Date: Sun, 21 Aug 2016 14:52:19 +0000 From: TCHASE MCPHEE Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 19 % 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 Nifty Stories Archive Donation donate.nifty.org Donation information for the Nifty Stories Archive THANKS to EVERYONE, whom over the years has donated resources, to make NifTy Archives what it is today. I surely am thankful, for the outlet to be able to communicate to readers how the world should spin, according to my own creative devices and desires...meanwhile, back on the ranch... % "JoLLy RaNCHeRs" 19 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee ^ 0 ^ % "Amazing how things can change so fast!" Bart says, with an upbeat attitude. Packing a punch of negativity, "yeah." Brett stopped to mull over it. "Thinking about it," Brett stops peeling a potato, holding the peeler in his left hand. Using it as a baton to drive his point across, "just 2 hours ago we were swimmin' in the lake and now we're going moron's work!" More on a positive note, Bart replies, "that's because we're morons!" A delayed response comes from the kitchen part of the tent, "I don't see any peeling?" Antonio stick's his head in between the flaps of the food prep tent. Bart, well as Brett knew, their continued servitude to the law, they had to sit there and peel a mountain of potatoes. The two had already agreed, there were none around to judge them. Either the ones they tormented had graduated to the next level and were on vacation or got an early start at college, or were nowhere to be found on the Cleg Ranch. "Right," Bart knew what his bud was driving at. How shameful it would be for the pair, had the dudes they bullied, see them in this lowly job, of peeling spuds! "As I see it," Brett peels twice as slow as Bart, "this is the best place for us." "I never thought I would hear you say something like that, bro?" "Think of it. Except for them little kids we seen around, all the other dudes are older than us." In a fog, Bart asks, "uh, like, did I miss something?" Rather dwelling too much on what he was doing, Brett dreams, "now Darryl, as I can see it, he's gonna be our ticket to Canada." "How do you come up with that?" Bart asks. "He's a cop." "Maybe, but what Coury says, he's gonna be with us most of the time. Trust what I say here, it'll be a piece of cake getting him to trust us and then, when we get up north, all we have to do is give him the slip and we're on our way." Brett laughter was almost evil in nature. Bart chuckled, faking it. Right now, he wasn't in the mood to try to change his buddy's way of thinking over to his own. Even without Justin showing up, he's seen how nice Coury can be. Digging deeper into his feelings, it wasn't even that he was nice, but the warmth he felt last night, sleeping in the same tent as his counselor. He wasn't pushing it, because Bart knew Coury was his overseer and not an equal. It's too bad Brett did not see their counselor as someone different, trustworthy and... Bart just couldn't deny it, he cared much for Coury, more than friend or a buddy can be towards another man. So what there was twenty-something years between him and his counselor. Brett could play his card game the way he wanted, but for Bart, he wasn't blowing it. He would play it out and see if life led somewhere else and not to the border! "My hand's starting to hurt," Brett complains. "You already used that lame excuse." "So, what're you, on fat-boy's side?" >From the other room of the tent they hear, "I heard that!" "Next time, whisper it," Bart advises his friend. "I don't care who hears me." Next time, it's more of a joke, Brett saying it loud enough to be heard outside the canvas room, "maybe he'll go on a diet!" Bellowing out from between the flaps they hear, "I heard that too," Antonio showers Brett with hailing of potatoes. Not liking dirty potatoes bonking him on the head, falling over his shoulders, down his bare chest, Brett jumps up, "Hey, dickhead!" "Talking about yourself again, Brett?" Antonio laughs. It wasn't like, more than 15 potatoes in an old dish pan, but to the two, added to the 35 they already peeled and 65 potatoes waiting to be sliced up, it seemed like they numbered in the millions! Bart just smiled, dwelling on a sneaky suspicion, the cook getting friendly with the kitchen `slaves'! Truthfully, they weren't allowed to have knives, so used the old-fashioned potato peelers, which looked like something from another century. Brett had it all planned out, whispering this time, "next time fat-boy comes in here, I'll grab him up and you punch that fat belly until it's slim!" Peeling at least four-to-one over his buddy, Bart says, "I'm done with punching dudes in the stomach." They never really thought about it, just did it, Brett saying, "you `liked' punching guys in the stomach!" "Not really. I did it because you said it felt good having your cock pushed up against their ass every time I did it." "Yeah, well," Brett picks at an eye of a potato, "I don't feel sorry for any of `em. They got what was coming to'em." "What I can't understand is, why you wanted to pick on Manu for being gay, when we're gay." "Why'd you have to bring him up?" Shrugging both shoulders, Bart says, "I dunno. `Cause maybe he was the last dude you got your jollies from?" Bart laughed so much, he almost fell off his stool. When they were before judge, it was serious business. However, with the softening of attitude, Coury and Justin part of how Bart thought about everything now, the past was the past. He was ready to move on. Brett could not deny how hyped-up his cock felt, pressed against the seat of Manu's pants. For certain, his friend was correct in thinking the pressure of a fist against any dude's stomach, pushed him backwards, like `any' bottom dude, wanting to impale himself deeper. However, right now, things were not on as pleasurable plateau. This was more about `potatoes!' Like a sudden revelation coming over Brett, "shit! Now we're in for it!" After seeing Brett drop his potato, Bart's puzzled, "for what?" "Don't ya get it, bro? Manu. He's one-of-`em!" Not following, Bart asks, "One of who?" "Whoever runs this prison camp!" Now this made Bart laugh. However his friend perceived things, a `prison camp' or `jail' was not how he saw it. "I don't see no walls or barbed wire keeping us in?" "You know what I mean. Manu's related!" "Oh," Bart accepted it. Sorry for doing wrong in the eyes of the law, Bart was not sorry he and his bud had skipped out on the teen rehabilitation facility. As he saw it, things had gone in their favor... even if only seen as himself benefitting, if things had gone the other way, he would never have met Coury! "Oh shit!" "What now?" Bart looks up. "Dammit, I went and sliced off a piece of my finger!" It didn't take much for Bart to notice, blood painting the potato red, his friend's hand, dripping down both legs. "I gotta get help!" Running through the flaps of the tent, he called, "Antonio, Antonio, we need help!" Only thing to grab, to wrap his hand up in, was his shirt, Brett standing there, saying, "it's fine." "Oh?" Antonio is cool about it. "So, now you need `fat-boy's' help?" "I'm okay," Brett claims, not wanting the big man to lend a finger, even though his own was split open. But he wasn't okay. Even though his camo shirt was mostly a pale green, it could be seen, the blood not clotting. "He's not okay," Bart says. "Wanna shut the fuck up, bro?" Brett says to his friend. Then, taking Antonio's route, Bart sits, picks up his half-peeled potato and peeler, and peels! Antonio left, which made it seem like he didn't care, but minutes later comes back with a round, poly-bucket, water rolling around inside, ice causing choppy waves. "Stick your hand in here until I can go get the doc." Still, caring about his friend, Bart jumps up, "I can go get him. Where is he?" "He's on his way here. If you run to the main entrance, you could hurry things up a bit?" Forgetting about his shirt, in his white tank, Bart heads out, even though Brett tells him the wound