Placing Out Read online

  Ben went back to make sure the cripple, Tom, was okay. He slipped him a deuce. "Get yourself a fill-up, old man. And don't let those young punks get one over on you."

  One-Legged Tom grinned at him, revealing a mouth full of broken and rotting teeth. "Yes, sir. Thankee, sir." Weaving and bobbing, he hobbled through the crowds, back to his room at the Christian Men's mission. Ben had been there once, it was a hovel, but a surprisingly neat hovel. Tom might not have anything, but he kept his nothing clean. He managed to survive on the cheap corn lightning he bought off a local bootlegger with the money he begged off strangers and whatever scraps the mission ladies gave him.

  Ben had heard once the man used to be an oil baron who owned a dozen wells in Compton. Somewhere along the way he had lost his money and his leg. No one quite knew how, or even which came first. Or even if anything he did admit to was true.

  Lieutenant Stansell approached him. "Your partner's in the hospital. He's going to be okay."

  "Guy's too stubborn to let crazy Red Jeb get the best of him."

  "Hmph, I suppose you're right. Are you finished here?"

  "Yes."

  "Then go home. Write up your report tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir."

  He meant to go home. But the rush of the gunfight and the take down was still with him. He knew he'd never rest if he didn't get that edge off. Only one way to do that fast.

  It was full dark by the time he slipped in the backdoor of Johnny's and trotted down the stone steps. He nodded at Peaches behind the latched door. She grinned back at him, blew him a kiss and pulled the door open. Jazz spilled out of the dark room, along with the enticing smell of people, cigars and beer. Her gaze traveled down his uniformed body and stopped at his .45. She licked her scarlet lips.

  "When you gonna let me check the caliber of that thing, sweet pea?" Her voice was like black silk, rolling down his spine to lodge at the base of his swelling cock.

  "I'll sure let you know, honey."

  "You're such a tease, Dutch."

  Everyone at Johnny's called him Dutch. Most everyone in the speakeasy had a different moniker while they were in this dark, secret place.

  Judson brought over his beer. "You're early today."

  "Actually, I'm late."

  "Ah, a night like that."

  Ben drained his beer. "Like that."

  He was going to ask for another until he grew aware of someone behind him. The familiar scent of spice and brandy came to him a heartbeat before two arms came around his waist at the same time a rigid cock pressed against his ass.

  "I thought you'd never come," Kevin whispered. His teeth nipped Ben's neck. "I hope you didn't have any trouble today."

  Ben swung around and pressed their hips together. Behind them, on the tiny dance floor, a number of men were slow dancing to Rhapsody in Blue. "Nothing a good, hard fuck can't take care of."

  Kevin cradled Ben's ass. "I'm just the man for the job. Come on, my place is closer." As if they ever went anyplace else.

  After waving at Peaches and getting a huge air kiss from the feathered and bejeweled drag queen, they walked up to the street, only stepping out of the alley when they were sure the road was empty. Careful to walk apart, they never came close enough to each other to touch.

  It took them less than ten minutes to reach Kevin's place, a small house set back and half hidden by palms and lemon trees. There was no light above the door. Kevin and Ben slipped inside, knowing none of Kevin's neighbors would see them in the dark, the only time Ben visited.

  Kevin had barely shut and locked the door when Ben pushed Kevin's suspenders off his slender shoulders and opened his shirt one button at a time. He splayed both hands over Kevin's heavily furred chest before leaning forward and sucking one swollen nipple, then the other. Kevin pulled Ben's police hat off, then worked on freeing the heavy belt with all its equipment. He had Ben's dick out in his hand before Ben could strip off the belt on Kevin's cotton trousers.

  It didn't take them more than two minutes to shed their clothes. Ben's swollen cock was wet with pre-cum. So was Kevin's. Their mouths met and tangled tongues while their thickening dicks slid together, drawing a gasp from Kevin. He guided them through the house to his bedroom, only breaking apart when Ben lowered him down onto the feather bed. He crawled down his belly, licking the skin around his navel, then slipping past his navel to take Kevin in his mouth. He circled the fat head, pushing back the foreskin and gently nibbling the soft skin. Lapping up the fluid and tracing the thick veins encircling the rigid length, Ben plunged his mouth up and down until Kevin bucked under him and spilled cum into his mouth.

