Date: Fri, 29 Jul 2016 18:28:05 +0000 From: TCHASE MCPHEE Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 17 % This work of fiction is set in the format of real-world situations. Identifying details to real people, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental in nature. % States and countries have various rules regarding reading or viewing `adult material'. It is up to you, the reader, to research this subject, abiding by laws and conscience. The pages of this story contain `adult material', intended for an `adult audience.' Bypass this warning at your own risk! % If sexual scenes involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if dude-to-dude sex stuff makes you wanna barf or is gonna screw up your mind, you should not read this story. % Sexual safety matters. Guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection and I don't mean going out and hiring a security guard...unless he gives your nuts and bolt a jolt! Hey dudes, if you have enjoyed reading NiFTy stories as much as I have over the years, consider adding some $upport for `internet $pace' or else I will have to start cutting handsome, hairy or steamy characters out of my stories. Do you dare imagine a story without any tops? http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html % "JoLLy RaNCHeRs" 17 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee ^ 0 ^ % What was supposed to be a quick run through, eyeballing up the contents of `Post & Beam Lumber', had turned into a 2 hour ordeal. Not which it was a chore for Shane to punch his hard shaft into Wyatt's rear ass chamber, while his nuts were ground into the desk. Pretty much since he was aware of how good it could feel, the insides of a man's warm irrigation system keeping his tube lubed up, stroking it without lifting a finger, neither man were disappointed after working up a sweat. The accountant didn't voice an opinion, but by grunts and moans, Wyatt knew he was having the time of his life, "I agree." "Wha-a-a..." Shane murmurs between panting. Wyatt only hoped, the journal Jake kept on his desk was filled in with waterproof ink. Though, Wyatt didn't know for certain, how explosive fluid from a loaded shaft could do damage to ink on paper, "nothin'." There was always a chair in front of Jake's desk. Wyatt had sat in it a few times, mainly because his supposed partner liked to see how long Wyatt could take alligator clips, attached to each nip! First time it was hell, but then Jake made him stroke his own cock, while both nips were clamped. Things evolved slowly, Jake having some dude under his desk, sucking him, while another customer worked over Wyatt. It really made his balls jive, with the side view. On some occasions a horny customer would want to loop a rope over both Wyatt's wrists, tied behind the chair. Psychologically, it would give Jake's fuck-buddy the edge, the control factor kicking in. Jake didn't care one way or the other, but always it was with Wyatt's nips, either snagged up with the clips, or touched by fingers. Jake just had this thing with tormenting a dude's nips and of the outcome, he didn't care if Wyatt came out of it with `mauled' nips. His rationalization was, Wyatt having enough fur to hide it. However nothing could hide reddened nips, nor the impending swollen condition, perky and popping out from the hairy chest. Apex of all of this, watching some hot fucker, impale Wyatt's throat. Some fuckers would clamp both hands around the back of Wyatt's head and drill him till he gagged. Of course, it would have been far more pleasurable to dick his ass, but it was Jake's office, so what Jake wanted, Jake got! Of course, Jake would be shooting off `under his desk.' If, by chance, the spent fucker could come up with the gumption of another go around, he was welcome to stay and work Wyatt's ass, while he went off on business. After doing Wyatt, Shane had fell right back, into the wooden chair, butt on the padded seat. Wyatt proposes, "Uh, you can either clean off in the men's room, or I could save you the walk?" Shane knew Wyatt meant well, "thanks, but seriously, I'm kind of sensitive there, afterwards." He might have thought he had the 8-ball in his pocket, but Wyatt suddenly takes command, dropping into a squat, "trust me, you'll love my cleanup skills!" "Whatever," Shane places hands behind his head, relaxing. However, Shane was wrong about `every man', finding out how much of an expert Wyatt could be, "have a lot of experience at that, do you?" It's never fair, asking a cock-sucker questions, while getting a job done, however Wyatt, finding Shane's shaft firming up again, stops for a moment, subbing with his hand, "I really didn't have a chance in the beginning, but I slowly found my place." "So," Shane drops his arms, over each arm of the chair, "you're into fucking too? I mean, `you' like to penetrate?" Wyatt smiled, thinking what a peculiar word. Though, a good description, "I do, but not more than...you know?" "Well then, you better get back to it!" Getting back to it, Wyatt did work up to setting off Shane's dispenser one more time! Finishing off, Wyatt pulls off Shane's shooter, using a finger to wipe his lips. Looking up, he notices a figure in the office doorway, "how long have you been standing there?" With haste, Shane switches his head towards the door, "from what I can see, Marco, I would say you've been there for quite some time?" Truly, he hadn't been there long. Didn't take but a few seconds, when the moment was right, for any guy to unbuckle, unzip and whip it