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I’ve always had my tastes in guys, though I am pretty flexible in that direction. One guy I have had on my list of “celebrities I want to fuck” was Sam Elliot.
Yeah, I know Sam Elliot’s straight, and me and just about every gay man and straight woman alive that’s older than thirty lust over the man, but when looking at this guy? I immediately got those Sam vibes, and they headed straight to my crotch.
Sam inMask, when I watched that as a kid on some classic movie channel. That was this guy. Salt and pepper hair and beard, though the pepper was actually light brown hair.
Strong jaw covered in that trimmed, beautiful almost-white beard framed his lower face nicely, the beard unable to cover the inwardly curved cheeks, sharp but subtle cheekbones. He was gorgeous, in a rugged way that I found immensely attractive.
His eyes, crystal blue, squinted, like he was constantly looking into the sun straight on. He looked to be fifty, or was getting close, but he’d aged well. His western shirt, plain, blue and white striped, fit him well enough to see lean, hard muscles.
I was diverted from my fear for the moment just looking at him. It was good, and calmed me enough that my shaking stopped, and I could jump over the guardrail and help him set up the two long, flat boards on the open tailgate.
“That bike, it’s heavy, and these boards aren’t gonna hold it if we don’t get it up there quick.”
I’d loaded bikes into trucks before, but I’d always had metal ramps. “Are you sure it’s going to hold at all?”
“Should,” he said simply.
I had no choice but to trust he was right, so I put the bike in neutral and got it off the peg, pushing it toward the board, which, to me, looked too thin. Another problem, I saw, besides it not holding, was my aim.
I had to keep it, using the handlebars, on that narrow makeshift ramp.
Before he grabbed the bike to help, the guy came over and set a strong hand on my shoulder, then with a squeeze, looked right into my eyes. It disarmed me. Then, a rumbly, deep voice came out, and I felt I could accomplish just about anything.
“You got this. We’re gonna get this motorcycle into the truck on the first try.”
I couldn’t do much else than blink, as I think he’d rendered me speechless, but I managed a curt nod to the guy and gripped the handlebars tighter.
For those that don’t know it, motorcycles, especially Harleys, are heavy. It’s hard for some to keep them upright before they take off and the force of the movement kept them from falling over, but moving one uphill, without it running, was rough.
Still, like it was nothing, the guy jumped into the truck, grabbed onto the handlebars with me, our fists touching, and pulled while I pushed. The board bent hard, but like he’d said, it held up. As long as we kept it moving, the bike went up, and both wheels were on the board only for a moment before the front wheel was in the truck bed, and the back half was rolling right after it.
The man was strong as an ox, getting it into place with little help, and after he’d turned the front wheel for it to better fit in the bed, he grunted, “This is why I like horses. If it breaks down on ya, ya shoot the damn thing.”
Shooting horses didn’t seem high on my list of things to accomplish in my life, but I saw the man’s point. “I guess it saves on some strained muscles.”
I stuck out my hand in both introduction and thanks. “I’m Eli. Thanks for the help. It was pretty hairy for a bit.”
“I can bet that’s the truth,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m Noah Oliver.”
“Noah, good to meet you.”
He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and then took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow as he asked me, “Where you headed?”
I was struck mute, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. Men like him, they didn’t like to hear someone is a simple wanderer. They thought,bum,dreg,lazy.
“Do you even know?”
“I was,” I said as I ducked my head, “just riding.”
“Mmhmm. Well, do you know what’s wrong with it?”
“No, sir,” I said honestly. “I’d like to get some tools and check it out, but I don’t know where I’d do that.”
“You got a record? You gonna rob me blind if I take you home?”
I took off my leather jacket then, needing something to do with my hands more than the fact the exertion had heated me, and I said, “No, sir. No record, and I…”I’m a fucking thief. I just stole a watch, worth tens of thousands and sold it for four hundred bucks and I’m too close to broke to think I wouldn’t steal again, but not from you… not from you…
“Good enough. I got a shop and plenty of tools. I’ll keep my eye on every one of them, too, but you might‘s well come home with me and get off the damn road. Grab your stuff.”
