Reno

by davistrell@aol.com

I’d gone north through California, then east to the Feather Valley
close to Nevada’s border, fifty miles west of Reno, to visit my crazy
half-sister. This was rural country and I felt like a stranger, but Kathy
was lonesome and I’d promised to stop by. It took three hours to get
there, and when I reached Quincy, I found her house, the only place that
felt a little like home. She’d decorated the tumble-down place, bohemian
fashion, Mardi Gras masks and postcard paintings of Frida Kahlo. Burned
down waxed candles littered the place, not to mention the unread books,
magazines, strewn all over the floor. Torn-out photos from fashion
magazines with spindly long-legged models taped to the walls, and a velvet
painting she’d brought back from Mexico. The kitchen was a mess, catfood
spilt, but she has an artistic temperament, if a little whacked, and
talked incessantly about this and that, and about nothing in particular.
We went to the local bar & resturant and had the steak and potatoes,
not much of a menu, played a few songs from the country & western jukebox.
Every face was either fat and friendly or surly and mean. I felt like a
complete outsider, and if they knew I was gay they probably would’ve
lynched me. And sold tickets.
In San Francisco you would’ve said the way I was dressed was cool, but
out here I must’ve looked like a space-alien. I needed to take a piss and
stood between two burly lumberjack truckers and stared straight at the
wall in front. I waggled my cock to get rid of an excess of urine and got
the hell out of there.
I couldn’t understand why Kathy had come to live here, maybe the
tourist killed near her ATM had something to do with it, who knows, but
I’d promised to visit and so I’m here.
Apart from Rush Limbaugh, on the T.V. the only entertainment in the
place was the Pool table so I suggested we play. Kathy’s not very good,
but when she lost, I found myself glad to go back to her place and listen
to her tapes, which were eclectic. She knows the kind of music I like, and
the closest she had was an compilation of Disney songs by the Replacements
and Tom Waits. So we listened to ‘Cruella da Ville’ at an uptempo pace and
‘Hi-Ho’ with a throaty drunken baritone. We downed a bottle of wine, and
eventually got into bed together. We don’t sleep together, just lie
together and she tells me of her love-life. I feel like Archy to her
Mehitabel. She’s had more lovers than Mehitabel, but doesn’t talk about
sex and never asks me about my sex life. I guess she knows which way the
wind blows, but it never comes up in conversation. Finally we fall asleep,
clothed, and spoon, I cup a small breast, but of course I have no
erection. Breakfast is eggs, scrambled with lots of
additions, mostly of her own invention, vegetarian, Dead-Head style.
“I’m gonna go into Reno, and I’ll check in with you on the way back
before heading home.”
She seemed disappointed not to be invited along, but I did ask if there
was anything she needed, that I could pick up for her. I kiss her on her
forehead.
I drove off; she waved, dressed with clothes bought in Thrift stores
back in S.F. that she took with her on her travels. Somewhere in her
clouded mind, she thinks she’s a trend-setter, but somehow I doubt. I do
love her, but something’s not quite right.
I drove out of the small town on a pretty fall afternoon, heading for
the interstate, that led to the promise of Reno and a few laughs. Got get
away from these smells of bucolic cows and woodsmoke.
I got to the T-junction, eightynine that leads to eighty, that would
lead me away when I notices a lanky farmboy a -sticking out his thumb,
hitchiking.
What the hell, I’d give him a ride. Nothing on the radio, and I was
bored with my tapes, conversation would pass the time.
So I stops, picks up the gangly youth, watched him put the seat belt
over his beat up plaid blueshirt, and drove out of hicksville.
“Where you headed- I’m off to Reno.”
“Could you drop me off in Truckee, it’s on your way, sir.”
The ‘sir’ bothered me. Maybe I was ten years older than this nineteen
year old, but I’m not ready to be ‘sirred’ yet.

