Date: Mon, 28 Aug 2006 18:27:05 -0700 (PDT) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: "Nature Country" 22 The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, in towns, cities, nor governmental areas, which the story is stages. 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. "Nature Country" 22 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % Max, minding his own business, glided down Van Dusen Blvd. He turned his green, vintage, Kawasaki KT-250 onto Bridges Lane, heading the luxury expanse of neighborhood homes. "Oh shit!" he called out Red police lights reflected in his side mirrors. With both feet on the ground, he propped his helmet visor up and looked over his shoulder. Stepping out of the car, his regulation uniform, cool shades blocking his eyes, Officer Riley Sanchez, often referred to as `The Terminator', by the local school kids, approached Max, standing with his bike in his crotch. "Don't split your pants!" Easing up right away, Max could tell that he wasn't in hot water. In fact, he could see right through the officer's sunglasses, figuratively speaking, knowing his bulge was in full view, propped up by the seat pad of his Kawasaki. "Um yeah, okay," is all Max offered. "Got a message for your boyfriend." "Yeah?" Riley, stood there, at 6'2, decked out in his black policeman's outfit, not intentionally paving the way to intimidate. His stature made it seem that way. Of course, it helped that everybody knew for a fact that he doesn't put up with anybody's shit. Max waited for an explanation, a little jittery. Of course, that wasn't Riley's intention. "Tell him to call me at the station." "Why can't you tell me?" Max stood adamant. Gripping onto the handles, helped keep his cool. For Riley, he rolled his tongue around in mouth, wondering what to make of this `kid', whom dared to question him. Then again, he knew that Berk and he were beyond the stages of `liking', more into `loving' each other. "Huh... you know what?" Before Max could answer, Riley states, "You got a lot of moxie, kid." "I'm not afraid of you!" Max found himself gripping the handles of the Kawasaki tighter. Good thing they had been constructed of heavy metal. "I can see that. Nice bike you got here. Where'd you get it?" "Belonged to my uncle." "Hmm... mind if I take it for a spin?" "I guess not." Riley waited. Max waited, neither making a move. "Oh! You mean now?" All Riley did is lift his arm, signal with his fingertips `come on', like inviting someone to a fight. "I thought you weren't allowed to do personal business on duty?" Number two score for Max. It's been known that, a town over, Riley nearly stuffed a man's head in a toilet at a gay bar, for acting like a wise ass. Good thing Max didn't hear that tale. Wouldn't matter anyway. He was standing by his guns. "Just get off the bike?" "No. Besides, I've gotta get home and make dinner." "Hmm," Is all the tall, cool officer sounded off. Nobody could have been more surprised than Max, as Riley moved closely, pulling on his leather gloves, tightening them over his fists, breathing heavy. He stuck his face in Max's face. "You're tough, you know that?" Before Max could rattle off any verbal reply, Riley stuck his hand behind the twenty year old's neck and reeled him in for a kiss. Max never squeezed the handlebars of his uncle's vintage KT-250 so hard. But that wasn't all that was getting hard... or harder? As the officer stepped out of the line of duty, holding their faces together, his hand slipped down the front, cupping his hand around what lay on the seat of the motorbike. Releasing his hand, he broke off with his lips at the same time. "Pass that along too, to your boyfriend." Max just watched, as Officer Sanchez turned and walked back to the cruiser. Max could probably have him brought up on charges, but the kind of charge he got, didn't incite him to do formal kind. `Wow!' is all he said, as he watched the WRPD patrol car make a U, then peel off up Bridges Lane, from whence it came. He finally released one hand, to feel up the same thing Riley did; his pent up erection. His pants drew the outline of his bulging balls, with a pronounced snake in his pants, exhibiting his 8c shaft. `Shit!' he exclaimed, `I gotta get home and take care of this!' At the same time, he wondered why Riley wanted with Berk to phone him at the station. % "What are you squirts up to?" it's then that Chad realized, gazing at Philip and Aidan, the nickname didn't have the appeal it did almost two years ago. Even over the past year, it seemed the two sky rocketed from little kids, to near teenaged status. Gone, was the familiar welcome, the two rushing over, Philip jumping into his bro's arms. Still he felt welcomed, with their high-fives, a little lower. "Where's my hug?" Matty still provoked. "If I gotta," Philip said. "You don't gotta nothing," Chad stated. Which meant `ya gotta'! So, Philip elected himself to be first, put his arms around Matty's torso and hug him. Aidan followed, but with a lot less