out. "Long enough to want ass!" Marco laughs. Both Wyatt and Shane knew it was a hint. Shane says to Wyatt, "well, don't look at me!" Hinting like a wannabe, Wyatt says suggestively, "have either of you ever double-fucked a guy?" Marco was ready to answer in the affirmative, Shane interrupting, "I don't think I can go another round!" >From out of the blue, Marco says, "how's the inventory going, Shane?" It was a hint, Shane knowing it, like sent to do a job, having gotten sidetracked. Even though he hasn't worked for the town for long as financial consultant, knowing Marco for about 4 months, he's learned a few of his ways. Like, how a man could throw a hint and how he expected a person to respond. Getting up from the chair, Shane says, "I better get on it," he abdicates his throne. Before sitting, Marco drops his butt down, doesn't even untie his Italian shoes, before shucking them. Without the shoes he can easily work his legs out of the pants. It's usually the case, a wound up set of balls makes a man not care where his clothes wind up, even though it being a $500 suit and fine accessories, like the tight fit of a pair of Nouguet briefs. Before sitting, Marco notices blotches of wet on the leathery seat. This wasn't one of his roleplaying games at `the Club,' and being more friendly, "do me a favor. I don't feel like getting my ass dirty on some asshole's leaky cum? "Not a problem," the bear-cub knows exactly what Marco expects. Though he hasn't been to `the Club' in an sado-maso capacity, Wyatt has had the opportunity to participate in various one-on-one accounts of rope bondage. Beyond being tied up, tied down, with the sex, he's only had nip abuse. One customer at the lumberyard wanted to twist his balls up, but Jake stepped in, saying he needed them in good working condition! Coincidentally, it happened to be the other day, Marco telling Wyatt, "oh, by the way, the guy who wanted to turn your balls into elastic?" "What about him?" Wyatt knew Jake allowed Marco to handle circumstances like that. "Changed his mind about ever doing that again, after I made him aware of how it feels!" Even though he's never experienced `Marco-justice', Wyatt has heard, word of mouth, how brutal he can be at certain things, "had a crush on him, did you?" "That's what I like about you, Wyatt...a man with a sense of humor!" Marco was more humored by Wyatt's tongue on his cock. As it happened, Shane did do a quick go around of the hardware and lumber business, but now stood in the doorway, trying to throw an erection for the third time this morning! % "Strange," Rusty calls it, standing in Marco's office, having let himself in. Michael asks, "What is?" "My dad...I mean, `Marco,' whatever... He said to meet him here at 9 o'clock sharp. It's not like him to stand a dude up." Placing a hand on Rusty's shoulder, Michael says, like a concerned `father', "Y'know, it's none of my business, but like you say, you're into making a connection with Marco, in a father and son way, you shouldn't feel so confused with calling him your `dad'?" "Still, it does sound weird. That's all." "I can imagine," Michael tells him, "but think about Marco, who is trying to make up for lost time all these years." A feeling of animosity, Rusty says, "he had plenty of time to get to know me, but instead, had me sent off to boarding school." "Hey," Michael, who was only a year older, but with wisdom of ten years more on him, "trust me...well, you don't really know me that much, yet, but I can relate to all this. It's not easy to accept things, when you don't fully know what the other person has gone through. For some of us, it takes longer than others to find out exactly what it is we want with our lives. Unfortunately for Marco...your `dad', it's taken longer. I think the thing here is, it's not about Marco, but what you want to get out of it?" Things were sketchy in Rusty's mind, "Right now?" "Well, you don't need to make up your mind all at once. Take your time. Let it sink in?" "I have," Rusty replies, throwing his arms around Michael, giving him a cub-to-otter-hug, plugging him, mouth-to-mouth. Breaking off, Michael wears a grin, "I like your decision." Last night, too tired to do much of anything, Rusty says, "I think we should find a place to sleep tonight, where we're both not scared of falling to our deaths!" Michael thought so too, "yeah, it is a little tough getting frisky up there in the loft, but look at the bright side of things, you'll be there to pin me down?" That's something which Rusty had in deep thought, whether he would wind up `man on top,' or had it been Michael's plan to `pin' him down, "really?" "What?" Michael wondered what was on Rusty's mind. "Nothin'. Do you think we should go find out where.dad.has gone?" More his mind on Rusty, Michael says, "and look at this way, maybe I'll get used to calling him `dad', too!" It wasn't a secret to himself, Rusty crazy about Michael. Now it was certain, it was the same the other way around! "I think my credit card still works. How about we do some clothes shopping?" Michael pops the question. "I agree, we need to get that baseball cap off your head and get you more in-style, Michael!" With difference of opinion, Michael says, "oh, but it's so much easier kissing with a baseball cap?" "Have it your way if you want to look like a nerd," Rusty grabs Michael's arm and drags him from the office. Back in the truck they were headed to the hospital. % Deputy Jack, who had accompanied the ambulance to the hospital, was putting the finishing touches on his one-sheet