Date: Tue, 25 Jul 2006 16:11:25 -0700 (PDT) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: Nature Country 20 The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. Sexual safety matters. This is fiction. Use protection in real life. `Got condom?' "Nature Country" 20 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % Possibly a bit paranoid, as Barry entered WR High School, he gazed at every other student, with the possibility of expecting to see drugs, nonchalantly pass from hand to hand. But that wasn't the case. In fact, it had been a routine Monday morning, drowsy teenagers wishing him a good morning, a few vibrant ones asking how his weekend fared. "Good morning, Mr. Barr." "Good morning, Agnes." "I have the department heads lined up for a meeting at 2:45. I'm sorry it couldn't be this morning, but I couldn't reach many over the weekend, so made a corporate decision." "That's fine, Agnes." "Something bothering you, Mr. Barr?" "Um, no," Barry thought, then blamed his disposition on, "it's this drug thing." "Of course. Especially when it involves someone close to your heart, dear." "Yes, thank you." Barry took it as Agnes' way of showing concern for his family. "I hope you don't mind that I've contacted someone I know, a member of the drug squad at WRPD. They're sending him over for the meeting this afternoon." "Good idea. Thank you, Agnes. You're indispensible!" With a courteous smile and thank you, she rounded the office `bar', still noting the tense disposition. % "Rats!" "Rodents?" Berk asked. His eyes searched the kitchen floor, swinging the tablecover out of the way. Resting with one hand on the table, he scouted underneath. "Um, no," Max informed him, a slight giggle paving the way for a grin. After quickly explaining the absence of the Clark-Barr family members, Max let on about the `mousy' expression, upon missing out on the need to make breakfast for the clan. "At least they thought of me." "Thought of you?" Max laughed, saying, "The dirty dishes?" "They should clean up after themselves, no?" As Max lifted the cereal bowls from the long table, he replied, "You kidding? If they didn't leave a mess for me I'd think they didn't love me anymore!" Berk as well, helped pick up cereal boxes and other breakfast paraphenalia. As he watched Max move into the kitchen, chiming away about his kitchen chores, he thought about the word `love' and what it meant to him, at this moment. However, Max beat him to the punch. Setting the dishes in the sink, he quickly turned about. Berk couldn't fight the feeling, with his hands full, nor wanted to, as Max, chest to chest, dove into his lips, arms around his waist. After a long-lasting kiss, Max backed off, leaving Berk holding a soiled bowl in each hand. Seeing the look on the Turk's face, unsure of what he meant, he apologized, "Maybe I shouldn't have done that?" Neither of the two had a chance to discuss the matter. Berk leaned forward, his arms reaching around Max, to set the bowls and utensils on the counter. Once his hands became free of their objects, they became a part of Max's anatomy, plastered to his back. Again they hooked up their lips. "That felt sooo... sooo very nice," Max said, with a sigh. "I have to agree. In fact... Max, you talked about love." "Love?" Max questioned the use of the endearing term, trying to recollect when. "When you say that if the Clark-Barr children did not leave a mess, it mean they do not love you anymore." "Well," Max tries to reason, as his hands are still planted on Berk's beltline, "it's a figure of speech, like the `rats'." "I don't get it. Rats? Dirty dishes? You think they don't love you if you don't become their slave?" "No, no, no..." Max grins, giggling. "Slavery's dead, Berk." "Not in my country." "You're kidding?" "No, but freedom is becoming better." "That's good." Max didn't harp on the slavery issue. But it seemed Berk wanted to pursue it, as Max turned to the sink. "You want to know how I know about slavery?" His back to Berk, and with one hand on the faucet, the other holding a dish under the spigot, Max's tongue stayed in his cheek long enough for him to form an inquisitive thought. "Wait a minute." He loosened his grip on the faucet, shutting off the hot water and set the cereal bowl in the sink. "You're not going to lay it on me that..." he hesitated, until his patience wore out, "that you're a slave, Berk?" His face portrayed the cutest smile, which gave away his guilt. "Wait!" Max suddenly blurted out. "Those lines on your back. I... I thought they might be from the creases in the sofa..." Max began guessing, using all the clues he had sighted. "Nooo, they can't be? Scars from...." "A bad slave," Berk finished his sentence, nodding his head up and down. Then Berk got pelted with a different form of questioning. "When? You're an American citizen. How could?" With his questions, Max also surrounded the twenty-five year old with his sympathies, gathering him up, wet hands and all, hugging him tightly. "Ooooh I'm so so sorry, Berk." Realizing