duration. Philip then ventured to ask, "Is that think all loaded up?" "What thing?" Matty asks. He looks down himself, as if he spilled gravy. Chad giggled. Getting it, Matty remarks, "None of your business!" The two scattered, as Matty faked clobbering them. Next on the scene, the dads came in from the other room. "So, how's business?" "Great," Matty replied. "Yeah, except we lost our deli guy today." "Andy can handle it for awhile," Matty replied. "And the bake shop, too?" "What about that new fellow?" "Christian?" Chad clued them into. "That his name?" Barry asked his son. At the mention of the newest manager's name, Matty gulped, sinking back in his memories of this afternoon. Steve asks him, more or less making a statement, "It's not that hot in here, is it Matty?" "No. I think I'm coming down with something." The fib caused Chad some concern, coming over to him and placing his hand on his forehead. "You don't feel hot, Matty." No, maybe not now. But this afternoon it could have been at least nine hundred degrees, in the employee's men's jon at Barr's and Bridges. "I'll be okay." "So what's the occasion of your visit?" Steve asks. Chad replies, "Ump, because you dads are always saying you don't see us enough?" They cackled. "We don't," Barry replied. The dads invited them into the dining room. "Oh, you're still eating?" "We're almost done," Denies says, guzzling down his beverage. "How's football going, Mark?" Matty asks. "Soccer. And it's okay," Mark smiles. After the four older boys vacate the room, Matty humors them, "That Mark is getting so fox looking!" "Takes after me," Chad jokes. Like the Clark children, they all know the Barr boys are adopted as well. "Yeah right, Chad." "Hey, Max!" Matty greets him, walking in to collect the dishes. He gets an immediate bodyhug from the two. "Um, where's that hunky boyfriend of yours?" Chad asks. "He had to go down to the station." "Leaving town?" Matty reminds his lover, "Not the train station. He's a cop. Remember doofus?" "Oh yeah. I knew that!" All this time, Steve and Barry sit at the table, taking it all in, as if a three ring circus, getting their comic relief. "You guys want some red bean ice cream?" Max got `the look' from both. "At Degaugues, that was our focus today... part of the Asian menu," Max explained. "Um," Matty responded, "do we gotta eat it with chopsticks?" Chad sucker-punched him in the arm, saying, "Yeah and after it melts you get to suck it up!" Smiling, Chad knew what `that' meant, without explanation. For whatever reason, it did cause a tingling sensation in his crotch. "So, have you boys," Barry referred to the twenty-something year old men, "planned out your party for Miguel and Juan?" "I think we have everything set," Chad replied, throwing his leg over the oak bench. Matty went to the end and slid in. "Oh, by the way, Terrence Beethoven called." "Here?" Matty asks. "Yes." "For us?" "He said he couldn't find your number." "That boy needs a secretary bad!" Chad informs them. "Yeah, well. He said he needs you to call him back, regarding the youth group overnight." "Probably another meaningless meeting." Steve picks up on Chad's disregard. "Is everything set?" "Well, no," Chad replied to Steve. "Then I think you need at least one more. When is it again?" Matty answers, "Three weeks from this weekend." "Not much time," Steve tells them. "Terence might be disorganized, but he's pretty much an in-control guy." Even Barry didn't like the sound of that. "Still," He thew his two cents in, "I think you ought to make sure. You don't want the kids being disappointed, when something goes wrong or you forget something." Steve kicks in, "Like marshmallows?" They giggle, but Chad resigns, "Okay. We'll take your word for it. Mind if I use the phone?" The look on his dad's face tells him he shouldn't have bothered asking. Chad swings his leg back, over the bench and heads for the kitchen. He almost runs into Max, bringing out a tray of purplish ice cream. `Sickening', Chad thinks, as he passes by, but tells Max, "Looks delicious!" After setting the fours bowls on the table, one minus the person sitting there, Matty lifts the spoon and picks at it. "What are these red things?" "Red beans. Why do you think they call it red bean ice cream?" "But it's purple!" Steve and Barry giggle at Matty's face, as they take spoonfuls, making light of it, as it disappears from their bowls. "Really Matty, you're behaving worse than the kids," Steve tells him. "You mean to tell me, Philip and Aidan didn't give you a tough time? They readily dug in and made `all gone'?" So, Max didn't lie, telling him all of the boys, Mark, Denis, Tom, Eric and the two `squirts', did have a problem with the color, plus the fact of vegetables embedded in the frozen desert. However, rising above the `kid stage', Matty lifted a spoonful to his lips. Turning it into a joke, he placed his other hand on his wrist, one hand trying to force the other from taking it in. "Heeeaaaaay! This is really good!" Just then, Chad reenters. "Chad, you've