Organization: Arora
The Pinkerton Man by davistrell@aol.com
The train rumbled along the track, lurching ungainly round the tree-shrouded hills. We made a stop, probably for water, the heat was infernal, and I looked out the carriage window, down the slope to the river below, beyond the steam escaping from the tired locomotive.
The river a corrosive brown color, a kingfisher violently plumed, hovered over the surface ready for trout, hoping one of the sleek silver bodies would emerge, leap up into his throat and he could perform the ultimate act of fellatio. But of course the fish were too clever and remained unimpressed by the kingfisher's antics.
I was headed West, and decided to take the train a little ways, as I'd already tried saddle, stagecoach and shaky buckboard. The ticket expensive, so I was not going to go far, but I was going to pass through country that was unpopulated, and so it seemed like a good idea at the time.
The car was crowded, so I couldn't even get out my journal and write a story. Because I usually record adventures real and imagined, usually of a prurient nature and only to be enjoyed by those, like me, of a particular persuasion. And on the train there was no one of that type, as far as I could tell, not the gray mustachioed conductor, not the black bus-boy, and looking around, none of the other passengers. Not the black-hatted austere, whipporwill bearded Mormon, complete with his five wives, not the loud red and orange checked suit, with brown derby hat, carrot-top hair and pink-faced carpet-bag drummer, nor the squeaky clean altar-boy faced youth, also clothed in black, and somehow related to the Mormons.
With his page-boy haircut, wide white collar he looked adorable, and maybe four years from now, he'd be ready.
But for now he was staring at the bonnet wearing, full of curls and frills, daughter of the Mormon family, and looking in a way, that I suppose, though do not know for a fact, that underage incest is permissible in their religious community. I'm sitting next to an overlarge, bespectacled accountant on his way to balance books, in the Bank of Wishbone, but he has the air of an embezzler, so we struck up an acquaintance.
"Ethan Newell. Going to Farsight, heard there's an opening for a printer, cub reporter there, and I love to write." I said as I introduced myself. He took my hand in his chubby paw, and shook it amiably.
"Jeremiah McCauber,..." and went on to explain his lenghty banking resume. He's about forty and more than a tad overweight, and he explains greenback economic philosophy, and I drift off, more than a tad bored.
I gaze out the window, and try and stretch my imagination.
Doesn't work: I refuse to think about the pulpit-bait kid.
"When's this train ever gonna get going, again?"
"The train must of necessity, replenish its water supply, we'll soon be off," says my portly friend, "and I too hope none too soon, as this is always a dangerous moment. When we are vulnerable, when bandits can use the train-stop to their best advantage."
A prescient comment as the doors flew back and a gimcrack, black-hearted, mountain sized man burst in, dressed as a ramrod gone bad, guns pronounced, his eyes hooded, by a v shape of hair between his eyebrows, under the brim of a black hat. The gold tooth glinted in his savage snarl as he barked an order for us to quieten, and to take this an opportunity for of us to unencumber ourselves of our valuables. And the twin barrels of the steel-gray pistols loomed large. His face pockmarked with small-pox scars, and a broad broken nose, and a glare that would fell a bullock.
He ushered in another, with oilskin brown hat, oily face, with protruding hairy belly. He slithered in, not walked. The veteran conductor, implored us to do as we told, as the the greasy boy, in a dirty shirt, brown leather chapparalled, shook the railway employee by the throat.
"Damnation!" mumbled my fat friend. And brought out his wallet with its portly proportions, and drew out many dollar bills, and a chunk of gold, and offered it to the black-hearted robber.
He was gorilla shaped, gorilla sized, brow black, eyes that looked like twin points of hate, and the sketch artist for the Wanted Bills would've been sorely pressed to catch the aroma of evil.
Attractive only to a masochist with a matyr's complexity.
"That's the idea! Give it up and no-one will be hurt...Ladies if you please..."
They gave him a collection of gilt-bound bibles and prayer books, and coins from small purses, and promises that Jesus would forgive. The tall robber spat at the slim pickings.
"You think I'm foolin' don't you! You heard 'a me. Sam Gallows, you seen my face on the posters. Did'ya stop and read the small print, below the the reward money, and see that this is death in my hands? C'm here, butter chip...I'll blow this child into the hereafter... if'n you don't cough up the real stuff..."
He grabbed the boy I have described as angelic, with black pilgrim hat, and thrust a gun barrel close to the youth's nostrils. raising him off the floor; an arm snaked around the boy's chest lifting him up, so the boy's legs dangled like a hangman's victim.
