Cowboy Dreams

Chapter 2

Arriving at home, he slipped into the house through the back door, and went straight up to his room. Chad took the book from his pocket and stretched out on his bed.

He stared into the face of the handsome cowboy on the cover. The man had dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Immediately Chad felt that familiar tightening in his groin. He knew later that night, when everyone was asleep, he would be responding to that tightening. For now he opened the book to the opening page and started to read. He’d hardly read the first paragraph when he heard his mother calling him.

“Chadwick! Chadwick, you get down here this instant!”

Chad sighed, closed the book, and shoved it under his pillow. He got up, adjusted the bulge in his pants, and went downstairs. His mother was waiting for him. What boring chore had she in mind for him tonight?

“What do you mean sneaking into the house!” she demanded. “You know I have things that need doing.”

“Yes, I know, Mother, but I was tired and…”

She ignored his fabricated excuse for getting to his room and the book. “The handle has come off my best skillet. I need you to go to Mr. Malone’s and see if he can weld it back on.”

Immediately Chad brightened. Mr. Malone was the town blacksmith. He was a big, burly Irishman with arms as thick as oak logs and a fringe of red hair that curled around the bib and neck strap of his leather apron. He was totally bald with a heavy auburn beard. He had a ready smile. Chad enjoyed being in the man’s company more than he could express. Mr. Malone was the closest thing to a cowboy there was in this town, where, in addition to his smithy business, he ran a boarding stable where townsfolk kept their horses.

The Algoods kept their carriage horse, Bill, with Mr. Malone. Although rarely used for carriage rides since the death of Chad’s father, Mrs. Algood occasionally had Chad drive her to nearby towns to shop and visit friends. So Bill had stayed in the family. Chad often went to Mr. Malone’s on Sundays to ride Bill. The old horse provided the young man the opportunity to indulge in his cowboy fantasies. He would ride over the countryside, envisioning himself in pursuit of bank robbers or routing a band of marauding Redskins. In the process Chad had become a fairly skilled rider despite only having ridden Bill bareback, with ropes tied to his halter in place of a bridle. Since Mrs. Algood frowned on Chad’s cowboy aspirations, he used the excuse of needing to oil the tack for the carriage to get to ride Bill—and visit the blacksmith as well. Chad relished this opportunity to see Mr. Malone an extra time mid-week.

When he arrived at the shop, Chad was rewarded with something extra. Although it was early evening, the smith was still at the forge, stripped to the waist, sweat glistening on his huge biceps, dampening the lush growth of red hair on his muscular chest. Chad walked tentatively up and stood on the other side of the forge, admiring the sight.

“Good evening, Mr. Malone,” Chad said after indulging himself for a few moments.

The smithy raised his head. “Oh, hello, Chadwick. What brings you here in the middle of the week?” he asked, the man’s Irish brogue delighting Chad’s ear.

Chad explained the reason for his visit. Mr. Malone examined the skillet, announcing that he, indeed, could repair it. Chad could wait if he wished, as it would only take a short time. Glad to have an excuse to remain in the man’s presence, Chad replied that he would wait.

Not wanting to make it obvious that he was content to sit and stare at the man as he worked, Chad said he would go check on Bill. Bill’s stall was situated in such a way that Chad was afforded an excellent view of Mr. Malone’s back, covered with a dense tangle of hair plastered to the v-shaped frame with perspiration.

Chad found his eyes straying to the man’s well-rounded ass. He wondered if it, too, was shrouded in the thick coat of fur that adorned the rest of Mr. Malone’s body, save his head.

Mr. Malone turned toward Chad, who quickly averted his eyes.

“How’s your mother doing?” the blacksmith asked as he wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Fine, sir,” Chad replied.

“That’s good to hear. I know she relies on you to fill your father’s shoes. You’re a good son for doing so.”

“Thank you, sir. I do my best.”

Chad tried to keep his eyes on the man’s face during their brief conversation. However, try as he might, he couldn’t help glancing at the prominent bulge in the man’s pants.

Mr. Malone turned back to his work. Chad walked around to the smithy’s side ostensibly to watch as he affixed the handle to the bowl of the skillet. In reality, Chad wanted to continue to admire the way Mr. Malone’s overalls swelled where his c**k and balls would be.

Chad considered, as he did with almost every man he met, what Mr. Malone might look like naked. He’d never seen an adult male naked besides himself. The only males he’d ever seen in that state were his friends from school in his younger days when the boys would head for Folsom’s pond to skinny dip. He knew from experiencing his own maturation that full grown men were different. Just exactly how those differences manifested themselves remained a mystery, and a source of endless speculation.

He was jarred from his reverie by the sound of hissing, as the repaired skillet was immersed in water.

Mr. Malone was saying, “There you are, good as new.”

Chad thanked him and asked how much it cost.

“Twenty-five cents should do it,” Mr. Malone replied.

Chad paid him.

“Give your mother my regards. Will I see you Sunday when you come to ride?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Chad left with one last glance over his shoulder at the man as he once again bent over the forge, his torso bathed in the red-orange glow of the fire.