Date: Sat, 9 Dec 2006 19:01:50 -0800 (PST) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: NATURE COUNTRY CHRISTMAS 02 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, countries, nor governmental areas, 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. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection. % NATURE COUNTRY CHRISTMAS 02 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % At the Clark-Barr dinner table, not only Barry and Steve took notice of how Dave Rosario, their invited guest, woofed down the food, in not such a tidy manner. Leave it to the squirts to say something! "Boy, are a sloppy eater, Dave!" "Huh?" Dave looked up, in the direction of Philip. Steve and Barry looked at each other, then Barry took the initiative to relay, "Philip?" "Sorry," he said to Dave, a mix of embarrassment and smiling on his face. Dave, clearing his throat, replied, "No problem. Maybe I need another napkin?" Mark wasn't saying anything, sitting next to the Homeland Security official. Dave used his napkin, the one he'd stolen from Mark! "Here," Max replied, leaning back and grabbing one off a side table. "Have two." "I guess you must think I'm a little sloppy, huh?" Aidan says, "A little?" Barry, noticably lays his fork on his plate, looking at the twelve year old. All Dave did was blush. "What time is it?" Dave asks, in a speedily manner. "Seven o'clock," Steve replies. "Oh, I've gotta go. Thanks for the dinner. It was delicious." Walking Dave to the door, upon his sudden departure, Steve and Barry apologized profusely for the boys behaviour. However, Dave insisted, even though he had previously mentioned he was free, as well as Bruce, Dave made up some excuse to leave. After the door was closed, Steve says to Barry, "How embarrassing, huh?" "Certainly is. We've got to make sure this doesn't happen again," Barry says on behalf of the pairing. Entertaining the diningroom, talking ceased. Aidan and Philip knew they were in trouble. Stopping, folding their hands in their laps, gave them away. "Aidan? Philip? Up out of your seats and proceed to the den, please?" The two sadsacks backed out, got up and walked, the dads behind them, their answer to the order, knowing it not an invitation. "I don't believe you guys," Barry lay into them. "You should know better, to treat a guest with better manners," Steve reiterated. Both had looks on their faces, as if somebody was threatening to put coal in their Christmas stockings. "You wouldn't treat Diego and Seth in this way, would you?" "No," each replied. "The important thing is, when a guest is in this house, no matter how sloppy he eats, you don't mention anything like you did." "But, he was getting food all over the table, dad," Philip tries defending himself. "Right. But tables can be cleaned up," Steve tells him. "Hurting someone's feelings, takes a lot more repair." "I didn't think of that," Aidan said, with gloom in his voice. With each response, Philip and Aidan looked to each other, much like an adult would, seeking support. "I guess we really did hurt Dave's feelings, huh?" "Right and I have a good mind to take you over there right now and apologize." "Good idea," Steve agrees with Barry. "Get you coats, boys." "Now?" "Let's not hear it. Let's see some action?" Again, Barry, the alpha male, takes hold of the reins. "We didn't finish eating," Aidan claims. "Neither did Dave!" The truth cut deep. Getting their jackets, Barry and Steve grabbed keys and wallets. "You don't have to go Steve." "Sure?" "We'll probably only be an hour, tops." "Fine," Steve said, telling his lover he would see to it the kid's plates are kept warm. Traveling down Bridges Lane, an oncoming vehicle came too close, swerving into their lane. Barry tried `missing' it, cutting the wheels. Running off the side of the road, the wheels hit the gutter. The van tipped over on it's side, the roof wedged up against a stone wall of their distant neighbor's yard. Not required to wear seatbelts in the rear seats, Aidan fell against the side of the van, now the floor. Philip's body fell right on top of him. It took them a couple of minutes to realize what had happened. One thing they noticed, their dad wasn't calling out to them. "Owww!" Aidan yelled out, when he tried to move. "What's the matter?" "My arm. It hurts so bad." "You... you're bleeding!" "Where?" Some light, coming from outside the van, shone through the window. "Do you have a nosebleed?" Aidan felt his face. "Oh no." "Your nose is bleeding?" "No. I.. I think it's my head." Again Aidan tried to shuffle about, but to move his arm killed him with pain. "What about dad? He's awfully quiet." Philip stood, apparently on the opposite door, using it for footing. Leaning over the side of the front seat, he saw a horrid sight. His dad, still held in place by the seatbelt, sagged to his right. "Dad? Hey dad?" Philip called out. No sound came from him. As he reported his find to Aidan, he began to cry. "I... I think there's something wrong with dad. He's not talking back to me. He's not moving," Philip cried out with alarm. Touching his dad's shoulder, he received no response. "Akkkkkkkkkkk.." Aidan called out, trying to get up. "I... I can't move. It hurts too much. You're going to have to go get help, Phil!" For a eleven year old to try to open the door of the van, the opposite door Aidan lay against, now the `roof', the task became