finally.

"I will," I said.

I glanced at the chronometer. If I left now, I could still get in a little over an hour with my friend. I was actually glad that I came back to my quarters. It was probably better that I didn't show up in my dress uniform.

I thought Uhura would leave if I ignored her. I turned my back and stepped into my sleeping alcove. I gripped the hem of my jacket. I couldn't manage to raise it above my navel.

"Would you like me to help you?" asked Uhura.

"No. I got it." My ribs screamed and that itchy spot beneath my solar plexus throbbed once, ominously. I lowered my arms carefully. I turned back to her. "Yes, please," I said. "Thank you."

She walked over, the slit in her dress sliding open. One thigh was bared nearly to the hip. She stood close, our bodies touching lightly from chest to knees. She had to feel my erection against her belly. I moved a fraction of an inch away. She started removing the medals from my jacket. She'd dusted sparkly stuff on her shoulders and across her collar bones. I stared at her skin, fascinated.

"You're going to put out an eye with these, trying to pull it over your head," she said.

I could feel the soft scratch of her nails through the fabric. I shivered. She dangled the newest medal from her fingertips, watching it gleam dully in the low light.

"You could've been killed," she whispered, placing the medal in a box that held a jumble of my other medals.

"Ahem. I should probably get uh, Yeoman What's Her Name to sort those," I said quietly.

Uhura slowly unfastened my jacket, starting at the bottom.

"You could've been killed," she said, again.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Just-- please. No lecture. I can't take it tonight, ok?"

"Don't tell me what to do."

Just when I thought my dick couldn't get any harder. "Oh," I said. "I see."

"Shut up and relax."


She ran her hands up my chest and into my hair. Her hands were soft and warm.

I shut up but I was far from relaxed.

She tugged on my hair and I let my head loll with the motion. She pushed my jacket off my shoulders and moved her hands over my body, gently probing the vast bruise that draped over my left shoulder. My torso was bumped and ridged with welts of regenerated tissue over shallow wounds. Her feather-light touch hurt but I didn't flinch. Flinching was painful.

"Your beautiful skin," she whispered.

"They'll disappear in a few days," I said. My head was spinning. I wanted her to leave. I needed her to leave.

She stared into my eyes and I knew what she was offering. I closed my eyes and swallowed.

"I can't," I said.

"You can't?"

"No. Yes! I...can. It's just that it--."

"Will it hurt too much?"

"Yes. No. I mean, I can but--. Wait. What are you asking?"

"Do I need to spell it out, Jim?"

She pressed her lips against the tender, pink wound just below my left nipple. It was a near-fatal injury; oddly, the least painful of all the others. Bones had only sealed the edges together and not covered it with synthskin after surgery. It will be a ragged, circular scar--a reminder from the doctor.

Fair enough.

"Nyota, I don't think this--."

"Shh. Let me help," she said.

I was powerless against my pain and the hot lust that replaced the blood in my veins. I needed to find something outside of myself to stop this.

"Spock," I said. It was all I could think of to say.

Uhura leaned back, her hands resting lightly on my chest. She waited for me to go on.

"Aren't the two of you ... together?" I asked.

"Together. Yes."

My heart seemed to seize for a moment. "Then I don't understand why you're here."

"I know what you need."

"What? H-how?"

She smiled softly. "You think I don't know this about you, Jim? I've been three feet away from you everyday for over two years. I know you. I can feel you, sometimes."

I thought about the aftermath of my battle with the Gorn captain, Ssizzeen. We were in deep space and I had nowhere to go for release. For three days, Spock sparred with me in the gym. He thumped me hard, twice with the bludgeon end of a lirpa before I came to my senses.

I turned my face to the side and flushed darkly.

"Let me help," said Uhura.

She took my hand and slid it under the slit in her dress. My hand traveled up the smooth curve of her hip. I shuddered.

"This won't end the way you want it to, Uhura," I said.

"Let me be the judge of that."

She hooked the waistband of my pants with a finger and backed further into my sleeping alcove, tugging me along. She surprised me when she shifted our direction away from the bed and ended with my back against the far wall. She unhooked the tab of my pants and opened the fly. She slid her hands into my briefs and grasped my cock. My breath hitched in my chest.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked.

"It's the only thing on my body that doesn't hurt."

"Would you like to lie down?" she asked.

Standing, lying, either was uncomfortable. I felt like all of my bones were breaking. I exhaled softly, riding the wave of pain in my lower back. A light sweat broke out all over my body.

