Second Chances

The motel room was nondescript. Standard chairs, standard sofa, standard king-size bed, standard industrial carpeting. An air conditioner clanked away, keeping the room cool and staving off the worst of the sweltering, unending heat that passed for Texas weather outside. The two men on the bed lay naked and asleep, their muscular bodies twined about each other and twisted within the sheets.

Lane McDevitt stirred and planted a soft kiss onto the lips of the sleeping man embracing him. He pulled him closer and nuzzled the hard line of his jaw and down his neck. The other man's stubble grated against his lips but the taste of Jesse Sommers was well worth it. Lane's lover came slowly awake and smiled into the eyes of the man embracing him.

"Good morning, darlin' ..." Lane drawled. His hand traced slow designs on his lover's back. Jesse arched in pleasure.

"Right back at you, love ..." He kissed McDevitt. "Mmmm ... you feel so good ..."

Lane was about 6 feet tall, with a deep tan that set off his cognac eyes and chestnut-brown buzzcut. He was smooth and muscular, but not overly so - more along the lines of a swimmer or gymnast, but not whipcord thin like the other ranch hands. McDevitt was a professional bronco rider and was in Austin for the Star of Texas rodeo. He was also one of the favorites slated to win.

Jesse Sommers had been his lover for over five years. Where Lane was dark, Jesse was light; hair the color of burnished gold framed a strong face, and his deep sea-blue eyes danced and sparkled in the morning light. A faint reddish stubble - courtesy of his Nordic ancestors - covered his cheeks and chin. Sommers was a tad shorter, but more powerfully built - as a bull rider, less height was a distinct advantage. He grabbed McDevitt and straddled him. He pulled the other man's arms above his head and pinned them down to the bed.

"Sweetheart, promise me something ..." Jesse's face became serious.

Lane's eyes gleamed. "Anything, hon ... you just need to ask..."

"I'm not fooling around here, Lane ... I love you more than anything in the world... if ... if ... if anything ever happens to me, swear to me that you won't just bury yourself and fade away. Promise me that you'll give yourself a second chance at happiness..."

McDevitt struggled, but Jesse held him tight. "Why are you so damn morbid all of a sudden? C'mon, let me up..."

"Not until you swear this to me, Lane. I mean it."

"Okay, okay ... I'll find another stud if anything ever happens to you..."

Sommers pushed down on the man below him. "Stop fooling around ... Swear to God, Lane ..."

"All right ... I swear to God Almighty that if anything ever happens to you, I'll look for someone else to spend my life with ... happy now?"

Jesse released his hold on him, bent down and kissed him deeply. "Thank you, honey-bear."

* * *

Lane had won the bronco championship with flying colors. Jesse's event - bull riding - was later in the rodeo schedule. During the preliminaries, Jesse outdistanced his rivals by a considerable margin. The finals were scheduled for later that Thursday afternoon.

Jesse finished his preparations up near the chutes. Still relaxed, he waited for his ride.
Finally, it was his turn.
Sommers rolled his right shirt sleeve up to the elbow before rosining his glove. He'd drawn a bull with a deceptively sweet name of Fernando. Giving one last tug to the laces of his bareback glove, Jesse eased himself onto the bull's back; the leather rig was strapped tight across the animal's chest. The bullrider locked himself down, physically and mentally.

The arena, the crowd, everything faded into a blur of white noise. There was nothing but Jesse and this bull. Even the chute was an abstraction. Legs stiff, left arm high, breathing steady and grip tight, the bullrider signaled ready. Jesse's spurs were well above the shoulder break and touching skin. A good, hard buck out. The tornado of air twisted his ear drums as they spun out and away. His spurs dug into the animal's withers. The ride was wild and hard. Every joint was pulled in sixty directions. Buck, kick, lunge - the movements tortured his muscles. Whipped around by the bull the world spun out and away from Jesse. Infinite. As he made his dismount, Fernando jinked and he fell beneath the beast. Twelve hundred pounds of enraged flesh crashed down on the inside portion of his upper leg. He heard the bone snap and a wave of pain crashed through his body. He felt himself being dragged out of the arena as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He felt a sticky wetness in his jeans as his lifeblood spurted out of him. Despite the broiling temperatures, he began to shiver with cold.