he might be pressing his hands too tightly against Berk's shoulder blades, Max broke away. "Oh geez... I'm not hurting you, am I?" Smiling, Berk giggled, "No, but my shirt is quite wet." Then he explained, "The whippings I took are not fresh. They happen when I am a teenager." "Teenager?" Curiosity got this cat. "Wait a minute. Have a seat." Max set about preparing some coffee. "No. You sit. I make," Berk told Max, after he had brought out the can of coffee. After the directive, Max pursues the slavery issue with, "Are you sure you weren't the master?" % That morning, the strangest thing happened. Philip and Aidan had missed the bus. First time since the Barrs moved into the neighborhood. So, they bummed a ride with Callan and Alonzo. Diego could take the bus, but the school had been on the way to the hospital and high school, where Alonzo taught eleventh grade lit. "Need a lift, boys?" Came the offer, as Callan rolled down his window. Indeed, seeing their buds, Diego and Seth in the back, they hopped right in. "How come you're walking to school this morning?" Callan inquired. "Our dads didn't wake us up again," Aidan replied. "Again?" Alonzo asked, taking the right turn onto Van Dusen Blvd. "Right," Philip explains, "Dad-Steve says it takes longer for us little guys to wake up, so they start and end with us." "Start and end?" Seth asks. "Yup. They wake us up and then go wake up Tom and Eric, then Denis and Mark." Aidan adds to Philip's theory, "Then they come back to us and wake us up again." "Same, everyday?" "Yup," Aidan and Philip say at the same time, to answer Seth. "How come you didn't get woked up then?" "I dunno," Philip says, shrugging his shoulders. Aidan reports, "Dad Barry came in once, but didn't come back. Next thing we know, my dad," he turns to Seth and tells him, "dad-Steve, he's my real dad, he comes and wakes us up telling us we'd better hustle!" Seth didn't have it explained to him last night, so played `catch up'. "So the dad called Steve is your real dad and," addressing Philip, "the one called Barry is your dad?" "Yup," they both said. "Hey," Diego adds to the subject, "My real daddy is Alonzo and none of our dads is your dad, Seth." Even the dads picked up on the major `boo-boo' that Diego presented for the group to ponder. For the first time, they captured Seth in a not so cheery mood. Alonzo and Callan turned to each other, saying to each other softly, "Uh-oh!" Not sure of the manner in which to handle this, Alonzo pulled off to the shoulder of the road. He put the stick in park. He joined Callan with turning around in his seat, seeing the four squirts lined up across the back, arms and thighs all smooshed together. Seth sat between Diego and Philip. "Hey, why are you crying, Seth?" Philip asks. "Daddy, did I make...Seth..." Diego then started to get misty. Leave it to the kids to soothe away the pain. The two dads in the front didn't know what to do or say, other than reach to the back and apply a cushioning hand to a shoulder. It's Philip that made the first gesture that began calming the rough seas. He reached right over, behind Seth's neck and over to Diego, his arm bring the two to him. His other arm went around the front, in an effort to cuddle them. "Don't worry guys. My dad... dad-Barry isn't really my real dad anyway!" This became a revelation to Aidan. "He isn't?" "Nope," Philip told the world. "I'm adopted." Aidan confessed, "Me too, Phil. My real dad didn't want me." "Really Ai? Me neither," Philip stressed. "Wow! I can't believe we're like the same and now we're childhood sweethearts," Aidan said. By now, Philip's grip on his buds had diminished. "Then that makes you guys like me!" Even though it didn't make it right, it made Seth feel a lot less worse off. For Diego, it presented some new facts. Seth let out, "Hey, that makes you the special one, Diego!" The hurt begin to lift on all sides. Alonzo rolled his eyes at his twenty-four year old partner. "Leave it to the kids!" He said, as he revved up the engine. Callan smiled, tapping Alonzo on the thigh with his hand. "Hey, not while I'm driving," Alonzo smirked back at his grinning lover. Sarcastically, he added, "Yeah. Not in front of the young adults in the back, eh?" After dropping the kids at school, Alonzo let Callan off at the hospital. "Remember that if you're feeling dizzy, take it easy. You're not supposed to be back to work yet." "What am I supposed to do? Sit home all day and play with my cock?" "Fuck that," Alonzo joked, "not without me there!" "Besides," Callan told him, "if I know Dr. Scalia, she'll have me grounded. I'll be wasting away at a desk job someplace." Alonzo giggles, saying, "Or collecting nickels and dimes in the cafeteria?" "Get outta here before I take my cock out here and start playing with your ass!" Callan watched, as Alonzo sped away. "What the hell you doing here?" All Callan could do is stand there and take it. He knew the possibility existed that he would have his first run in with Dr. Maria Scalia. To him, her attitude