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Some Like It Cool
by Don bellew
It’s Monday and I’ve decided today my favorite flavor is white trash. I may not remember tomorrow so I’m writing it down today. Other times it’s been black street punks and sometimes blond teenage boys (eighteen and over, yeah-right) ... much earlier it was gray fatherly men with shameful pink secrets or tanned pin-up guys with black tank top pecs or long distance runners for a short time, and for a month it was UPS drivers, uh, forget that.
As of today (I began thinking about it last night) I’m in love with white men, about thirty to thirty five, with red-neck backgrounds and empty pocket tomorrows. Cross country truckers are fine by me, or family farm and incest bred plowboys or transient Harley bike loners eating methanol dreams, even skinhead prison white meat would be truly okay... with crude tattoos of religious motif and a theology learned in spray paint brown lunch bags.. University class rings and the suburban inane are NOT okay. Not today. Too vacant, too certain and too fucking scared of stressing the rules. They don’t know how to give what they ain’t ever had. They buy recorded soul and play it for friends they want to impress. Give me the guy who’s already broken so many rules he can’t remember where the line was and no longer cares. Give me the beer soaked, coffee infused, all nite diner denizen, the frayed Wrangler jeans and dirt dull cowboy boots with a defensive brass chain that links his prison made billfold to his hand carved leather belt ( his statement on Trust) and the watery blue eyes under hay colored lashes, the gnawed down, worried fingernails and high arched feet that ache every night.. Make him tall and lean, knobby knees are okay. No Gold’s gym body builder, just the resigned sloping shoulders, long neck and fat Adam’s apple and cynical chin and heavy brows, thin sideburns and smooth chest and too long for fashion hair that blows languid in the wind, an heirloom of spent Viking blood. Give me soiled conscience regret … give me tough/tender and anti-ambitious... give me mute stoic silence and weary resigned post-pot-dreamers, the deep Dixie depressed … I’ll do the rest. I want a guy who was fondled by his uncle before he grew hair (but he never squealed), one who was beaten with a belt by his alcoholic dad (but he forgave him) and his momma ran off with a Buick salesman, broke his adolescent heart for the first time. Maybe he was married once or twice or more, maybe he has a few kids but can‘t remember their names, or maybe he’s never been on a real date in his life because women don’t like his style of Southern Gothic sad. Maybe he’s a half assed mechanic and drag racing fan or maybe he nurtures the Zen of a squirrel gun and fishing rod, loves dogs or maybe he lives for live wrestling on TV Monday nights and a case of Milwaukee’s best cheap cheer. Outdoorsman or smoky eyed card dealer, just as long as his joints swell in rainy weather and his lust hits his navel when it rises up and his butt is as flat as the plains of Texas … narrow hips, skinny legs, lanky walk and a hard ribbed chest hardly big enough to contain a hopeless heart … and little flat nipples that shine in the sun like tarnished copper wishes and low hanging courage that shrinks up to walnuts when the wind blows cool and a freight train echoes through fog in yearning and plaintive invocation, below a tight skinned, close cut rosy circumcision … a frail dusty bush so sparse it looks transparent and bone white skin under his arms where the smell rolls out like locker room steam or a June time, skinny dipping river bank of wet red clay. He’ll have a deep hardass tan that stops fast at his collar with long creases around his once a month grin and a neck that never looks clean under wisps of baby fine hairs that lay in little swirling curls on the August baked skin of his nape... and ropy arms, long fingers and big knuckles he cracks a lot, and thick wrists with a K-Mart Timex watch on a sweat brown band... Dried apricot ears that stick out like a taxi with both doors wide open and backbones that remind you of the stubs of lost wings on his naked ivory back and a sentimental creamy center inside his hard to crack crust ... and a kindness that peeps out slow and halting, and a generous touch, a vast cosmic sigh, a breath that rasps with stale acrid smoke and a voice that sounds like red rye whisky strained through pulpmill sawdust … the sound of dry music and the desiccated poetry of lost history. I’ll buy him a new creamy white Stetson and ostrich skin Acmes with riding heels and Mexican silver toes and a state fair blue and black plaid western shirt with mother of pearl snaps and a rodeo grade, silver platter tin buckle he can pawn when he’s broke and the latest Clint Black CD to play in his truck when he drives off to Mobile or Nashville or Memphis where he’s got a job lined up laying cement block at fifty cents a piece and he’s got a bitter blond woman waiting, too. Just give me one timeless autumn weekend with him and I’ll never forget but he wont remember next day. I’ve had me a few and there ain’t never enough to fill me up. There’s not another kind of man to make me know I’m in the presence of maleness that transcends posturing and heroics without even trying … not another type of man will give me so much so tenderly and with such honeyed grace. They don’t even know what they’re giving away, and they still think it’s necessary to say, “Thanks” for the clothes and the folding green money. You can’t buy for-real, that’s the trouble, not for five hundred bucks in a slick cruising bar... but these lonely pale riders of long black top highways, survivors of revival, blind crusaders with no clue, they’ll rent you some skin and give you their hearts on short loan. It don’t last much past the glow of a Sunday sunrise, I know it if they don’t … but for a few minutes in bed in the dead of the night they’ll hold you real close and sigh prayers on your pillow and they’ll call you the best friend they ever had in their life... and just for a few sacred minutes it’s true and I don’t ask for no more redemption than the genuine touch of a man ... nowhere between here and big blue.
