Metaphorically Loving

“Ready for round 2?”

“Christ, Starsk, it’s barely been fifteen minutes.”

“Seventeen, but who’s countin’.”

“Don’t push me. You know you recover quicker.”

“But Hutch -”

“Hey, fondling me won’t necessarily get me hard again… Or maybe it will…”

“So, while we wait for Mr. Slow Poke to return to the party, let’s talk about what to do next. You got any ideas?”

“Hmm… Well, we haven’t played baseball in a while. You wanna pitch or catch?”

“Ya know I love baseball as much as you, babe, but there’s got to be different ways to describe it. Always using those terms is kinda boring. We should follow one of Huggy’s commandments.”

“And which one would that be, Starsk? ‘Thou shalt use the upstairs apartment only in case of emergencies’?”

“Hey, get that sar, sar, uh, sardonicism out of your tone, Blond Beauty. If we hadn’t told him about us, we’d have been tomcattin’ out in the alley that night after we both almost got shot.”

“True, true. You know I really am good with Huggy knowing about us, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Pretty sure he had it figured out long before we did. Anyway, I was referring to his commandment on adopting more colorful language.”

“So you’re thinking we should come up with more metaphors?”

“You read my mind. And you’re responding nicely to my handiwork.”

“What do you expect, Starsk? You know exactly where my erogenous zones are. And you’re ruthless in using them. Not that I object…”

“You’re very good with using your mouth, and other things. So how ’bout pitchin’ your balls into my, um, dugout?”

“But what about more colorful  . . .  Oh, God, Starsky, what did you just do? ‘Member what you did, okay?”

 

Locksmith

“Well, that didn’t last as long as I would have liked.”

“For me, too, lover. We been working so much overtime, that it’s been, what, five days since our last rub-off?”

“You make it sound like some sort of cooking contest, Starsk.”

“Admit it, Hutch, we were more than cookin’. We were stir-fryin’.”

“That we were. Did you like what I did with -”

“Absolutely! I’m gonna write about that in my sex journal.”

“I thought you gave that up.”

“I started it back up when we became literally joined at the hip. Have to record your many talents for prosperity, farm boy.”

“I think you mean posterity.”

“I think I mean you’re really, really good. The best.”

“Whatever, Starsk! You up for round 2?”

“Can’t you see I’m already up? Gimme a minute and you’ll be, too. If you ate more meat, Blintz, maybe you’d pop up quicker.”

“Maybe there’s only one kind of meat I like, and it’s kosher tube steak.”

“Aw, Hutch, you say the sweetest things. Now, how ’bout you stick the key to my heart into my special lock?”

“What??”

“Metaphor? Toward more colorful language?”

“Oh. Got it. Just you wait for the turn of that key, lover. That will be worth writing about.”

 

Robin Hood

“Good call on the Errol Flynn double feature, Starsky. I hadn’t seen Captain Blood or Robin Hood in years.”

“And what better place to watch ’em than the back seat of my car.”

“Well, we certainly couldn’t’ve snuggled like this in a theater.”

“Or do this… without gettin’ arrested.”

“Oh, oh, OH… can’t you wait until we get home? Someone could see us.”

“No, babe, and besides, ain’t no one nearby. You know how I get when I’ve been so close to you for so long. Now, where was I…”

“You know, two can play at this game.”

“Hey! Who said you could attack my nipple?”

“I did, Gordo. You’ve been tempting me with them all night. Aren’t you chilled with your shirt open that much?”

“Not with a head’s worth of hair on my chest. ‘Sides, you get me hot, Hutch.”

“Starsk, my jeans are getting a little too tight. Whaddya say we back off and head for home, pick things up there?”

“You sure? I mean, we can probably do a quickie. And you gotta be hurtin’. I know I am.”

“I’ll make it worth your while to wait. Oh, Christ, that feels incredible.”

“Know what you mean, Hutch. I think my nip just came.”

“Okay, before we go any further in public, what if we play Robin Hood when we get back home?”

“’Robin Hood’? I don’t wanna fence and neither one of us has a chandelier to swing on.”

“Metaphor, Starsk.”

“Oh. Okay, tell me more.”

“I get to put my love arrow in your quiver.”

“Hey, I ain’t no Maid Marian, pal.”

“Littlejohn?”

“Who you callin’ little?”

“Hey, don’t get so defensive. Remember Littlejohn wasn’t exactly on the small side. How about Will Scarlett?”

“I’m okay with that.  . . . .  And with that! You’re gonna make my other nipple come! Oh, uh, but love’s arrow? Kinda corny, don’tcha think?”

“Maybe, but it says how we feel about each other, right?  . . .  And so did that kiss.  . . .  Hey, Starsk, stop that!”