"I'm okay standing," I said.

"Turn around," she said.


"Face the wall."

I raised my hands to my chest, palms out. "Wait," I said.

"Hands against the wall."

She gently turned me toward the wall with her hands on my shoulders. Her breath was warm on the back of my neck. I pressed my hands to the wall. Her breasts were soft against my back. She pulled my pants down to my hips, reached around and grasped my sex with both hands. I rested my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. I was beyond able to put a stop to this. To be perfectly honest, my will left me when I stepped of the transporter dais.

"Tell me what you want," she said.

My cock pulsed in her hands.

"Nyota," I moaned.

"Tell me what you need, Jim."

"I need--. I need to --."

"What, my love?"

For a moment, I wasn't sure I heard her correctly. This was not going to end well.

"I want to--I don't think --."


"I want to come," I whispered.

"Tell me again."

"Oh, God, Nyota. I need to come."

"You saved them."


"All of those people, Jim. You saved them."

I opened my eyes. "Not all of them."

"You did enough."

"Maybe." I turned from the wall. "Nyota. We have to stop."

"Why? You don't stop. You never stop." She turned me back to the wall and slowly levered my pants down with one hand. "You don't stop. I won't stop."

"That's not fair. You know I can't do that. I won't stop being the captain."

"Then I won't stop either." She knelt and pulled my pants from my ankles.

I was naked now. Nyota lightly stroked me with both hands, rubbing her thumb over and over the head of my cock. I gritted my teeth against that dark force within me. I wanted to fuck her but I didn't want to scare her. I tried to turn around.

"Keep your hands on the wall, Jim."

"You don't know what you're doing to me."

"I do know. I can feel it." She squeezed me--hard.

I laughed out a moan. "Oh, God."

I felt her move away from me.

"Turn around," she said.

I told myself not to frighten her but I turned and saw her kneeling on the deck. Her lips were moist and slightly parted and I was undone. To my eternal shame, there was nothing tender in what I did next. I gave no thought to how it might end.

I cupped the back of her head with my hands and shoved my cock into her mouth. Deep. I pulled out and did it again. And again. I closed my eyes. I couldn't look at her. But I didn't stop. Common sense and good judgment had fled me, just as it did on that planet three days ago. I pumped my hips and thrust hard. I had a fleeting thought that I might be hurting her but that darkness took over. I told myself that she would bite me if I was hurting her. She didn't bite down but I don't know if I could have -- would have-- stopped if she did. I came in her mouth with hard, painful spasms that slammed my back into the wall, my fingers twined tightly in her hair.

My cock was still hard in her mouth when I felt her prying my fingers from the back of her head. Only then did I open my eyes. She looked up at me and pulled back, slowly sliding me out of her mouth. I shuddered from pain or pleasure; I couldn't tell which.

"I'm sorry," I gasped. "Nyota. I'm so sorry I did that to you."

"You didn't do anything I didn't allow."

"Still..." I looked down at her. I reached out to help her up but the pain in my back locked me in place.

"Please stand," I pleaded.

"I don't think we're finished here," she said.


She gave my erection a wry look. My face burned. I couldn't speak. She was right. I was far from finished.

"Please stand up, Nyota." I said.


Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Admiral Nogura

Shohreh Aghdashloo is who I'd cast as Admiral Nogura.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013


Happy birthday, baby love.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Yes, Please.

Watch "Wire in the Blood." It's streaming on Netflix.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Down From the Mountains

Lately, I can’t seem to get away from the story “Happiness At Least.” Here’s a sneak preview, told from Spock’s point of view.

Down From the Mountains

Summary: Spock travels to the monastery after the loss of his child.

~~Chapter One

Taktshang Dzong, Paro, Bhutan -- 10 June, 1979

I recalled the completion ceremony of my kaswan as I climbed the path to the dzong built from the living rock of the mountain.

My father had stood beside me before the High Council. I was fatigued in the extreme and weighted with grief for the death of my sehlat, I’Chaya, but I held myself upright until the end. T’Lar gazed down at me from the Council dais.

“You bring honor to your father’s house, Spock,” she said. “Though, I would not recommend such for one as young as you.” Her eyes turned to my father. “Ever again.”

Sarek shifted minutely.

I took a quick half-step forward. “My father’s house honors me, S’haile. The decision was --.” I paused. “Mine,” I finished.