..........jackertoo@aol.com........
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35 Gay Erotic Stories from Don bellew
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Anybody's Brother, Everybody's Son
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As Sailors Sleep
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Baby Blue Boxer Shorts
by Donnie D Bellew Something about Rayburn just seemed soft; he wasn’t sissy by any means, but he had that quality of easing past objections and ignoring jibes, you know? Like he didn’t really need disagreements--they made him nervous. He smiled a lot. He was easy company, anyway, and I usually paired off with him when the boss handed out job orders. If you got to work with a man all day then
Clear Cut
One thing I liked about Ralph, he never wore any underwear. His personality sure wasn’t star quality, he was no conversationalist at all but the sight of his heavy meat swinging loose inside thin blue cotton work pants kept me working near him day after day. He was one of those guys who seem completely comfortable with the world, you know? Never complained, never grumbled, just went about his
Cowboy Love
David was half way through his steak dinner, thinking it was likely the best food he’d had in a month, when he noticed the two cowboys at the next table. He was so entranced with the tender and savory meal he’d not even noticed them come in. They were not much older than him but they had the look of experienced wranglers. Kind of similar, both slim and browned from the sun, both faces deeply
Fake It Till You Make It
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Kitt and Cameron
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Marvin & Lonnie, Part 1
Lonnie knew Marvin was gay the first time he went into the yard next door to talk. He told the guy right off he was straight. They understood the lay-out. Lonnie must have known Marvin would eventually try something and Marvin had to know Lonnie would protest, right? Lonnie liked going over there. Marvin had a big screen and cable, the computer with internet access, the well stocked
Marvin & Lonnie, Part 2
Marvin came out of the hot shower even more depressed than before. He put on his flannel robe and decided to send Lonnie home. He just wanted to sleep off the headache. “Hey, I can’t take the noise, man. Cut it off, okay? I got to lie back down, my head is splitting!” Lonnie didn’t turn it off but he hit the mute. “Dallas just got a first down!” He announced. “I made you some coffee, it’s
Model 4
Model 4 ... donnie d bellew Jimmy is a fireman in Walker County, the next county west from Birmingham. Born and raised in a small town, did two years at a state junior college. History major and a Civil War buff. He’s twenty eight, married seven years, two kids. He’s six foot, one, a hundred and eighty three pounds of lean, lanky country boy. He told me on the phone he didn’t have a long
More or Less ... Part 1
At first Robert was reluctant to work for me. He always had another job when I called. I kept trying to hire him for a couple of reasons. First, he was the only man in our neighborhood that did lawn work on a full time basis, and you couldn’t depend on the high school boys to do a good job or to show up when they promised. But the main reason I wanted him doing my yard was because he looked so
More or Less ... Part 2
I shaved, dressed and put five twenties in an envelope. I drove to his house and pulled in behind his truck. His mother was a tiny woman, with a very put upon expression, a whiner. “He’s asleep! He’s out all night runnin' around with that rough crowd. I can’t do nothin’with him! You need him to work?” “No mam, that’s okay. Just give him this. I didn’t have the money for him the last couple of
Motel Six Morning
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Playing Around
I could never figure out why my sister married that idiot, Clark; nobody else could, either. She was a lot like me, quiet and shy in social situations. Clark was all-star linebacker. Opposites attract, right? He was the swaggering macho jock and she was the sweet, lady-like girl all the cheerleaders laughed about. But he wanted to marry her and she did it--against my advice, of course. Jenny
Red Neckin'
“See that boat up in the slew? Ain’t that Toby Martin?” Bobby Joe leaned out over the rail of the bridge, pointed. “Yeah, that’s him, cum sucking little faggot!” Earl spit a wad of brown juice into the river below. “Let’s go fuck with him … you can bet he’s got a cooler full of beer. He always does.” Bobby nudged Earl with an elbow. “Shit. I can’t stand that sissy! He don’t like me,
Reluctant Charlie, Part 1
My all time favorite reluctant lover was Charlie. He was a macho type but not too harsh; just butch enough to get my attention and cute enough to hold it. He was a body and fender man at an auto shop on my mail route. He was temporarily staying at his dad’s house just a couple of blocks from the garage. He was thirty five when we met, an ex-army special forces, parachute jumper, lean and mean
Reluctant Charlie, Part 2
I followed him to the kitchen. He set the bottle on the counter with a loud rattle, almost empty, hand not quite steady. “Get the beer … I’m gonna … uh,” he unsnapped his jeans and shoved them down, “gonna show youse da devil…” He turned half away, pushed his jockeys down off one side of his ass. “See?” he looked over his shoulder, awkward and silly. “Where?” I brought the beers over beside
Silent Life
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Some Like It Cool
Some Like It Cool ... donnie d bellew It’s Monday and I’ve decided today my favorite flavor is white trash. I may not remember tomorrow so I’m writing it down today. Other times it’s been black street punks and sometimes blond teenage boys (eighteen and over, yeah-right) ... much earlier it was gray fatherly men with shameful pink secrets or tanned pin-up guys with black tank top pecs
Split Seams
“Hi, Craig. How’s it hanging?” “I’m cool.” He shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back on the gate to watch me wash the truck. I went on with my chore. Craig wasn’t the kind of guy to expect me to stop for him. He lived down the street and dropped by most anytime of day. We weren’t even good friends, just casual neighbors with nobody else around to talk to, hang out with.
