One night the marshal, who is a fine looking man, big and gruff, comes over to me. I’m thinking he’s going to bust me, but instead he takes me upstairs and spends an hour just playing around with me. Lying naked, he’s content to lick me all over, to suck here and there. He runs his fingers through my hair and I run mine through the hair on his chest. His dick is hard but he doesn’t seem pressed to use it which I find rare as most men’s dicks run them. Not so the marshal and I wonder if that’s why he’s marshal, having such control. He also kisses me.

I had not been kissed by anyone before this and when I flinch he assures me it’s all right. “Men can kiss. It’s not all fucking,” he says and I find he is gentle with his kisses, never mind that thing prodding below. I am swept away by such attentions, such softness in a man of his stature, such care. “I’ve had my eye on you,” he says between kisses. “You’ve captured me.”

I want to say how that’s quite a turn, ex-con capturing the law, but he’s kissing me again and I fall into a sort of swoon. I kiss him back and then his tongue is there, pushing, and I open to him and holy hell, this gets me going. I start sucking his tongue and I get a hand on my dick because I want to come so bad and he gets this, slides down, sucks me off, then returns to his quiet play. “There now,” he says amid more kisses. “I mean for this to last.”

Sometime later he raises my legs and drives his cock into me, at which I come again. He’s powerful in his thrusting and I’m liking every bit of it because there’s more to him than the others, than any man who’s ever taken me. The swoon returns and when I receive his spunk, I feel grateful which is a new thing for me.

After, we lie together, his arms around me, and I have no idea what to do because I’ve never been held. Growing up there was little affection in the house, it being a hard place, so this marshal, whose name I don’t even know, is winning me over not by his dick but by his holding on. “What’s your name?” I ask. “I only know you as Marshal.”

“Jack Halligan. You call me Jack in here, Marshal elsewhere.”

“I’m Wynn Dyer,” I say.

“I know. I asked Abel that the first time I saw you. He explained your circumstance, being an ex-con.”

“Guess I’ll wear that forever. Not Wynn, but Wynn the ex-con.”

“It will fade in time.”

An hour has to have passed when he says he needs to get back to work. He dresses, then hands me a dollar. “I know you don’t get much from Abel,” he says.

“Thank you, Jack. I’m most grateful.”

“I’ll be seeing you again.”

When he’s gone, I clean up but sit a spell before going downstairs.

In one way Jack’s attentions make life better, but in another they make it worse. The better is him bringing light into my life, his caring ways making me forget all else. The worse is after he’s had his hour with me and left. I then have to allow other men and I don’t want it, not at all. I want Jack alone and I hate the first fellow who, even if he’s clean, seems dirty. I have to work at being agreeable, but manage because I must earn my pay. After a day or two it gets easier, Jack fading a little. But then he returns he brings that light again, pure pleasure. This time he gives me two dollars.