“Can’t. Don’ wanna, either. Quiver’s gotta have that arrow now.”

“You impatient son of a—just be careful  . . .  M-m-maybe I should s-start wearing bu-button fly jeans…”

“Mmph, ummmm, uhhh, mmucchh.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Starsk.”

 

Locomotive

“Just five more minutes, Hutch, then I promise we’ll leave.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago, Starsky. I agree Tookie really outdid himself on this model train display, but it’s way past time we left.”

“Hutch.”

“Batting those eyelashes at me is not gonna… Okay, five more minutes then we’re outta here.”

“You’re the best, buddy.”

“Finally got something right.”

. . .  “Hey, Hutch, you’re kinda close. That’s a little risky with so many folks around. They might get the right idea about us.”

“Give ’em something to talk about. What I have to say is for your ears only.”

“Guess that makes it okay, then. Whatcha got knockin’ around in that little blond brain pan?”

“You love trains.”

“Ain’t no secret.”

“So what would you say if you had your own private, powerful locomotive, with a full head of steam, aimed right for your, um, tunnel?”

“Another colorful metaphor, right?”

“Absolutely, Mister Conductor.”

“Uh, then I say, Mr. Engineer, all aboard on the goo goo g’choo-choo.”

 

Rhinestone Cowboy

“Starsky, will you stop laughing so hard?  . . .  Huh! Serves you right. Now get off the floor and back in bed.”

“But Hutch, babe, I didn’t ‘spect you to actually dress up like a cowboy when I suggested one of those colorful, uh, metaphors.”

“You did say you wanted me to do some bronco busting. Well, since it’s your birthday, I thought I’d make it… special. And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop snickering.”

“Every time we make love is special, ya dimwit. Anyways, I wasn’t laughin’ at you, baby blue. I was… surprised, is all. And hot to trot, ’cause I know where this is leading. So you kept O’Brien’s studded jacket? And the hat? Okay, I get that, but what’s with the zebra stripe Speedo?”

“So sue me, Starsky. I like the jacket and the hat. The only underwear I could find with horses on ’em was in little boys’ sizes.”

“Well, a zebra is in the horse family. And your boy sure ain’t little. Still, would’ve liked to have seen ya in those horsey underpants.”

“Forget it, Starsk. By the way, what gave you this idea?”

“I know how you love to do cowboy, even undercover. Ya know, you got some kinda hard-on for playing the cowboy, Hutch. And a rhinestone one at that. Maybe there’s a medical term for that.”

“Maybe I was a cowboy in a former life, did you ever think about that?”

“Don’t go twistin’ your stripes into a bunch, Rowdy.”

“Sorry, Starsk. I guess I’m a little self-conscious.”

“So you like to play cowboy and ride horses. Are you up to ridin’ this big stallion?”

“Now you’re talkin’, pardner. Prepped and ready to climb aboard my mount.”

“C’mere, buckaroo. Drop your drawers and hopalong into bed… Now who’s laughin’.”

. . .  “Christ, who knew a bronc could kiss like that?”

“It’s the peanut butter.”

“What?”

“Mr. Ed, Hutch. They used peanut butter on Mr. Ed to make him move his lips so it’d look like he was talkin’.”

“Hmm. Didn’t know that useless piece of information, and sadly, I do now.”

“Hey! Be nice to the birthday boy!”

“You want nice? I’ll give you nice.”

“Oh, yeah  . . .  nice  . . .  oh, better’n nice  . . .  tha’s terrrrrific  . . .  oh, god, what you do to me, Hutch!   . . .  Hey, why’dja back off?”

“Gotta catch my breath.”

“Okay, but while you do that, will ya keep on doing that, just not so… hornifying?”

“Not positive what ‘hornifying’ means, but of course I’ll continue.  . . .  Starsk, babe, I’ll never catch my breath if you persist in doing that to my ear.”

“Can’t help it. Your stallion wants to be rode hard and fast and put away soaking wet. Just do me a favor. Lose the hat, but keep the jacket on, okay?”

“What?”

“You suddenly go deaf?”

“No, just… you’re weird, Starsk. You know, your impatience and demands can be so irritating at times.  . . .  Hey! Not fair. You know that destroys my control. Okay, okay, hold your horses.”

. . .  “Let’s stop with the equine side chitchat and you get down on business, Hutch.  . . .  Oh, god, lover!! You feel… perfect. Ride me, cowboy! Now I’m gonna wrap my hoof around your horn.”

. . .  “Starsk, you’re nnnot… supposed to… try to bbbuck me off.”

“Just getting into the spirit.”

