In respond to Jennifer Brindle’s request for a “Commando Cowboys” story.
Usual Disclaimers Apply
Rated: NC17 for Language and Adult Content
Summary: Johnny n’ me havin’ a little fun! Ya’ll do the same now, hear?
~ JML ~ JML ~ JML ~ JML ~ JML ~
Scott’s bedroom door burst open and in sauntered Johnny, rubbing sleep from his eyes, bare-footed and bare-chested, his dark hair tousled, yawning widely, he leaned against the tall chest in the corner clad only in his cut-off long johns. Johnny was checking to see if Scott was out of bed yet. Scott was and just about to step into his brown trousers when the door had swung open with a bang.
“Sleep well?” asked Scott as he looked up at the intrusion.
“I always sleep well. Don’t tell me you’re plannin’ on wearin’ that today?”
“What?”
“That,” Johnny said pointing to the strangest contraption he had ever set his eyes on.
“What’s wrong with my union suit?” Scott questioned with a tone of indignity as he dropped his brown trousers to the foot of his bed, placed his hands to his hips, waiting to hear Johnny’s answer.
“What’s wrong with it? What’s right with it? Besides the fact that you’re covered down ta your ankles and wrists, and all those friggin’ tiny buttons down the front side and the flap stretched across your backside, with more buttons? Nah, Boston, there ain’t a thing right about it.
“Unless ya want ta be rubbed raw, chafed bright red from swelterin’ in the hot sun before noon wearin’ that. That’s not includin’ any of those damn buttons bitin’ into ya ahhhh, “gentleman’s equipment” along with up your ass.” What’s that thing made of anyway?”
“Flannel,” replied the suddenly self-conscience flaxen-haired man. Scott stood there blushing bright red, clutching his hands in front of him as his younger brother circled around him with the air of a prospective buyer inspecting a horse with an appraising hard stare at the trader’s proffered goods.
“Flannel?! Boston, have ya lost your mind? A tender greenhorn like ya wearin’ flannel? Now? Durin’ the heat of summer? Ya still think ya can survive here in the West? Why ya’ll be dead before you’re thirty if ya think ya can get away with wearin’ those in this part of the country durin’ the hot weather!”
“Oh really? I suppose you think I should wear something along those lines?” he asked pointing to Johnny’s briefest of attire.
Johnny grinned cocky, guffawing loudly, “Nope! These are for sleepin’, case that pesky Teresa comes in without knockin’. I don’t want her ta faint dead away if she catches me wearin’ nothin’ at all. Wouldn’t be right for her ta sneak a peek at my boys.”
Scott slapped the center of his forehead, wondering just what he had gotten himself into coming out to California, meeting his father was one thing, meeting his previously unknown little brother was another. He was proving to be quite the enigma – first a notorious gunfighter, now critiquing his choice in knickers of all things. This was almost too much for the proper young gentlemen from Boston to endure, but he was game to give it a go.
“Okay, little brother, what do you recommend I wear instead of my union suit?”
“Nothin’, he shrugged. Nothin’ at all, Boston, makes it easier ta do all sorts of things without all that fussin’ around. How many buttons ya got ta undo ta get that thing off? I count at least ten top ta bottom,” he said squatting on his haunches and turning his head sideways to check for more down below Scott’s hands before standing back up smirking.
“Are you telling me Johnny that underneath those leather pants of yours, it just you and you alone?” Scott questioned, his voice filled with astonishment at the brashness of this impertinent, grinning youth.
“Yep! Ya should try it. No draggin’, no saggin’, nothin’ gettin’ pinched, prodded or poked unless I want it ta be! That’s the bare facts of it, Boston!” He winked at his brother, grabbed the door handle and before slamming the door between their two rooms said, “See ya!”
The End
Patti H. – June 22, 2009
Author’s Note:
I had so much fun writing this piece that I wrote a companion piece that follows in the same vein, “The Skinny of It!”