Land of Enchantment

When I got to the outskirts and turned off the freeway, though, I was disappointed. Apparently architectural mandates did not extend to the outskirts, which seemed to me to consist of the same vast, ugly strip malls you saw in every city. It was early evening on Friday and I was taken aback at the volume of traffic on the wide avenue I was on. Urban growth and sprawl were hitting Santa Fe the same as everywhere else. Too bad.

Still, I was glad to be here. It occurred to me that this was a town for rich folk and that finding an affordable place to stay would be a problem. I might have better luck on the edge, before I got too close to the center of town.

I turned along Cerillos Road and headed toward the historic plaza. I passed several motels. These seemed to be older ones, those that had stood here before the coming of the rich tourists and the chain hotels. One in particular intrigued me enough to stop. The Thunderbird Motel consisted of three rows of rooms arranged around a central parking lot. The small swimming pool in the middle was dry, but I was fascinated by the walls, which were enlivened by numerous colorful murals. Each door was surrounded by a different, unique design, obviously hand-painted.

I inquired at the office and the price was right. I was shown a small, utilitarian but clean and comfortable room. I moved in and sprawled on my back on the narrow bed, heaving a sigh as my body relaxed. It had been a long and eventful journey but I felt as if I'd reached a destination. I had enough money to stay for a few days and look around. Maybe I'd receive a sign, some guidance about how to proceed with my life.

I put my few things away and changed out of my dusty, wrinkled clothes. Not wanting to drive any more that day, I walked out of my room and down the busy thoroughfare. By now the sun was setting and the air was crisp and fresh in my face. I found a small takeout stand selling Mexican food. I bought some greasy, tasty tacos and a Coke, took them back to my room and chowed down. When I was done, I balled up the trash and threw it in the waste basket, turned on the TV and surfed channels until I got sleepy. I brushed my teeth, stripped to my Jockeys, slipped under the covers and turned out the light.

I must have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The next thing I knew it was morning and light was filtering in through the curtained window of my room.

It was a while before I got moving. I still wasn't used to not having a job to go to, deadlines to meet. I felt as if I were playing hooky and I had to remind myself I could do anything I wanted. I drove toward the old part of town and soon got stuck in a monumental traffic jam. The streets here were narrow and filled with cars that weren't going anywhere soon. As we crawled forward I saw the reason why.

It was Saturday, and in the distance I could see that the entire central plaza was filled with canvas booths. The square was closed to cars. A summer arts and crafts fair was in progress. If nothing else, I could kill hours just looking at everything that was on display.

It wasn't going to be easy to find a place to park, but after a long while I managed. The streets were filled with people and the shops and restaurants were doing brisk business. Even though I was alone and my life was a shambles I began to get caught up in the festive mood.

It took me only a few minutes to get to the Plaza. Soon I was wandering among the booths, amazed at the variety of wares on display, some beautiful, some tacky, trying to see everything without bumping into people coming toward me, upsetting a display table, or getting tangled in a dog leash.

I stopped to stare at the walls of a particular booth, arrayed with flat, oval wooden disks covered with colorful designs, whose purpose I couldn't immediately fathom. I stepped in to take a closer look. On close inspection the disks were not solid, but cut by a narrow blade into spirals.

"The all-purpose trivet," a deep male voice boomed behind me.

I turned. He was tall, over six feet, probably in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, dressed in a black silk shirt and blue jeans that showed off his broad shoulders, barrel chest and long legs. He fixed me with a pair of dark eyes, surrounded by tiny laugh lines. He was smiling, showing even white teeth in a tanned face. I gaped, and said, "What?"

The proprietor said, "Wondering what it's for? Allow me." He reached past me and took one of the objects down. A few quick moves with his hands and the flat disk miraculously became a basket, the wooden spiral forming itself into a bowl, locked into place with a separate wooden piece on the outside that served as the handle.

"That is cool," I said.

He grinned. "That's not all. Push the handle partway down, hang it on the wall," he said, suiting his actions to the words, "And it's a towel rack. Three in one."

"Really clever." I meant what I said. "Did you think of this yourself?"

He nodded, pleased at my response. "Patented it. I make them and put the designs on by hand, each is one of a kind."

"They're great." My wife would have loved these.

