Ennis would never admit it to himself but he was fascinated with Jack's jeans, or rather Jack in his jeans. Everything about Jack and his jeans disturbed and tormented Ennis that summer of '63 until all he could think of or see was blue – blue denim, blue eyes, blue sky.

The first time he really noticed them was as he followed Jack along to the bar after Aguirre hired them for that summer. He'd never seen a boy with a better fitting pair: the long legs and high rounded butt encased in the prettiest shade a denim he'd seen – almost as fine a blue as Jack's eyes.

Jack's graceful stride led Ennis right along, and in Jack's wake Ennis caught the scent of the boy – a kinda sweet, fresh, grassy smell – he was sure it was Jack's own smell and not cologne.

As they drank beers Jack's soft caressing voice lulled Ennis and he found himself telling him things he'd hardly told a living soul until then.

When Ennis borrowed Jack's cigarette lighter the boy's fingers brushed his own, soft and warm.

Ah but that time, that second night in the tent, so tender and loving after the lust of the first night – the taste of Jack's lips and tongue – like Ennis imagined honey or wine.

At first Ennis lay on his back and let Jack do the work – he knew he must have hurt him the one time before when he removed Jack's jeans so quickly, in the blind fury of his lust for him – this time he didn't want to hurt him, was almost afraid to touch him. After a while though Ennis rolled his darlin onto his back and looked down on him, Jack's beautiful eyes enormous and tender in the fire glow. Then slowly Ennis unbuckled the boy's belt and removed those jeans and then his own – and then there was only heaven and ecstasy and love in that tent.