report. Jack did that sometimes, fill out a report at the cafe, or other place of comfort, the police compound a boring place to work. He knew, if Chris Dallo were around, he would be reprimanded for checking out the new doctor on staff, so Jack remained incognito, holding the paper up, looking over the top of it. Though, he got a little excited, seeing Dr. Krempl come from the double-doored examination room, ripping gloves from his hand. It made him giggle like a school kid, seeing the young doctor's zipper down! "How's our patient doing?" Jack tries forcing glee out of his system, with not much luck. "Jon? Fine," though Jared did wonder what was up with the deputy. "Got a little riddle for you, Doc," Jack says with a soft voice, even though no one else around. "Great. I love riddles," Doc Krempl wondered if Jack were on drugs or something. "What do birds do?" "Eat worms?" Jack smirked, having received the wrong answer, "got another one." "Frankly," Jared would have liked to have stood around waiting for meaningless punch lines all day, but since he had `scored' some points with a certain emergency room patient, "if I wasn't on duty, Jack, I'd trade off some jokes with you, but..." "No, no, no," Jack replies, "you go and do what you have to do, Doc." Doc Krempl walks away, through another set of double doors, trying to hide lifting his zipper! Thinking about it, perhaps he would back soon. Jack sinks into an evil daydream. Just by chance, maybe the doc forgot to put briefs on this morning and... "Jack!" He knew that voice. Turning around, Jack greets, "Chris! What's up?" "My dick, thinking about how I'm going to punish your ass, for forgetting about our appointment over at the Trading Post this morning?" Jack would like that very much, but it sinks in, "oh right. We had an emergency over at the lumberyard and..." Chris made sure no one was looking. Finding the immediate area vacated, he reaches out, gropes, "making excuses again, Jack? Tell me, who have you been stalking today?" A long time ago, Jack had told Chris he was a `looker', always on the prowl for a hot guy. Slowly, it has become a plot for one of their kinky get togethers, which knowing what hot water he could be in, "oh, it was really nothing?" His balls are grasped tighter, "Nothing, Jack? Usually with you, nothing means something?" Then, though the double doors comes the 34-year old doctor, fly zipped up, "oh, Jack. I know it comes a little too late, but thanks for the..." he leans into the deputies ear, "`fly' joke!" He had also noticed, Chris withdrawing a hand real fast, "have we met?" His hand was out, ready to shake Chris' hand, evacuated from Jack's crotch! "Chris Dallo. I own the Trading Post." "Oh really?" When they shook hands, the two stare for a few seconds. Chris, he doesn't smile too much, but senses something, whether it was the firm grip, or something else, "yeah. You should come back and check out what we carry." "Might just do that. When I moved here, I had to leave a lot of my gear behind, if you know what I mean?" Jared winks. When he leaves, Chris is all over Deputy Jack, "what did you tell him?" "Nothing. I swear it. You know I don't go blabbing around, about the back room." "Still, you must've said something that got him to thinking?" Poor Jack. He knew, one way or the other, he was going to `get it', not which he minded, so made it good, "well, I did try out that old riddle, about the birds flying. I just didn't want people getting the wrong impression about him, new here and, walking around with his fly down?" "I see," Chris was serious, like he owned the deputy. It wasn't strange to him either, the doc busting through the double doors, his eyes landing on the physician's junk, "you know I don't like it when you look at other men that way?" They weren't in public, per se, not with listening ears all about, so the two could fall into whatever kind of fantasy evolved, "I can't fool you." "And you tried, so that'll be double punishment for you," Chris looks up at the clock, "so come over to the store in ten minutes and then we'll set a time for later." Hearing `twice' in one day, it made Jack's ass cheeks pulse, "yes, sir." "Got a pen?" Chris asks, taking it right out of Jack's hand. Whipping a business card out of his wallet, Chris writes something down. Clicking the pen closed, he puts it back...in his own pocket! "Here, give this to..." Right then, the double doors bust open. Doc Krempl knew, being courteous was key to a friendly atmosphere at the hospital, but after having met Chris, "wanna move it, boys?" Jack, he was taken aback. He knew Chris didn't like it one bit when a guy, he knew or didn't know, talked down at him like that. Chris, yeah he was slightly bent out of shape, but his pumping derrick made him recover, "no problem." Then, talking to a town deputy like, "move back," his arm literally pushes Jack out of the way. Leaning towards the doc, he says, "by the way, I'm having a little party tonight. You're invited," he wasn't keen on cutesy phrases. "Here's the address and time." "I'll dwell on it," Doc Krempl replies in almost a rude way of saying, pocketing the card. After all, what's a doc to do, when he's wheeling a patient around from `here' to `there'? Afterwards, it dawns on Jack, "oh, I get it. He's like..." Chris froze in place, infatuated not by the doc's qualities, like sassing him back. For the 25-year old store owner, it meant, tonight could get pretty wild! For Jared, he had hoped to get some quality time with Jon, but then suddenly things got