is nothing. Brett, his arm in the bucket, up to his bicep, takes it out, "good enough." "Sure, if you don't mind walking around with one thumb!" Confusion began to set in, once Brett started thinking about the chain of events, from the time he cut his thumb, to now, probably it was the pain which softened his heart, "sorry I called you fat-boy, even though you are." "Maybe I am fat, but at least I'm not a little boy, pretending to be a grown up man?" "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Brett hadn't a clue. "You're what... 20-years old?" "What of it?" "You should be on your way to figuring out what you want to do for the rest of your life?" Evading the issue, Brett pulls his hand out of the ice water, "that's good." "Not!" Antonio takes Brett by the wrist and plunges his hand back in. "Fine, but you don't haf-ta strangle my wrist?" With thoughts on the lad becoming something worthwhile in life, Antonio says, "you know, you might want to think of something to do with those potatoes, like making French fries or soup?" "You're the cook around here. I'm only the help, at whatever slave duty Coury digs up for us to do," Brett says, again that deep-voiced, negative way of saying. "Hey guys, look who I found!" Brett saw right past Antonio and instead of plumpness, something stirred within his soul, `too young to be a doctor, but just the right build, right on down to the bulginess, to be a sack-mate!' Patting Doctor Krempl on the shoulder, Antonio wishes him, "good luck with your patient, doc!" Getting right down to business, Doc Krempl grabs his little black satchel, "you can take your hand out of the bucket now and dry it off." "I dunno, it really hurts. Might be sprained or something?" `Sprained?' it was the farthest thing from his pal's mind. However, standing above the doctor, as he squatted down, Bart thought more of looking down the doc's shirt, than his bud, right now! Having been around the block a few more times than his patient, Jared supposes, "oh really? According to Antonio, it was a flesh wound?" he turns Brett's soggy hand over and back. "Probably infected," Brett self-diagnoses. So many times, has Doc Krempl wanted to smile or burst out laughing, the lame excuses patients would make up. At times, medical procedure could also create a jolly situation, "Well then, I better take a closer look. Bart?" "Yeah, Doc?" "Wanna help your buddy here take off his shirt?" For once in his life, Brett didn't complain, thinking this maybe something good. Too, his hand didn't really pain him bad, not with the pain of his cock expanding in his pants. There were ways of getting another hot dude out of more than his shirt! After helping his bug out of his shirt, peeling the white tank off over his head, Bart got bored, walking out. Jared, seeing an opportunity, wasn't opposed to playing it for what it was worth. Sporting a rather trendy, moussed-up mane of thick hair, it stood on top of his head in spiky fashion. Purposely, he could feel the fibers `touch skin,' bending over to scrutinize Brett's `deep wound,' "oh yeah, that's pretty bad," he said of the sliced `paper cut.' Brett was going crazy with anxiety. Not the kind a dude gets from pain, but the pleasure of the doctor's scruffy hair fibers, rubbing over his chest. Choosing a sack of potatoes over a stool, he could have very well leaned back, but then, where would the stimulation be, stroking against his pecs?! "Doesn't feel too bad now. Like, you're not gonna need to give me stitches, are ya, doc?" >From squatted, bent over, Jared uprights himself, with a grazing of Brett's chin with the top of his head, "I don't think...say, when's the last time you had a tetanus shot?" "Don't reckon I ever did," Brett replies, studying the fibers, which tickled his nips, visibly making them hard as pebbles. Dr. Krempl could tell, he was still being checked out. In fact, he had wondered, while bent over the shirtless lad, had he enjoyed the `massage', top of his hairdo, gently rubbed over the skin? "Then, I think you'll be up for one. Wanna drop the pants?" The writing was on the wall, even though right now, Doc Krempl more represented someone who resembled a porn star, "I will, if you will?" It's not that Jared put it out of his mind, the smooth lad, face right on down to the happy trail, "maybe later." Jared's way of joking, it helped he laughed about it. For Brett, it was no laughing matter. With unzipping, it hurt, plus his thumb started to bleed again, "I don't think I can do it." Okay, so Jared had 2 choices here, call someone else in to assist him, or do it himself. With tough choices came tough decisions. Instead of calling on any number of men inside or outside the room of the kitchen tent, "a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do!" "For real?" Suddenly Brett felt a disturbance in the force, the doc's fingers working at his belt buckle. With not even thinking about it, his cock began to swell all on its own. >From squatting down, the position Jared thought he could achieve the best `view,' he stands and stops what he's doing, "danger of `rabies'," the doc figures Brett not knowing the difference, "and you're thumb about ready to break open? I think we better hurry it up." There was blood on his pants already, well as shirt, white tank, Brett thinking, how highly erotic it could be, the doc pulling his pants down, he could very well employ his bullying strategy, grabbing that high-top of Krempl's head with his good hand and then directing those lips to his cock, "I can do it myself." The temptation was great for both, but they saw to it, this wasn't a one night stand... "Well, then..." Jared stutters, getting on his feet, "if you drop your pants, I'll get the needle ready!" Brett didn't mind the view, looking up to the doc, but was concerned, since no man has ever come that close to his ass before, "uh, you can't give it to me in the arm?" Jared almost laughed his ass off, not which he hasn't followed a bottom's wish, jerk-off on his armpit, "it doesn't work that way...I mean, the tetanus shot." Smart enough to know, if not `the shot', Brett says, "of course the shot. What else did you think I meant?" This playing around with words, could be a prelude to something greater, like the kind which leads to stiff cocks shooting off like fireworks. "Nothing," Jared switches tactics, "but as a doctor, we look at things from all angles. With medicine, one never knows how one part of the anatomy can affect another?" After saying, the doc condemned himself, in a condescending manner, thinking of how he was trying to work his way through complicated conversation, only to dig himself deeper, which he tries to erase leading Brett on, "it's complicated." He wasn't an A student in school, but Brett has more learned about dude-sex from older guys, "yeah, I know how that can go!" "Oh my god!" Jared jumps back, with his patient's hand suddenly caressing his junk. With no apology, rather laughing it off, Brett says, "maybe you should dip them balls in the ice bucket, doc...kind of swollen, eh?" For the first time in his life, Jared was taken aback by a patient and it wasn't a wise, older one, but rather this 20-something year old `kid', which makes haste for him to say, "I think maybe you should report to the infirmary." "Ain't none. Why do you think we live and sleep in tents? Only building standing is the barn!" Brett wasn't allowing the opportunity to slide. Standing, he suddenly forgets about his injury, now that it has clotted. Standing, he moves towards the doctor. Knowing it not proper to confront a patient, if something more than from a medical perspective, Jared backs up, "I think maybe you've gotten the wrong impression here," he stops, takes foothold, with nowhere else to go. "How old are you, doc?" Jared bit a lip. For the first time, since making it through medical school, he's been put on the spot. Normally, he would be the one asking the questions. However, once in a while that special guy would come along, acting tougher than he ever could, "34. Why?" Rightfully, Jared