Lane swam into his vision. The other man held him in his arms. "Doc's comin', Jess - hold on!"

Jesse reached up for what seemed an incredible distance and stroked the other man's cheek. His vision began to darken at the edges and fade. His arm fell to the ground as blackness swallowed him whole. Lane bowed his head and wept, rocking his lover in his arms until the doctor and paramedics arrived. The doctor took one look at the supine man and shook his head. The paramedics separated the two cowboys and placed the body into the back of the ambulance - there was no rush. Not any more. The doctor took Lane aside as the ambulance pulled away.

"I'm terribly sorry - that bull shattered your friends thigh bone and that severed the femoral artery. There was nothing we could do..."

In shock, Lane stumbled away ...

* * *
It had been a terribly hard year. There were times that McDevitt sat bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring off his body and pooling in the crevasses of his slabbed pecs and rock-hard abs. The dreams he had were so vivid - Jesse sitting in a chair, watching him - a sad look on his sweet face - "Remember your promise ... I'll haunt you till your last breath if you break your promise to me ..." He tried to keep his word to his former lover, but he found himself spending more and more time with the ranch's horses and less and less time with people. It was only in the stable that he could hold onto their warm, strong necks and let the tears flow freely down his cheeks. His daddy had literally beat it into him: "Men don't cry. Never see a man weep." He had the whip scars on his back to prove it.

There were times he swore he saw his lover even when he was wide awake, but dismissed it as his own grief and overactive imagination. He was a practical man ... after all, he knew ghosts didn't exist.

After a hard day at the Houston Livestock Show, Lane found himself back in his motel room. He had stripped off his clothes and taken a hot shower to loosen tense and aching muscles. After toweling himself dry, he pulled on a jock and sat down on the couch. He clicked on the television and looked forward to some mindless television; he began to doze off.

A hard pounding on the motel room door woke him from his semi-sleep.

"Hey, Lane! Open up! Lane!"

He got up and unlocked the door. Standing there in the hallway were Ryan Harris and Scott Harper with huge grins on their handsome faces. The two had been together for four years and he counted them as his closest friends. They were among only a handful of men who had kept by him during his grief and gradual withdrawal from life.

Ryan gave Lane a lascivious once-over, pausing at McDevitt's crotch. He grinned and licked his lips at the huge bulge in the jockstrap.

"Hmmm ... don't seem to be any smaller from lack of exercise..." He smiled. "You're comin' out with us tonight!"

"Fellas, I really ..." 

"No excuses, Lane McDevitt! You've spent enough time by your lonesome ... it's time to get out and smell the roses again!"

Scott was the more vocal of the two cowboys and they pushed into the the other man's hotel room. Each gave the somber horserider a crushing hug.

"But I don't have anything to we-" 

"We took care of that!"

With a flourish, Ryan opened up the package he had been carrying under one arm. In it was a beautiful black shirt with embroidered red roses and a pair of slim cut black corduroy jeans. He opened the shopping bag and pulled out a black felt hat and a richly tooled black belt with a hammered silver buckle.

"Where are those boot of yours, stud? Ah, there they are!"

Scott sauntered over and picked up Lane's black boots. They had been a gift to him from Jesse - plain black leather, with a sharp toe and low slung heels. The other cowboy brought out some saddle soap and brushes from the bag he was carrying and began cleaning and polishing them. In a short while, the boots took on a deep ebon gleam.

"We're going out to a gay bar tonight and you're comin' with us - no excuses!" Ryan wrapped his arms around McDevitt. "You need to be with people, stud. I mean it. We can't let you go on like this, grieving for Jess the way you do. It ain't right. Life is for the living ..."

His hands moved lower and rested rested on Lane's muscular ass. Harris gave it a playful squeeze before he let go.

Strangely enough, Lane found he wanted to go. The feeling had come over him suddenly when he saw the outfit the two had picked up for him. Red roses had been Jesse's favorite.

Ryan shook out the shirt. "Put it on, handsome..."

Lane slid the shirt on. The cotton fabric felt like silk against his skin. He began to fasten the sleeves and do up the front. The shirt was a bit snug through the chest and arms; making his biceps, triceps and torso stretch the fabric and obscenely pattern itself to his hard and powerful physique.

"Leave half the snaps open, bud ... show off those pecs!! You don't want to rip the shirt up the back!"