seemed more like that of an Irish washer woman, a thug attitude, throwing her weight around and plastering the walls of the hospital with her boisterous voice. "Um, I couldn't stay home." "Didn't I tell you," she slammed her hand down on a guerny, in the hallway, "that you're not to show your face around here for two weeks?" "I know, but..." "Don't you fuckin' but me, Callan O'Meara.. now you just turn right around and walk out that door." The few staff that had gathered `round sighed out loud when Callan re-voiced his opinion. "No." Eyes grew like saucers. "No, huh?" They couldn't believe that Dr. Scalia was backing down. "No. You see, the house is empty and it gets kind of boring watching General Hospital." The staff cracked up, laughing there asses off. In general, Dr. Scalia shouted out loud, "Don't you boys and girls have something to do? Like get the hell outta here and start earning your pay that you half goof off working for anyways?" Knowing the fifty-one year old doctor, her ways of making something sound official, yet `nice', they went about their business. With a tinge of Irish brough, Callan states, "Someday you're going to get your ass sued off, Maria." "Eh, I'll be retired by then." The two now settled down to chatting socially, walking the hallway. At the cafeteria entrance, they migrated in, approaching the windows to the eating world. Callan picked up a cardboard cup and filled it nearly to the brim with coffee. "Must be soon, the way you talked down that bunch just now!" "Actually," she stopped to tell the young man to take some of the scrambled eggs back, "I've been thinking about it." "Retiring?" "Think about it... I've got myself a good woman. You've got yourself a good man." "Well, I hope you haven't been holding back on my account?" Unknown to most of the people, in the immediate world of West Richlan, it had been Dr. Maria Scalia, acting as the driving force for rescuing Callan and his twin sister Catherine, from the clutches of Northern Ireland. She had been on vacation, in the right place, at the right time. Desolate, they had been on the verge of stealing, to eat. Fortunately, she apprehended the two, teens at the time, before the shop owner caught them. Actually, he had suspicions they had stolen the bread, but Maria came to their rescue, squawking on and on in a piercing tone of voice that they helped her, advised her on what to pick out. She lied of course, telling the owner she thought Callan and Catherine had been shop employees at the bake shop-cafe. He believed her and she provided the twins with a free lunch, which became more like a seven course dinner, being they had been so famished. The only crime that she found is them being down on their luck and not having a place to turn to. Months earlier, their parents had died, leaving them penniless. Setting them up in a hotel room, she extended her vacation leave, taking months of personal time, to help them get visas. If not for Dr. Maria Scalia, Callan and Catherine O'Meara might be in prison or dead. Shrugging her shoulders, she replied to Callan, "Only until you met up with a man I approved of." Callan smiled, looking across the table. "And do you approve of him, `mother'?" "Oh let's not go through this again... bring on the violins!" Right there in the hospital cafeteria, Dr. Scalia begins a concert on her imaginary stringed instrument. "Alright, alright. So when?" "I dunno. Maybe after Barbara and I get married." Getting edgy, Callan asks, "So when is the wedding?" "What're you trying to do? Get rid of me?" Callan sighed, "Is that what you think?" She smiled. "No. I just thought I'd wait until I see `my son' graduate from med school." Callan smiled, then lost his sweet humor. "What's the matter?" "Maria. I've decided that I don't think I want to go to med school." The horror on her face looked like King Kong with the empire state building up his ass! "You're what?" Callan looked around, as every bit of noise stopped, the clanging of pots, rattling of dishes, conversation came to a halt, as Dr. Maria Scalia voiced her opinion out loud. She didn't think anything of it, but Callan began to grow sweaty under the collar. In fact, as he faked a toothy smile, he stuck his index finger in his collar, to let the steam escape. "Well, I was thinking of not becoming a `doctor' doctor, but maybe going to dental college." "Why the hell didn't you say that instead of putting an old woman through all this misery?" Dr. Scalia's soothing dictated the behaviour or the whole atmosphere. As she began to rest easy, the people around began to migrate back to their routine. "Dentist, you say?" "Yes. I've been thinking about it and find a strong interest in it. Oh course only male patients." "Fuck that shit!" Dr. Scalia said, then forked some eggs into her mouth. Callan took it like anyone who knew how rough she could come across, but really mean it in a loving, humorous manner. "I knew you would like the idea, but actually..." Maria gave Callan, `the look', as her churning mouth came