"Can you show me that again?" Our conversation had attracted the attention of a passerby, a lady with a nasal voice and dyed red hair who could have stepped off the plane from Brooklyn, or maybe Miami.

The man turned to his new customer, who was accompanied by two friends, one holding a toy poodle. Soon they were all crowded in the booth, exclaiming over his ingenuity. I stepped out discreetly and began walking away. I looked back once. The tall man was engrossed in showing his wares to a growing group of people. He looked even better from the back. My eyes took in his narrow hips, his small butt. I turned and stepped up my pace, shaking my head. Why was I noticing things like that?

I'd had enough of shopping for the moment. There were fine museums and galleries in the area. I whiled away the next several hours admiring the paintings in the O'Keeffe Museum and art objects in several galleries. It was fun to look even if the prices appalled me. The area teemed with tourists and shoppers. To get away from the noise and crowds I slipped into the nearby public library and read the papers. By late afternoon I was more than ready to head back to my room. I decided to take a last look at the booths before I left.

I remembered the man selling baskets that morning. For some reason I wanted to see him again, though we had barely spoken. I walked to where I remembered his booth was and stopped short.

The canvas walls that had been covered with the wooden objects that morning were half bare. The craftsman who made them was still there, sitting on a stool. He smiled and waved when he saw me.

"Hello. Where did you run off to?"

I was pleased and flattered that he remembered me. "You got awfully busy. I didn't want to be a bother."

"Not at all. I'm glad you came back. I wanted to thank you."

My face felt warm. "Me--why?"

He rose and came toward me. When he got to where I was standing he stuck out a big hand. I was struck again by the force of his presence. Here was someone who had confidence and knew exactly what he wanted out of life.

"Jake Sanchez. You started a rush, man. Biggest I've ever had. Those ladies who came right after you, they bought two or three apiece. It's hardly stopped all day. My stock's near cleaned out. Going to have go back and cut me about two hundred more of these things."

"That's great." I shook his hand, feeling absurdly happy at having helped him.

He clapped me on the shoulder. "I'd like to show my appreciation for the good luck you brought me. Join me for a drink?"

"Well, sure." I scratched the back of my head. "I'm a little embarrassed. I mean, I didn't even buy one myself."

He laughed. "Hell, you can have one on the house. I'm just about ready to close up here. Give me a minute, ---?" He looked at me and I realized I hadn't told him my name.

"So what brings a handsome fella like you out here, Roy?" Jake asked. It was an hour later and we were sitting at a small table in the Plaza Cafe nearby, bottles of beer and plates of Mexican food in front of us. Jake had been so busy he had missed lunch, and I found I was ravenous as well.

I felt a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach when he called me "handsome," and didn't answer right away. We were sitting in the front of the restaurant near the window. At that moment a man walked past on the sidewalk. He was lean and fit and had the springy step of an athlete. His tank top, brilliant blue against his tanned skin, was cut low enough that I could see the swell of his chest, thin enough that his nipples were visible beneath the material. His lower half was squeezed into a pair of black nylon bicycle shorts that left little to the imagination. Before he disappeared I got a good look at the swelling mound between his muscular thighs.

I turned my gaze back across the table. Jake was looking at me. His expression was strange, somehow sympathetic. It made me say something I hadn't intended.

"My life's a mess. My wife left me and I lost my job. I'm trying to figure out what to do." I stopped, embarrassed. I'd just spilled my guts to someone I hardly knew. I spread my hands out and shrugged. "Probably more than you wanted to know."

Jake shook his head, that look still in his eyes. "Tough break. Want to tell me about it?" I did. We sat there and talked as our food got cold. Jake ordered another couple of beers and we talked some more. He listened to what I had to say without advice or judgement, and told me something about his own life. He was a retired contractor, and a widower.

"My wife left me too, Roy."

"That's different," I said. "She didn't want to go."

He chuckled. "In the end it's the same. You look for a way to fill the lonely hours. I never thought I was going to, but I did. You will too, buddy." We fell silent. Then Jake stirred, and looked at me. "Want to come out and see my place?" Soon I was following his battered red pickup truck in my Jeep, Jake having loaded the stuff he hadn't sold that day in the back. The houses and buildings grew further apart, and I could see the desert terrain between them stretching away to the mountains on the horizon. After about half an hour we stopped in front of a small adobe house along a dusty gravel road. As I got out of my SUV he hopped out of his truck and waved.