  Only when the dick softened did Ben pull off it. He crawled back up and clung to Kevin, feeling both their hearts slow and grow steady. His still-hard cock pressed between them. He rose on his knees and nudged Kevin over on his stomach. The other man thrust his rump into the air and Ben smoothed his hand over the enticing globe. He parted Kevin's cheeks and probed a finger up his hole. Kevin moaned and humped upward.

  Reaching over for the Vaseline on the bedside table, he smoothed the lubricant over his dick and worked a greased finger up inside Kevin. When he pushed the head of his cock across Kevin's prostate, Kevin whimpered.

  Ben thrust inside, shuddering as the tight passage stroked his erection. He grabbed Kevin's shoulders and pumped his hips steadily, grunting as his thrusts grew more frantic. With a drawn out groan, he shuddered and filled Kevin's ass with hot cum.

  He collapsed, kissing the back of Kevin's damp neck, licking the sweat off his cheek. "Man, you are hot." He pulled off and went in to the bathroom, emerging a minute later with a warm towel that he used to clean them both.

  Ben sat on the end of the bed, pulling his uniform back on. While he adjusted his gear, he watched Kevin out of the corner of his eye. He was sprawled across the rumpled quilt his grandmother had made during the Civil War in some long forgotten place down south, his limp dick laying across his hairy thigh. Kevin had one hand loosely wrapped around it. He stroked it back to semi-hardness.

  "Stay a little longer. It's early."

  Ben glanced at his watch. It was after midnight. He'd been up since ten in the morning, yesterday. He was running on fumes. He shoved his fingers through his short hair before jamming his hat back on. He knew he could go home and sleep now. Kevin gave him a sated smile when he bent down to kiss his lover one last time.

  "I'm on day watch next week. I can probably make it back on Friday."

  Kevin nodded. "I'll see you there then."

  Ben let himself out, paused to check the road both ways, and hurried down the street to where he'd catch the Red Car home.

  * * * *

  Nebraska, 1927

  I mostly remember the Chatterfields being cold. They was solid Methodists, Nebraska born and bred. They were always Missus Chatterfield and Mister Chatterfield. They were real strict on that. We weren't ever to think of them as our Ma and Da. They had plenty of sons and daughters of their own. We were the placed out kids, there in the name of their good Christian charity. We weren't ever to forget it.

  Never did, neither.

  Jacob, Joseph and James never let us forget, neither. They were the oldest and biggest of the Chatterfield boys. Hulking oxen they were. But I remember Caleb most of all. He was near my age, couple years older, but where I was all lodgepole legs and arms, no muscles at all accordin' to the Mister, Caleb was filled out. Beautiful, like a young, strong colt. Harvest-wheat colored hair and eyes so blue they was like they captured the summer sky in them.

  I never knew why, but I used to find myself watching him when we were working side by side in the fields, stacking new harvested wheat, or slopping out the half dozen pigs Mister Chatterfield bought at market every year as shoats and raised to market weight. I watched him when we slaughtered the pigs each fall and hung them over the boiling kettles, scraping the bristly hair off their pale pink bodies. Even with the flies and the smell of blood and offal, I couldn't take my eyes off the boy as we bo
th became men under the cruel Nebraska sky.

  Becky was the oldest Chatterfield girl. Christine was the youngest, still a baby when we came to them as indentured boys. Becky was my age. A yellow-haired brat, always being where she wasn't supposed to be. Missus Chatterfield whupped that girl more times than I could count for following us around and getting into trouble doing things like climbing the old twisted cottonwood tree down by the watering hole. She'd go all the way to the top and peer down at us through the whispering leaves, laughing and daring us to come up. When we did, she'd throw stones she'd put in her apron pocket and laugh harder when we cussed her out.

  If Missus Chatterfield catched us cussing, she washed our mouth out with lye soap and sent us to bed without supper. If Mister Chatterfield caught us, our backsides be whipped bloody so we had to stand to eat breakfast the next day.