(Reno continued…..2/5)
by davistrell@aol.com

“Sure, I’ll drop you. What your name?”
“Frank, sir.” I’m wincing.
“Don’t call me, sir; makes me feel like an old fart. Call me Jim. You
live in Truckee, huh, Frank?”
“No, sir,.. I mean ..Jim.. I live in Quincy, but I go to Truckee for
fun. Nothing much to do back here.”
I knew what he meant. We drove off, on into the sky that seems so high,
unclouded, and into a strip of flat landscape, sparsely populated by
isolated ranch houses and the occasional odd horse, flicking its tail,
disturbed by a fly.
“You going to Reno on business?” he asked me, like it was important.
“No, like you, going for fun, throw away some money gambling, take in a
show, get a little drink, buy myself a lay…old guy’s stuff,” I laughed.
“I wish it was that easy for me.”
“What? Cute guy like you, you must have some babe stashed away someplace.”
The valley is large, very flat, you can see for miles, a flat plateau
rimmed by mountain ranges, seemingly small but six thousand feet up above
sea level.
The country road, surrounded by autum leaves, wound in meandering
curves, I had to pay attention, and almost missed what he said next.
“I got no babe….I’m a fucking queer…”
“Hey, lighten up! That’s an ugly word, call yourself gay, much nicer.”
“See these teeth? False. Every goddam one in front. Got them kicked out
in a brawl for being queer. Some bastards lit into me one night. I don’t
rightly fit in here.”
“Well why don’t you leave? Go East young man, south, anywhere! Small
towns are notorious for small kind of thinking, small town stuff.”
“Prffh! Would I if I could. I can’t-I have to stay… and look after my
mother.”
There’s a darkness, mothers& sons, mothers& sons…
He looked out of the window, head turned away, but I could see his jaw
tense. A little trickle of a tear spilled; I tried not to notice.
“So you hang out in Truckee? Maybe meet a friend similar to yourself?”
I’ve seen sadness before, but this youngster had it in spades. His
shirt open, I could see the muscles under his T shirt tighten. He sighed.
I know that sigh.
“I just hang out at the truck-stop, hang out in the bathroom, sit in a
cubicle and wait for truckers. If they’re interested, I give ‘em head. I’m
sick, I know. Addicted to cock.. You can stop the car and let me out…”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Young guy, that old: don’t cry.
“I’m not shocked. You mean to tell me though you’ve never had a ‘real’
relationship?”
“What, you mean with a girl? Didn’t you hear? I’m a fucking cocksucking
Faggot!”
He turned away again, looking out of the window, trying to hide tears
welling in his eyes.
“Hey, hey, hey, li’l brother…I didn’t mean…Can’t you tell… I’m
Gay too? The whiney immature voice, the sagging butt, no chin and a
toothbrush mustache and tiny, tiny penis.”
“Huh? You don’t look like that at all. You look great, what the fuck
are you talking about?”
“In my clumsy way, I was trying to show you, how a bad mental attitude
can cause such pain. Self-pity, low self esteem all that stuff, can do
such damage.”
“You really gay? You’re not shitting me?”
“Well I’m not currently with someone, but I have been. Been in love,
with a man, had my heart broke. Usual stuff. Sounds lame the way I tell
it, but could’ve been a movie. European movie, and you’d have to sit still
for an hour and a half and not have a cigarette.”

Reno part 3/5
by davistrell@aol.com

He looked at me, I tried to concentrate on driving, but I could feel
his eyes burning with questioning curiosity.
“You want to come to the restroom with me? I’ll suck you off.”
It may not be love, but it is the next best thing.
Lake Donner was coming up on the right, looking placid, looming large,
nestled in the Sierra Mountain tops. We were nearly at Truckee.
“I got a better idea, let’s check into a Motel.”
The motel clerk didn’t look at us twice as we registered into the
motel. I had a suitcase with me, and he thought two guys checking in,
early in the afternoon was perfectly normal. Must be new on the job.
He Frank, me Jim. He followed me into the room, looked at the two beds,
flopped down on one, bouncing as he sat back. I went to the window and
closed the curtain and turned on the lamp on the bedside table between the
beds
. “Can you entertain yourself for a few minutes? I should go getstuff,
from the Quik-Stop. What would you like to drink? Beer, wine…soda?”
“You choose, it’s your party.”
I did need to go to the store. Buy condoms, for sure.
But I also thought I’d better give the guy time to duck out if he
wanted to. I bought the latex, a couple of ham sandwiches, not a lot in
the way of food choices and a cheap bottle of champagne. Fuck, he might be
a romantic.
I waited a few minutes before returning. Entering the room, I called
out. The room and beds were empty. I sat disappointedly on one of them and
cursed my luck. Gone as the setting sun has gone, gone, gone.
“Hey is that you, Jim? I’m in the shower. Just drying off. I even had a
bowel movement…just in case.”
He walked in, hair wet and bedraggled, a towel round his waist.
He stood coyly at the bathroom door, showing his farmboy body with his
farmboy muscles, looked like, when he went to school they slugged him with
a copy of Huckleberry Finn.

