Free Marathon Cowboys by Sarah Black Page B

little white and yellow flowers open. The air
    smells clean, and those little flowers on the creosote bush
    smell… I don’t know how to describe it. Like a lemon
    astringent, maybe. Clean, with a little bite. I’ve never smelled
    it anywhere else but down here.”
    I reached over, tugged him closer. I wished he could
    scoot over, snuggle up against me and let me smell his neck.
    Nobody could drive like that anymore, though, with their
    baby in their arms. Seatbelts and bucket seats. And he
    wasn’t my baby. I kept sort of pretending he was, but he was
    just visiting here, he had a life back in San Francisco, and
    vacation romances didn’t count. Did they? I wasn’t sure I
    even knew the rules of this game. Relationships were
    different from knocking one off in the showers. But I wanted
    to put my arms around him, pull him up close, and let him
    be my baby.
    “Jesse, you got a boyfriend back in San Francisco?”
    He wrapped our hands together until our fingers were
    twined. “No. I had somebody, but we broke it off a couple of
    months ago. That was Sam. He owns a gallery in the Castro.”
    “Was that your gallery?”
    “One of them. I never wanted to be a one-trick pony. I
    spread the work around. But that’s where the cowboy angels
    are going.”
    “Were you guys together a long time?”
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    “A couple of years. And my dear, don’t you know, two
    years in San Francisco is like two light-years anywhere else.”
    “How come?”
    He was still a moment, thinking. “The whole city is
    sexualized, like a big theater stage, and we’re all prancing
    around, being beautiful for each other.” He shrugged. “I
    mean, I love it, it’s brash, and full of life and beautiful boys,
    and people get excited about orange high-top sneakers and
    the days are filled with drama and heartbreak and…. But it’s
    just a stage, and it took me awhile to realize I had to get out
    sometimes, so I could keep a sense of perspective. So I can
    still love it for the color and the light and the beautiful boys,
    but not confuse it with anything real or lasting.”
    I stared out through the windshield. He was so smart.
    Did he even realize it? He was so busy playing the pretty gay
    artist boy, did he know what it was like for me, to be around
    him when he was thinking? He was going to drop to his
    knees in front of my brown dick, and I was going to drop to
    my knees in front of his beautiful brain.
    “It’s not just that I want to bend you over and fuck you
    till the cows come home, Jesse, but I also want to eat your
    brain raw, with both hands.” He was laughing, brought our
    joined fists up to his mouth for a kiss. “You wouldn’t mind
    that, would you? If I ate your brain? I bet it tastes sweet.”
    “You’ve got to fuck me first, though, and then eat my
    brains, because otherwise it’s one of those zombie deals….”
    I had the whole cartoon in my mind then, but it was
    obscene and disgusting and too funny for publication. I
    would have to draw it for Jesse, eyes only, when I got some
    time alone in the studio.
    “I’m crazy about you.”
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    “What about you, my little zo-zo? Did you ever have
    somebody special?”
    I shook my head. “Too busy working.”
    “I’ve heard that excuse before from men who were just
    shy, but I actually think it’s true in your case. You joined the
    Marines right out of high school?”
    “I studied art at Dine College, two years. But I was
    itching for some real work. Marine Infantry. Two tours in
    Iraq and one in Afghanistan. Training in between.”
    “So you’re twenty-five, twenty-six?”
    “Just turned twenty-seven. You?”
    “I’m twenty-nine,” Jesse said. “I knew you were just a
    baby. I’ll have to teach you everything I know. And I’ll make
    it as long and slow as I possibly can.”
    “I’ll be looking forward to that.”
    The third Bathtub Mary was just like Jesse had
    described—big and garish, the