"Welcome. Come on in."

The inside of his house was cool and dimly lit. I was grateful for the respite from the sun, which at this altitude, seven thousand feet above sea level, was intense even in the early evening. I felt tired and thirsty from the day's walking. When Jake offered me another beer I shook my head.

"Actually, I could use some water."

He brought me a glass as I sat in a comfortable armchair in his living room. "It got pretty hot out there today," he said. "I'm going to grab me a quick shower. Maybe you'd like one too."

My head snapped up and my eyes widened. Jake laughed. "I didn't mean us together, buddy. I'll go first. Although," he cocked his head and winked, "It'd be a good way to save water. We never have enough around here."

He disappeared and a few minutes later I heard the sound of the shower going. I slumped back in the chair and drank the rest of the water. I closed my eyes, thinking I might grab a few winks, but sleep didn't come. Pictures I hadn't anticipated kept coursing through my mind instead. I wondered what Jake looked like standing in the shower, water running over his tall, solid body, his hair plastered to his head. By now I didn't try and deny it when I found I was getting hard. I rubbed my crotch, my breath coming faster. For whatever reason I was turned on by the thought of this likable man naked. The question was, what was I going to do about it?

The water stopped running. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps and Jake reappeared dressed in a bathrobe and slippers, rubbing his hair with a towel.

"Boy, that felt good," he said. "Sure you don't want one too?"

"Actually I think I'll take you up on that shower," I replied, getting up in a hurry, too late remembering my aroused state. I couldn't cover my crotch or make any other move without making things even more obvious.

Jake smiled. "Bathroom's at the end of the hall to the left. I left a fresh towel hanging up. Going to grab myself one more beer." My cock sprang out in front of me when I stripped off my clothes in the bathroom. I tried to ignore it as I soaped and rinsed myself off. The cool shower felt wonderful and to my chagrin I found myself getting even more aroused. No way could I pull my jeans on or go back out to the living room in this state.

I turned off the water, stepped out of the tub onto the bathmat, and dried myself with the towel Jake had left me. Then I stood very still, head up, eyes closed, taking deep breaths while I tried to relax and make my mind a blank. At last my efforts began to work. I felt calmer and my erection softened a bit.

I pulled on my briefs and hesitated. I didn't want to put on the rest of my clothes right away. The air felt good against my bare skin. Jake was in his bathrobe, surely he wouldn't care? I picked up the rest of my clothes in my hand and pushed open the bathroom door.

I walked down the hallway and into the living room. Jake was there, sitting with his legs apart facing me on a couch placed against the wall. A bottle of beer stood on a nearby table. The belt on his robe had loosened and it was open, revealing his hairy chest and slightly rounded stomach.

My eyes went to something further down. Jake's flaccid penis hung between his thighs, long and veined, ending in a dark purple head protruding part way from his foreskin. I stared, fascinated by the sight of an uncut male organ. His large balls hung low in their sack, all of his equipment surrounded by a neat bush of dark hair, darker than what was on his head. I drew in my breath at the beauty of it all.

Slowly I raised my eyes to meet his. They were dark and liquid, with a knowing expression. "Didn't mean to shock you. I like to get comfortable in my own house."

I shrugged. "It's your house."

He smiled. "Looks like you had the same idea."

"It's nice and cool in here."

He nodded, then let his eyes drop. "You don't look all that comfortable though."

I looked down at my cock, which had sprung up to full erection again and was tenting the front of my Jockeys.

"Put those things down. Then come over here and let me fix that."

I obeyed, moving as if in a dream until I was close enough for him to put his hands on my body. Gently he pulled down the waistband, propelled me forward and took my cock into his mouth, all in the same motion. He pushed my briefs toward the floor as he began to suck me.

I closed my eyes and ran my hand through his thick, wiry hair. The last time this happened it had been a shock--this time I felt more in control, or maybe Jake knew how to take it slow. I let the waves of pleasure pulse through my body. I wasn't going to just stand there like an idiot this time, though. I wanted to give this man something in return. I hooked my hands under his arms and pulled him to his feet.