“What did you get from the store?”
My purchases were strewn on the bed cover. He took a sandwich and
unwrapped the cellophane, and popped it in his mouth, half of it hanging
out. He moved his head toward me. I took the remainder of the sandwich in
my teeth and tore it off. Our lips touched in the process. I popped the
plastic off the champagne and filled two glasses from the bed-side table,
offered him one and drank from the other. We made a silent toast and
washed down the sandwich.
“I guess I’d better shower too.”
I got up and made for the bathroom.
“Get undressed here. I wanna watch.”
He shucked back on the bed, brought his knees up, backed up against the
pillow and watched me as I stripped. I took off my jacket, tie and undid
my belt buckle, slid down my pants, leaving me in shirt, briefs and socks.
I started to unbutton my shirt, starting at the neck, switching to the
bottom, and ended up undoing the middle.
I’m gonna keep the day job, I’m not exactly Chippendale material. Frank
put a hand behind his head.
“Take it all off, dude.”
“I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours!”
I laughed, taking off the shirt and stuck my thumbs in my underpants
and waited.
Frank stretched out his legs, lifted off the white towel .His cock was
hard, and the erection lay to one side and stretched upward along the fold
between thigh and belly.
Pretty and cut, a pink mushroom-topped tip, with seven or so inches of
solid flesh supporting it.
My turn. I pulled down my software, showed him my floppy, that hardened
and pointed northward, and hoped he wasn’t a size queen.
“Sit down, next to me, Jim.”
I did.

(Reno continued…4/5)
by davistrell@aol.com

It was a late afternoon fall, and in the Motel, with the curtains
closed, because those inside were interested in a more intimate topography
than those of the Sierras.
Frank had gentle hands, and embraced my six inch member with one of
them. I forget which. Fuck, I don’t keep a diary.
Considering all this had been my idea, I was being a little reserved. I
took my right hand, if I remember rightly and rested it on his balls,
cupping them,and fondling two warm walnuts the size of peaches.
“Do you want me to blow you?” Frank asked.
“Eventually, but this is my treat.”
I leaned over and dragged my tongue up his boner, licked his bush,
moved to his belly, hugging his prick with my hand, tongue-sworled his
nipples, licked his throat, and held my mouth next to his, ran the tip of
my tongue over his lips, and pushed the pinkness in.
“Oh, man!”
Either my hand or tongue was pleasing him. Hopefully both.
A lttle ungainly I turned around, my head returning to his warm crotch,
and slipped that extension of himself that had grown to maximum hardness,
and filled my face, as far as my throat and pursed my lips, and pulled on
it gently. It tasted, well, you know what it tastes like; tastes the best.
He did the same for me and we were joined at either end, two plumbers
interested in piping. We rolled over so he was above, and I on my back,
below. I held onto his buttocks and pressed into the flesh, firm, pulling
him cloer into me as if I could swallow all.
Minutes, that felt like hours, we rolled over again and took turns. I
wanted it to last, he’d had too many quickies, so kept it nice and easy.
We broke apart, laying together, holding on to each others dicks, and
acted out a fantasy, of being lovers, as if this happened every night. We
parted and stared at the ceiling my hand under his butt, his hands holding
my cock. Some how we’d put them together.
“It’s time for my shower,” I said. “Join me.”
At first we started face-to-face, but our dicks kept bumping, so I
turned around, so he could nestle his in my butt-crack, and soap my front,
as he nipped gently on my shoulders and neck. He took a step back, and
lathered my ass. The soap fell. His hand went between my cheeks and I
don’t know if it was instinct but I felt two lanky farmboy fingers enter
my hole reaching high and providing me with something to ride on. I wanted
him to fuck me there and then, but common sense kicked in, as the condoms
were in the bedroom. I turned off the water, grabbed towels, grabbed him,
and soon we were damp dry.
We moved to the bed.I lay him down, as he looked dazed, romantic even.
He spread on the bed like a butterfly, opening his wings.
“You gonna fuck me?”
I was a centipede, too many hands, too much to touch.
“No, I’m gonna make love to you. Then I’ll fuck you.”
I’ve made promises before but this one I’ll keep.
First I stroked his belly, occasionally holding his penis like it was a
joy-stick, pinching gently, feeling the thickness, while I suckled a
nipple, the few coarse hairs of his chest, the arch of his ribcage, the
smell of him, even bathed, he had that arousing aroma of freshly laundered
man. In his armpits, one hand feeling the weight of his balls, feeling,
feeling. Exploring. My tongue licked his cheek. Smooth, he probably shaved
once a year, at Christmas.
His hand held my cock, rubbing. His arm girdling my back.
My hand slipped around his waist, travelled down, between the crevice of
his ass, and felt the warm wetness, of his anus, the point of entry. The
altar of worship. I will bury my cock here.
He was trying, succeding in jerking my cock, but a hand job wasn’t what
I wanted, and as he let his hand go, I knew that wasn’t what he wanted
too. He wanted me inside him, feel me inside, fill him up.
By a strange coincidence, that was what I wanted too. Funny how these
things work.
“Oh, fuck me, man. Fuck me, Jim…please.”
He pulled my cock, pointing it at the burnt sun of the pink hole.
“Do it to me…please…”

