Spring time for Billy
Spring is up, man. I love this time of year! My juices is flowing again, fellows. Writing more often in my notebook, sketching, talking to girls and sitting in the sun. Years ago I used to hate spring. I felt unattractive and useless in the sun. I missed winter and the coats and sweaters I would use to hide my body from the world. My pores would discharge as much sweat and oil as possible leading to some of the worst acne you ever done saw. Well, I still get the occasional pimple but I don't let that stop me, nosirree. Hot weather and wet leather, yeah I can dig it. No more crouching around the heater, drinking vodka and chain smoking. Now its whiskey in the shade and chainsmoking. Wish you were here, darling, really I do. How far away can one person be? How long a distance left to run until you are back in my arms. Cowboy boots made of elephant hide, long dead and inherited from his grandfather rest on the floor as he stares at the ceilingfan, lost to the world and alive in his thoughts of a girl. Her smile dissolves as the phone rings and it cannot be her. She couldn't be calling him. And she isn't. It's time to practice and duty is duty. Dragging as much as possible through the sheets he moves to the stereo and plays a song as he gets dressed. Maybe he plays a love song. Maybe not. He dresses slowly and smokes a cigarette, trying to make it all last as long as he can. The song ends and he is out the door and down the steps. The car moves easier under his hands in the warmth of the evening. The headlights arc through the descending night and he smiles to himself thinking of the girl again. This is as happy as he ever gets. And he is happy, though not to jump a handspring or dance a jig. There is something complete about the thoughts tonight as he makes the two blocks to the practice room. A place has been found for the pieces that winter has scattered through his mind and the sense of a whole taking shape is comforting and empowering. The engine in the car is power, the sun that dips behind the clouds is power and the cock that has become snug against his inner thigh is power. His hand sneaks down to explore the burgeoning hardon in his pants. The smile diminshes so as not to call attention to this most personal of investigations. A grinning man spanking his monkey in his car would terify a pedestrian. The drive ends too soon.