I knelt on the hard wooden floor and looked at my prize again. Jake's cock had stiffened and slanted out from his body. A single drop of clear fluid emerged from its tip. I bent forward and stuck out my tongue, catching a faint, acrid aroma just before it made contact. His precum was salty but not at all unpleasant. I opened my mouth and took him inside, feeling the flesh grow and harden as I took it further in. Above me, Jake sighed. His robe dropped to the floor.

For the next few minutes I explored the first penis I'd ever had in my mouth. I found that I could use my lips to peel the foreskin back from the bulb of flesh at the end. Jake seemed delighted when I did that, as delighted as I was to taste the different flavors of his cock. The skin on his crown was smooth and hard as steel, so different from the veiny, rough shaft. I took him all the way down to the root, choking on his maleness, feeling his pubes tickle my nose and make me want to sneeze, drinking in the clean scent of soap and man. I couldn't get enough of him. I thought of the stranger back in the restaurant who had done the same to me, and understood what he had meant when he said there was nothing better.

I wanted to taste his cum. I began to slide back and forth on his shaft, faster and faster. To my surprise, Jake's hand pushed on my head, stopping me in my labors. I released him and looked up, puzzled.

"Don't you want to cum?"

Jake's laugh was a bit shaky. "Damn, you are hot. I could blast my nuts right now but that'd be it for the night. I want more of you." He pulled me to my feet and, without warning, placed his lips on mine. My hesitation was only momentary before our mouths were wide open, tongues, lips and teeth clashing and tangling. I tasted the beer on his breath, licked the scratchy stubble on his chin as we kissed. Finally Jake pulled away and took my hand. "Let's go to my room."

In the small bedroom he bent and opened a drawer in the nightstand that sat by the bed. I watched the play of muscles in Jake's broad back, the cleft opening between his small, tight buttocks. My heart skipped a beat as I saw what he drew out.

"Uh... I don't think I can do that."

Jake put down the rubber and the plastic tube on the nightstand and looked around. "You don't want to fuck me?" "Oh." It hadn't occurred to me that this tall, powerful man would want such a thing. "It's just that... well, I've never done that. Not with another guy." He grinned. "You really are new at this, aren't you?"

I hung my head, embarrassed yet again. "Yeah." The words came out in a rush. "I've never been with another man." Not like this, anyway. The guy in the rest room didn't count.

Jake turned around and hugged me. "You could have fooled me." Then he sat on the bed and drew me downward. "Want to try it? I'll help you. I have a feeling you're going to like it." Moments later he was on his back on the bed, legs in the air, and I was kneeling in front of him on the wrinkled spread, the rubber unwrapped and rolled on to my cock and smeared with lube.

I looked at the tight circle of Jake's asshole beneath his dangling balls and stiff cock, almost lost in the hairy crack between his cheeks. Suddenly it all felt strange and alien. He really wanted me to do this? Then I turned my gaze to his face, eager and encouraging.

"C'mon, Roy. Fuck me now, buddy."

I took a deep breath, leaned forward and felt the tip of my sheathed organ nudge against his hole. Jake's hands gripped my hips and pushed me forward. I felt his flesh resisting, almost to the point of pain, then without warning the head of my cock broke the barrier and slid in. I cried out as it was engulfed by warm, smooth, squeezing heat.

"Oh God!"

I couldn't believe how good his ass felt, so tight and hot. Even in the middle of my ecstasy, though, I saw his grimace of pain.

"You okay, Jake?"

He shook his head, smiling despite his hurt. "Don't worry about me. Just take it slow, baby. Slow and easy."

Trying to obey, I pushed slowly further into him. His breath came in short gasps, then turned into a long sigh as his head fell back on the pillow. Jake's eyes rolled upward.

"Oh yeah, that's great. Take my ass, Roy. Fuck me."

I moved my hips in a few tentative thrusts. Jake smiled and nodded. "Harder," he said. Still I held back, afraid he would protest as Julie had when I lost control. His face darkened.

"What's the matter, you pussy?"

I was stunned, then I got mad. "Who you calling a pussy?"

His lips drew back in a sneer. "You. Afraid to fuck a real man, aren't you?" "I'll show you how afraid I am." I slammed into him, making him grunt.