buzzing around the hospital. Upon hearing his name being paged, `Doctor Krempl to emergency, Doctor Krempl to emergency', Jon says, "duty calls!" Looking up at the door to Jon's room, being kept there overnight for `observation', "I'll see you later," he bends over, giving Jon one last peck on the lips! "Thanks for treating me!" Jared walks out with a smile on his lips, thinking of having treated Jon's limp shaft! However, walking into the emergency room, he's thinking, `time to treat hottie number 2!" Right into Jared's caring arms, one of the construction workers out at Cleg's ranch, was all prepped for the examination, "I got myself all ready for you doctor." Indeed, Doctor Krempl's eyes were already examining the dude on the table, legs hanging over the edge. Propped up, sitting straight, Jared could tell a well-contoured set of abs kept his patient from sagging, able to clearly see his bellyhole, "indeed you have," he looks at the preliminary check sheet, `Shefton', is it?" In small territories, word gets around fast. If you're an important person in town, lawman, attorney, doctor, bank president, a person with title, the ordinary person knows all about you, even without asking. Gossip tends to run rampant. Having the heads up on the country doc, Shefton cordially reaches out a hand, "Shefton Bathgate. It's good to meet you doctor. I hope you can do something about my arm?" Already, Doctor Krempl wanted to do so much more! "Why don't I take a look at it?" Wasn't tough to see the abrasion on Shefton's forearm, right above where he offered the handshake, "well, certainly this is worth looking at." Shelton says, "Normally, I don't bother with small stuff like this, but..." Knowing how much going to a gym or perhaps a construction worker's work goes, "takes a lot of discipline to maintain a build such as yours. I imagine all the small aches and pain don't bother you?" He didn't say, Jared very happy Shefton had prepared himself for the examination, taking off his shirt. "It comes with the job," though Shefton was thinking, if a little cut or bruise didn't bother him, why was he here for a little scratch, "but of course, sometimes something small, can turn into something big, if not taken care of?" "I agree," Jared says, really examining Shefton's arm, which `by accident,' on purpose, rubs his forearm against the lad's ribcage. After probing the forearm, Jared reports, "feels pretty good... I mean...you've got some light lacerations. All we have to do is get you cleaned up, apply some ointment and a bandage." Jared wanted to do so much more. Too bad he wasn't like Jon, a foot injury, which required him to drop his pants! Lo and behold, Shefton says, "I was wondering about something," he lays back on the table, a slide out for the feet, unbuckling his belt, "I kind of have a rash and wondered if you mind taking a look, doc?" Shelton sits, pushing his pants down to his ankles. Wearing work boots, it was tough to remove the pants quickly. "Which leg would it be?" Jared looks between! Standing was a different perspective than sitting. Apparently, Jared had noticed Shefton wanting to show off as much muscle as possible, having sat in a position which would hold his bod erect, flex abs. Tall, from ankles to head, he was much more so, as the doctor guessed, standing at about 5'11, a step up taking him to about 6'1. "Right. Above the knee." Except for some dark hair, grazing over Shefton's thigh, the only thing which was impairing Jared's view was the white briefs, holding a bulging tube and two golf ball-sized impressions. Even though living in Owl Creek for a short time, he's found how things can get around, like Jon knowing for certain he was gay, Jared inquisitive himself, "tell me if this hurts." He had no idea what he was looking for. Certainly, there weren't any bruises, nor abrasions, but it's not the first time a patient had faked an illness to find out some imperative answers to questions. Placing palms on both sides of Shefton's right legs, above the knee, Jared works them upwards, "tell me if you feel something." Like examinations of this kind, the doctor knew just how far to go. Toying with a patient, he would inch his hands up, pressing with his fingers as he went, "anything yet?" "No." "Feel any pain?" "No." It made Jared smile, seeing Shefton's pouch seem to `grow' right before his very eyes! "Still no sensation?" "Um," Shefton wasn't sure he should report something he was feeling, entirely not having anything to do with leg pain! "Well," Jared, being very tricky, about to touch the bottom of Shefton's ball-sacs with the back of a hand, detaches, "can't seem to find anything wrong. Maybe it's one of those things...hurts a little, goes away and then...I bet it will bother you when you leave the hospital?" "Could be," Shefton didn't know what else to say. Certainly, he was a bit disappointed. Folding arms across his middle, Jared says, "However, I'd like to keep an eye on it." "You would?" Shefton says it, like a sexual proposal. Game over. Jared takes a chance, like not wrong too many times in the past, reaches over, folding his fingers in the seam of Shefton's briefs, pulls it out, "for safety's sake, maybe I should take a look anyway? Wanna stand?" Balancing himself off the table, Shefton takes a misstep, "Whoa, doc!" `That was an original,' Jared catches his patient between arms and lats, instead of letting him do a face-plant. Both hands braced Shefton, from the full catapult, which would bring collarbones crashing together into a full hugging position. Jared, sly