A woman sreamed with a shrillness that was only stilled by a gun-barrell in the mouth. The child squirmed.
For this I left New York? So I wasn't getting laid enough. I should've stayed. He caught my eye, like an old guy in a bar.
"You, yeh, you. Deliver up all your worldly wealth..."
I checked, looked around, yes it was me, he was talking to.
"Sure, sure have it all, all fifteen dollars and twenty-three cents..." and pushed my contribution to the sack the oily side-kick carried, who was taking up the collection. His face, reminiscent of frozen cess-pool. Unwashed, unkempt, uncivilised. White gone wrong.
"What's in the satchel?"
"Err, nothin, just a few books and..."
Big Sam grabbed my bag and ungraciously shook out the contents. He stooped, still carrying the boy and...picked up...my notebook.
"See I told you I ain't got nothin' of value...."
He licked a big thumb, and turned a page....and started to read...out loud. I cringed. He quoted.
"'..and then I undid his pants, took out the purple-pink floppy cock, rubbed it till it got large, and put my tongue into his piss-slit. I wanted him to bend me over the trestle and stick his big fat member, into my ass and explode in my shit-hole, and soak my insides with a gallon of snot-white cum....' "
Not my best writing and I was feeling syntactically challenged.
"Hey, Ratgut, this guy's one of your'n...you wanna take him outside and you'n him do that nasty that you like to do..." says big Sam, to his compadre, a man with a matt of rangefilth hair, and a fish leer, like he would wanna do me right there.
"Take him outside, 'n I'll finish the with donations..."
They both laughed in a filthy, obscene way.
The band of fellow train travellers were looking at me with an expression that was a mixture of surprise, disgust, loathing, contempt, aversion, distaste, nausea, and good old fashioned repugnance.
The very idea that a man would want to have sex with other men, was beyond their comprehension, and I was way below on a ladder, way below even cut-throats and train-robbers.
In their minds, Sam Gallows, dirty dog that he is, took on an almost heroic stature compared with me. They didn't care that I was being forced to leave, in the company of a man, that had never heard 'No' for an answer.
"C'mere kid," leered Ratgut, the loathsome one, his face like Medusa's, hair full of snakes, turning me to stone. But I reluctantly stepped out from my seat, feeling the eyes of all, burn into my bound to burn-in-hell soul.
"Mighty pretty, huh? Make you squeal, spoil them pretty features...been dick whipped afore? 'Corse you have. Like it doan't you, pretty boy? Up yer ass, you like it, doant you boy...?"
It was a waste of time apologizing to the passengers, none were sympathetic. I hung my head. My life was mine... I need not explain. I thought of men, men like me, men who need holding, caressing, to be explored in intimate places. A bite of ear, a suckle on manly nipple, hands round a waist, backs of knees hung in elbow-crooks, ankles wrapped around shoulders.
I'll pay in the next life, but in what may be a short one, after Ratgut's finished with me, but I'll have had more sensual pleasure than the next man.
Who turns out to be my banker friend, who gets in front of me, protecting my body with his own, arms thrust out and face to face with the huge black-hearted giant who is calling the shots.
"You will not hurt one hair of this precious youth's head."
"Fatboy, you just invited a hunk 'a trouble."
I couldn't just stand by. I pushed in front of the guy who had stood up for me and interjected myself betwixt banker and gunman.
"Don't hurt him. I'll go. I don't care. I'll go with your friend. Just don't hurt him."
"God, do believe we have a pair of pansified daffy-dillys here. All on'm wanna be martyrs, just itchin to be bound and whipped every man-jack on'm. Ratgut, take 'em both, I wanna hear the fat-man squeal!"
Deliverance, came from an unexpected quarter. The strangely garbed, red and orange check suit, with brown derby, pink-faced and carrot colored hair, pulled out a pair of derringers from his coat sleeves.
"I think gentlemen, you've had your fun."
A shot broke Sam Gallow's wrist, making him drop his forty five, another slug caroomed in his shoulder, and he dropped the boy, and the bullet hole in his forehead, poleaxed him like a falling redwood. Ratgut shot up his hands, dropping the sack, and dropped to his knees.
"We was just joshing, mister, meant no harm, honest...mister."
The Pinkerton man stepped out and bound the hands of the outlaw behind the back with handcuffs, that he produced with the aplomb of a stage magician.
"Name's Frank Lorne, of the Pinkerton detective agency, hired to protect the railroads paying customers. Everything's ok folks. Sorry about the disturbance, resume your seats after you've regained your property; this guy I'll take back to the baggage car, and we'll resume our journey momentarily." He grabbed the flinching Ratgut, dragged him up to his feet, and ushered him to the back door, and as he was preparing to leave, hesitated.