to a standstill. "I only said dentist, because it's a `people' doctor and..." She held up her hand, as if the Supremes singing `Stop In The Name of Love'. "Wait a minute right there, Callan." After a swig of her coffee, the good doctor clears her throat, "Quit this shit and tell me like it is!" Looking to the right and left or Maria's shoulder, Callan knew he had to get the cards out on the table. "Would it make a difference if my patients are dogs and cats?" "A vet?" "Uh-huh," the blond medic replied, with a forced grin. "I suppose you could have picked being a foot doctor." "What's wrong with podiatry?" "I could never get used to handling somebody's smelly feet." Aparently there had been an eavesdropper on their conversation, as snickers flanked a couple tables. Too bad for the orderly to her right. "Why don't you fuckin' go empty a bedpan, Jimmy!" "Sorry `bout that," Jimmy tried to repair his misdemeanor. "You'll be sorry when I do my rounds!" "Um," the young man fidgeted, "I guess I better get to that bedpan." Of course, his friends all knew the jest involved, but didn't dare crack a giggle off. "So, what about a vetenarian practice?" It took two sips of coffee, sloshed around in her mouth to give Callan her blessings. "I suppose I should be giving Bernice Bridges a call." "Huh? What for?" "Your office, of course. What do you think?" "Maria, I haven't even started on..." "No sense wasting time. Nope, gotta get your practice in the the best location. Hmm, matter of fact..." Callan watched, as she sipped her coffee, then wiped her lips with a napkin as if she wasn't thinking about it, sitting back, in deep reverie. "Another one of your wild brainstorms ready to break forth?" "Hush!" She reprimanded him. "Okay, this is what I want you to do. Go over to WRCC this morning." "But I..." "Shut up and listen. Your ass isn't needed around here anyway." "It's so nice to feel wanted." Overriding Callan's feelings, which had been humorous. Not taken seriously, she continued on her train of thought. "I want you to go to the medical wing and look up a Dr. Ron DiPiero." Leaning back, she interrupted the two gentlemen, in white, as they chatted. "Hey, Lenny you got a pen?" Cheerfully he forked over a silver one. The kind you get on a special occasion as a token reward. "You lose it and I break your face," Lenny told her in jest. Maria tells him, "You and what army?" Of course, folks in the immediate area, got a chuckle out of it. "So, you go see..." As she wrote down the name of the thirty-three year old collegiate professor, she talked out the info. She ended with, "If he gives you any grief, tell him you'll sic Dr. Passat on him." "Dr. Passat?" Callan questioned. "Yes, my nephew Maury. That'll make him tote the line." This part of the conversation was news to him, that left Callan in a fog. Sure, he knew that Maria had a nephew named Maury, but not much about their personal relationship. He knew Maury to be a college professor, but not much other than that. "Care to share what that means, Maria?" It then dawns on Maria that Callan has never been properly introduced to her kin. "Hmm... I think it might be a good idea if your family met Maury. After all... well never mind that's not important." Callan smiled, not out of humor. He was gathering up his evil digs once more. "Now you know Maria that I'm going to bug the hell out of you until you give in?" Rolling her eyes, she began to confess. "Nothing much to tell. When I was in Ireland, trying to get you two hooligans shipped out, I needed a liason in the states to handle the financial end." "Maury?" "Exactly. Only..." "What?" "Well, he told me to promise never to tell, so you fuckin' better never let on that I told you. He wanted to kick in a few bucks." "So how much did he contribute?" She held her tongue in her mouth. "I swear, Callan, if you.." "How much?" "All of it." "The whole half million?" "Dammit, Callan. Do you have to tell the whole world?" This time, it's Callan whom had stopped traffic. "Oh my. This is overwhelming. He didn't even know me, Maria," Callan bowed his head. As if praying, he held Maria's hands in his. "If you don't stop holding my wrists so tight, they are going to have to resuscitate me!" "Maria, I had no idea." "And you better act dumb when you meet him. Look, I've got to go. Get your ass up and over to WRCC. I don't want to see your face back here today." "Yes, mother dear," Callan replied. Joking, he asked, "Hey, maw?" "What sonnyboy?" "I don't have a car." "She tossed her keys on the table." >From behind her she heard, "Um, Maria? The pen?" Trying to psych out the doctor, she said, "I was gonna keep it.." she tosses it against his chest, "but I don't go for no dime store cheap stuff!" "Fuck you, too," He replied. They smiled at each other. % "Bummer! I've gotta get moving!" When Max looked up at the clock above the sink, it said that he had fifteen minutes to get to Degaugue's Cooking School, where his cooking class awaited him. "You don't know this chef. One minute late and he makes