Lane blushed, but complied. He sat down and began to pull on the jeans. These too, fit him like they were tailored to him. They felt good. Sinfully good. The fabric molded to his thighs and ass, making his package in front appear even more obvious. And massive.

Scott looked over from polishing the boots and whistled. "Damn, Ryan - you've got good taste! I'd like to have him mount me here and now!"

Ryan laughed. "Scotty, you try that and I'll knock you six ways to Sunday ... you're all mine, sweetheart ... and don't you ever forget it!"

Harper chuckled and continued brushing the boots.

"Here you go, bud ... all nice and shiny!" Scott handed the boots to McDevitt. Lane slipped them on and then proceeded to slip the decorative black belt through the loops of his jeans.

"These too..." Ryan handed him a small pair of gradient sunglasses and a pair of short gloves. The leathers were incredible - soft and supple - fitting themselves snugly around his hands. Lane found himself growing painfully hard. Ryan noticed the growing bulge and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Niiiice ..."

The hat followed. McDevitt pulled it onto his head and adjusted it.

"How do I look?" 

"Save a horse ... ride a cowboy!" Scott snickered.

Lane laughed along with them. He felt good. He felt alive.

He wrapped an arm around each of his friends. "Let's go!"

* * *
The three men entered the lobby. Scott had ambled out of the glass doors to bring the pickup around to the front. Lane looked at the retreating tight ass in the brown shotgun chaps and spurs and smiled to himself. Damn, that's one helluva good-looking man ...

Ryan cleared his throat. The bronco rider looked at his friend and blushed. Ryan pulled him into a close hug and smiled. "Makes no nevermind ... You know Scotty ... he's a damn fine-looking stud and knows it. Loves to show it off too, the little cock tease ... I'm glad to see that there's still some blood pumping in that body of yours, Lane - not just trail dust and tears. And ..." He grinned. "... there's plenty of eyes in this here lobby drinking you in and wanting some tall, dark and handsome for themselves!" Lane turned a deeper shade of scarlet.


McDevitt leaned on one of the lobby windowsills and looked out. He sighed and turned towards his friend. "Ryan, I'm sorry I've been such bad company ... I really don't know how you and Scott put up with me..."

Harris laid a hand on the other man's back and gently stroked the muscles visible beneath the black shirt. "Lane, you've been through a lot this year. Me 'n Scotty didn't think Jess would have wanted you to shrivel up and blow away ... so we just wore you down!"

The horseman looked shocked at the other man's remark. He had never told anyone of Jesse's promise. Events seemed to be moving of their own accord and in a direction he hadn't anticipated. Just at that moment, Scott pulled up in front of the motel. Ryan and Lane got into the truck and the three men pulled out into the Houston traffic.

* * *

The three spent a quiet dinner at Brenner's Steakhouse. The cowboys were seated in an outside gazebo and the food and service were excellent. The weather had cooled considerably and a gentle breeze caressed their faces as the late sunset turned to early evening. Lane noticed that a number of the wait staff (striking, young men all) kept looking over at them and mentioned it to his friends.

Harris chuckled. "They're ogling you, bud ... you're drop-dead handsome, despite that sad look 'round your eyes! I told them ahead of time that Ryan and I were together! You can't keep deprivin' some decent man of your companionship!"

"Where are we going tonight, guys? You mentioned a gay bar ..."


"Yep, the Brazos River Bottom. Ryan and I went to BRB for the first time last night and we had a blast! Truth to tell, this was possibly the best time we've ever had at a bar, and we've been to a lot of clubs ... It was so damned nice to see real men, and not have to deal with them candy-ass twinks! The dance floor is wonderful! If you wanna have a good time with real people, without no drama, this is the best place in Houston."

"Sounds fun!"

"Uh-huh ... we're gonna have a great time tonight!"

* * *
By the time the three got to the bar, festivities were already in full swing. The club was beginning to fill up with all types of men - tall, short, muscular, thin - all of them having a great time. The bronco rider stopped in wonder. Ryan grabbed him by the belt buckle. "C'mon, Lane - let's go to the Side Pocket ..."