to the fact, asks, "you can't tell me that was an accident?" The jig was up, the 26-year old gulping before confessing, "sorry, doctor." Shelton regains stability, standing face to face with Jared. Then, face to face, "is the examination over?" Jared wasn't immune to the charming, cunning way the lad tried weaseling his way into his personal affairs, "for now, Shefton. Uh, but I certainly would like to see you again?" It was a trick question, one in which Jared would find out if a dude was `interested.' Puzzled, Shefton replies, "you mean, for an exam, or..." Frivolously, Jared's hand reaches out, plants a finger in the band of Shefton's brief, tugs at, allowing the elastic to snap back, "a thorough one at that. You know, with testicular problems, one cannot be too cautious!" What's fair in love and war, Shefton felt okay with payback, but much less than a sting against the middle of his happy trail, a hand touches the furry fibers of Jared's forearm, "like, when?" "I might find time in my schedule this evening?" "What time?" Shefton was game. Taking Chris Dallo's business card out of his breast pocket, the plan began to take form in Jared's mind, "you know, I'm really concerned over that leg of yours. I think it might be good in you stayed for awhile, to see if the pain comes back." Turning to leave, Shefton was shaken with concern, "you think there's something horribly wrong?" With the British accent, it humored Jared, though he didn't show it, "no, no, just want you around for observation." "Sure," Shefton was nervous now, bending for his pants to pull up, the top of his head grazing right down the middle of Jared's bod, bopping him in the pleasure zone. "What about my arm?" "I'll send the orderly in," Jared replies, "he'll take good care of you!" Leaving the O.R., Jared left message at the front desk, to put some ointment and a bandaid on the patient's arm and then admit him...placing him in the same room as Jon Tor. Much as he would like to invade the lad's private parts, Shefton wasn't his type. Still, it was fun to toy with him. Part of the fun was seeing a dude's reaction, plus see how far he would play the game. % Enjoying some morning juice and a rather ornate danish at the Open Door, Rusty and Michael's conversation had turned personal. With things looking serious, it's how it usually goes. "Then, after my father wanted me to be an attorney," Michael says to Rusty, "and me not wanting it, I skipped out. I mean, I was very tired of the same old hassle. He wouldn't see it my way, that I really wanted to either be a personal trainer, or coach high school sports." Smiling, Rusty says, "well, Michael, you sure have the physique for it!" No question about it, the way Michael filled out every square inch of his tee shirt, bulging pecs and 2 perky pec-spots. Back at Rusty, Michael smiles, "thanks. Now tell me about you," he reaches hands across the table, taking Rusty's. "I already have." "I know you went to boarding school and all about your dad," he was getting Rusty into the habit of what to call Marco, "but what is it you really want to aspire at?" Shrugging both shoulders, Rusty surely didn't know, "sex?" "I know your qualifications there. Really, what do you find an interest in...and don't say, `me'!" "Okay," Rusty skips over his real desires, "other than you, I dunno." "You have absolutely no idea what you want to do and that's fine." "It is?" Rusty questions. "Sure it is and there's no reason not to jump into a career you will regret. I mean, as I see it, once this whole ranch concept gets going, you're going to be rolling in the dough and..." Giggling, Rusty cuts Michael off, "that sounds interesting. You and me in the buff, rolling around in that cash!" Uncoupling Rusty's hands, Michael says, "Seriously?" Becoming serious, Rusty replies, "sorry." Acting more like a father than a lover, Michael says, "I think over the next 2 months, you should `look' for something to do...that you want to do and it doesn't have to be for the rest of your life." "I know," Rusty guesses, "how about I manage your gym!" "Or you can babysit the high school football team?" "Cool! I could stand at the shower and hand out towels!" Since things hadn't progressed to a serious nature of future employment, Michael goes with the humorous side of life. In walks a man in hot water. Breaking up all this, finally, "just where have you been all morning?" Rusty felt it a good time to try out Michael's idea, "I was wondering the same thing about you, `dad'? Michael and me waited at your office for like, a whole hour?" Folding, Marco says, "oh...well...I was busy. But I'm not busy now?" He stared intently at Michael, which mentally asked the question, `don't you have something to do?' On the receiving end, Michael says, "I better get back to the ranch." Pinning Michael's arm to the table, Rusty says, "Michael's done with construction." "I am?" Marco's wise words of wisdom follow, "the ranch isn't going to get built by itself?" With Michael's arm glued to the table, there was little he could do. However, Rusty finally got up the gumption to proclaim some decision-making, "since you made me CEO, I'm using my power to make Michael assistant-CEO!" "There's no such thing," his father replies. Rusty says, like it's final, "well, there is now!" "I see," Marco stands there, perturbed over not getting his way, "well there's nothing I can do about that," for now! Marco sat down, but then got up, seeing Shane walk in. "Excuse me a minute. Got a little leftover business to attend to." While