should have backed down, administered the shot and hightailed it out of there. One thing he couldn't do, is confront the feeling in his groin, balls boiling, over this young dominant. Groping himself with one hand, Brett's other hand reaches over to the blue shirt the doctor wears, lifting it, "oh, what a cute treasure trail. I wonder where it leads?!" Nine out of 10-times, Jared felt exactly opposite what the 20-year old was feeling now. He would be the one to slowly seduce, lift the other guy's shirt, begin the process of stripping, kissing, preparing for the ultimate turn on. Swallowing a gulp or spit and air, "ya think?" Once the shirt was up, Brett, with a fascination particular to the whims a guy can have, throws out the line he always uses on a muscle-dude, "man, sure would like to turn this sixpack to mush!" Yeah, Jared always kept himself in good form, working out, but not always in the gym. One of the things he liked about living out in open spaces, was using the forest for recreation, hanging from tree limbs, using them to do chin ups, mountain climbing, all the extreme jock stuff. Rightfully, he didn't sport a sixpack, but a four pack gave him enough pride. He wasn't a stranger to how guys like to `test' another dude's muscled abs and forgetting why he was there, "well then, maybe you and me should see who has the toughest abs?" Another thing which broke protocol, Jared reaches over, feeling up Brett's stomach, like an examination! With a sly look on his face, Brett says, "and winner takes all?" "Are you right handed, or lefty?" Not sure where the doc was going with this, Brett truthfully says, "lefty. Why?" "Oh," Jared says in a low tone. He had hoped to escape breaking doctor-patient protocol, had just lost the credible edge. Brett, still mesmerized by the doctor's fit stomach, deep innie, treasure trail, streaming above and below, the feeling was too strong, of where the path could lead. However, weakened by his accident, he wanted something more than a spur of the moment escapade. It occurs to Brett, how much more meaningful all this could be, in fitter shape. "We can put if off, unless you're wimping out on me?" "Me?" Jared chuckles, more an act of being nervous, "never." Working his way into his black satchel, Jared removes the needle he carries, only to scare a person, long, an antique his father gave to him as a joke, when graduating from med school, "I hope you won't be!" That made Brett back away quick! "Oh my god!" With heels against the sack of potatoes, he lands right on his ass. "Just kidding!" Jared laughs, making the long needle disappear into thin air. Reaching in his bag, he produces the `standard'. Another five minutes was spent, with Brett dropping pants to his ankles. "Do I gotta?" Brett just lay there over the sack of spuds. Sometimes surprise was person's best friend, Jared delivering the needle quick and without warning. "Hmm," he comments on how Brett didn't flinch a muscle, didn't utter a word. Getting to his knees, then feet, Brett turns around. Jared couldn't help but smile, seeing the lad had parked his briefs under his big balls, "uh, I would suggest unleashing those," yeah, he did point, "um, before pulling up your pants?" "No, dah, really?" Brett replies, stuffing his semi and balls into his tighty-whities. Still nervous about the sexual innuendos, the doc goes off course, "Oh, look at that," he takes Brett's wrist, "you went and got your hand dirty!" Picking up his hand, Brett studies it, "yeah, I guess I did." In reality, he more felt his briefs getting `dirty', wishing he could force the doc into taking care of business, preventing his goo from gummying-up his lingerie! Pointing, Jared directs, "back in the bucket?" Turning around, placing his hand up to his bicep in the cold cooler of ice water, Brett couldn't deny, "feels kinda good." In his own realm, for Jared, `kinda good' was not half as good as it would have felt, Brett over the sack of spuds and giving him a lethal injection! "We better take care of that hand, soon as possible." All in the line of duty, Jared assumes his duties, helping the patient put his shirt back on. Mutually, they agreed the white tank top unimportant. Brett could not deny, it awkward feeding an arm in the sleeve. Several things transpired, feeling the doctor close enough to more than touch, feeling his breathing, the sense of sexual sweat giving way to heightening awarenesses. Calling it a blessing and not a curse, Brett was thankful the tent was not air-conditioned, the doc's shirt showing signs of sweating, perspiration on his hairy chest. Purposely, Jared made the situation more difficult than it was. On the exam table in the hospital, there were times he played it slow, but other times, couldn't wait to release patient from his care. More then once did the backs of his hands graze Brett's chest, stomach, palm of a hand ski down his perspired back. It took all the stamina mustered up, not to dip his fingertips under the belt, determine how Brett's bum felt. It would not be the first time in his life Brett was nervous. Though was like the incident beyond his control. Forgetting it was the good doctor helping him out, Brett acts out, heaving a fist forward, in self-defense. "Argh-ah-holy shit!" Lying on his back, the doc is reduced to rubble, both hands holding his injured balls! "Oh-my-god!" Brett jumps to attention, the bucket of melted ice sloshing away from his hand. Having been catapulted into a deep trance of how he's been treated, when his father sexually abused him, Brett had lashed out, defending himself, honor, casting a fist forward. Dropping down, to doggie-style, it was unintentional. That was the position his father made him get in, after punching his guardian in the stomach. It resulted in getting his butt whipped with a belt for, `disobedience'. Only difference here, the doctor was on eye level, the reason Brett's aim was off, hitting not the stomach, but `lower.' Up and on all fours, Brett stares Jared in the face, "really doc, I'm sorry. You gotta believe me. I was aiming for your gut, not your...you know?" His mentor, a long time ago, a college dude like himself, had wisely mentioned to Jared, `a good dominant becomes a good dominant, starting out at rockbottom'. Right now, those words and his years of `training,' flashes before his eyes. Sharing a room with a dude, with similar interests, Jared learned, by being the subject of an `iron fist', how much a dude can give and take. It wasn't long before Brett's punch to his groin began to wear off, which had Jared subtle, instead of what Brett had suspected, angered, "it's okay." "What do you mean it's okay?" Brett's fists froze in defense mode. Jared now lay out on the floor, hands still comforting his nuts, "it's not like I haven't...been there, done that?" Slowly dropping his dukes, fists defrosting, Brett says, "You got me stumped on that one, doc." Even though his nuts were crunched upon, Jared knew the feeling, "trust me. It could've been a lot worse," he holds one arm outstretched, reaching out a hand. Still, Brett was on his guard, helping the doc to his feet, "I dunno. If a guy was running towards me, it always put him down... you know?" "Trust me," Jared forces a slight bit of humor to his lips, "I know how a `gut-punch' to the balls can put a man out of commission, when he least expects it," he sits on the sack of potatoes. They both did, like two chums with no age difference, talking up their experiences, branching out to whatever subject came up next. Jared's doctor's visit became a gripe session, Brett speaking for an hour or more, telling secrets which his best-friend-forever never heard. Big brother, or the father he could never confide in, Jared had Brett opening up, sharing info which had molded the `kid' into the type of person he is today. It would not be the first, nor last guy Jared has helped. Mostly it was about a young patient not being accepted by his peers, wanting so much to be `out'. When it crossed the parental terrain, a young person's anxiety could