Stonegate Ledgers 1
I think the year was twenty-five, I know the month was June with summer quickly burning off the downy spring. Dates grow encrusted and obscure but I hold clear a vision of saturated days, long and fever hot. I was at an interim of life, a milestone mark I wouldn’t soon erase. I’d never been away from home, the fall and college cast a looming shade. I clenched to this, my last toy summer, with the
Stonegate Ledgers 2
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Straight Roommate, Part 1
We had a small yard but the temperature was in the high nineties and the humidity was thick enough to float a steel ball six feet off the ground so Warren was sweating like Niagara Falls. He made the last pass and pushed the mower up by the steps, peeled off his tee shirt and climbed up on the deck with a massive sigh. “You should have let me help. I told you it was too hot …” He waved his
Straight Roommate, Part 2
By late Saturday afternoon I was completely burnt out in Rich’s household accessories. Sometimes shopping just isn’t enough? I also picked up a couple of phone numbers, a clerk and a guy in the parking lot who looked really butch but friendly? So I called it a good day and went home. Warren was asleep on the couch while Wild Kingdom featured the life cycle of a green moth, fascinating stuff.
Straight to a Point
donnie d bellew ........ Tommy stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel just as he heard the front door open and quickly slam shut. “John? That you?” He called. “Well, yeah. Who else would it be, man?” His room mate came into the hall and stripped his tee shirt over his head. “It’s that kid next door, Kevin? He’s been over here twice already since I got home. He wants you to
The Album
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The Baptist
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The Far Edge of Friendship
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The Grand Obsession
The Grand Obsession ... don bellew It goes like this: He looks okay, not too damn defensive or nervous. He keeps watching your eyes, trying to tell if he reads you right. He’s not sure. You look right at his crotch, again, smile. Now he’s certain and he either grins or he gets the fuck away from you fast as he can. If he takes off then you keep looking, right? So he grins or he laughs … he’s a
Tiger Club Prank
When two guys from the Tiger Club sat down beside him in the library, Darren immediately began gathering up his books and notes. Common instinct for self preservation told him these guys had no good intensions towards him or anybody else. The Tiger Club was the top of campus hierarchy and nerds were down in the nether regions, dregs of the college social order. Darren very carefully avoided
Too Drunk To Go Home
When the poker game broke up Wallace was still sitting there, leaned over his fists. I thought he was about to cry or something. "He's wrecked, drunk as a skunk!" Somebody muttered. "That damn scotch, he was okay with the beer. Never should have started with the scotch ..." "Don't let him try and drive home, Donnie ... make him sleep it off." He roused up about the time everybody
Weak In The Knees
Weak in the knees ........... don bellew It had been cloudy all day, a dull silver sky that was growing dark in late afternoon. July it usually stayed light until nine but here it was only six-thirty and I was yawning. Too quiet, I guess. Quiet was the very reason I’d moved out to the country when I retired. I wanted to get out of the city and away from the sight of constant people.
Working Stiff
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Writer's Camp
Writer’s Camp ... by Donnie D Bellew He wasn’t spectacular. Not even pretty, just an average face with an interesting ... uh, aura? persona? How do you label it? He was on the large size, not his hips but his long bones. He’d need a double x large sweater just to cover his wrists. Belt too high, shirt too plain for him to be gay. He didn’t have the look, either. Maybe that’s what drew my
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