“As you say,” said T’Lar, her eyes still on my father.

I attempted to hold my exhaustion at bay on the way back to the palace; but, I was, after all, a child of seven. I fell asleep in the soft cup of the flitter seat. I roused briefly when my father laid me on my bed and removed my desert boots. I


him then -- his pride in me, his love for me and his delighted wonder at my very existence. He brushed my bangs from my forehead with his fingertips and --

          ...with my life, Spock-kam.

whispered into my dreams.


Tuesday, January 22, 2013

After the Rain


I know.  I know.

Another prequel to "After the Gallows." I think this is complete but there might be more to come.

CBS owns Gunsmoke. I own the original characters and creative content.

I have no beta. All my fubars are belong to me.

After the Rain

~~Chapter One

Dodge City had been dry as buffalo bones. We were nearly to the point of wringing water out of the mud at the bottom of the well for drinking when the rain came out of the clear blue sky and the four-year drought ended with a deluge, the likes of which could best be described in a parable from the Bible.

I was in my office cleaning weapons. I was preparing for the water war that was likely to start in the next day or two when I heard a sound like muffled cannon fire. The building began to shake. A moment later, I heard the whoops and hollers of cowboys in the street. The floor vibrated beneath my boots and the windows rattled in their frames. I jumped from my chair and crossed the room in one leap. I flung open the door and stepped out onto the boardwalk, fully expecting to see stampeding cattle. I could barely see anything. The world seemed shrouded in a veil of gray. Everyone, not just cowboys, was spinning and jumping in the street with their arms raised and their faces turned to the sky. Colonel Honeyman, a supply wagon and a small contingent of troops trotted past the jail. The scene was so confusing that my second thought was that this was an Indian uprising. I had actually put my hand on my gun before I finally realized that it was raining.

I stared dumbly at the dense cloud overhead. Rain was coming down hard, in sheets and from every direction.

Chester was in the street in front of the Long Branch dancing a bouncing hoedown waltz with a drunken trail hand.

“Ain’t it grand, Mr. Dillon,” he shouted.

Wilbur Jonas came out of his store yelling frantically and lugging an enormous tin cauldron. People came to their senses and rushed to roll rain barrels to downspouts and put out buckets and pots and anything else that could catch the rain.

Honeyman and his troops stopped at Doc’s office. He ordered his sergeant to supervise unloading the wagon and spurred his horse over. He grinned at me from beneath the dripping brim of his hat.

“That cloud seemed to follow us all the way from the Fort then opened up like God Himself dumped a bucket of water,” He said, holding up his hand. Water poured from his palm. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I hope it lasts,” I said.

“If it’s raining like this up north, the run-off will fill the creeks."

I pointed my chin toward Doc’s office. “You have supplies for Doc, do you?”

Honeyman pursed his lips and looked away. “We’re installing the new auditor in that little storefront. The Army owns that block of buildings, you know. It will be a War Department office like any other.” He coughed lightly into his fist. “There’s a kitchen in the back and rooms above. I’m sure it will be nice for him and his boy. He’s a Frenchman. And he’s some kind of priest? Which is good after the Ridge Town embarrassment.” He trailed off, still unable to meet my eyes.

“I see." I kept my voice neutral.

“I’d have him at the Fort if I could but my hands are tied.” He lifted his chin. “We there are no Negro troops at Fort Dodge and I need him here, not clean out at Abilene.”

“Makes sense.”

“I believe it does.” He wheeled his horse around and looked up. “Yes. I hope this rain stays with us a week or two.” He started forward then stopped. He finally met my eyes. “Could you... that is to say... the padre’s boy looks a little frail. Eyes big and grey like a fledgling barn owl’s.” He cleared his throat. “Er, Texas drovers and such...”

I nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on them,” I said.

“Thank you, Matt.” He high-stepped his horse back to the office and loudly ordered his sergeant around, making a big show of installing the new auditor, sending a message to the town that the new man had the protection of the Calvary, even if they could not reside under the same roof.

I squinted through the downpour and saw a man wearing a priest’s collar carry a small trunk into the storefront. He was tall and angular and did not look Negro from where I stood. A horse shied and created a space where I could see a black boy standing at the foot of Doc’s stairs. His over-sized clothes were plastered to his body. He tugged down his knitted cap and folded his arms across his chest, though the rain was warm as bath water. He bent gracefully and picked up something from the ground. He peered at it, tilting his head, exposing the soft hollow where his jaw met his long neck.