be caused by a husband suddenly realizing he'd rather be chasing after a man. An adult, bullied in youth could also project unwanted physical feelings. More than a medical guy, Jared was into the human condition. It wasn't everyone whom he lent an ear to, but in this particular case, it was more than Brett's `ears' which stimulated him! Getting up, after an hour of sitting on the bag of potatoes, Jared says, "well, I've got to be going, but I want you to know, Brett, if you need to talk, I'm around. Worst case scenario a man can have, is to keep stuff bottled up inside." Didn't Brett know that, his balls having mood swings. He's never met a dude like the doctor, especially after honestly missing his gut and punching him in the balls like that. "What about my hand?" Brett held his out. Taking it, Jared held it in his, and smiling, "I think it escaped the butchery of me sewing it up." In all of an afternoon, it made a difference in Brett's life, first older person he's grown to trust, probably garnering the spirit of what Coury was slowly becoming to Bart. Brett got to thinking, maybe there are some honest `olders' in the world. Stealing his hand back, for the first time since they met, Brett cracks a little smile, saying, "you and me...we still going to having that punching contest, right?" Both having an understanding of things, weird stuff, Jared replies, "looking forward to it," he smiles, "after that hand of yours gets better?" Though, after the doctor leaves, Brett has a massive hard-on. His injured hand was feeling up his own abs. Strangely, thinking about pulling up the doc's shirt, gazing upon the stripe, above and below the navel, he wanted to more than punch it. He should have unbuckled, unzipped, cursing himself. After the fact, having done just that, he's confronted with soaked briefs! % Having waited long enough at the gas station, for a chance sighting of Monte and Connor cruising by in the truck, Rusty suggested they hit the road, hiking back to the ranch. Keeping it 2-a breast, Michael walked, backwards, up the hill, Rusty and Josh side by side, talking old times. Sun baking them, Michael had pulled his tank top up, over the back of his neck, which had provided a glorious view of his robust pecs. "Your boyfriend's hot," Josh says. "I know," Rusty giggles, "especially the chest, eh?" "Like, how could I not notice?" By now, Michael knew what snickering meant between friends, reason enough for him to finger both his perky nips. Picking up the pace of his backwards walking, "you guys talkin' about me again?" Rusty, for the benefit of his friend from middle school, says, "Don't go and get a hard-on, Michael!" "Why not? I love it when two pairs of lips are on me!" Seriously, Josh says, "tell me he's not joking?" Wiggling his eyebrows, while still tweaking his own nips, Michael says, "mm-m, man, I could sure use a milking!" In a scolding tone, Rusty says, "oh really, Michael, my love?" Having fallen for Rusty, upon first laying eyes on him, Michael swore nothing would ever keep him from jeopardizing his motives for true love, which joking right now fell under that category, "I only meant..." Josh knew Rusty was pulling Michael's chain, "don't worry, Michael, I'm not out to move in on my best buddy's boyfriend!" "Boyfriends?" Michael giggles like a girl. He's been wanting to say it, Rusty slips, "or more?" Suddenly, Josh is the third wheel, bowing out, "uh, I take it the place we're going is right up the hill?" Neither Rusty nor Michael heard a word. "I guess it's up the hill!" Josh continues trekking alone. "So, what's this `more' part about?" "Um," Rusty rolls his eyes around, taking more of the forest around him, "I guess what I mean is..." It struck Michael, something he had hoped would come to be, but was afraid, in case it could all go wrong, "you love me?" Youth and lack of experience, Rusty says, "I guess," a little embarrassed, not having said that to a man before. Josh had run up the road, but his bike became a little too cumbersome. Too, he hadn't seen any deviation, a side road perhaps, so made an about turn. Witnessing the two, standing there on the side of mountain, kissing, well, it just made Josh reflect on his own words, about whether it would be himself falling in love first, or Rusty! Standing there, in the sun, bike over his shoulder, he felt like he was ready to melt. Jogging back down the hill, 2 coughs later, says, "uh, the bike's getting a little heavy. Can we move on?" They did, Michael taking the bike from Josh. Of course, Josh put on the blame, telling Rusty, "how come he didn't offer before?" Rusty admits to his friend, "I don't know about you, but I got a few jollies out of watching Michael play with himself?" Josh resolves, "I guess I didn't mind carrying my own bike." More what they knew about each other, than words, filled in the blanks. When they got to the top of the mountain and slightly down the other side, where it planed off, they came to the front `gate'. From the road Rusty stops, his friend with him. "Oh wow," Rusty gasps. "This all wasn't here this morning when I left!" "Whoa!" Michael gasps, taking in the view as well. Lying out in front of them, there's tent after tent after tent, right up to where they can view the roof of the barn above all. "I just take it for granted, I guess," Rusty sums it up. "To what?" Michael asks, walking in on the farmyard grounds. "Well, I'm supposed to be CEO, but I feel more like a moron. Like, I never know what's happening!" Michael, after his walk up the mountain is famished, "I smell something good cooking. Call your father. Josh and me are gonna find out where that smell is coming from." Rusty loved it when Michael was bossy. With the lisp it sounded like sort of like a Daffy Duck impersonation, yet sweet, mellow and with the whole picture of Michael's beautiful physique, he felt more than blessed. Though, lo and behold, while he had his cell in hand to place a call to his father, his cell tune starts sounding off. % After getting bored with his friend and the doctor, much as he would like to stick around until Brett got `healed,' Bart had this little thing going on in his brain, a nudge to see what Coury was up to. Recalling a few hours before, the first tent to go up was the most important, `cooking and dining'. It wasn't work at all, Coury there, he and Brett helping to erect the monstrous fabricated fixture. It wasn't even work, standing there while Coury talked to the truckers who delivered them. Bart wanted to go over and talk with them, but knew there were certain `boundaries' not to cross. After all, he and Brett were supposed to be `convicts!' Convicts were supposed to do hard labor and even though he had taken more bags of potatoes off the truck and hauled them into the kitchen tent, Bart welcomed the chance to look upon Coury, every second he could get. It's when he was assigned to potato peeling duty, he griped in private, not seeing what Coury was up to. Quite a few times, Brett made excuses, needing a drink of water, having to pee, or other stuff, like a simple walk around the tent to stretch his legs. While by himself, Bart didn't feel alone. With him were his thoughts of Coury; Coury next to him when he woke up this morning... Coury stripping down to go swimming in the lake... His cock on Coury's neck, while the chicken-fights with Brett and Darryl... Sliding down, naked, over Coury's back, when he lost one of the battles... He and Coury in the lake, talking like friends and not like probation officer and his prisoner... Coury ordering everyone out of the water and enjoying getting dressed, much as stripping down... Sitting there, peeling potatoes, Bart caught himself whittling down a few potatoes, not paying attention to just `skin.' He wound up with `french fries'! When Brett had sliced a piece of his finger off, he was right there on the spot with what his friend was always telling him, `somethin' not happening without a reason to be', which is why he left his friend to getting doctored up! Instead of in one of the tents, Bart