the offender clean up everybody's mess and I tell you that it's no picnic! I've got to shower, shave and oh, drop you off. Where do you live?" "I get find my own way home," Berk replied. "Nonsense. I'm not going to let you walk from the middle of nowhere to your place." "Really. It is not a problem. I could use the exercise." However, the fifteen minutes it took Max to shower, shave and dress, Berk was nowhere to be found upon returning to the kitchen. Another thing phased Max. The kitchen was as clean as a whistle. He looked in the dishwasher. It resembled the inside of a whale's skeleton. "What tha?" He said to himself. Scouting around, he discovered that every cereal bowl, spoon and glass had been washed, dried and put away. The long diningroom table had been swabbed down, the floor swept immaculately clean. Jumping in his car, he hoped to see him along the road, but Berk wasn't anywhere to be seen. He said to himself, hoping to find Berk, "There's only one main road in... one out and that's Bridges Lane." Max didn't discover him. However, turning out onto Van Dusen, he spotted the familiar blob, far down the road. Right now he didn't care if he had to work all afternoon to clean up other students' mess. He wanted to find Berk. Before he caught up with him, he saw Berk run across the sparsely traveled road and into the woods. He was sure Berk hadn't seen him. He parked on the side of the road and hopped out. Through the pines, he carefully tailed him. The Turk came to a clearing, but Max hung back. It had been the leanto the church used when the kids went on overnights. Standing there, he watched Berk strip out of his clothes. Max pulled his light jacket up around his ears. In his tee shirt, jeans and jacket he felt a slight chill. Yet, he peered over a fir branch, to watch Berk strip down to nothing. Then picking up what resembled a ragged towel, he saw Berk head down to where he knew the brook ran by this region. "Son of a gun!" Max said to himself. For the longest time, he watched, waiting for Berk to come back into sight. Sure enough, his eyes picked up on the twenty-five year old Turk. Same as when they arose this morning, he gazed at the dark, almost black-haired chest, the lightly haired stomach with the darker, defined trail running to his navel, then thick haired pubes, supporting a long cock and two nicely proportioned ballsacs. As if a ninety degree summer day, Berk casually finished drying himself, even hanging the `towel' up before thinking about what to cover his body with. He wasn't sure of what to do, but felt so much compassion that he couldn't stand there and do nothing. "So, this is the place you call home?" "Yes." Max was puzzled. Berk didn't act surprised, as he smiled at him. "Wait," Max guessed the facts, "you... you knew I was standing there all the time, didn't you?" "I am a policeman... a detective. I am supposed to know things like that." "Right," Max reported back to him. "So, this is why you didn't want me to take you home?" "It is not a bad place." "What happens when the church has their outtings?" "I take my things and go to the old ranger's station." "Why don't you stay there? I mean, why haven't you stayed there?" "It's dangerous. I run into a bear one time. He win and sleep in the bed." "Hmm... How come you didn't tell me?" "I have my pride." "I thought you cops make decent pay?" "I have not been a policeman very long. I put in bank." "I see. So, you can't even afford to put yourself up at the cheap motel? It's only like fifteen bucks a night. I used to... well..." Max left off the part of his past, visiting the cheap motel, after engaging a guy at gay.com. "So, how much money do you have saved up?" Knowing it none of his business, Max wasn't after finding out if he had thousands or not. Smelling something rotten, maybe connected with Berk's past life, he had his reservations. "I have some." "More than last week's paycheck?" Even though Berk had been taught that patience better be a virtue, plus accepting humility, he let things get the best of him. Max wasn't his master. "I think that is my business, Max." In an instant, Max backed down. But then he thought about their conversation earlier, in the Clark-Barr kitchen. "Oh? Then what about all this `love' business?" It threw Berk for a loop. "Um, love?" Berk questioned as if hearing it for the first time. "Yes, love. I mean I thought... well you... I..." The two stood there, Max and Berk distanced at about two feet. Still dressed in nothing but the great outdoors, he stood there until his body detected a cool breeze too tough to shrug off. "Oooooh," Berk finally alluded to, as shivers ran through his body. He thought it was the cold, but now wasn't too convinced. His desires told him he wanted more than a shirt and pair of pants surrounding his nakedness. Sensing the cold, but not in a temperature setting, Max walked closer. He was about to find out exactly what Berk meant by the term `love'. % 20 Continued.... Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.