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Always on My Mind

By Deirdre O’Dare


Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

Visit jms-books.com for more information.


Copyright 2017 Deirdre O’Dare

ISBN 9781634864909

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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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To R. Carlos Nakai, Robert Mirabal, and several lesser-known Native American musicians from whom I gained an appreciation for the amazing music of the tribes of the southwestern US. Some have gone on to create amazing fusions of native styles with rock and other musical genres—Peter Nightrider would be a proponent of such a sound. I hope to portray my Native American characters as real people, not any sort of stereotyped “Indian,” and would add that many of them I know are just as happy to be called “Indian” unless their tribal affiliation is used, even if that is not politically correct in some circles. Thus I tend to use both terms interchangeably.

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Always on My Mind

By Deirdre O’Dare

Chapter 1

Garth Talent shifted in his cordovan leather chair, blank stare fixed on the gleaming top of his mahogany desk. Behind him a wide window revealed a panorama of the Las Vegas strip and the distant mountains spreading into hazy distance. For him to be distracted was a rare occurrence. As one of the top attorneys in the unique specialty of protecting and defending people in the performing arts community, he seldom had the luxury of inattention. But today he was meeting with a special client, one he had not seen for fifteen years, one who had been his hero, his best friend and, briefly, even more. Not a day had passed in those fifteen years that he hadn’t thought at least once about Peter Nightrider.

Back in high school, Garth had been the nerdy kid, who was also poor. Rich nerds might get by on Dad’s money, but nerd sons of struggling single mothers were considered almost sub-human. In spite of his Native American blood, Peter was one of the BMOC, an athlete, a cocksman by reputation, and the boy parents hoped their daughters would not date.

The unlikely friendship between the two was a mystery no one could quite solve, not even Garth and Peter themselves. The fact Garth did half or more of Peter’s homework might have had some influence, but was far from the sum total of it. Part of it might have been Peter’s habit of championing the underdog and taking in strays, too. Yet there was still more involved in the complex relationship.

After high school they had gone their separate ways, Garth to the state university on a scholarship and eventually to law school. Peter had done one semester at Stanford, dropped out and formed the band which had become one of the most popular, successful and imitated in the Native-Pop crossover genre. Native Nightrider had two top selling CDs, MP3 downloads flowing like a mountain torrent, and sell-out concerts from coast to coast.

But this afternoon Peter was coming in with a problem, one he had not elaborated on, simply saying he needed a good attorney and he knew Garth was the best. Garth’s mouth felt dry, his heart seemed to be beating out of its normal rhythm, and an itchy heat flashed through his body, stiffening his cock inside the well-cut trousers of his Armani suit. The first and only time he and Peter had experimented with sex played through his mind in high-def, brilliant color, and excruciating detail. He shifted in his seat again.

It had been the night of the senior prom at Bradshaw High School. Since they were escorting the Baldwin twins, and since Garth didn’t have a car, they used Peter’s Camaro. Peter had joked that Garth’s presence had probably won the consent of the elder Baldwins for Sarah and Serena to accompany them.

The evening had been a big disappointment. They left the festivities early, determined to test the twins’ reputation for being wild. Either the reputation was drastically overstated or the girls were simply not in the mood. Before midnight, they delivered Sarah and Serena to their door, elaborate gowns scarcely mussed.

“Let’s go get some booze,” Peter suggested. “After that bomb-out, I’m ready to drown my misery. Then maybe we can pick up some girls from Valley High. They’ll be out prowling. Their prom was last weekend.”

“We’re not eighteen yet. How’re you going to get liquor? The cops’ll be on us like stink on shit. You know how they watch us kids on prom night.”

“I have my sources.” Peter’s tone was smug. “Won’t be any trouble at all ‘cause we won’t make the buy ourselves. Cousin Devin’ll get it if I give him enough for his own bottle. Done it before.”

With two six packs of beer and a bottle of Jack Daniels, but no girls, they drove out by Arrowhead Lake, going around to the reservation side where no one was likely to bother them. Not wanting to get grass or mud on their tuxes, they both stripped down to their underwear before they settled on the grassy bank in a small inlet, the six packs between them. The bottle they passed back and forth, taking a sip and chasing it with a beer.