spots Coury sitting at a small desk, really a long board set on two tree stumps, another stump under his butt. Creeping up, with intent not to prank, but to keep the peace, he looks over Coury's shoulder, "what're you working on?" Unlike stirring a ninja out of concentrating, Coury looks up, under Bart's chin, "all done with the 100 pounds of potatoes?" "Nope. Not yet," Bart walks around, taking the liberty of sitting on the edge of the board. Well, Coury was not really leaning on it, but with Bart's butt, he takes the board with him, "whoa-a, horsey!" It wasn't a big, heavy timber, but rather a piece of leftover lumber, unneeded in putting together the pre-fabricated house which was still under construction, "I'll say!" Instead of fuming mad, Bart was bonked out of his gourd, not by Coury not getting angry, but the fact he was sitting right on his counselor's two thighs, without being moved away, or worst case scenario, sliding down Coury's legs, leaving his butt stirring up the dirt! Instead of holding onto Bart's sides, Coury probably should have done the right and proper thing, asked if he was okay and set the lad back on his feet, instead, "comfortable?" More a fucker than a sucker, Bart jokes, "more so maybe, if I was turned the other way around?" On more than one occasion, even in the lake, Coury amused his own mind and it tickled his balls, thinking how it would be, taking a ride on Bart's stick-pony, "oh really?" Casually, Bart still on the throne of his resting place, neither making the effort to move a muscle, says, "truthfully?" He had put it to Coury, who didn't have to think much on it, "if you don't tell anyone, I won't either?" `There!' It had been said, what the two each thought on their own, it building with time and silent effort. "Right here?" Looking around, Coury says, "might not be quite the time or the place...then again... Timing was everything, since both had signs of the necessity of wanting. The place? Holding Bart in his hands, he gets up. On his own two feet, Bart says, "what's up?" "C'mon," Coury grabs Bart's arm. Escorting Bart over to the prefab, having been delivered in boxes, he enters one of the units. The kitchen part, counters are already installed, minus the plumbing. "We have to hurry. The workers are on break, I estimate, for another 45 minutes." "I guess this is it," Bart says, following Coury's lead, taking his pants down. Down to his briefs, Coury says, "last chance to back out?" Thumbing his briefs, Bart jokes, nervously, "how can I when I didn't even get in!" By the time the two were stripped naked, they didn't need any stimulation to get themselves into butt-whipping condition. Having come this far, Bart wasn't reluctant to reach out and touch, feeling his hands around Coury's barrel, "oh man, this is beautiful!" What was more beautiful, Coury forgetting all about what brought the two of them to this place. It slipping both of their minds that at 20 and 42-years old, they were more the ages of a father and son, moving lips, aligning for a sweet kiss. The kiss ending, their hands were busy keeping each other stiff, Coury instigating further action, "ready to do me?" "Really?" Bart always thought it should be the other way around, but too hard to dispute, "hell-yeah!" Bracing himself against one of the pre-fab countertops, Coury says, "don't be shy about ramming me hard!" "The thought never entered my mind," Bart replies with a single punch of laughter. Even though his young hormones were driving him on, when the tip of his cock touches Coury's hairy ass, "uh, you're sure about this?" He couldn't believe it, Bart more than shocked, when he feels Coury's hand on his hard shaft, placing it inside his own ass crack, by force! "Oh man...oh fuckin' man!" Bart closes his eyes and leans inward, both Coury's hands on his butt, pulling him closer. After a while, all Coury needed to do is hug the counter! So forceful was the 20-year old riding his counselor's ass, the counter comes loose, collapsing them both down. Once they find out each is okay, it didn't take Coury's hands to lead the way back! When all the wailing and coming had ceased, Coury was mindful of the workmen returning from break. "What are they going to think of the broken counter?" Bart asks, shimmying into his briefs. "Shoddy workmanship, I suspect." However, something he knew they would be mindful, what of this gooey stuff on the floor! "Uh-oh," Bart says, "what are we gonna do about that?" They were all dressed, though Bart had come on the scene shirtless. "Socks! Take your socks off." As they sopped up the gooey residue, Bart was pessimistic, saying the socks wouldn't do the job. However, after working at it, "hmm, I thought, between us both the socks wouldn't have done the trick?" Licking his lips, Coury says, "they had a little help!" "Ewe!" Bart replies. However, before leaving the cubicle, Bart didn't mind kissing those cum-soiled lips! % It was a tossup for Antonio. Might have been nice, sexually, to see where it was going, with the doc and potato peeler, but better the youth's temperamental thumb be taken care of properly, at the hospital. What he didn't count on, his pubic system not quieting down. Another complete surprise, a new `recruit' sent in, assigned to kitchen duty, Justin saying as he lifts the tent flap, "I was sent here by...oh my god!" About ready for his hand-job to explode in a matter of minutes, Antonio is not ashamed, "as you can see, I'm a little busy right now?" A glorified bottom, in many ways enjoying the pleasures of the position, Justin gets dominant on Antonio, "well, make yourself un-busy!" After coming back from the lake, Antonio knows he needed to step things up, in order to get dinner on the table for the bunch. He hated like heck to forfeit sex, especially after the swim in the lake already had them naked. Antonio's last words, as the tent went up, stoves erected and cooking implements appearing like magic, things would need to be put, `on the back burner.' With the back burner aflame, Justin walks over, turns the knob, the flame dying, "time to get cookin'!" Antonio can't believe what the flap of the tent was hiding, "you pranced through the woods like that?" Laughing, Justin didn't care who saw, a born exhibitionist, "you don't know what a caged cock means, apparently?" Running a hand along the rounded, metal piece, fashioned to replicate a man's shaft, "nothin' like feeling the real thing?" Justin educates, "What it means is, it's yours. You own it. My cock is yours for to do as you please." Antonio wisely asks, "and your mouth?" "That too!" Hearing some talk, it getting louder, Antonio whips his apron off, "here. Put this around you!" Much as Justin didn't mind parading around the forest with it all hanging out, cock and balls all smooshed into a metal prison, he had a feeling this was all knew to Antonio, so put the loops over his head and wrapped the apron around. Though, the loud talk got softer. "Oh good," Justin starts to remove the apron. "I'd prefer you kept it on?" At that moment, instead of Antonio's shaft implanted, his goo squirts out in waves, cast onto the wooden platform. Not oblivious to how it could have been more pleasurable for Antonio, well as himself, Justin loses the happy glamor, "sorry. I guess I should have been more discreet?" Apparently so, Antonio grabs some paper towels, saying, "I really have a lot of cooking to do before dinner." It was the cold shoulder Justin didn't think he would get, but accepted it, "well, okay. Maybe I'll see you later...after dinner." Then, it wasn't put, somewhere along the lines of `see you later', Antonio saying, "after dinner I need to meet with Marco, you know, planning tomorrow's menu and the next day?" He apologized, but knew, what he had done, Justin had blown it. Antonio was not interested in him anymore, "dammit!" Walking out of the tent, instead of flaunting the metal cock-cage, Justin wore the cooking apron, trying to obscure it. Soft, his cock had been in the same wilted condition, when the guy he was with in San Francisco, bought