He was as dark and delicate as a new violet.

I blinked, startled by the thought.

I stepped off the boardwalk into the rain to clear my head. I looked back at the boy. He was gone.

I went into my office, took off my boots and socks then dragged a chair into the street. The rain beat against my scalp and shoulders. I turned my face to the sky and opened my mouth. I drank my fill for the first time in over a month. I sat in the chair and stretched out my legs, intending to let the rain wash through the dust and the sweat in my clothes and on my body.

There was a ruckus down by the Lady Gay. A cowboy wearing only his boots and hat sat in the mud and washed his armpits with soap, singing “Old Dan Tucker” at the top of his lungs. I sighed, picked up the chair and walked into the jail.


I sat in Doc’s office that evening, gazing out the open window, trying to keep my thoughts as blank and gray as the wall of the building next door. The warm damp breeze misted me with water but my clothes were mostly dry, hours after my time in the rain. The rain had let up some but still came down hard. The town sobered up as cisterns overflowed and houses sprang leaks that were forgotten in the drought.

I could feel Doc’s eyes flick toward me from time to time but he was silent, sipping from his cup of coffee. There was a muffled thump from downstairs. I pretended not to hear it.

“Gonna need to light a lamp soon,” said Doc.


“Want some more coffee?”

“Got any whiskey?”


“Just as well. I’m up late tonight.”

“There might be some antelope stew left at Delmonico’s.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Doc reached out and pressed the backs of his fingers to my forehead. Normally, I would complain, but this time I let him take my temperature. Maybe I was sick.

“You got a bellyache?” asked Doc.

“No. Yes.” I frowned. “No,” I said.

“Maybe you should take the night off.”

“Chester got drunk with everybody else this afternoon.”

Doc stood and walked across the room. He lit a lamp and brought it close to my face. He stared at me.

“What?” I said.

“You tell me.”

I turned my eyes back to the gray wall. I folded my arms and rocked back in the chair, huffing out a laugh. This morning I was preparing for a war.”

“All dressed up and no place to go.”

“Something like that.”

Doc set the lamp on his desk and took his jacket off its peg in the wall. 

"Where are you going?” I asked.

“Something smells good. I’m going down to meet the new neighbors and beg for my supper.”

“Doc, you can’t just – “

He shrugged into his jacket and jammed his hat on his head. “You coming?”

“No, I’m not coming.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, stepping out the door.

I sat upright in the chair and watched as the top of his hat sank past the window. I stood quickly and took a step. I stopped. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Doc, wait,” I called.


We stood on the boardwalk and peered into the office windows. The room inside was softly lit with candles. The black boy I’d seen earlier placed cutlery and napkins on an upturned crate set at the far wall. He leaned forward and his features were revealed by the candle flame.

I sincerely hoped that Doc didn’t hear me catch my breath.

Doc rapped on the door and I nearly jumped out of my skin. The boy looked up sharply, his eyes wide. Doc waved and smiled big. The boy took a step back. His father entered the room carrying a tray that held a bottle of wine and two glasses. He smiled brightly when he saw us, setting down the tray and rushing to the door.

“Come in! Come in,” he said, fumbling with the lock. “You are just in time for supper. We usually dine later but it has been a long day for my…child.”

“We wouldn’t want to intrude,” said Doc, inhaling deeply.

“No, no. It is no bother. The Army gives us meat and I always cook too much."

He held out his hand. “I am Emile Lemieux and that is Jimmy.” He turned to the boy. “Set two more places, petit.”

“Well, if you insist,” said Doc.

“I do, I do. Crates will have to do as table and chairs. It will be cozy.”

I had to admit that the delicious aroma of beef cooked with onions and wine made my stomach growl.

“I’m Doctor Adams and this – .” Doc looked back at me and did a double take. “This is the Marshal.” He stared at my face with raised brows.

“Ah. Matt Dillon.” Lemieux stepped close and looked up at me with his hands on his hips. “In my country, I am considered a tall man. Colonel Honeyman’s description did not do you justice.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” I said.

“Were your ancestors perhaps Norsemen, Matthew?”

“I have no idea.”

Lemieux flapped a hand. “No matter. I cooked enough to feed an army of Vikings.”

We followed him to the back of the office where the crate was set up. The boy returned with the dishes but stood uncertainly behind his father. I felt Doc stiffen next to me. He took off his hat, put it back on then took it off again. He twitched his mustache and blinked rapidly a few times. I was too distracted to try to decipher his sign language.