. . .  “Christ!  . . .  Perfect angle, buh-buh-babe.”

. . .  “Hhhhutch!”  . . .  “Best birthday present ever, Roy.”

“Yippee-i-ay. That was… incredible, Trigger. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Uh, can I change my mind about getting put away wet?”

A/N:  Yippee-i-ay is part of the lyrics to Pecos Bill sung by Roy Rogers and the Sons of the Pioneers. What Bruce Willis said (before the expletive) in Die Hard was apparently never said or sung by Roy.

 

Sky King

“Ah, come on, Hutch! It’s been three whole days! I’m drownin’ in deadly semen backup here.”

“Then why don’t you just go jerk off?”

“Nah. Makes me feel like I’m cheatin’ on you with myself.”

“One of these days, Starsky, I’m gonna figure out how your brain works and when I do, Cabrillo State, here I come. Now pay attention, willya? I’m not in the mood. My chest still hurts from those two bullets, though I’m not going to complain about wearing a vest ever again. And don’t your wrists and ankles hurt? They look like raw hamburger.”

“Yeah, so? Since the Gunther hit, I got a whole new outlook on pain.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to -”

“Forget it, Starsk. I know it’s been over a year, but I hate to be reminded of what you went through.”

“Me and thee, Hutch. What me and thee went through.  . . .  Ya know, I read somewhere that having an orgasm can relieve pain. Maybe it won’t take your pain away, instead maybe you won’t care so much that you’re hurtin’.”

“You’re determined not to let this drop, aren’t you?  . . .  For chrissake, stop with the eyebrows and the leer.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’ve got a regular shaft of sexual delight, Hutch?”

“I am not your sex toy.”

“I don’ want ya to be. I want to make you feel, well, better.”

“And I guess you getting your rocks off is just a fortunate byproduct.”

“Well, there is that. C’mon, Hutch, I’ll do everything. All you gotta do is lie back and enjoy, okay?”

“Oh, brother… You know, it hurts for me to take deep breaths?”

“Didn’t the nurse tell you to do just that? Can’t go getting pneumonia, not with your scarred-up lungs.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.”

“Mine ain’t scarred. I’m just missin’ some. So how ’bout it, babe?  . . .  God, you smell good. Taste even better.”

“Starsk, I don’t know how you get me so hard so fast, but yes. Yes.”

“You sure?”

“I said yes, didn’t I? Now, get on with it before I change my mind. It’s been three days for me too, you know.”

. . .  “There! I think we set a record for gettin’ naked.”

“Is that going in your sex journal?”

“Naw. Maybe. Now just lie back and enjoy. Hey, got an idea.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“It’s a colorful metaphor, Hutch. I’m gonna make you fly.”

“So you’re a pilot and I’m a plane?”

“Yep. And to fly the plane, I have to wind up in the cockpit.  . . .  First time I’ve heard you laugh since you got hurt!”

“What did you expect? ‘Cockpit’ is the perfect metaphor! It’s almost literal.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. So, time for the pre-flight check.  . . .  Wings are in good shape.”

“Starsk, only you can turn my elbows into erogenous zones.”

“Time to check out the fuselage.”

. . .  “Dear lord, babe, don’t stop. Feels fantastic.”

“Gotta be sure the fuel nozzle is in good order.”

“What the hell is a fuel… Oh, never mind!  . . .  If you’re not careful, there’s gonna be a jet fuel spill real soon.”

“Not yet. Now the navigator and co-pilot need to do their work in the cockpit. You know, open the pod bay door  . . .  Hutch, you okay? You’re archin’ your back a lot.”

“Don’t you dare stop, Starsky, or I’ll ground you forever! I’m more than okay.”

“Okay. Ready for takeoff. Landing gear up. What long landing gear you have, my dear.  . . .  Pilot entering the cockpit  . . .  Feels soooo good, babe!”

“Yes! No coffee or tuh-tea for you, babe, jjjust me.”

. . .  “Gonna try banking, or maybe it’s yawing  . . .  Like that, Hutch?”

“Oh, god, yes!”

“Now I’m gonna take you higher and higher ’til you’re in the clouds.”

. . .  “Starsk!” “Huuuutch!”

. . .  “Now that is goin’ in my sex journal.”

“You know, I’ll never be able to board a plane again without throwing a rod. You can fly me any day, Sky King.”

“That’s my plan, Songbird.”

“You were right. My chest does hurt less.”

“Maybe Bay City U should give me a honorary doctor of sexology degree.”

“There goes the American higher education system right down -”

“On the fuel nozzle. Ready for round 2?”

“Starsky, you are insatiable. Love you so much, babe.”

“Love you mucher, schweetheart.”

September & October 2019

---