a mighty one. For one last time, he tried calling out to his dad, with no response. Now he realized it was up to him, with Aidan down. "What do I do?" "You've got....to get help!" His step-brother didn't leave him much to go on. Looking all around, he thought about the `normal' exits. The front way was out of the question. Rear? He hadn't any idea of how, if there had been a way, to open the back hatch. `Only way out', Philip thought to himself, looking up. Back seat lying in front of him, as if the wall, he tried climbing up it, the `ceiling' not far from his reach. With one sneaker on the arm, he hefted himself up, grabbing hold of the headrest of his father's seat. "You can do it Philip!" Aidan cheered him on, realising his step-brother's plot. His first attemp caused him to fall, narrowly missing Aidan's upper body, but falling on his leg. "Owwww...owwww..owwww!" "I'm sorry," Philip literally cried out. "Doesn't hurt half as much as my arm." "Do you think it's broken?" "I don't know. I hit the door pretty hard and... looks like the window is broken. I think it's how my head got cut." "I'll try again." This time Philip managed to at least get the door open, before falling back into the van. "You okay?" "I'm fine. It's dad I'm worried about. He's still not talking?" "Nope," Philip replied, again checking. His lifeless body hung in limbo. "You've gotta get the door open this time, Phil." As if an older guy, he replied, "I'll try my damnedest!" At least with the door ajar, all he had to use was muscle. But for a boy beginning his teen life, it turned into a test of strength, utilizing muscles he's never even thought about. "It's opening!" Wincing, Aidan at least managed a ray of hope, saying, "Cool!" It missed a lot of the spunk, normally used for something really cool. "Yeah.. unnh! It's unnh.. moving..." With every ounce of strength, he gave a hardy push. The door rolled towards the back of the van. He waited to make sure it wasn't going to close on him. As he poked his head out, he thought immediately of being scared, as if out on a dark, lonely road, all by himself. "Hurry, Phil! We've gotta get help for dad!" Sniffling, Philip reached up, pulling at the door frame. He thought of all the exercises he learned in gym class, of the years on the monkey bars at school, a try at climbing the ropes, putting all those skills to work, as one. At first he didn't look back. When he lay on his stomach on the door of the van, he stared down into the bleakness of the guts of the van. Fortunately the inner dashboard lights still remained on. "Dad say anything yet?" "Nope," Aidan replied. "Just go get help," he said, as if using his last ounce of strength. Looking over the outside of the van, at the underside, it scared Philip. So, he chose to proceed to a place not so horrid, the front. As he traveled over his father's door, the window closed, he made a little gasp. Apparently the window had been cracked and he picked up a sliver in his hand. The door a little bashed in, he looked through the window, was his dad's body, fallen into the van, as if an astronaut, suspended in space, anchored by his seatbelt. Turning himself around, being careful to avoid the driver side window as much as possible, he let one leg slack over the windshield. The manouveur wasn't easy to navigate. At the same time, Philip's fears became his best friend. At least his thoughts of sliding down, into the unknown void, drew his attention away from his dad and brother. Holding onto the mirror, the only place to grab, he let his feet be his guide. Suddenly, he lost all control. His legs went over, then his torso. His sneakers skidded down the windshield, taking one of the broken windshield washers with it. It's not until then, with the lack of light, he realized he was sliding between the smashed in front of the van, actually the hood and front plate glass window, still intact. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" he called out, his arm and head hitting against the crumbled hood. Finally he hit dirt. From inside, he heard Aidan calling out. "You okay Phil?" Aidan followed with a sigh, apparently a motion of response, causing himself stress. At first hesitating, Philip sought out his surroundings, standing, he didn't reply. "Phil, you okay? Answer me!" Aidan sounded desperate. "I'm... okay I guess." Then, he assured his brother, "I'm doing better than you and dad. I'm going for help!" The closest place, the neighbor's house they landed in front of, had a long, winding driveway. In the distance, he could make out a window, lighted. One problem, his hand had started to bleed, so he wrapped it up in his jacket. Also, something kept him from sprinting. "Stupid foot!" He complained, but kept up his pace. So hyper was Philip, when he got to the big oak door, he pounded with both hands. Even the bloody one. "O my God!" The woman answering the door called out, when she saw the oak, streaked halfway down, with blood. "Lady, I need help! My dad and brother are hurt bad!" Looking in, Philip saw one of his classmates. "James?" He called out, to his school bud, with a mix of fright and tears. As James mother ran off to get her husband, she stole the remote house from it's cradle, dialing 911, Philip talked with his school bud. "What happened to you?" "My dad had an accident. My brother is hurt bad." "What happened to him?" "His head is all bloody and