Sometime later, more than half drunk, they got into a wrestling match over who had taken more than his share of the whiskey when the bottle suddenly turned up empty. Rolling together in the grass, two hard, hot young bodies, still charged with frustration and hormones, responded to the only warm flesh that was close. Grappling became an embrace. Lying half atop Peter, Garth started to say something and stopped when he found their faces almost touching. For a moment their warm breath mingled, scented with alcohol and the cigarettes they had smoked. Then lips found lips in an urgent kiss that added fuel to the rising flame.

Peter ground his mouth against Garth’s, demanding until Garth opened to his invading tongue. As they pressed fully together, face to face, their cocks dueled, rigid in anticipation. Peter found Garth’s poking out through his fly and wrapped one hand around it. Electricity shot through Garth’s whole body as the other youth stroked his stiff prick, almost roughly enough to be painful yet still fiercely exciting.

This is way better than jacking off by yourself.

Something about the touch of another person’s hand took it to a whole new realm. Shuddering and bucking in rhythm with Peter’s jerks, Garth fought to make it last, but also to reach the pinnacle. He came in a sudden rush, ejaculating against Peter’s bare belly.

Shoving him away, Peter swore. “Sonuvabitch. What’d you do that for? You could’ve warned me. You gotta suck me now to make up for that.” He rolled onto his back then, peeling off his briefs. Garth rose to his knees and edged between Peter’s bent legs. In the moonlight, Peter’s cock looked a foot long and as big around as the business end of a baseball bat.

Even through the fog of alcohol, Garth felt a flash of fear. God’s balls, he could choke me to death with that. Or he could stick it in my ass and rip me wide open. Yet somehow neither possibility was enough to scare him out of doing what he’d been told to do. He bent forward and swiped his tongue tentatively across the head of Peter’s dick. Peter’s peter. He swallowed a chuckle at that irreverent turn of phrase.

Gradually he eased his mouth down over the swollen head, flicking the underside with his tongue as he tried to take in as much of the quivering shaft as he could. It took a moment to get the feel of it, but in a few seconds he mastered the motions of bobbing up and down to simulate the classic fucking action. Within moments Peter came, whooping at the instant he spurted into Garth’s mouth before he could pull away. He spat the sticky, salty fluid onto the ground, but it wasn’t as horrible as he had imagined it might be.

After that they both got into the water and cleaned themselves up. Not quite sober, but rapidly losing the impact of the alcohol they’d consumed, they made their way back to town, hardly talking. Peter dropped Garth off at his home and went on. Garth slipped in through the window he’d deliberately left unlocked so he wouldn’t wake his mother whose bedroom was just a thin wall away from the front door. If she knew how late he got home, she never mentioned it or chastised him.

The two never spoke of the incident afterwards, and that summer their friendship began to fade. Peter found a steady girlfriend, and Garth worked to be sure he’d have enough money for college when the fall term started, scholarship or not. But it didn’t mean he forgot. Whether Peter did or not he had no idea.

At that moment, his intercom jingled softly. Melanie Davis, his secretary, announced his visitor. “Mr. Nightrider is here. Shall I send him in?”

Garth steadied his voice by sheer will. “Give me a couple of minutes. Tell him I’m on the phone.”

He pushed a button to light one line, just in case Peter was paying attention. When he hung up and it went out, Melanie escorted Peter to the door.

He’d seen pictures, of course. The likeness of a star of Peter Nightrider’s caliber was splashed across magazines, television, and the internet daily. Still, there was no way Garth could have prepared himself for the reality. Beautiful, masculine, arrogant, and exuding a raw animal energy that defied definition, Peter Nightrider in person lived up to his reputation. He resembled a force of nature, a compelling, overwhelming presence.

The bad boy had become a man, and what a man. The rebellious youth had morphed into a charismatic performer who was always on stage, who played into his persona and wore it like a perfectly tailored costume. Peter dressed simply—jeans and a denim shirt, decorated with fringe and beading in an elaborate but tasteful design. His hair swept his shoulders, sleek and ink-black, shiny as spilled oil on water. Age had sharpened the blade of his nose, carved hollows beneath his high, strong cheekbones, and traced a fine web of lines at the corners of his eyes. He still had a sensual mouth, lips more fine than full, but carrying just a hint of curves and softness, parting now in a smile over even white teeth.


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