“Sit, sit,” said Lemieux. “The meal is simple tonight but soon we will make a garden. There will be snap peas and tomatoes to eat. Right, Jimmy?”

Oui, papa,” he said softly.

He moved around his father and began to set our places. I sat on a crate at the makeshift table, my knees bending nearly to my chest. Jimmy leaned close, laying a napkin on my plate.

I was suddenly and painfully aware that my clothes had gone unlaundered for at a month and for at least that long, my baths had consisted of a damp cloth rubbed on my rude parts. Though I had stood in the rain and gotten a short rinse, both me and my clothes could use a good scrub. I shifted in my seat and tried to keep my shirt from billowing.

“Are you comfortable, Marshal?” asked Jimmy. His voice was low and a little husky.

I opened my mouth but no words came out.

“Don’t worry about him, son,” said Doc. “He’s big but he can fold those long legs into a space a child could fit in.”

Jimmy smiled with lowered lashes and a flash of white teeth.

“Well, for heaven’s sake,” said Doc. “Some girl is going to spend her life trying to get you to smile like that.”

“Thank you, Doctor Adams,” he said.

 Jimmy sat at the table and glanced shyly at me. His eyes reflected grey and gold in the candlelight. They were large and almond-shaped -- not like an owl’s at all. I was grateful for the low light because my face had flushed crimson.

I decided that I must be sick.

“Would you like some wine, Marshal?”

“Yes,” I croaked.

As the boy poured the wine with one hand, he propped his other elbow on the table, his hand limp on the end of his slender wrist. The act was absently elegant, the way a young aristocrat would pour wine for his guests after he dismissed the servants.

“I apologize for the wine. It is the best we could find the short time we were in St. Louis.”

“It’s fine,” I murmured.

I was silent the rest of the meal. Father Lemieux gleefully piled meat on my plate. I could put away huge amounts of food when I wanted to and I used it as an excuse not to speak. I tried to keep my eyes on my plate. I made the mistake of looking at Jimmy just as he tucked his plump lower lip into his mouth and sucked off a droplet of wine.

I stood abruptly.

“I need to get back to the office,” I said.

The three of them stared at me, blinking.

“Thank you for the meal, Reverend. I’ll see you later, Doc.”

I turned and fled.

In the following weeks, I managed to avoid the Reverend and his son. Unfortunately, I had less control over my mind and ... other things.


“None of us are getting any younger,” said Kitty. 

 I rolled unto my back and folded my arm across my face. “I'm not that old,” I said.

“You’re just tired.”

“I’ve been tired before.”

“Maybe Doc could...”

“I’m not talking to Doc about this.”

“It’s the second time in a week. There might be –.”

“Drop it, Kitty.”

She moved away from me a fraction of an inch. I should’ve taken her into my arms then but I didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” I said.

She clutched the sheet to her breasts. “Is it me? Have I done something? Is it something that I ... haven’t done?” she asked.

I gazed at her. Her face was bare and her hair fell in waves about her shoulders. I stroked my fingers along her jaw. She was beautiful. I pulled her to me.

“It’s not you, Kitten. You’re right, I’m tired.” I settled her in my arms. “I’m better in the mornings anyway.”

I felt her smile against my chest.

“That you are, cowboy,” she said.

I lay awake, purposely waiting to wake her after the sun rose so I could pretend to have overslept and leave in a hurry.

I walked toward Delmonico’s instead of the jail because I didn’t feel up to Chester’s morning effusiveness. Halfway to the restaurant, I realized that I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts, either. Fortunately, Doc pulled up alongside me in his buggy.

“You look as tired as I feel,” he said.

“You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“I’m buying.”

“Hop in.”

I vaulted into his buggy and rode with him to the stable. As we walked back to Delmonico’s, we passed by Lemieux’s office. He and his son placed a placard with the War Department seal on it in the window and raised a flag on the pole outside every morning. The flag was up and waving listlessly in the damp breeze. Doc slowed but I kept going. When he caught up with me, he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“I’m all right,” I said.

“You haven’t been right for two weeks. Not since that…” He followed my gaze.

Jimmy was out sweeping the boardwalk in front of the office.

“You got a problem with them?” asked Doc, pointing with his thumb.


“You told Honeyman you’d keep a look out.”

“I can keep my eye on them from a distance.”

He stared at me, alarmed. “Matt! You’re not saying you –.”