The Side Pocket was a smaller bar situated between the large Main Bar and the Back Bar. It was a bit less crowded and a lot more quiet. The man behind the bar was wearing a striped shirt half open to reveal a powerfully muscled chest dark with hair. The bartender looked up, a happy grin creasing his face, his white smile framed by a razor-trimmed moustache and goatee. His eyes twinkled.

"Ryan! Scotty! Great to see you again! Who's your handsome friend?"

"David, this is Lane McDevitt - he's a bronc rider at the livestock show. We literally had to drag him out tonight - you know how these celebrities need their beauty sleep..."

"You two night owls should talk... welcome to Brazos, Lane! What can I get you?"

Lane looked over at the bottles behind the bartender glittering in the dim light. "You got Absolut?"

"Every flavor ... "

The bartender drawled.

"Let me have an Absolut vanilla with creme de cacao and some cream..."

"Comin' right up ... I know what you two drunkards want ..." David turned and began preparing the drinks.

Lane leaned against the bar and looked into the room. He actually felt happy - and the feeling surprised him. As the room began to fill, he noticed more than a few amorous glances in his direction. A smile and a pull of his hat was often rewarded by a 100-watt grin. Damn ... I have been living like a ghost ....

"Here's your drinks, fellas ... enjoy!"

Lane, Ryan and Scott moved away from the bar and over to one of the tables around the edge of the room. McDevitt took a sip. "Hell, this is good!"

Ryan took a large sip of his martini. "Yep, David doesn't water down anything. Scuttlebutt is that the owner of the bar is some big-time gangster and he doesn't look kindly on anyone cheating his customers."

Lane got up, still sipping his drink. "I'm goin' to take a look-see around ... seems like a helluva fun place!"

"We'll see you in a bit!"

McDevitt wandered around the BRB, admiring the layout, the atmosphere and the men both in front of and behind the bars. He was feeling horny as hell - and enjoying every minute of it. The dance floor looked great - just as his friends indicated. He was told that since this was Thursday night, there'd be dancing starting in about forty minutes. He continued making his rounds of the club and in every venue, drew wanton looks from the clientele.

He returned to the Side Pocket and scanned the room for Scotty and Ryan. He found them tucked into a corner, their arms tightly around each other, their mouths crushed together in deep and passionate kisses. Scott was leaning again the wall and had twined a leather-clad leg around his partner, pulling him closer. Lane found himself growing painfully hard watching his two friends and a tad embarrassed interrupting their embrace. He wandered back over to the bar and gestured for another drink.

David cleared his throat. "The gentleman at the end wants to buy it for you ..."

Lane looked over in the direction David indicated and his heart skipped a beat. Seated at the end of the bar was one of the sexiest men he had ever laid eyes on. The man tipped back his hat and smiled. He motioned McDevitt to join him. Lane moved to the far end and David put another drink in front of him.

The man was stunning. A brown shirt with lighter brown embroidery was stretched across a muscular torso and accentuated his deep golden tan. Raven black hair was buzzed short and strong, straight black brows sat atop warm brown eyes. A bright white smile was framed by sensuous lips. Snug concrete-grey jeans hugged slim hips and his muscular thighs pulled the denim deliciously tight. Chocolate-brown lizard boots perched on the bar rail. He took off his hat and sat it on the bar.

"Thanks for coming over. I couldn't help noticing you. Hell, no one could help noticing you ..." He put out his hand. "Trace Cartwright. Pleased to make your acquaintance!" His voice was a clear deep tenor.

Lane shook the outstretched hand and smiled. "Lane McDevitt." He looked at the other man's half-full glass.

"Thanks for my drink ... can I buy you another?"

Trace smiled and traced a hand lightly down Lane's thigh. He gestured to David. "Lemme have another Absolut Peach with cranberry and orange juice." Lane felt his blood begin to roar in his ears. It was surprising how that one touch inflamed him to that extent. The two men continued to talk and drink. McDevitt moved closer to the other man; Cartwright didn't object; in fact he too, moved to close the distance to the bronc rider. Trace toyed with Lane's belt buckle and gave him a bold stare. "What are you waiting for, handsome?" he whispered.

Tentatively, Lane reached up and held the other man's head in glove-clad hands; gently he pressed his lips against Trace's. Cartwright's lips were firm, yet kissably soft. He could taste the peach liqueur tingling on his tongue. Lane kissed him again. Harder. His hands slid down and started to stroke Trace's back. The other man moaned and began to massage McDevitt's tight waist with his thumbs. They continued to kiss and fondle each other. Finally breathless, the two broke apart.