away, Michael says, "so, I'm assistant-CEO now. Does that mean I'm going to have to be around you day and night?" Cheerfully, Rusty replies, "don't you want to be around me day and night?" "Well, definitely in the nighttime!" While Marco and Shane talked, it wasn't all about business. Monitoring the situation at the luncheon table, Shane replies to Marco, on Michael's physical appearance, "sure would like to have him stripped down at `the Club!'" "What I'm concerned about is, Rusty showing less interest in what's going on at the ranch and Michael being his distraction." Shane rubs a hand over the beard he's been trying to grow, "I could try getting him interested in someone else!" The smile on Shane's face told all. "Well, if you're willing to make that sacrifice?" Marco replies, smiling back at Shane. Having learned of Rusty's intentions, Shane says, "just get him back on the construction crew and I'll take care of the rest." So, there, as Marco headed back to the table, he had a goal in mind, "sorry to keep you waiting. Shane needed some advice on something monetary. Where were we?" "Us." Rusty questions, "what did you want us at your office for?" Marco had no idea how he was going to separate the two. For certain, he didn't want Rusty wasting his summer away for some construction worker, when he had a real chance to do something with his life. Instead of worrying about Michael, he lay out the plan, "first, about the ranch. We're in the process of sprucing it up and at the same time, this fellow, the one interested in developing the fishing resort?" "Oh yeah. How's that going?" "It fell through, but I have two brothers, who have a ton or inheritance money, wanting in on developing the ranch." First thing on Rusty's mind, "are they cute?" Michael smirks. He knows what it's like being 19-years old. Only a year ago he was that immature guy, who didn't know which end was up, "cute is not the issue here. Listen to your father." `Hm-m,' Marco thought on it, `maybe Michael isn't all muscle and...' If at `the Club', he would pay no mind to who was looking, bending over to tie a shoe, eyes peering under the table. "Okay," Rusty says, wiping the smile off his face, trying to calm his teen hormones. "so, what's up with the bro?" Placing his briefcase on the table, Marco snaps the case, opens it, taking out a folder, "Adam and George Gerard. Stepbrothers, who upon their father's passing, have inherited the bulk of his estate, or 8 million dollars." "Wow!" Rusty replies with excitement, "I sure know what I'd do with that!" Again, Marco's impressed, Michael saying, "I'm sure your father doesn't mean going out and spending it on a four-hundred-thousand dollar Lamborghini?" As they spoke, Shane was running a check on Michael, for his own itinerary. Back at his office, using both internet and cellphone, he was finding out some amazing facts, of which his worth, enough to buy a fleet of Lamborghini's! % "CANNONBALL!" Bart on Coury's shoulders, Brett's legs hanging down over Darryl's, the 2 pair of chicken fighters were busy at their own competition, when Justin's new friend, Antonio, took a leap off the dock and upset the balance. It was enough to cause Darryl to lose balance, sending Brett backwards into the water. After he falls off Darryl's back, the deputy heaves backwards, sinking under the water. Brett surfaces, gasping for air, condemning, "Darryl, you idiot!" Coming up, shooting water out of his mouth, "what'd I do?" "You're stoopid head clonked me right in the balls, that's what!" Seeing no real harm done, except Brett's hands still under the surface, "you need me to deep-sea-dive and examine them?" It's amazing, yesterday morning, how dead set against `the law' the two friends were, especially Brett, walking around with a chip on his shoulder. It took Justin, showing up at the cabin and later on, the ranch, to show the two that Coury wasn't that bad a guy, just doing his job. However, Bart was won over way before his friend. After a day, a night and into the next day, already Bart has warmed up to Coury, having woken up in a spooned position. Teasingly, he has referred to Coury as `dad,' but his mentor has already `corrected' him, telling Bart it can't go that way. However, in the lake for a morning bath, things have regressed to Coury very well rescinding on that idea, those words. Already Coury has taught Bart how to float on the surface of the water and hasn't restrained himself from holding Bart's bare buttocks! Much as Darryl wanted to achieve the fatherly trait with Brett, is hasn't progressed to that. Matter of fact, when Darryl wanted to show Brett how to build a campfire, all Brett said was, he missed having a cellphone to text his friends! In all thought, Brett was aware this wasn't going to be the same as stabbing garbage at the public park and decided to play along. Still in his mind lingered, `Canada!' For Justin, reconnecting with his dad has been great. Though, there was the fact, his father had a job to do, so he found his own form of something to do for the summer. Already he had a job at the ranch and after reporting to the `chow tent', has gotten to know one of the chef's, Antonio Lombardi. Having delivered pizza to the hoards of construction crew, Marco promised him a job at the ranch. Just by that short encounter yesterday, Antonio now found himself cracking eggs. However, after meeting Justin, he felt the need to take a dip. The dip became a big splash, upon which Antonio formally meets and greets the others. Antonio brought along a football, originally