it for him. Justin could get hard just by thinking about it, a little smaller than the full circumference of his bulging balls and hard shaft. It hurt when the dude stuffed his cock and balls in, applying the small padlock. For Justin, it was heaven! Regardless, when he left San Francisco, he left the padlock behind as a keepsake. Really, without the padlock, the cage fit loosely. Right now, even looser, his cock slowly deflated with every step back into the woods. Justin easily found his way back to the old homestead, where he left his clothes. It was much easier it was to keep a cock cage on, with a hard shaft. Right now, walking in the dilapidated shack, it fell right off in his hand. It was a feeling of defeat. Having already been turned on, a bit of goo had gummed up the apparatus. Sometimes it was cool, because if his `master' chose another playmate, the other `slave' would be licking the sticky stuff off. Instead of thinking about Antonio, it put a half-smile on Justin's face, thinking of working at the cock cage from every angle, a tongue feeling up the sides of his slick shaft. Requiring cock cages to be spotless, Justin would need to do the same, fall to his knees and make the shiny metal shines like a boot. Justin loving the taste of man-goo, he took the cage and feasted on the slippery metal parts. "Hey, wait up there!" >From looking straight ahead, to his left, Justin encounters an older dude and young guy, flinging bushes and tree limbs, carving a new path through the forest. "Man, are we glad to see you," the elder says. "Yeah, really," the young guy adds, with a smile. "Who are you?" Justin asks, eyes more trained on the young fellow, who looks to be about his own age. Since Justin got a smile, he returned it. "Kent Billingsley," Kent extends a hand, "and boy, are we glad you happened along." The young dude says, "that's my dad, he's always lost." Physically, the son pries his dad's hand loose from Justin's hand, replacing his own, "hey, I'm Cade." Fortunately for Cade, his dad was gay too, so knew the signs of when two dudes meet, wanting privacy, "is the trail around here?" Justin replies, "sure. You follow this," he points with an arm, "straight up and you'll come to a clearing. From there you'll find your way." "See you later, Cade." Something didn't click right, Justin saying, "you're dad, he's very trusting?" "More protective," Cade replies. "Trust me, it takes him a while before he's okay with whatever guys I happen to meet." "That's cool. Nice for sons to have relationships with dads, like that," Justin wondering how it could have felt, living with his own dad in the last half of his teen years. Partially explaining things, Cade says, "I grew up with two dads, but now only have one." Okay, so Cade had laid it out on the table! "Oh, I'm sorry," Justin thinks the worst, one of them passing away. "Don't be. He was an asshole. My dad, the one I'm with now, he's the best dad any guy could have." Many questions in Justin's mind remained unanswered, but he didn't pry too far into Cade's business. "My dad too. Although it didn't start out that way." "Oh?" He knew Cade wanted to hear more, but Justin was more into finding out about his new acquaintance, "so, do you have a boyfriend?" The two walked and talked, Justin making sure the kitchen apron was snug to the hip. He didn't want to scare away another cute dude, all in the same day. Though, as they did walk on, his crotch started to get sweaty. With that, it itched! It didn't go unnoticed, Cade glancing out of the corner of one eye, something going on, Justin not wearing dude-wear, "is there a reason you're not dressed in, you know..." Speaking the truth, whether rational or not, "I just came from the kitchen tent." Leaving much for Cade's speculation, he treats it as normal, "oh, right." Justin knew, explaining the situation to be complicated, arising out of interaction in the kitchen with Antonio, "I was swimming and left my clothes at the old homestead, so the ranch cook gave me this to wrap around me." Even though some loopholes detected, Cade thought it a plausible reason. In order to keep the cock cage from falling off, now which his shaft wasn't fully loaded, Justin struggled to keep it on, meaning he would need to keep a hand on it. Cade noticing Justin pawing his own crotch, "you know, I had it once too?" Stopping dead in his tracks, Justin thinks Cade is onto to him. Thinking his new bud is into the same vein of fetish as he, "metal? Plastic? Like, what was the dude like, who made you wear it?" From one idea, to the next, "like, are you `big'? Does it all fit in, or is it all cramped up in it?" Apparently, Cade thinks, they are not on the same page. Perhaps not even in the same book! Rather than guess, "I thought we were talking about `crabs'?" "Oh, I don't eat fish," Justin says, nervously. Losing a cub like Antonio was enough for one day. Even though Cade didn't have beefy pecs, a paunch of a belly, and from what Justin could judge, from hairiness of arms, legs and the patch corralled by his shirt collar, Cade appeared to be somewhat smooth. Though, Justin could forgive, given he was drop-dead gorgeous! "Fish? I wasn't meaning fish?" Naive, that's what Justin figured. Treading lightly, "I don't know what you're driving at, but I might as well level with you... better now than later," Justin rubs together his sweaty palms, then holds the kitchen apron a certain way. Scratching his head, Cade is mystified by how Justin is holding the apron. "Ready for this?" "Whatever," Cade replies. "Voila!" Justin hopes for the best, whipping the apron off. Unknown to Justin, the cock cage, where the padlock should be attached, got caught on the fabric. When he tore it away, the cage went with it, off into the forest! "Oh shit!" he looks down at this crotch, up at Cade, down again, up, down, "where'd it go?" With years of his father working out his own love life, Cade has been seeking out his own. Not the same as his father, as a teen does, temporary hookups had been the norm for him. His blossoming years came with high school graduation, then off to college. Cade immediately found himself a minority in the gene-pool of tops vs. bottoms. Fact which he had 8-inches of cock to work himself through gay social life, made him popular around campus. It even gave him a little cash for a new truck. It did give Cade a problem, when his father asked where he got that kind of money. They were a `tight' father and son, Cade, well as his dad going through periods of lies, which is how the `other' caretaker got ejected from the family. It was one thing Cade learned, about being truthful to people; lying not a bad way to bail yourself out, but when discovered, could really make life complicated. Knowing his father was an easy-going sort when it came to parenting, Cade thought he took it pretty well, when divulging how much he could make fucking a dude, without any other strings attached. He can still laugh, his dad taking it likely, want to `go back to college!' Listening to Justin, as they walk through the woods, that was one thing Cade wasn't sure of, how he earned `top' dollar! "There's something about me you should know about." In serving the point across, Justin stopped walking, stood there. "Must be important?" `Dammit,' Cade thought, cursing out himself for probably ruining a perfectly good time with this hot man, over some personal history. Though, as he learnt from his dad and `the other dad,' it was best to tell all. Thinking on it, though, maybe he should have left out the part about how he financed his truck? Despite that, when Justin confesses things much, much weirder, first semester at college, "for me, that wouldn't be so wild. If I told you how I made some cold cash, you'd probably..." Justin didn't intend of having a hot dude like Cade running away through the forest, based on how he allowed guys to `use him.' "Can't be much weirder than what went on in the basement of the dorm?" Cade's smile gave Justin a hunger to know, "like... what all went on?" "Not that