“You know me better than that.”

“Then what in thunder is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. You’re right. I might be coming down with something. Look, I got to get to the office.”

“We haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“You go on. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“God damn it, Matt.”

I watched Jimmy laugh at a chicken that circled his feet, pecking in the small pile of trash he pushed with his broom.

“That boy is thin as a twig,” I said -- realizing too late that I’d said it out loud.

“He’s wispy but he’s fine. It’s just taking him a little time to bounce back from his typhus.” 


“Whole family came down with it last year when they were ministering to the poor in Cairo. Lost his mother and his twin.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you would if you talked to them from time to time.” Doc gave a small shake of his head. “Terrible thing to lose your twin. It cuts you in half. That more than anything is slowing his recovery.”

I took off my hat and ran my fingers through my hair. “Listen, Doc. I – .” I glanced around. The streets were empty of traffic but would fill as people finished their morning chores. “What would cause a man to uh, to... I was with Kitty last night and I --.” I took a deep breath. “I couldn’t,” I said, quietly.

“That happens to every man from time to time, Matt. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“It happened twice this week.”

“Eh, you’re tired. You need to try to keep some regular hours. Get yourself a real deputy. Take those Thursday afternoons off like I told you.”

“All the sudden everybody thinks I’m old and tired.”

Doc leaned back and looked me over. “Everything else coming out okay? Any irregularities?”

"Not that I could see.”

"Anything hurt or feel tender down there? Does your back ache?”


Doc shrugged. “I could take you back to my office and examine you more thoroughly but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you that a vacation couldn’t cure.”

“I’ll be in Abilene next week. Maybe I’ll stay an extra day.”

“Make it two days.” His eyes roamed my face. “That’s not the only thing bothering you.”

“Isn’t that enough?” I snapped. I couldn’t resist another glance at Jimmy.

Doc followed my gaze. He looked back at me. His eyes widened. Comprehension dawned on his face. He tried to hide a grin with a brush of his hand over his mustache. He hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets and rocked back on his heels.

“You got something to say?” I asked.

“Only that there’s nothing new under the sun.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He pursed his lips and twitched his mustache. “Let’s get breakfast,” he said.


I was at Quint Asper’s waiting for him to finish shoeing my horse when Jimmy came in, riding my Bay mare. He was grooming for Moss Grimmick and I’d seen him exercising her in wide circles in Moss’s back corral, posting smoothly in rhythm with the horse.

Today. he was riding bareback, using a piece of rope as halter and reins. The mare was smaller than Buck but she was tall. Without thinking, I reached up and lifted the boy from the horse’s back. He was weightless as a handful of hay.

I held him straight up over my head with my hands wrapped around his waist. I stared up at him. His face was as close to beautiful as a boy’s face could get. His hand fluttered down and lightly gripped my wrist.

“Mr. Dillon,” he whispered.

Quint brought his hammer down on a hot horseshoe. Jimmy flinched and I nearly dropped him. I set him on his feet and stepped back, my face on fire.

I got my horse from Quint and left for Abilene.

I felt the feathery imprint of Jimmy’s hand on my wrist all day.


Unlike Wichita, Abilene still had the feel of a cow town, even though both cities were established around the same time. It was a rowdy place with door-to-door saloons and a jail big enough to hold forty men. The Sheriff employed eight deputies and a full-time judge presided over the court. They were uncompromising men and anyone who possessed a loaded gun within the city limits spent seven days busting rocks with a sledgehammer in the jail yard. There were noise ordinances and weeknight curfews. In spite of this, it was a popular stop off for drovers and ranchers looking for a good time.

The best thing about Abilene was that it was populous enough that, outside of the lawmen and a couple of dancehall girls, very few people knew me. After I concluded my business with the court, I could take off my badge and lose myself in the crowd. I walked around that first night and found myself avoiding the saloons. I decided that I needed to think through what was going on in my head.

What was going through my head was Jimmy.

As Doc said, there is nothing new under the sun -- and there is very little that is new to me. I know that my appearance is striking and I have felt the speculative gaze of both men and women. I’ve been in situations where there is only the company of men -- cattle drives, the Army, a summer spent on a steamship going to and from Hispaniola when I was seventeen. I know that men sometimes turn to other men out of loneliness, fear, drunkenness, boredom or even love. I knew two drovers who were married to women at home but “married” to each other on the trail. They were good men and their relationship was no skin off my nose. But I never figured that sort of attraction for myself. I can admire a handsome man; but, lonely, drunk or bored – it was a woman I wanted. I loved the taste of women, the feel of their flesh under my hands, the sound of their laughter, the scent of their arousal.