  That first winter, poor Sean got the Spanish Lady same as James and they both passed. James got buried in the Chatterfield ground, Sean got sent home on the train, just like we come west. Don't know where he got buried.

  I was fifteen, nearly sixteen, almost seven years after my Da put us on the placing out train, when Becky found me in the barn one July day. I was alone, cleaning out the four stalls that held the dairy cows the Missus used to supply the house with milk, cream and butter. Jacob, Joseph and Mister Chatterfield had gone into town for supplies, leaving the younger ones and the Missus behind.

  Becky was supposed to be minding Mary, the little one that had just been born in the spring. Instead she came through the open barn door swinging a crooked wooden stick around and stirring up chaff that made her sneeze. She wiped her snotty nose with her skirt, pulling it up so I could see her plump legs all the way to her petticoats. When she dropped them she caught sight of me staring at her.

  "Whatchya lookin' at, boy?"

  "Nothin'."

  She twitched the skirt back up. Her legs flashed white. "You think this is nothing?"

  "No, ma'am." I knew better than to smart mouth any of the Chatterfields' kids. Mister Chatterfield make that real plain more than once. "It sure ain't."

  "You ever touched a girl?"

  "No," I said, squinting at her. She had a wild gleam in her eyes that made me curious. What was she up to now? "'Course not."

  She sidled closer, until I could smell her sweat and a fresh mown lawn smell over the more familiar stink of cows. "You want to?"

  What was she talking about? I already seen her legs and I was looking at her freckled bosom--she had open the top two buttons on her dress. Something I'm sure her ma wouldn't like. Missus Chatterfield always wore her dark dresses buttoned up to her chin and I bet she never flashed her legs to no one. I cocked my head at her.

  "Why would I want to do that?"

  "You're a boy, ain't you? I'm a girl. Boys an' girls do that all the time."

  I'd heard Jacob and Joseph talk about girls in our school. They'd sneak out after lunch and light up their stolen cigarettes. They only let me join them when I said I'd tell their pa if they said no. I also stole them some Lucky Strikes from Old Man Wiley's general store down the street from our school. We'd stand out behind the privy and smoke and Jacob and Joseph would talk between puffs, mostly about what they were gonna do when they growed up. Jacob was gonna marry Annie-May Poulson down the road at the Poulson farm. Poulson was the neighborhood swell. He not only ran a successful ranch on his thousand acres, he ran the local John Deere franchise.

  Whenever either of them mentioned a girl, they'd talk crazy about what they done with them, and what they gonna do someday. Jacob had gone to war in 1916 when he turned eighteen. He told us wild tales of what he'd done in France and Germany. How he'd killed a hundred krauts and fucked two hundred German whores. I learned Sue Amity, the redhead from across the tracks put out. What she put out they never said and I knew I'd get my ears boxed if I asked. But it was something got them all excited. Once Jacob grabbed his crotch and I was fascinated to see the thick bulge between his legs. Had he always been that big? Then I realized his cock was stiff, like mine got in the early morning or sometimes at night when I'm trying to sleep in the hot, airless attic in the dog days of summer.

  The first time I'd touched myself when I was like that, I was shocked at how good it felt. There had to be something wrong with me, but I didn't dare ask Missus or Mister Chatterfield about it. Even I knew those were private parts and no one ever talked about them. But most nights I'd go out to the privy before bed and stroke myself until I filled my hand with the creamy stuff that came out of my dick.

  I wondered if Jacob or Joseph ever played with themselves. I wondered if Caleb did. Just the thought of that made me hard. I thought of him some nights while I lay on my cot, and whenever I did I had to stroke myself until my hardness went away.

  Now, standing in front of Becky, with her eager eyes and flushed face I realized what she meant. From her look it was clear she expected me to get excited over her words. So why didn't I? Was there something wrong with me?

  I backed away from her. "Your pa would kill us. Kill me, for sure."

  "He don't need to know, do he?"

  There was a high-pitched baying from Mister Chatterfield's hound and a wagon rattled into the yard. Becky whirled around, forgetting all about me. She bolted for the barn door. I followed her and stopped in the doorway, watching her race into the house just as the Chatterfields pulled into the yard, their team of mules, Oscar and Bill, tossing their heads, eager to get out of their traces and back in the paddock they shared behind the barn.