"You, young man, you'd better come too, take your statement, so we can use this in the owlhoot's trial...and help me with the late Mister Gallows, he looks as if he won't make it to the back on his ownsome. Being dead, I mean."
I said I'd come, but first I had to thank my banker friend. I offered my hand.
"Put it away, I will not touch you, you are soiled, dirty in my eyes, you and all your sodomite brethren."
I gulped.
"If that's what you think of me, why on earth did you try to defend me?" I was still a little shocked.
"We are all of God's children, His will be the ultimate judgement, HIS, not our's."
Everywhere I go out West I bump into these religious guys, all slightly sounding whacko, but I'm glad they're here. Then much to my surprise, the cherubic youth, with his petulant choir-boy lips, ran to me and grabbed a hold of me and gave me a hug.
I don't think he'd understood a word of what had occurred, but just felt like re-assuring me.
"Well, thank you for kindnesses, I'm sorry I do not live up to your approval, but I will always, think kindly of you: Coming, mister Pinkerton man, I don't think it would be comfortable to stay in here anyway," and with as much dignity I could muster, I left the car.
I had to go back, grab hold of Sam Gallows legs and drag him out of the carriage, as his glassy stare showed his mind was elsewhere, probably receiving a reprimand from his Maker, and a first-class ticket to Hell. He was heavy, and the banker helped me get the corpse out.
In the baggage car, with Ratgut, being shackled to a post, by the carrot-topped detective, and as there were no seats, I sat on the floor, as we heard the locomotives whistle blare, a blast of steam, and the movement of large wheels, and our journey recommenced.
"Frank Lorne. Pinkerton Detetective Agency."
"Nobody, from Nowheresville. Ethan Newell."
Frank sat down next to me and offered me a hand-rolled cigarette, which I politely declined. He's not my type, too goofy looking.
"I understand what was going on back there," he said with a faint Irish brogue.
"I don't wanna talk about it." As the train rumbled onward.
"You don't have to expalin...not to me, anyway."
He took a deep drag on the smoke, filled his lungs, then exhaled.
"We'll be in Farsight within the hour," he said.
"Might have a job there, " I answered.
"I'm sure you'll do well."
"Gonna give it a try."
We sat together, and I took a drag from his cigarette, feeling a little easier, he looked at me, I looked back, both recognising something in the other.
"Tough, ain't it out here, in the West."
"Tough anywhere."
I looked at him a little more seriously. His nose was long, rather roman, his eyes large but thin eye-lids, his mouth thin, and the adam's apple in his throat, too pronounced.
"You stayin' over, in Farsight I mean?"
"Once I got Ratgut stowed away, telgraph in my report, I'll join the train in the morning."
We were silent, for the rest of the journey. But he caught me looking at him, and I caught him looking back.
We got Ratgut and the corpse off the train, into the local law-enforcement's capable hands.
"I got a room, reserved for Pinkerton Men at the hotel."
"Well, I hope it's nice...."
I dove into the saloon, and ordered a drink.
Place was full of cowhands, I stayed aloof and guzzled several fingers of the black alcohol, that the bartender delivered. I was hungry.
Should be lookin' fer a place to stay, but hadda 'nuther drink.
Maybe it was the booze, but the cowhands looked like they were getting bigger, till I realised they wuz just getting nearer.
"Waal, what we got here?"
"Tenderfoot. Look how its dressed..."
"Pretty li'l thang tho', doant ya think?"
These guys been hanging with cows for too long.
"May I buy you three gents a drink?" I asked, and put three fingers up to the bartender, who nodded. He brought a bottle and poured three drinks and replenished mine.
"It buys drinks."
"Talks reeel nice too..."
"Fuckin' Mama's boy...."
"Yuh think?"
They downed their whisky in unison, and gathered round.
One of them ran his hand over my hair, mussin' it up.
"He's not very big..."
"Bet he's big down there..."
"Cute ass, but, doant ya think?"
"Kid, you got an appointment, outside..."
"Gentlemen, there's no need for that kinda talk," says the bartender, who gets shoved back into the row of bottles, with sound of breaking glass.
One arm snaked out and wrenches my hand up my back. Another pushes my head on the bar top, and yet another rips my pants down to mid-thigh.
"It doan't even wear underpants..."
"Hold him down, Jake, got me an irresistible itch..."
I was bent over the bar, and I don't think I cared anymore.
"I think you gentlemen, have had enough fun," says a laconic voice, appearing from the shadows in back.