I think his arm is busted." "How do you know?" "I don't, but it hurts him to move it. He couldn't get up." "What about your dad?" It's then, in the face of calamity, with help on the way, Philip thought about his own emotional stress. He finally let the tears roll. Like a good buddy does, James put his arm around Philip, assuring him everything was going to be fine. Soon, Jim Kitchener walked with a flashlight and a first aid kit, up the lengthy driveway. In the distance, the sound of sirens, firefighters, as well as EMT's and police, wailed, a hint help was on the way. Philip stayed with James and his mother, protesting he had to get back to his brother and dad. Ellen Kitchener felt it better Philip stay and be attended to. His hand wound seemed superficial. She put ice on his sore foot. "What's up, Jim?" A neighbor came running from across the way, when they hit the road. "I'm not sure, Bob. Philip Barr," most people knew the Clark-Barr kids by the `principal' name, "came knocking at our door, saying something about an accident." "Look!" Sure enough, half-visible, not far from a street lamp, the van lay on it's side. "Here, give me a boost, Jim." Using his hands as a saddle, Bob stepped into the pocket of his palms. About the time Bob looked into the van, flashing lights appeared. Bob had just enough time to yell in, "Anybody here?" "I am.. I'm hurt, but my dad.." Aidan was crying his eyes out, "my dad isn't moving." "What's your name, son?" "Aidan." "I'm Bob. The emergency crew is arriving now. You're going to be alright." "But my da-ad," the twelve year old cried with concern. Bob was a vet, by no means able to diagnose anything, but with his chest leaning on the driver's side door, his legs leaning on the open door frame, his stomach and crotch suspended in the space of the open door, it gave him the ability to reach inside. He found Barry's neck. `Oh shit!' he immediately thought, searching for signs of life. % "Hey dad?" Tom called out. "What?" "There's gotta be a big fire or something up the road." "Right," Steve replied, gazing out the side window. "Do we know anybody who lives over in that direction?" "Not really, other than some classmates of Philip and Aidan." Soon Eric appeared, reporting the sounds of `something big' happening. Before long, the telephone was ringing. It was Bernice, wondering the same, for such a usual quiet Sunday evening, sounds of disaster racking the neighborhood. Right after Bernice hung up, the call came from the police. Officer Pete Nelson broke the news of the accident. Grabbing his cellphone, he dialed Bernice back. Max and Berk had gone out for the evening and he asked her to hustle over. It came more as a command than the asking, but upon hearing the dim news, Steve didn't have time for formalities. As he fastly drove up the road, in their alternate vehicle, thoughts raced through his mind, faster than the engine. He knew he had to be strong, but even grown men have feelings which can't be controlled at all times. Officer Nelson didn't give any inkling to the conditions of the three. He prayed to God nothing bad had befallen any of them. Neither of the three came first. They have all become dear to him, more than anything material. It seemed like it took him forever to travel the outskirts of the neighborhood, turning onto the street leading to the main drag. Officer Nelson had been canvasing the direction from which Steve would be heading, looking for the dark blue sedan. All Steve could say was, "Oh shit... oh shit... oh shit," when the scene came into view. He parked the car in the middle of Bridges Lane, already blocked off to cars coming and going. Bright lights blanketed the scene of the accident, in a radius of several yards. Before coming upon his loved ones, Steve gasped, seeing a small sedan, with emergency personal working over it. "Steve Clark?" "Yeah, that's me. What... How?" "Pete Nelson. To calm your fears, they are all alive." "Oh thank God!" Bending in half, Steve was relieved, but at the same time felt nauseous. "What of them?" Referring to the wreck on the side of road, the west side, as opposed to the east side of Bridges Lane, added to his own thoughts of how terrible an accident. "College frats. Out, drinking, maybe even drugs. We're not sure at this point. Our main concern is they are alive." `Alive' made something snap inside of Steve. "Are you okay, Steve?" "Yes and no. Where are they?" "One of them, Philip, is up at the neighbors house. He has a slight cut on his hand, bruises on his arms and legs and what the EMT's describe as a bad sprained ankle." "And what about Aidan? Barry?" "Which is the young boy?" Officer Nelson inquired. "That would be Aidan." "He seems to have a broken arm, lacerations about the face. He'll be alright." Steve's stomach, now in knots, held off for the last victim. "And..." he gulped, "Barry?" "He...." "Tell me straight, dammit!" "He's still unconscious." "Oh fuck no! How could something like this happen?" Even with Officer Nelson's report, plus the visual, enough evidence, Steve's distraught made his senses give in to futile efforts, asking Pete questions he couldn't answer. "Don't get too upset Steve. Your partner's injuries could amount to a bump on the head." "Where is he?" Officer Nelson took his time relaying the information, giving the firefighters more time to work on getting the two out of the van. They literally