"God-damn, Lane! Where have you been all my life?" Trace laughed."If you kiss like this, I can't wait to see what else you can do!" A vision of Lane McDevitt - dark, determined and probably flat-out ferocious in bed - flashed through Cartwright's mind. He found it staggeringly erotic.

Ryan appeared at Trace's shoulder. He gave a sly look back and forth at the two men. "I see you've met a new friend, bud..." I haven't seen him this happy since Jess passed on...

McDevitt grinned. His entire face lit up. "Ryan, this here's Trace Cartwright. Trace, meet Ryan Harris."

The two shook hands. Ryan's face broke into a huge smile. "See? I told you you'd have a good time! C'mon - dancin's about to start!"

* * *

The four men - Ryan, Scott, Lane and Trace - left the Side Pocket and entered the Main Bar area. The DJ was in the final stages of setting up. The room was crowded with couples ready to dance.

" 'Scuse me ... I'll be right back..." Trace scooted over to the DJ and gestured back at the other three men and then towards the center of the room. The DJ laughed and nodded; Cartwright returned, grinning. He slipped a hand into the back pocket of Lane's jeans and hugged the bronco rider close.

"I made a request..."

The DJ tapped the microphone and the clicking noise echoed throughout the bar. The crowd quieted down.

"Boys, before we start, I just got a request from one of our patrons here for a little demonstration -- so, please give a big Brazos hand for Trace Cartwright!"

Hoots, hollers and shouts of encouragement filled the air as Cartwright sauntered over to the middle of the room. He pulled his hat down low over his face so it shadowed his eyes and left only his impish grin peeking over the brim. Then, he started to undo the snaps on his shirt. First the cuffs were unfastened; there was a collective gasp from the crowd as he pulled the brown material open to display smooth, tanned expanses of powerfully sculpted muscle. He turned to Lane and his friends and tossed his shirt over to the bronco rider. Trace nodded to the DJ and "Pickin' Wildflowers" by Keith Anderson began to play through the PA system.

Hey baby whatcha doin' this evening?
Can you meet me down at the railroad tracks?
I got Tom Petty playin' in my Silverado,
And I iced down a six-pack.

Trace reached behind the his head and grabbed the pole with both hands. He began to gyrate his hips and rock-hard abs and slowly sank down to the floor. The black-haired stud then languidly raised himself up and began to spin around the pole one-handed. He stopped and began to twist from side to side and buck his hips slowly and seductively. Cartwright reached up and grabbed the pole again with both hands, spinning around and moving his hips in slow-motion once more. The wicked smile never left his face.

Hey Daisy don't you worry 'bout your mama,
Like 007 we can keep it covert.
Undercover on the ground by the water
Gonna get a little peace... on earth.

Trace held the pole with both hands behind his head. All of a sudden, he lifted himself off the floor and flipped upside down. His grey-clad legs clamped the pole and he slowly slid down the tubular metal.When his hand touched the floor, he backflipped onto his feet. Cartwright pushed his hat back firmly onto his head and ran his hands down his now-gleaming pecs and abs. His hips thrust sinfully in time to the music.

Baby whatcha say we go pickin' wildflowers?
Got a spot way back in the woods.
Sneak away for a couple of hours,
You and me baby, pickin' wildflowers.

Lane stared slackjawed at his friend. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Trace grasped the pole again and spun around it. He held onto the metal and once more flipped himself head down. His pecs and arms vibrating with effort, Cartwright brought his legs to near horizontal as he rotated around the pole. The dancer stretched back and landed lightly on one boot, then the other.

Hey baby, Mother Nature is waitin'
And love's bloomin' like a cherry tree.
Let's buzz around, maybe do some pollenating,
Dive on in like honey bees.

Trace leaned against the pole and continued to buck his hips in a seductive motion -- moving his etched abs in and out and swinging his hips in a tight circle. A trail of sweat ran down the crevasses of his six pack and into the waistband of his jeans. Lane's mouth was dry and a hungry look glittered in his eyes as he drank in the man dancing in front of him. His blood was racing.