it really matters, `how big' you are, but I've seen guys' big, hefty endowment trapped in a device, like you were `hiding?'" "I'm such a fool," Justin pins the name on himself. "No," Cade smiles, "you were being careful. In your place I would do the same." Each leaning against a tree, facing each other, Justin had took to arms folded across middle, which made the kitchen apron go off kilter. Seeing Justin's hardware hanging down, one of his sacs still hiding behind the apron, he humors his new friend, "I wouldn't mind playing with you sometime?" It got Justin thinking about Cade's dorm basement experience, "like, what did you get into?" Being conversation had gone casual, neither were reluctant to talk about even the most wildest of things. Sure, they talked `bdsm,' but it didn't lead to that once they got to the old homestead, Justin revealing, "by the way, I'm a really good cocksucker?" And Cade was a real good fucker too, but before anything else, "are you a good kisser?" Justin doesn't remember when he's laid with a guy for the purposes of just making out and caressing hands, other then a squeeze to the balls, "yep!" He proved it! "How was that?" "Adequate," Cade pulled Justin's chain. For Cade he knew about some of this kinky stuff, but he liked getting started on a more calm footing with some guys, "not sure I got the taste of it. Want to try it again?" "Sure," Justin was all for it, even though his balls were getting impatient for other activity. A true top man, the 20-year old liked more lying there and having a bottom pamper him. On occasion, however the hormones were flowing, he liked getting `bottom' on a guy. With an insatiable desire hanging over his head, Cade says, "and I like this." "Wow! That's more like it," Justin falls on the makeshift bed of the old homestead. Tongue out, Cade's tongue is on the trail from navel, towards neck. "I think we need to even it up, eh?" Feeling hands on the button of his shorts, holding everything together, Justin goes at the tail of Cade's tee shirt. Stripping it off, he gazes upon 2 perky nips, on a smooth chest. Though, there is something enticing, wisps of golden blond hair around the nips, fuzzy follicles hardly making an impression on Cade's chest and stomach. Having never `played the part,' it's a cinch for Justin to get overwhelmed with emotion, overpowering Cade, reversing the tide, casting his bud over on his back, with suggestion, "sorry. Force of habit," Justin's tongue reciprocates. Then Cade was in his realm, lying with his back against bales of hay, Justin's clothes, the sheets. As Justin has done over and over, pinned the wrists of a dude overhead, not for the purpose of taking advantage negatively, but to service with hands, tongue and using every resource he can muster up to please `the master.' On the outlook for a hairy dude, right now it doesn't enter Justin's mind, making the best of the hair-surroundings of each of Cade's nips. He stops in the middle, howling like a wolf, feeling fingers on his own chest! The tease he can be, or just to get what he wants, Cade stops. "No, don't stop!" >From experience, Cade knows how to work a dude into submission, "what are you going to do for it?" Right now, Justin wasn't into games, backing down the bales, lifting Cade's legs in the air, "you'll see!" More than see, because it was impossible to look at his own ass, Cade grabs at the straw, feeling tongue on his ass. Two could play at that game, Justin's tongue working its way up, under Cade's balls. Wetting down, tongue-massaging each ball in its sac, Justin knew he was doing a tremendous job. Cade was in heaven, not which he hasn't been there before. Though, he had to admit, "wow, you `are' a good cocksucker!" Taking the compliment for what it was worth, Justin didn't stop to take a bow! Instead, his lips traveled the length of Cade's 8c, stopping only to tongue the tip. It was all good after that, though Justin had to admit, the hay bales a little abrasive, with lying down on them. Though, he couldn't blame the bales 100%, Cade probably having tons of experience at pounding a dude's ass! Justin would discover, if things cemented between the two, Cade's real joy in shooting off, was at the back of a dude's throat, "get up." "Hmm," Justin, even though disappointed by not getting fucked till the cows came home, "I thought you liked my tight ass?" Flipping over, Cade telling him via hand signs, Justin's back now lay on what could be a rough bed of some of the spikes of straw. Cade, at the risk of losing a very hard erection, didn't talk, only motioned. Equally turned on, Justin lay there, thinking it, "cool," when Cade corralled in both arms, while leaning forwards. A big surprise came though, when he didn't open his mouth quick enough... "Ah-h-h," his shout pain came, feeling his balls squished. Soon as he had his mouth open, Cade filling it! Justin thought it really strange though, for a top-guy, Cade every once in a while leaning back, catching his stiff shaft on the inner side of the ass-lips! Too, it was kind of weird, Cade causing his mouth to overflow and it not being the end of their time together. Even though 1 or 2 years difference in age, to hear Cade dictate to him, "you want to come, boy?" it was a little strange. Also, Justin was used to not coming, another top-dude jumping in and so on and so forth... Regardless, what joy it was, Cade pairing up his spent shaft next to his and jerking him off. But that was not the end of things. When Justin shot his load, Cade added to his own gooey load and made Justin lick him off again! For a fun-loving masochist, Justin, living in San Francisco, has had more than his fill of gravy. There had been times when he came to a party on an empty stomach, leaving with it full and overflowing. With the crowd of 20- 30- 40- and 50-something tops, they loved using a young guy and he was their man. Justin remembers one time, 2 cocks in his mouth, 2 cocks up the ass, with toys attached to his nips and balls...it was the ultimate turn-on! Right now, all Justin could do is rave about the whole experience with Cade. Cade, kind of worn out, just lay his head on Justin's chest, allowing him to gab! % Tire, hot, sweaty, Michael and Rusty took to lying around the pool. Rusty started to slip into his job as head honcho around the ranch. First person he promoted was Michael, making him his side kick. Michael's only question was, "just what does a sidekick's job entail?" Sweetly, Rusty states, "by my side during day, under me at night!" Cocking one eye, on the sly, Michael says, "hmm, I could get to like my duties. Do I only report to you?" "You better not report to anyone else!" They would have carried on, Rusty not embarrassed, nor ashamed to place his hand on Michael's crotch, feel him up till he couldn't stand it, but Josh arrives at the pool. "If you're going to corrupt my mind, you better get a room!" Josh was carrying his bike. He was dressed in his bicycle helmet, bike gloves, shorts, pair of sandals, and nothing else! "That was quick," Michael says of the wheel of his bike, repaired. Well, it wasn't that johnny-on-the-spot, more like 3 quarters of an hour, Josh reporting, "would have taken me longer, if Mr. Fix-it hadn't helped me!" The way Josh said it, Michael and Rusty wondered what kind of `tools' were used for `which' job! "Pete?" Rusty guessed. "Yup!" That was the clincher, Rusty thinking there was something up with the bicycle rider, picked up at the curb and Pete Bloemker, formerly on the high school janitorial staff, or rather `the' staff. Then, both Rusty and Michael are faked out by Pete, in his swimshorts, accompanied by a cowboy. "Hey, Terry," Michael knew him, from Seattle. "Mikey-baby, what's up?" Terry not only greets Michael with a handshake, but a bud-hug. "Not as much as `you', apparently?" Rusty throws out a cue, "A-hem!" "Oh, Terry, this is Rusty," new to Michael, a softer, "my boyfriend." Terry could be funny, or not, "marrying into royalty, Mikey?" Michael didn't say anything. Blushed! Rusty makes a quick comeback