Bullheaded

won’t be the same.”
    “We’ll make it work.”
    “You seem so sure.”
    “I learned a lot this summer.”
    “Yeah, I can tell. You don’t let me push you around anymore.”
    “I learned to trust myself,” Johnny said softly.
    “I’m glad of that.” Cody hooked his chin on Johnny’s shoulder. “I hope you have a long, safe career as a bullfighter. You ever think about what you’re going to do when you retire?”
    “I thought maybe we’d have a ranch together.”
    “Yeah, I think we can make that happen.”
    “I have to earn money while I can so I can pull my share of the load, but one day when I can’t fight bulls anymore, I’ve always wanted to go to the gay rodeo. I want to ride in their Pride parade.”
    “Wow, I never really thought about that. You think anyone would care?”
    “I don’t know. I’m only a bullfighter. Maybe no one would even know my name, but it would be like coming out. I’d like it if some kid like me could see you can be gay and a manly, macho bullfighter.” Johnny laughed at himself.
    “Coming out to my parents was like breathing for me. Painless. I never really thought about what it might be like for other kids, even you.”
    “If it helped even one kid, it would be worth it to me,” Johnny said.
    “You know, that sounds like a plan. And when you go, I’d like to ride in that parade by your side.”
    Johnny’s face lit up. “You would do that? It would mean so much to have a World Champion rider there, even if you didn’t come out.”
    “I’d be proud to ride by your side. By then I’ll be a fat old fart, boring people with stories about my glory days, and you’ll be the famous bullfighter. Probably leading your own team by then.”
    “You’ll be inducted into the bull rider’s Ring of Honor—”
    “Where old bull riders go to die—”
    “To be honored. And I’ll just be some guy on a horse.”
    “You’ll be my guy on a horse, baby. You’re my star.”
    “It’s good to be home,” Johnny said softly.

About the Author
    C ATT F ORD lives in front of the computer monitor, in another world where her imaginary gay friends obey her every command.
    She likes cats, chocolate, swing dancing, sleeping, Monty Python, Aussie friends, being silly, spinning other realities with words, and sea glass. She dislikes caterpillars, cigarette smoke, and rude people who think the F-word (as in faggot, or bundle of sticks) is acceptable.
    A frustrated perfectionist, she comforts herself with the legend about the weavers of Persian rugs always including one mistake so as not to anger the gods, although she has no need to include a mistake on purpose. One always slips through. Writing fiction has filled a need for clever conversations, only possible when one is in control of both sides, and erotic romances, where everything for the most part turns out happily ever after.
    Visit Catt’s blog at http://catt-ford.livejournal.com/.

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