Baby whatcha say we go pickin' wildflowers?
Got a spot way back in the woods.
Sneak away for a couple of hours,

You and me baby, pickin' wildflowers.Take a trail ride if you know what I mean.
Hey baby won't you come with me?

In slow motion, Trace slid down the pole and wound up on the floor with one leg out straight and the other cocked at the knee.

Baby whatcha say we go pickin' wildflowers?
Got a spot way back in the woods.
Sneak away for a couple of hours,
You and me baby, pickin' wildflowers.

As the music finished, he pulled his hat off and fanned himself. The crowd went wild. Trace stood up and made a sweeping bow. He then strolled over to the black-clad cowboy. The pole dancer wrapped sweaty arms around the other man's neck and gave him a soft kiss. Brown eyes met and the long-banked embers of lust in Lane McDevitt burst into an all-consuming flame. He pulled the half-naked man to him and brutally crushed their lips together. When the two broke for air, Cartwright gave a shaky laugh.

"I take it you liked that?"

Lane began to lick the sweat from the hollow of the other man's throat. Traced arched his back and moaned.

"What the hell do you think?" He murmured.

* * *
Lane rubbed down the sweaty torso of the other man as he finished off a large, cool sweet tea. During the interlude, McDevitt discovered that Cartwright was the new vet at the ranch. They'd have plenty of time to spend together.

Trace kissed the tip of his nose. "Thanks, Lane ... mmmm, that rubdown felt good!"

"I couldn't believe what I was seeing out there - you were amazing!"

He grinned. "I was on the gymnastics team at Texas A&M ... I knew it was good for something!" Trace grabbed his shirt from the back of the chair and began to pull it on. "Ready for some more?"

* * *

Lane and Trace spent the rest of the time at the BRB dancing together. Line dances. Two-steps. Waltzes. Lane was an excellent dancer and Trace matched him step-for-step. As the night wore on, the DJ played slower songs for closer and more romantic opportunities between the men at the club. Lane spoke briefly to the DJ and in a moment, "We Danced" by Brad Paisley began to play.

As they moved around the dance floor, Trace laid his head on his partner's shoulder.

"I've never met a finer man or a better dancer, Lane..."

"Aww ... you're just saying that." Lane pulled the other man closer to him and reveled in the feel of the muscular body in his arms. Just like old times with Jess...

"I call 'em as I see 'em, cowboy ..."

He nibbled Cartwright's ear as the other man snuggled into his embrace. With a start, Lane saw Jesse - plain as day - at the edge of the dance floor. He stopped. His former lover wore a big smile and his blue eyes twinkled unnaturally in the dim light. He heard that sweet, familiar voice echo in his head. "Goodbye, sweetheart ... you won't be seeing me no more ... I knew you'd keep your promise... you just needed a little kick in the pants... " Slowly, Jess became less and less substantial until he faded from view.

" 'Bye Jess...I love you." He whispered.

"Lane?" Trace looked up. "Everything all right?"

Lane nodded and the two began moving around the floor again. "Yep. Just thanking my guardian angel for givin' me a second chance tonight..."

* * *

I'm sometimes surprised where my stories take me. I had started this one out with the concept of "Lane Stepping Out" - okay, I got an outfit together for what I would imagine Lane would wear for a night out on the town. Fun stuff, right?

I had no idea what the surrounding story would be, but I had NO idea it would turn out like this.

A romantic ghost story.

That's one of the things that I truly love about masking - it opens up a well of creativity that would ordinarily be bottled up.I had reread my initial story of Lane and that provided some additional insight into who Lane McDevitt was and how he would behave. I have been a bit melancholy of late, so I think that did play a part of how the story turned out. Jesse's ghost just popped into my head one night as I was writing, and I found that I really liked the idea of his former lover looking out for him. The same thing happened with the pole dancing - BOOM! - the idea just came to me. I did need to do a bit of research for this - both in terms of the movements that could/would be used as well as what country and western music would be the most appropriate for a gay cowboy wrapping himself around a dance pole. Believe me, I'm sure I drew some curious looks as I was taking notes in a strip bar!

As before, I used the Greyland "Gomer" mask for Lane. The shirt was made by Ely Cattleman and the jeans were a pair of skinny cords from the Gap.

I felt an incredibly great "vibe" from Lane and I do believe that this isn't the last time that you'll be reading about my cowboy!