Bullheaded

old!”
    “You can’t ride forever, you know.” Dub was looking at him with a sappy sympathetic expression that made Cody want to punch it off his face.
    “Why not? I’m in good shape—”
    “Cody, you’re my friend. You’re a great rider. You could ride into your forties, like some of the old-timers did, but take a look at their stats. After the age of thirty, the stats are all one way. Downhill.”
    “Not mine, I’m still riding good.”
    “This is your year, no doubt about that. All the guys figure you for the winner at finals.”
    “So next year could be my year too,” Cody argued. This felt horribly like when Johnny left. Everything was slipping away from him.
    “You’re a stubborn man,” Dub said. “It’s a fine line between confident and arrogant.”
    “Yeah, well, bite me.”
    “No thanks. You suck, but it’s one of the things I like about you. However, it’s coming time for you to give back to the sport. Teach the younger riders how to do it. Get your bulls contracted out. It’ll keep your name in the limelight.” Dub chuckled. “Hell, with your record your name will always come up whenever they talk about bull riders, just like Sam. He was one hell of a rider and he’s still big in the sport. You can be too. Don’t hold on so tight you lose everything. Ain’t gonna be fun living in a wheelchair if you mess up good.”
    Cody sighed. “I feel like a fucking target’s painted on my back.”
    “Now you know how the rest of us feel. With you in the ring, ain’t none of us got a chance to win unless you get hurt. That’s not how I want to win. I want you standing up and healthy when you shake my hand and are forced to admit I’m the better man.”
    “That’s never going to happen. Are they taking bets on me? How long my old joints are going to hold out?” Cody found a certain dark humor in the idea even while he recoiled from it.
    “I’m always in your corner, you know that.” Dub put his hand on Cody’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Let’s grab a beer.”
    Feeling grateful for Dub at his side, Cody went with him to find a bar. He sometimes worried Dub had an inkling that he wasn’t straight. Dub never mentioned snaring a couple of hotties at the bar, even though Cody had heard him say things like that to other riders. Since he’d met Johnny, Cody hadn’t gone to the bars as much after the show. Johnny was infinitely more enticing than drinking with a bunch of straight guys, even if they were his friends. However, he was grateful for Dub’s company now, even if he would go out hunting on his own later.
    With only one glance back into the ring to see what Johnny was up to, Cody followed Dub to the stairs. People were leaving the stands for intermission. None of the riders or bullfighters were in sight; probably all back in the locker room. It gave Cody an empty feeling, as it always did when he left the ring. Thirty-two seconds a week was all he’d lived for fourteen years. Thirty-two seconds a week to show the world what he was made of. Maybe it was time to find what life had to offer him outside those thirty-two seconds. Without Johnny.

    “J UST suck me off.” It had become his mantra. He didn’t want another man’s hands on him, didn’t want their willing asses, just a warm, wet, anonymous mouth.
    “You sure you don’t want to fuck me? You have a great dick.”
    He had to force the lie out. “I prefer oral.”
    “Some guys do.” The man on his knees before him shrugged and leaned in closer to lick the head of his cock.
    Cody braced himself on the wall and closed his eyes. This was the only way he could get off since the fight. The sight of a naked guy bent over in front of him made him wilt faster than a direct hit to the groin.
    It’s not that big.
    The words echoed in his ears, blocking out everything else Johnny had said that day. His face had been impassive, his eyes watchful, as if gauging how much he could hurt Cody. He had been cruel, powerful, and Cody was still cursed with the insecurity and doubt that he’d felt when he went limp that day.
    The mouth on him felt good, worshipful. He should have been able to give himself up to the pleasure, but there was a part of him that held back. Worrying. It’s not that big. It’s not that hard. You’re not that good.
    He’d never failed before. Never failed to please a sex partner, never lost his erection, never doubted himself.
    But then it had never mattered before. He was happy if the