being a footballer, until he got hurt...then turned into a chef in culinary school. Brett thought he could wisely steal the football from Antonio and thus the game `began!' With quick response, Antonio's rounded belly took Brett under the water. They all waited, Justin saying, "uh, think we should go find what happened?" Before they could, the two surface, Antonio with a bearhug around Brett, arms around the front, football in hands, Brett sandwiched in between! Bart says of his friend, "hey, you two better get a bed!" Justin, already fond of the cub, "really, Tonio?" Brett teases, "it's Tonio, is it? How sweet!" Antonio stole the ball and ditched Brett under the water! He throws it to Justin, it going over his head, his father catching it. "Here, dad!" Justin calls attention to themselves, like on the same team. Justin looks to Bart, "what the fuck, dad?" Coury gives his `real' son the `complicated' look, "don't worry, I'm not going to adopt him!" Normally, Antonio would not give up on a football game, but something had become more important in his life. Like an alligator on the prowl, he propels himself toward the unsuspecting, "hay-lo!" Feeling a pair of hands on his waist, Justin turns about, "hi there!" It's exactly how they met, greeting each other in a friendly, country manner. "Need some lessons in floating?" "Faced up or face down?" Justin replies. "Either, or!" However, when Antonio gets bopped in the head with the football and gazes over at Brett laughing his ass off, "excuse me for one moment!" Justin never got his floating lessons, but it was fun watching Antonio getting even. Wanting to get in on it, Justin swims over. He's surprised when Brett surfaces near him and then uses him for a shield. "Hey, you wanna watch where you put that dick, Brett?" Justin tries looking over his shoulder. "Really?" Antonio is suddenly charged up with sexual energy! Perhaps finding out something more about Antonio, Justin confronts him, "you're okay with that?" With confidence, Antonio says, "I'm okay with it, if you're okay with it!" Suddenly, Justin shows how much of a grip Brett had on each arm, at the elbow, breaking free and swimming free like a guppy. "Now look what you did!" "Me?" Brett replies. Antonio, ready to break into a swim, says, "you and your big dick!" Brett had to check. He didn't think he was `that' big, but hurls at Antonio, even though he wasn't sure what the phrase meant, only heard other people use it, "don't flatter yourself!" "Who is," Bart surfaces like a water moccasin, "flattering himself?" To anyone else he wouldn't admit it, but to his bosom buddy, "my big dick getting me into trouble again." "Again? How long ago was that?" Bart says, smiling, thinking of the time Brett fucked some footballer, the first time they went to a college game; how afterwards they had the whole team on their tails, running out of the locker room and down the street. Hearing a wet clap, Darryl performing it to gain attention, "C'mon guys. Ready for round two?" "I sure am!" Darryl's new acquaintance, Ned Barklee had to duck out of their lives briefly to cover for the set up, people at Uncle Karl's line dancing joint. Two hours of breaking down tables and chairs, it seemed like a lifetime for Darryl. However, watching Ned on the dock, slowly dismantling his wardrobe, it left action in the water at a standstill. Getting it on, with friendship, even though Bart's boot camp discipliner was more for looking up to, he slaps Coury on the wet tummy stripe, "hot man, eh?" Out of context with this whole thing, setting 2 youths straight, in the name of the law, Coury loses all recognizance, "I'll say...about to get hotter!" It was hours and hours ago, Bart started looking up to Coury as the dad he never had, or rather wished he always had around, growing up. Strangely, even though Bart always put a hot lad like himself ahead of some older dude, his attention was geared from the top of that dark, wet-infused stripe, to where the water stole his view away. While Coury was busy, all eyes on Ned, Bart dares to venture beyond Coury's bellyhole... "Hey," that did it, tearing Coury's attention away, grabbing up invading fingers, "wanna watch the hands?" Not, feeling guilty as hell, Bart clams up, "sorry `bout that. Won't happen again." Then Coury was the one feeling guilty, rather harsh on Bart, "well, that's enough cooling off for now. Why don't you get your buddy, so we can dry off and get on with our day?" Through the water Coury walks, gathering the others, "sorry Darryl, but duty calls?" They all show disappoint, Ned's fingers tucked in under the elastic of his briefs, stopping right at the line of demarcation, flange of his cock-head, "what're you all doing?" Darryl, swimming over like an athlete, popping up at the wharf, chest high to the dock, says, "trust me. No one is more disappointed than me!" His own thought, Ned says, "yeah. Right. All I had on my mind, driving over here, was a cooling swim in the lake," he pulls his briefs back up, obliterating half his treasure trail. "Really?" Darryl replies. "That's all that was on your mind?" Giggling, nasally fluctuations in his laughter, Ned tells on the rebound, "I was hoping you would react that way." "Hmm," Darryl replies. Getting even, "wanna give me a hand?" "Sure," Ned leans over, extending a palm. With a hand in need, Darryl gives a hefty pull! "What tha..." "Splash!" Darryl says, laughing his ass off, knowing what affect his `handshake' would produce. "Can't say I mind what you did." "Oh shucks," Darryl responds, "I