"Go down to the end of the bar, have another drink, and then politely leave, O.K." The voice belongs to a tall dark man, with a black hat, shirt, and two black guns, which having made their point as the cowhands leave me alone, he twirls the pistols in his hands, till the handles point forward and slips them dexterously into the holsters, hanging at his trim waist.
I have found a black knight, all he needs is a black horse and we can sail away into the sunset.
I pull up my pants, stick my shirt back in, straighten my tie and offer to buy him a drink.
"Don't you think, you've had enough, Ethan?"
I look into his tanned handsome face, a silver smile, and eyes that...
"Say, howdya know my name?"
"C'mon, little brother, let's get out of here."
I've left bars before with strange men, before, but usually I know why, but this time I'm puzzled. He's holding me, as we leave the saloon, and I like being held.
"It's Frank, you remember, From the train."
"Frank? The Pinkerton man? But I...you, I mean, goddam it you look, well different..." My legs droop as my knees give a little.
"Whoops. Look it's just across...the Hotel."
"Howcum you look, well,..so fucking cool..."
"I got me a bag a tricks in my room, watch that step, tricks of the trade. I'll explain. My key, please."
"Yessir, at once, sir, Mr Pinkerton Man, sir," says the night-clerk. And we mount the stairs, with my arm round his shoulder, and his arm round my waist, and helps me up to the first floor. He props me against the wall, as he unlocks his door, and helps me in, and flops me down on the bed. He takes off the black hat and peels off the mustache. And sits down beside me.
"But you were so goofy looking before..."
He smiles. I like the way his face breaks into creases, and his eyes tighten. "Just some fish-skin to pull the flesh back from my cheekbones, little putty on the nose and Adam's apple, cotton under my upperlip, a little henna dye, and make my body think skinny..."
"And a lousy, ill-fitting loud check suit. Well, what do you really look like?"
"This." And he takes of his shirt and I let my hand rise up to his well-developed chest.
"I need a hug," he says. I pull up close, and smell the manly warmth emanating from his body.
"This hair real?" as I tug a few loose strands.
"Quit with the jokes, Ethan, I want you to be quiet and serious."
He gets up, naked above the waist, the strong muscles of his back ripple as he goes over to pull the cords that close the window drapes.
The room grows dark, but enough light to see as moonlight carves out his chiselled form.
"I gotta go to the bathroom, " I say, meekly
"Down the hall, last door." His voice is flat.
I leave the room, and turn the handle of the door, closing it behind me and go to the door at the end of the hall. I drain the lizard, as the saying goes, and look in the mirror. Wash my face, the cool water feels good. I pull off my jacket, shirt, pants, sit on the john and pull off my boots.I shake my head, trying to get sober, quick.
More water, splashing over my body, cold, I give a shiver; pick up the pile of clothes, open the door, look to see no-one's there, and tiptoe back quickly to the room.
Frank's in bed inhaling from a cigarette, and the blue smoke weaves upward in a sinuous trail. I put my clothes on the chair, over which are slung his guns, and I raise the blanket and slip in the sheets, beside him.
"Thought you weren't coming back..."
"And miss this..." I said as our bodies touch, getting comfortable together. We couldn't have gotten closer, unless he got into me.
His whole body felt full of the heat of a day's sun, my hand sizzled almost as I stroked his thigh.
"Oh, Ethan..." and he turned sideways, grabbed all of me, pulled me into him, and kissed me firmly on the mouth. I could taste the smoke, and the brimstone.
We could hear the sound of a jangly honky-tonk piano, from the saloon, I guess, but I was deaf to all, save his kisses.
My hand moved under the covers, and found what my hand was searching for.
"Jizzing Christopher! Is this for real?"
"No jokes, Ethan," as he pushed the largeness of his cock into my wrapt fingers. With my thumb on the flattened top surface, my fingerpads touching the softer, strong underbelly, and traced the running spiral of a mighty vein that transversed the entire lenghth. I gripped harshly the thickness of his meaty phallus. Frank pulled back the blanket and sheet, so I could see all in its crowning glory.
I leaned over in a sitting position, my hand still gripping the thick furry base, and explored the tulip-bulb tipped helmet with my tongue. Frank shivered, and a tide like spasm, engulfed his entire body.
I kneeled forward and my butt went up, felt his hand clasp, and as I went down, with my mouth on his erect cock, felt a finger pass through my ass-crease, felt him feel my swelling balls, and his hand take hold of my hard penis, and, my legs open, felt my cock pushing between his lips and enter his mouth, all the way to his throat.
As I swallowed more of his, he sucked in more of mine.