gotta taste this!" Steve and Barry dropped their spoons in their bowls. Matty didn't get it right away, until the two dads had stopped eating. "Whatsamatter?" He asks Chad. As day from night, Matty's cheerful demeanor, sunk in titanic proportions. "What's wrong Chad?" "I tried to argue the point, but Terence said he couldn't help it." "Couldn't help what?" "They had to move the youth group overnight `up a week', that's what!" "So?" Chad had to spell it out to him. "Up a week, like to the weekend we're planning Miguel's and Juan's anniversary party?" "Shit no!" Then realizing he cursed in front of the dads, tried, "Oops. Sorry dad!" Barry was as good as Matty's father-in-law, even though the two hadn't rightfully exchanged vows yet. Chad quickly said, "I think we should go." "But you haven't eaten your ice cream." "Matty, we've got everything planned. The food, the guest list, etcetera." "So? Can't Terrence get two other counselors to go?" Barry and Steve, along with Max, watched the two, as if a ping pong game, batting questions and answers back and forth. "Two others? More than that." "How do you figure?" "Think Matty. Who all did we invite?" As Matty spelled out the guest list, Chad sorted out which guys would be tied up in the youth group overnight. "Oh wow!" Matty realizes the implications. "We've gotta talk. Um, bye. Thanks for the ice cream." Hopping up from the table, Matty lifts his bowl, scooping every last bit of red bean ice cream out, licking the spoon off, like one of the kids would do. "Good stuff. Thanks Max." Chad wound up pulling on the back of Matty's shirt, stretching it out of shape, hiking it up his bod, showing off his hairy navel. "Sorry we gotta run," were Matty's last parting words. % With nothing much special to do, Christian walked the streets of West Richlan. Passing by Johanson's, the towns only sports shop, he caught a glimpse of a group of college jocks, hanging out around one of the racks. His loins stirring, made for the excuse to shop for a new tank top, or briefs, whichever proved to be the best vantage point for the best view. Walking in, Mr. Johanson greeted him cordially, showing him where all the exercise wear, for guys of the 20-something year age bracket. Picking up the first article, an XXL tank top, he eyed it up and down, holding it sometimes so that he could spy on the five college studs. He also partook of their conversation. "Told you Mike, it's too faggoty!" One of the others stated, "Maybe we should get it for our two gay bro's." However, also in Christian's direct line of sight, he picked up on the guy at the cash station, tall, dark brown hair and glasses, also within eyeshot. Suddenly he got rocked out of his reverie, by Mike, football physique and all. "Hey, you going to buy that guy?" Realizing he had been holding it, his arm feeling the pangs of his muscles, from his arm stretched upwards, he brought it down to waist level. "No?" he gulped, replying to Mike. After hearing some of their conversations, then being approached by the 6'3" tall jock, he wondered if he was to be pounded through the floor. "Cool!" After snatching it out of Christian's hand, he completely ignores Christian, stating to his frats, "This is more `our' color guys." With the tank flashing orange and white, in Mike's hand, he holds it up over his own pecs. Unknown to any of them, the cashier Christian's eyes scanned, walks over. "Excuse me, but wasn't `he'," pointing to Christian, "interested in that item first?" On the verge of saying `no', Christian fumbled for the words, however already Mike was questioning the clerk's audacity. "Hey, ain't you the faggot punk that lives in Hilton Hall?" Out of nowhere, Mr. Johanson shows up. "Are you boys finished shopping?" Taller than any of them, the store owner stands at 6'5, himself a specimen of a football linebacker. "You got anymore of these?" Mike asks. He answers, "Yeah. How you set on the color pink?" "Pink?" Mike asks, obviously annoyed by Johanson's deliberate fabrication. "We ain't no..." Standing almost on top of Mike's toes, Johanson displayed his intense dislike for where Mike was headed with his comments. "Yeah?" His eyes stare up from Mr. Johanson's adam's apple. "We'll come back another time," he gave the excuse, leaving the orange tank top. "Y'know I could've stood up for myself, Uncle Sy." "I know." Then smiling, he said to his nephew, "See to our customer, Justin?" Christian smiled, when Justin turned to face him. Picking up the orange tank top, Justin came around the rack. "Frankly, in my opinion, you would be swimming in it, sir." Feeling funny that this guy, obviously not much than himself, referred to him as `sir', Christian felt he had to set him straight. "Christian." Lowering the top of the hanger from Christian's shoulders, the hook of the hanger from lip level, Justin replies, a simple, "Come again?" To Christian, it sounded like hillbilly talk, but he didn't dwell on what could be mistaken for embarrassment. Plus, he didn't want to make it