This thing with Jimmy, I had to finally admit to myself that I was attracted to him. The attraction was immediate and visceral. Lust made my knees weak and I felt hot and slightly disoriented as if I was on the verge of an ague. Deep in my sex was a tension like a rope being stretched and stretched. I didn’t understand why I felt this way but I did know myself. Soon, that rope was going to snap.

I wandered Abilene’s main thoroughfare until I discovered a small restaurant off an alley at the quiet end of the street. There was only one large, round table inside and about a dozen vaqueros sat around it eating and drinking. The aroma of charring meat and tortillas fried in chicken fat wafted into the street. There was one empty chair. I went in. None of the men acknowledged my presence but they weren’t hostile, either. They just minded their own business.

I was seated for less than a minute when a bent old man set in front of me a big cup of sangria and a huge plate heaped with a whole spit-roasted chicken, strips of beef, charro beans and roasted chilies stuffed with white cheese. The meat was spicy and tender, the tortillas hot, thick and greasy. I took a deep gulp of the sangria and choked down a cough that would’ve brought up my spleen. Their version of sangria was tequila poured over sugar, sliced oranges, limes and crushed grapes -- and it was wholly delicious. The old man kept my cup filled and when I’d eaten all the food on my plate, he brought me a saucer of flat biscuits thickly crusted with sugar and cocoa. After he cleared the table, the old man perched on a stool in the back of the restaurant, played a guitar and sang plaintive Mayan songs. A young woman with a soft smile brought in buckets of beer and even more sangria. I sat in companionable silence with the vaqueros and spent the rest of the evening getting quietly drunk.

It was after midnight when I walked a little unsteadily back to my hotel room. My head swam pleasantly. I was very sleepy but I wasn’t ready for bed. I stopped in the doorway of the saloon across the street from my hotel. Four saloon girls stood on a balcony above the barroom. One of them had brightest blonde hair I’d ever seen. She leaned her elbows on the railing. Her breasts billowed from her bodice, and she was round as a teapot. She saw me watching. She straightened to give me a better view. Her assets were impressive and I gave them the serious consideration they were due. She could be the best thing for me -- or the last thing I needed.  I was a little more drunk than I cared to be and I never did have much luck with blondes.

I crossed the street to my hotel, went to my room, locked the door, stripped off my clothes and collapsed naked onto the bed. …

“You’ve got to leave me be,” I said. But even as I said it, I could feel that rope in my belly stretch a little more. My scrotum tightened. My anus constricted and pleasure rippled down the backs my legs. All the blood rushed from my head with a roaring sound in my ears. She straddled me and positioned my cock at the entrance of her pussy. I shifted my hips and I was inside her. “No,” I groaned. I stroked in and out of her as slowly as I could, trembling on the knife’s edge of my self-control. She was so warm. It was dark. I couldn’t see. I ran my hands up her thighs and over her flanks. Her breasts filled the palms of my hands. I leaned forward and sucked a large, dark nipple hard into my mouth. She sighed and arched against me, her fingers in my hair. An exquisite pressure began to build inside me. It seemed to take forever to reach its peak and I was desperate to get there. I wrapped my arms around her and pumped my hips faster, harder. She felt so good. My self-control abandoned me and I was thrusting wildly and so hard that she bounced in my lap and I held her around the waist with my hands my head thrown back and when she lightly gripped my wrist and whispered, “Mr. Dillon” everything rolled back inside me like a receding wave then crashed forward again and I was gasping “Ah. Ah. Ah” and my cock pulsed and I came with a long, shuddering moan… 

I woke with a sharp inhalation. I lay on my back, my heart hammering in my chest, my skin lightly filmed with sweat. I lifted my head and looked down at my body. Semen pooled in my navel and suspended in the hair on my belly. I dropped my head back on the pillows.

 “Jesus,” I whispered.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. I walked with trembling knees to the wash basin. I took a long drink of water, cleaned myself off and got back in bed.

I drifted back to sleep with the image of grey, almond-shaped eyes in a dark face, relieved that the person I made love to in my dream was definitely a woman.


Sunday, January 20, 2013

Happy Birthday De

De Kelley in Long Beach.  He is 29yrs old, here.