for him, "marrying into the fix-it family, Terry?" Terry raises one eyebrow and smiles, knowing he's at a stalemate, "okay. So I'm sorry for the wisecrack. Kiss and make up?" This is where Michael steps in, "I like you lots, Terry, but if you lay your lips anywhere on my boyfriend, our friendship..." "Hold it...hold it," Terry puts both hands up, like stop signs, "I'm not out to move in on any man's territory!" However, the way Josh looked like he was moving in on Pete... "Then, you better hustle over to yours, Terry, before Peewee Herman moves in on yours!" Michael was being comical without thinking, something Rusty liked about him. It made him laugh. Fortunately, Terry was a really good sport and could be as zany as Michael. After Terry rushes over to settle the border dispute, Rusty says, "how is it that you and Mr. Personality never hit it off?" "Terry?" Michael chortles, "nah. He's not the marrying type!" Michael hoped his hint mattered. "Oh really...and you are?" "Give it time," Michael smiles. Rather than it go the distance, Michael jumps in the pool. His splash engulfs Rusty, who mutters, "I'll get you for that!" They frolicked in the pool for awhile, playing tag, "I got you!" Michael comes back, chasing Rusty from end to end of the pool, "I got you!" they were in the shallow end, which gave Rusty lift off, jumping onto Michael, as he tried to flee. Underwater, Rusty's arms slide right in-between Michael's paddles, encircling his chest. He thought it cool, holding on by Michael's big pecs! Surfacing right away, Rusty's hands slide from Michael's pecs, "I can't believe you did that!" Rusty had to laugh, Michael holding each of his pecs in his hands, studying the tips of his nips! "Did what?" Rusty is laughing underwater, curved lips masqueraded by the water. Michael stops paying attention to his sensitive nips, "Wait till I find `your' sensitive place!" Rusty had to remind him, "your tongue already did!" He couldn't win, so gave in, "and what a tasty treat it was!" Then they noticed the trio was gone, "hey, where'd Josh, Pete and... and..." "Terry." "Yeah, Josh-Pete-n'Terry. Where'd they go?" Rusty replies, pec-deep in the water. Snuggling up behind Rusty, Michael gets even with the touching, flat hands running up and the the front of his chest, stomach, from behind. "Like, I should care right now?" So, the two didn't care, instead paying more attention kissing, and as they were getting very much used to, feeling each other up, high and low! Their privacy didn't last long, with the day changing over by way of a 1:00 lunch. It started yesterday, Michael's friends and others joining the workforce, grabbing a bit to eat, then bringing a can of beer to the pool. Since it was midday and they didn't feel like hustling back to their tents for swimsuits, if they happened to own one, the men would strip off work gear, down to the briefs and jump in. Unbeknownst to Rusty, Marco, upon hiring each crew member after the `Seattle gang,' told them to walk up, introduce themselves. Surely, there were many Rusty did not know. In particular was one guy, probably not much older than himself. One glitch, unlike the others, he still was fully clothed! "Hey, um Mr. Veneziano, he said I should come meet you. I take it you're Rusty?" Already out, Rusty hand-greets the young dude, "that's me!" "I'm... Michael, lifting himself out of the pool, water rushes down his built pecs, like over a dam, finishes the intro, "Eric Merzou. What a pleasure it is to meet a fellow mountain biker. I'm Michael." Right off, Rusty says, "I didn't know you mountain biked?" It was obvious, Michael totally infatuated with Eric, which Rusty hoped was only the mountain bike fame. Though, he couldn't discount, Eric was pretty hot! "Great to meet you, Michael. Can I have my hand back now?" "Oh sure," Michael replies. Eric wipes off the wet. Then, from the other side of the pool they hear, "Cowabunga, dudes!" So big was the splash, no one knew who did it! Then, right in front of Rusty, Michael and Eric, the culprit surfaces, spitting out a fountain of water, "hey there, Eric!" Michael was surprised, Josh wandering off with Pete and Terry. Already knowing, from experience, `3-a-crowd', he's glad Josh came back to the pool. Michael already sensed, Josh, knowing what he knew, Eric one of the first professional mountain bikers to `come out.' Josh, he was the type of guy who would go with a gut instinct, worrying about it later if it was the right or wrong thing to do. Seeing the front of Eric's shirt already wet, he engages, "you're Eric Merzou!" Taking Josh's hand, "and you are?" "Me?" Josh then felt stoopid, "I'm Josh. Josh Keegan. I bike too." At first, Eric was serious, but as he gets to know the crowd of friends, he lightens up a bit. Standing now, almost behind Josh, he takes to sitting his chin on top of Josh's shoulder, "wow, I can't believe how friendly you guys are!" Rusty smiles. Michael, feeling a bit of the devil in him, steps behind Eric, "here, let me take your backpack for you." "Thanks," Eric lets it slip from his arms, into Michael's arms. Not finished yet with the meet and greet, Michael butts his big pecs and sturdy abs up against Eric's back and butt, "have a swim on Josh!" Rusty, watching Eric fall into Josh's arms, Josh going backwards into the pool, holds a dropped down jaw pose, "I can't believe you did that, Michael!" With a cute little sad face, Michael says to Rusty, "oh, did I went too far?" He would learn, Rusty not able to get mad at Michael, not when he resorted to putting on that mask, "a little." Michael was forgiven with Rusty moving in for a little peck on the lips, but unforgiving fingers and thumbs, giving his tweakers a little nurple-pinch! "Ow-w-w," Michael replies, his own hands rubbing over the massive pecs. Not like he hurt Michael, more something else, Rusty smiles, saying, "stop that, Michael...I know you loved it!" Michael whines, "I can't help it!" He knew Rusty was checking, glancing down at his briefs, "not enough to get a reaction, though?" "We'll get to that later!" Rusty laughs it off. Unknown to either of them, so wrapped up in themselves, secretively, Josh, who already knew Eric was gay, found out he couldn't swim! Eric, already warming up to Josh, didn't flutter about, like he had been tossed overboard in an angry sea. Instead, he felt a sense of trust by Josh's being forward. Matter of fact, it was Eric telling Josh, "I take it you already know something about me?" Having lain Eric's back out on his chest, Josh kept both buoyant in the water, "oh, you mean about not being able to swim?" "No. The reason you so freely think it's okay to rub your hands up and down my chest?" Josh loved the feel of Eric in the water, "I'd like to go lower sometime?" "With only your hands?" It was of no chore, Josh feeling it right to twist Eric about in the water, place hands against Eric's back and commence in some lip-locking. Back on `shore', Rusty says to Michael, "that didn't take long?" They sat on a lounge chair, one, Michael's butt to the plastic webbing, Rusty on his lap. He already promised not to get hard, but sometimes Michael's will is not that strong! "Just don't put it where it don't belong!" Getting to know each other quite well, Michael replies, "now, you know I don't swing that way!" "I know." However, Rusty saw an opportunity present itself, while cushioned in the apex of Michael's big, bulky pecs. Staring him right in the face was a shot, which he sure would cause an adrenaline rush... "Oh! No-no-no-no-no," Michael pleads, Rusty twisting, turning, squeezing and pulling at his left pec! It wasn't like, being interrogated against one's will, a mix of a rush between pleasure and pain, so if they one doing it, were laughing, it was not of a sadistic nature. Though, the `masochist' was getting much pleasure out of it. Too, Michael made no effort of stopping it, holding more onto the armrests of the chair. Eventually, Rusty had to react, feeling something poking him in the ass! % 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.