(Reno continued…5/5)
by davistrell@aol.com

I cupped both his buttcheeks with my hands, while my mouth took his
cock again, sucked hard, while he held my head, hoping to escape the
exquisite torture. He raised his legs, hooked them on my back, as I
engulfed all him, tried to grapple his balls with my tongue, even
stretching so far the tip would penetrate his asshole. My hands on his
breast, my fingers, pushing his nipples, and he raised his hips higher. I
had to let go of his cock, and my tounge got into his rosy rare butthole,
I folded my tonge and tried to stick it in all the way, but he was too
tight.
“Fuck me, oh, fuck me, man…”

“Gotta work on those ass-muscles, kid,” as two fingers replaced my
tongue. I was inside him now. His eyes opened, glazed over, closed. His
brow furrowed, his eyebrows knitted as if in pain, his mouth opened like a
Catholic. I drove deeper. He whimpered. My breathing got heavier.
“Now.”
He held my cock, pushing it into him as tears appeared in his eyes,
scrunched tight. Sooon some of me was in, then all in. He held my
shoulders, as my hips started to do their work.He was panting now, and so
was I. Two dockside laborers doing a day’s work, a man’s work. I slid in
and out of his aching hole. Everytime I started to slide out, he’d pull me
in, his fingers clawing my back. He was a jockey under me, urging the
thoroughbred to the final post, the finishing post, as I rammed him, I
reamed him, railroaded him, rodded him, and surrended to him, filling the
balloon tied to my cock, and shuddered inside him, as his hips moved as if
he hadn’t noticed I’d come. I held myself by my arms as I finished
expending my load. He legs fell limp. I pulled out, the condom with its
heaviness in the tip, full of my excitement. I let him pull it off,
slowly, so as not to spill a drop. He let it fall to the floor and gurgled
on the carpet as I gave him the hugest hug, and as I rolled on my back
exhausted, he kissed me everywhere while my hand gripped hard those strong
firm buttocks. He shifted my hand, made my fingers wrap around his hardon,
dangerously hard.
“Can I do that to you?”
“In a while, gimme an hour to compose myself.”
Well he did me later. I did him again, we went out to eat, went back to
the Motel, and did it all again.
Well to cut a long short story short, I took Frank back to San
Francisco, got my half-sister Kathy to look after his mom, introduced him
to my friends. He’s now living with my ex-lover in Noe Valley. Hope
they’ll both be fucking happy.
Never did get to Reno.