  I unhooked them, leading Oscar while Caleb took Bill. They were hot, so we walked them down the lane and back before brushing them down and putting them out. We walked shoulder to shoulder to the paddock behind the barn. Once we released them we put the harness away. We both went back to the paddock and leaned against the fence, watching the pair roll in the dust. They shook themselves off and stood head to tail, swishing flies off each other's face. I looked over to find Caleb watching me. He'd lit up the minute we were outside. His pa would kill both of us if he caught us smoking this close to the barn. I shrugged, and lit one of my own.

  Over the cigarette smoke I could smell him and, unlike Becky's, his scent was doing things to my insides that scared me almost as much as it excited me. A look at his crotch told me he was hard, too. My throat was suddenly so dry I couldn't swallow.

  "Do you want to touch it?" he whispered, half turning to face me, his hip brushing mine. He sucked on his cigarette. One of his hands brushed my thigh. A jolt of raw pleasure smacked me like a bolt of lightning. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't resist. I slid my right hand over the swelling between his legs, cupping the length of it. He felt firm in my hand.

  I wanted to see it. Caleb made a soft sound in his throat when I teased open the buttons of his trousers and slid my fingers inside. Thick hair surrounded the rigid pole that filled my hand. I stroked him a couple of times and was startled when he yelped and jerked, exploding his stuff all over his clothes and mine.

  "Shit!" He pulled away from me. "Look what you did."

  I was still hard and wanted to pull out my own so he could do the same thing to me, but one look at his face and I fled. I rushed into the barn. Without thinking, I stepped into the feed and tack room. I pulled down the team's harness, sat on a bale of straw and fell to cleaning the leather like Mister Chatterfield showed me. I kept throwing glances at the open door, waiting for Mister Chatterfield or one of the older boys to come in and whale on me. What I had done to Caleb was a sin. I didn't need no preacher to tell me that.

  But if it was so wrong, why did it feel so fucking good? That couldn't be right. Just thinking about Caleb's prick in my hands, hearing the sounds he made, the smell of his stuff made me hard again. This time I didn't hesitate. I drew my now stiff dick out and closed my eyes as I brought myself off. The whole time images of Caleb burned in my brain. I wanted to be alone with him, just Caleb and me, naked. What I meant to do after that I didn't know. I only know every time I t
hought of it I grew feverish and shaky.

  What was wrong with me?

  I wasn't going to be able to stay here. I knew that now. Not that I knew where I could go, only away from here. But another two years passed and I just kept getting bigger and Mister Chatterfields found harder and harder things for me to do. I was filled out now, but still skinny, which pissed the Mister off real bad.

  Every Saturday, when the morning chores were done, the Chatterfields would go to the nickelodeon. They invited me and I got all gussied up in the new suit the Resident Agent bought for me when he visited on my sixteenth birthday. The collar made my neck itch and the tie they made me wear felt like a noose, but the moving pictures were so terrific it was worth it. It was even better when I got to sit next to Caleb. We could giggle at the silliness of Keaton or Chaplin, our heads bent together so the Missus and Mister Chatterfields wouldn't catch us or we'd feel her switch for sure. I was usually close enough to feel his warm breath and see the light fuzz on his cheek like I knew I had on mine. I shaved every three days now and it looked like Caleb might not shave at all. His face hair was like peach silk. I wondered what it tasted like.

  Two months after my seventeenth birthday, we drove twenty-two miles into North Platte to watch The Delicious Little Devil and I first saw Rudolph Valentino. I sat frozen in my seat, not feeling the usual chafing, or sore feet from too tight shoes I'd grown out of already. I watched Jimmy Calhoun fall in love with the phony Gloria Du Moins. I never saw the actress, Mae Murray. I couldn't tear my eyes away from Valentino. Was it possible for a man to be so beautiful? His lips and his eyes spoke of things I had only ever guessed at. Things that made what I had done to Caleb seem like children's games.

  That was when I knew where I had to go. To Hollywood, to meet Rudolph Valentino.