Head Games

Dusty Calhoun, recovering from wounds from a train robbery gone wrong, must leave the Wind River Reservation and catch up to his gang of wild boys before it is too late to save them and the gold.  A message of a traitor sets Dusty off to embark on a ride through the west with unexpected encounters and places; where he must decide who he can trust, who his pals really are, and finally put the haunting memories of the Blakely Gang to rest.  Dusty knows he never should have let Jake Willowford go on without him after all the hell and high water they have been through together.  The time has come to make it right, to see it through and to find his cowboy where the trails end.

Excerpt:
Dusty’s eyes flutter and he cannot make out the words but he understands them inside, he sees them on her lips in the dim glow and smiles.  The fire returns but it is cool, so cool, over his naked flesh.  No one is inside the lodge now.  He shivers, the sweat rolling off his skin as his muscles strain.  The raw wounds have been covered with more powder and leaves.  The warmth returns starting at his loins and slowly spreads throughout his body.  Dusty can smell his own scent over the sage, a rich masculine scent of sex, and he is filled with thoughts of desire and of Jake’s touch.  The dark hair slicked back, calm brown eyes showing lust and love and Jake’s lithe body so eager to please take Dusty to the limit.  Jake is all that matters in Dusty’s mind’s eye.  In the semi darkness he feels release without laying a hand on himself and he breathes heavy, feeling the hurt all over again. 

******

The melancholy wail of the train whistle sounds off from down El Paso way where the border and the freedom of Mexico beyond its imaginary boundaries lie.  An oasis has been created a few miles outside the Texas town by the recent plentiful rains.  Jake Willowford and Frank Ward are skinny dipping in the newly formed watering hole, their clothes, boots and guns stowed away in the saddlebags of their horses.  Jake’s bobbing body is tanned from the long ride to the south while Frank’s hide is more burned than brown especially on his shoulders and back.  Jake’s dark eyes meet Frank’s lighter ones as both of them tread cool water in the deeper middle.  A warm breeze gritty with sand strikes them from the desert surroundings complementing the coolness of the pond. 

“Now this is something special.”  Jake drifts and relaxes enjoying the cool calming sensation over his bare skin. 

“It sure is.”  Frank speaks his devious thoughts.  “You want to….?”

Jake shakes his head, “Ain’t gonna happen.”

One night a year in Hunter’s hometown a strange seduction takes place.  When his longtime friend asks him to return on the one night he has vowed never to return, he reluctantly agrees.  The little town is dark and eerily quiet as Hunter approaches.  He parks his car and forces his way through thick vines and trees to a secret place in the city park where the two men have agreed to meet.  Hunter is quickly pulled inside and into a seduction like no other.  Rumors of a man dressed in an extremely unique costume looking for an unsuspecting victim is less than believable to the level headed Hunter, but when the costume is found in a place very familiar to him, he fears that this year he may be one of the hunted.

Excerpt:
There was always a Halloween celebration in Hunter’s hometown, although he had never attended.  His parents sent him the full account of the festivities that were proudly displayed in a book every year.  It was an awful display really.  Photographs were taken of everything and everyone including full frontal nudity and actual sexual acts, though faces were always discreetly covered.  It seemed to Hunter that for the last few years the photographs had gone from bad taste to sickly grotesque.  He could not be certain from the shaded faces, but it appeared as though every year in the photographs at least one of the bodies was lifeless. 

******

“They can’t know that we are here.” 

“Why not?  Looks like we are all here for the same reason.” 

“Have you not heard the rumors?” 

“No, Trey, I don’t live here any longer, remember?” 

“A few years ago someone died here and since then, one man always dies before this night is over.  Have you not seen the photos?” 

Hunter had seen the photos, but they were too blurry to see anything clearly.  “Sure.  Mom sends the whole book each year.  It’s like she’s proud of it…their Halloween party as she calls it.” 

“It’s not a party, Hunter.” 

“Oh, come on, these people don’t kill anyone.” 

“Every year it happens, Hunter.  It began the year you left.”

Cowboy and ranch hand Patrick has been mourning the mysterious disappearance of his lover, Johnny Crowfeather. Every night he looks to the horizon, aching for Crowfeather to return. Which he does, one chilly night, reappearing just as mysteriously to warm Patrick’s bedroll and tell him the wondrous, unbelievable reason he vanished. However, is this passionate reunion the real thing, or just the beginning of the end?

Johnny Crowfeather, where the hell are you? The question echoed in Patrick’s mind for the millionth time since Johnny’s disappearance. Resting his brush against Snoopy’s neck, he scanned the darkening landscape, as if somehow Johnny would walk out of the shadows, smiling at him.
 