was hoping you wanted to get even!" Smiling at each other, Ned knew there would be room in his mind for revenge! "Darryl, are you with us today?" Coury, clothing his wet chest in the regulation shirt, stare down at the two in the water. A day with nothin' to do, Ned inquires, "mind if I tag along?" Doing a head count, Coury could see Justin slipping away with Antonio, not which they were obligated to be along for the ride, "suit yourself." The fortunate thing, while Coury spoke to the two in the water, he had a chance to check out Ned closer up. Regardless of the water line, hiding every part from the pecs, down, he loved looking at a man's chest as if a museum piece. "I won't be a problem?" "Yeah, that's the thing," Coury says, "I've already got 2 problems and don't need a third!" The way Brett was looking at this, he didn't mind, for now, using Darryl to pal around with. He was thinking, if he played his cards right, by sundown he could most likely charm the pants off of the young cop. However, as he looked at things now, another challenge had been added to his slate! Darryl wasn't too terribly disturbed, Coury asking him to go back to the kitchen and fetch some vinegar, buckets and rags, not with Ned accompanying him! "What's that all for?" Brett asks. "Well," Coury says low-keyed, calm and collective attitude, "there happens to be a jeep parked out on the road, which a skunk has made its spraying ground. I thought it fitting to add it to your day's roster, cleaning it up!" Coming across as an order and not a question as to whether they would take it on, Brett takes it with attitude, "fuck that shit. I ain't doin' nuthin' that's gonna make me smell like some skunk!" It was apparent, eventually, Bart's feeling the way about Coury as he does now, would cause a rift in the brotherly friendship, "oh c'mon, bro. How tough can it be?" Thinking of the `campground for criminals,' where they should have been sent, Brett says, "I didn't sign up for any personal favors!" With saying, Brett walks off. "Aren't you going after him?" Bart turns to Coury, sad because he's all dressed! "Nope. One thing your friend knows, if he walks off the property, he's out of my jurisdiction." "And what does that mean?" "He'll be back in court and this time, I'm certain there will be only one alternative?" Coury reaches down, picks up his boots and then slaps his ass down on the dock. Doing the same, Bart slips, not his feet, but with tongue, "or maybe he'll cut out for Canada." Immediately he realizes what he's blurted out, "I mean...just forget what I said." With a snort of laughter, Coury says, "you don't think I don't know about your intentions?" "How would you know? Brett, he didn't say..." Giggling, Coury gets serious, "trust me, I won't let on how you talk in your sleep!" "I what?" Brett follows Coury's lead, standing up. "No one's ever told you that?" Bart gasps, "Oh my god! So, that's what Brett meant!" Truthfully, when Bart broke away from his pal and `the warden,' he didn't even think of Canada. More on his mind was going back to the work gang, having his eyes filled with all that man-flesh, which reeked havoc on his shaft and balls! % While in the army, Marco had many friendships. At a time when it wasn't cool to be out and `serve', Marco provided an atmosphere of `off the record' sexual habitat. Having the gift to know `who was' and `who was not,' he could turn on or off the gaydar, for a person of deserving. It became difficult sometimes, upon meeting a married man with hidden desires. Such was the case with Salvatore Iacono. Trapped in a marriage and military career, Salvatore retained a name for himself, an attorney who traveled around, helping those in trouble, out of trouble, thereby keeping the military name untarnished. He had a way, dealing with matters, which sometimes took him out of the bonds of matrimony. At the time, going back decades, Salvatore met up with a crackerjack attorney, Marco Veneziano. The two hit it off, both in the courtroom and the bedroom. Years later, Salvatore would call in a favor, asking Marco if he would take on mentoring to his son, Aldo. One of his peeves was, Aldo wanting to become an `artist', rather than following the family tree of lawyers. `Drawing pictures' or `playing the violin' were sissy-stuff! Long story made short, Marco took the kid, now 23-ears old, on for the summer as a trial period. What he thought would be a drudge, keeping tabs on him, now turned into an asset. Like, 10 minutes ago. While he had his cock embedded in a fellow's ass at the lumberyard, all it took was phoning Aldo and telling him to follow up on some hurt workers from the ranch. Dr. Krempl didn't seem to mind a bit, looking upon the suited attorney, with a hand extended, "good to meet you counselor!" Aldo didn't hear the name, but the little brass plated i.d. on the doc's chest badge gave him indication, "same here, Doctor Krempl..." "Nonsense," Jared could be cordial and friendly to those he really cared about, "call me Jared." "I came to check up on the men from the ranch and..." "Coffee?" Jared disregards `why', concentrating more on getting to know the hot, Italian lawyer. "Sure," Aldo digs in his pocket for change. "Nah, this is on me," Jared says, stripping off his hospital `whites.' "Thanks." Given his ways, Jared thinks on the ways Aldo will be thanking him later! % Copyright 2016 T. Chase McPhee "JoLLy RaNCHeRs" and developing segments of this story, may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author, or you will be forced to your knees.