seem like his real intentions, entering the sporting goods store, to look upon the college jocks. "I really did have intentions of buying something." "This tank is way too big. What size shirt do you take?" "Tee shirt or dress shirt?" The twenty-four year old was wearing both. "Either. It doesn't vary too much." "Medium?" "Do you like a loose fit around here?" Pulling on his own shirt Justin tugged at the lower, sides of his light blue dress shirt. "Loose is okay," Christian reported, also taking in the taut stomach. In reality, he never owned any exercise apparel, since he wasn't into working out, but it wasn't himself that interested him at the moment. "Um, I hope you don't mind me asking this... but do you work out?" It became a dead giveaway, obvious to Justin, that Christian was checking him out. "Not at a gym. I've read up on it and do my own sort of working out. Why do you ask?" Thinking about what Chad said the other day to him, about being more assertive, Justin had thought about it a lot between then and now. He figured he better get started on it, especially when he had some thoughts about the possibility of this guy being gay. "No reason." Yet, Christian, whom still stood with his waist sort of wedged in between the round rack, facing it at least, gulped when he felt his cock hit one of the garments, poking right through his pants. "If you want, I could show you sometime!" Next think Justin was thinking to himself is how lame could he be, to ask a total stranger, even though he was very hot looking, talked with an extraordinary sexy voice, how could he like come out and `ask' him something like that. On the other hand, Christian's thinking, `Oh shit! He saw my big cock!' "You feeling alright, um...." "Christian." "I'm Justin." "I know. I saw your badge." Justin didn't realize it, raising he eyebrows. `Wow!' he thought. `This guy really `is' checking me out!' Christian, realizing he might have too frank, thinking Justin might think that he was checking him out, tried fidgeting with some thoughts, anything that would change the subject. "Um.. ah, like... I'm feeling okay. Fine. Why'd you ask?" Now, on the other hand, Justin figured he shouldn't have said anything. However, now it was out in the open, he had to respond. `Quick' he said to himself, pressuring himself, `think up something - anything!' "It's hot in here. You're sweating." Right away, like deja vu, Christian drew a picture of earlier, he and Matty's conversation with Jack Warner. `Oh shit!' he threw himself into a panic. Here he is with this hot looking stud and right away he thinks he smells like a pig! "I don't smell do I?" `Oh shit, what a stupid thing to ask', Christian followed up his question to Justin, with a question to himself. Holding the orange tank top over his crotch, Justin thought was a smart thing. He only hoped he wasn't too obvious. Another thought-provoking idea crossed his mind. He wished he was close enough to Christian to honestly answer the question, take in the blond's scent. For a moment there, he began to wish he could have his nose right next to his bare skin! "Smell? Um, no. I mean, hee hee..." even though he didn't smell any body odor, Justin pinned Christian's guilt on himself, reporting, "if anybody stinks, it's me. I'm sweating like a hog!" It sounded funny to Christian. He smiled. He doesn't know why. "You? No. I mean, I've been working all day, running around at the store. If anybody smells, it's..." "What store do you work at?" "Barr's and Bridges." "For Chad?" "You know Chad?" "My best bud at college." "That's right. He goes to WRCC. You go there too?" "Sure. He's in one of my business management classes. Do you go there?" "Thanks for the compliment, but I've been in and out of college already." Justin could sense Christian a little older, but only by a year or so. Maybe twenty-two. "I'm pushing twenty-five," Christian states, answer an inquiring mind. "Oh." Then nonchalantly, not thinking, Christian asks, "Why? I'm too old..." Eyes popping, almost out of his socket, Christian slaps his hand over his own mouth, realizing he almost said `it'. Smiling, his dark brown glasses propped up on the bridge of his nose, Justin goes for broke. He drop the orange tank top from in front of his lap. "Um, I'm not real particular, when it comes to hot guys!" He never felt more sweaty in his entire life. And, it surely wasn't hot in his uncle's store, plus he knew he didn't have to pee. His tented pants only meant one thing. A big grin covering his face, Christian steps out from the circular clothes rack, saying, "You're not the only one!" Seems like Justin's big gamble paid off. He was proud of himself, at the same time delighted that Christian got the same vibrations. "Um, what is it you said about older guys, Christian?" "Nothing. I mean I guess you aren't too particular, eh?" Both guys looked down at each other's crotch, walking towards each other. As if a positive and negative magnet, being attracted to each other, their tents got closer and closer. In