Damn it. As usual, no Johnny. No one but him, Snoopy, and that crow on one of the fence posts Patrick had come out to the edge of the Double L to repair.
 

The bird had seemed to make a game of tagging along his fence-repair route, the one Johnny and he used to do together, that is, until a month ago. The bird now stared at him, its ebony head cocked to one side as dusk swallowed the last of the sunlight.
 

“Yes, you’re pretty,” Patrick said. Not that he understood crow talk, but the bird seemed to like it.
 

The crow opened its beak and let out a shrill caw. Patrick chuckled. “All right. As soon as I rustle up my own supper, you can have some.”
 

Seeming satisfied, the bird cawed again and lifted its wings before settling down to watch Patrick brush Snoopy.
 

A shiver ran down Patrick’s spine. “No,” he said out loud. For a second there, he’d allowed himself to entertain the whole skin-walker idea. If he started listening to Johnny’s grandfather, he was going to start believing that Johnny had become a skin-walker.
 

The last time he’d spoken to Nathan Crowfeather, the elderly man had shaken his head. “I kept telling my grandson he must not stare so long at you each time. It is not bad that he loves you, Patrick, but staring at you has made his soul vulnerable.” Apparently, in Navajo culture, staring at someone for a long time was a cultural taboo and a person who broke such taboos ran the risk of becoming a part-human, part-animal shape shifter, or something like that.

Being new to a non-gay-friendly workplace is not easy for Cameron until he meets Mykel.  Mykel is straight, but he somehow knows or senses that Cameron is gay, and he takes him under his wing, so to speak.  Cameron cannot help but think of the endless possibilities of love and sex with Mykel.  The man is gorgeous with his blue eyes and silver and black hair.  When Mykel needs someone to share a hotel room with him for an upcoming conference, Cameron immediately offers.  Four days alone with Mykel is Cameron’s dream, but he wonders if it may turn out to be more of a nightmare.

Takashi, the most accomplished archer in his unit, accidentally spies on the secret love tryst of his commander. He wants to pull away and not invade Masaru’s privacy but the erotic pull is beyond even a samurai’s highly disciplined skill. However, because he remains where he is, the two lovers catch his intrusion. Takashi is caught and must be punished for his crime.

What happens next is beyond Takashi’s wildest, most erotic dreams…

Excerpt:

Takashi fought to keep his lip from trembling as cold sweat poured over his forehead. It was bad enough how he’d behaved, but to act like a sniveling coward was worse. “No, Masaru-sama. I have no excuse.” He bowed his head.
The commander was quiet for several moments and all Takashi could hear was his own blood pounding in his ears.
“Well, Yamashita, in spite of the fact that you are a decent samurai, you must still be punished for this infraction.”
Takashi kept his head bowed. “Yes, commander.” When he looked up, he was surprised to see a wicked gleam in the commander’s eyes.
“Gyousei, release him.”
The warrior-monk obeyed immediately and Takashi nearly fell over to the ground. He caught himself and sat up, trembling as he waited for what the two men would decide to do. When he dared to look up, he caught Masaru and his lover exchanging a look. Both pairs of eyes now gleamed with that wicked look. A few more breath-stealing moments passed as Masaru and Gyousei carried on some sort of unspoken communication, the kind such as passes between two souls who are so deeply connected not even death could separate them.
A tiny smile quirked at Masaru’s lips. He gave a small nod and the next Takashi knew, Gyousei’s strong hands were on him again.
Gyousei yanked his kimono back off his shoulders then ripped at his sash which slid off and dropped away with the kimono. Then those same thick fingers did the same with Takashi’s loincloth, yanking it away until Takashi was completely exposed to his captors’ eyes.
Just as quickly, the  yamabushi stepped back, leaving Takashi on his knees, like a dwarf between two giants. Before looking down, he caught a glance of the commander’s front, a large erection pointed into the air. Takashi’s heart pounded, sweat dripped down his chest and back. Confusion made his mind swirl. What was to become of him now?
In the silent moments that followed, he knelt in seiza, sitting on his heels, hands on his thighs, head bowed, waiting for his punishment.
Gyousei chuckled. “Masaru, you never told me you had such an aesthetically pleasing samurai in your command. Small and wiry with muscle. Pleasant, indeed. I think I shall enjoy punishing him very much.”
“As shall I. On your hands and knees, Yamashita.”

Publisher’s note: This story is previously published and has been extensively revised for re-release with Ai Press.