We hung on each other, me above, he below, like quotation marks surrounding a well-tempered sentence. My head was going up and down, a sledgehammer beating down, laying down railroad track. And while I was sliding up and down, I playfully kneaded his balls, felt each of the acorn strong eggs, inside the rough skin of his ball sac. I felt Frank's mouth slip slowly down my own shaft, till it left his mouth and I felt the roughness of his tastebuds, come between my ass-cheeks and press against my hole, and felt the muscles of his tongue fold to make a trowel, and enter the tip, into my warmness. I had to let go of his cock, let it fall, resting on his belly, large, right before my eyes, and I spread my butt as wide as I could, to feel the tongue penetrating my insides. I kissed his balls, and nuzzled his enflamed cock with my nose, like a horse, who wants to play with its master. He pinched my behind with his two hands, pushing his fingers into the soft fulness of my buttocks. He was breathing hard, panting, trying to breathe and fuck me with his tongue.
I pulled away and turned around, and hugged him hard.
"How we gonna do this?" I asked.
"Bareback."
I pushed the blankets and topsheet down to the end of the bed, and as I did so, an arm snaked round my belly and I could feel the shaft of his cock, slip in between by buttock-crease, and I bent over supporting my body with my hands. He had a little difficulty at first, as I felt his cock head trying to force its weight against that part of me between balls and ass-hole. I bent under and guided him toward my pucker, wet with his saliva. He held me by my waist, his fingers spreading wide, as the tip went in, and I gave a little cry.
"I'm not hurting you?"
I pushed my ass back, forcing more of his tip in, till I could feel the hard ridge, get by my sphincter muscle. I took a deep breath, and felt it all in, the helmet, and he pushed forward, and his spittle covered phallus entered a fraction of an inch at a time, as it moved slowly into me, I gave little groans, as I accommodated more and more of his massive cock. Until I could feel my buttocks press against the crests of his hips, and flatten slightly, as he pushed in, till I had taken it all. I'd gripped the sheets, into crow's feet folds, and no ironing will ever smooth them out.
"Oh, Jesus."
He withdrew it slowly, partway, and then pushed back in again, withdrawing, pushing back in again, each movement getting faster, till my butt was doing the same, driving him in, letting him get part out, and driving in again, and I could feel the sweat break on my body, and each of his thrusts try to push me off the bed, but I fought back, matching him push for pull.
My upperbody sank to the bed, as my ass got higher, and he lunged into me, each jab, each poke, each stab, each ram, faster than the last, as his hips and powerful thighs worked hard, driving, riding into me.
I turned to look behind at my rider, saw his torso muscles, pectorals clench, and release, with unbounded energy. I corkscrewed my body, slipped on my side, lifted my left leg out, raised it, felt his cock turn clockwise in me.. but was twisting his cock, so he had to pull out, till I got on my back, my legs on each side of his thighs, and raised them into the air, till he took hold of them, and I grabbed his cock and replaced it,and he pushed inside me again, and pushing my legs toward my head, lay over me, supporting himself on his arms, and started fucking me again, and I could see him. He was concentrating, and a vein on his temple throbbed, while my belly made concertina movents, in response to his rasping thrusts. My ass was fully expanded now, not the least pain, just feeling hot-bloodied friction, as he entered and rentered, I could feel his cock, silently bellowing inside, and his balls bouce against my butt. Faster, faster, faster.. slow.. and I could feel his cock start to belch cum inside me, my sphincter gripping, so his cock couldn't escape, till every spurt hit against my entrails, till I'd drained every drop of his liquid energy. I felt drowned, and he pulled out, still cumming, and shot over my stomach, shot on my dick that was twitching in my hand, where I'd been rubbing it, in time with his fuck-thrusts, and rubbed really fast, till I came too, a little fountain spurting upward, and falling back on me. Frank let me go and sucked hard on my ejaculating cock, while I threshed on the bed.
We kept going even though it was way over, till he finally grabbed hold of me, grabbed the blankets threw them over us, so none of the heat of the afterglow would leak out as we snuggled together, glued together at our bellies withy sticky sperm.
Frank kissed me again, little kisses on my lips, nose, and eye lids.
"Thanks, Ethan." and he held me close so I could feel his hot breath on my face, while his arms held me, as if I was trying to escape, and I held him like I would never let go.
The train whistle shrieked, and the locomotive pulled out of the station, and I waved goodby to Frank, in yet another disguise, and as the carriages passed, I looked up at the windows, saw the faces of yesterday, and took no regard of their expressions. I turned, away, walked back to the town, shaved and clean, and went looking for that job.