the background, distant counter, Justin's Uncle Sy laughed his ass off, containing his laughter for his own enjoyment. Trying to find some words, like he had to explain, Christian says, "I... I was hiding it in the rack." Holding up the XL, orange tank, Justin tells him, "I hid mine behind this... um, could you tell?" His gaze returning to Justin's package, he states, "Oh no... had no idea, but I'm.. never mind." "Glad I am?" For a shy guy, nerd, scared to say anything gay to anybody, except his good friend, Chad Barr, Justin was unloading some hot insinuations, which seemed to bring out some years of pent up emotions. On the other hand, Christian began feeling a helluva lot more comfortable, on the subject of `coming out', especially it being a public place. Cautious though, he looked around. "Ah, I think your boss is getting suspicious." "He's my uncle. He's okay with me being gay and I think by now..." Looking over at the counter, where Christian's gaze just visited, Justin smiles, when his eyes connect with his uncle. "Still, you've got a job to do and..." "I'm off in a half hour." As if a ninja, suddenly Uncle is standing right there, on the other side of the rack, where the frat jocks had been standing. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off, Justin?" Both guys almost jumped out of their skin. "Damn Uncle Sy!" His uncle stood there, shaking, as he laughed and laughed. It began to inter some giggles, in Christian. "He does that to me every time. I think Uncle Sy is Houdini-reincarnated or something!" "Well?" Uncle Sy asks. "With pay?" "I pay for your damn tuition, what more do you want from me?" "Yeah. Okay. Never mind." However, out of his pocket, Uncle Sy pulls a wad of bills. Peeling off a fifty, he hands it to Justin. "What's this?" "I'm not going to be home for dinner tonight... got some inventory to do." "I can cook for myself." "What? And poison your new friend, along with yourself?" "Thanks Uncle Sy." All this time, Christian is taking in the tender conversation between Justin and his uncle. Lurking in his mind, are a thousand questions. He hadn't really thought about it, but his uncle already had made up his own mind that he was having dinner with Justin tonight. "Um, are you doing anything tonight, Christian?" "Just going... home and..." stopping mid sentence, Christian just thought of something. He his home was his car. Sure, Michael Birdy offered him some space til he found a place, but for right now, his back seat was his living room. "What?" "I forgot to tell you, Chris," Justin shortened his name, "Uncle Sy can foretell when a guy's got something on his mind. You better tell him now or he'll bugging you every chance he gets!" However, Christian didn't want to give in. Not when it was something this personal. "Never mind. My problem." That Ninja trick was working again. Before Christian could think, Uncle Sy was breathing down his neck. With a big grin on his face, Justin was chuckling. Turning his head, Christian looked behind himself, turning his body. Standing there, his arms folded across his chest, Uncle Sy asks, "Now what was it you neglected to mention, young man?" "You better tell him." Changing his pose, placing one hand, up and under his sports jacket, tucking his thumb in under his belt, Christian rubbed his eyes, then stood there, not wanting to submit to the uncle's interrogating look. "Okay. So I don't rightfully have a place to go home to. I've been living out of my car for the past couple of weeks." Staring, arms still folded across his chest, Uncle Sy recites, as if reading cue cards, "Fifty bucks a week. Justin's room. Take it or leave it!" Behind Christian's back, Justin says, "Way to go Uncle Sy!" As Christian turns and looks at him, he adjusts his comments, "I mean, I have no problem with that." "But...." Christian is cut off. Surely he's thinking Uncle Sy is more than a magician, a mind reader as well, when he says, "Justin rooms at the college." "Yeah," Justin offers himself, "I used to live with Uncle Sy." Then, Uncle Sy informs them, "You two get the hell outta here, before I take back my fifty!" "Wait! I didn't say whether I'll take the room." Uncle Sy replies, in a more dominant manner, reaching into his pocket, "Here. Leave the back door unlocked for me. You can park your car in the driveway, but pull it all the way up to the garage." Not thinking fast enough, Christian caught the set of two keys inside his jacket, against his stomach. "Where'd he go?" "Stockroom, probably," Justin reported. "The Ninja thing again." "I'm beginning to believe you." "Hold on. Let me grab my jacket." All the way back to the counter, dodging the maze of racks of sports gear, Christian watched Justin weave his body. Even though his erection had subsided, he still felt tingly all over. It put a smile on his face. % 2B continued... Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection without prior written permission, by the author. The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP.....