had to pry the drivers side door off, to gain access. With the ability to open the back hatch, they could get at Aidan easy enough. Moving him was a different story. No matter which way he turned, it hurt. Carefully they removed the two rear seats, leaving them at the side of the road. This gave them ample room to work on the twelve year old. A bright light, extended by an arm, jutting out over one of the fire trucks, lit up the outside and inside as bright as day. After a quick assessment of Aidan's condition, giving him something to relieve the pain, the EMT's determined it safe to move him. The guerny was too large for the inside, so they used an alternate `board', transferring him, once outside the beat up van. "Can they get him out?" "They will. Believe me, Steve," Pete placed his hand on Steve's shoulder, "They've been in tighter situations and they know their job inside out." It was then suggested to Steve, to go check on Philip. As he entered the front door, even though the pain shot up through his body, Philip ran to the door. "Dad-Steve... isn't it awful?" He cried out, along with extended arms. Steve scooped him up in his arms and hugged him tightly, trying to hold back his own emotions, as Philip cried. "Yeah, but... things are going to be alright." Thinking about his lover, Steve hoped. % Soon word got out, around the neighborhood, around town, as folks called other folks. In small town America, it's tough to keep matters of importance under wraps. The superintendent of schools, some of the office staff and teachers, arrived at the hospital, before the ambulances, carrying the accident victims. % Winding up their hot night at Mr. Pink's, Chad's cellphone rang. He immediately saw the familiar number, dialed from his dad's home. Bernice made the message simple and clear. Jumping in Chad's 4x4, Matty drove. Inadvertently, they forgot all about Bruce. However, they had already decided Bruce was being taken care of, not to worry about him getting back to the motel, if indeed that's how the evening ended up. "Thanks for the pants. Um, Claudio said to blame him for the rips." Smiling, Javier Yacouba had Bruce twirl around for him. "I like them. But I will have to bust Claudio's chops for not suggesting it sooner!" "He said it would obliterate your phone number, only...." "What?" "I didn't write it down, so I don't have it." "However..." Back in the dressing facilities, the two alone, the suave French-Latino places his thumbs under the elastic of the last article of clothing left on his body. Bruce's eyes are glued to the lower half, as Javier grins, peeling them down slowly, showing the dark, almost black-haired pubes, a hint of the top of his rod. Other than his quick education course, Bruce hasn't been this close to a near naked man before Chad and Matty's education. "Dying to see what's filling my briefs, eh?" Not knowing much about Javier's ideas, Bruce has thoughts of his own, as he groped himself, his throbbing tool filling him with lust. "Um.. yeah," he shrugged his shoulders, "I guess so." Leaving his briefs in place, snapping the elastic back, he walks up to Bruce, immediately cupping his head in his hand, bringing their lips together. Remembering his quick crash course, Bruce again goes behind the locked lips, venturing into the twenty-two year old's mouth. A suddeness comes over the two, breaking off their sweet making out, Bruce looking down, between them. "I figured you might want to get more `comfortable'?" "I suppose," Bruce replies, collectively. With deliberate slow action, Javier begins to unbuckle the belt, then the button, unzipping, seemingly all at once, but in stages. It wouldn't be the first time he's stripped a man out of his clothes, in his dressing room. But this is the first time he felt differently, regarding the man he's done it to. "Um, no. Wait." With both hands, on Javier's, kept the club singer from furthering his attempts at opening up Bruce's pubic region for the continuance of any sexual stimulation. Smiling, Javier's hands stop, lay flat on Bruce's torso, then skate around the sides of his torso. "I see you are different than ordinary men?" Javier means, `in general'. "I'm not into quickies," Bruce answers, recalling the lingo used by Matty. During the course of his `education', his new friends mentioned the aspect of `fast hands/fast sex', a man gaining access through his crotch and ass, rather than heart and mind. It's the latter Bruce preferred. "So I can see." Dropping his hands from Bruce's waist, he goes to a table, picks up a pen and rewrites his vital information down. "Here, call me?" Even Javier had to admit to himself Bruce looked like a guy to have some fun with, but found the twenty-eight year old not willing to give himself up to climbing between the sheets. So often had been the case, in Javier's teen years of stardom, going through the motions became a test. For the first time, in a long time a man passed his `quiz'. Still on the offensive side, in the singing star's mind, Bruce had to go through his `final exam'. However, in Javier's estimation, a good feeling already flowed through his veins, thinking Bruce would be passing with flying colors. Unlike other men, he had a good, good feeling about this one. "Thanks," Bruce replied, hitting the card, back and forth, over his other hand. "I'd suggest you fix that?" With his belt buckle undone, the top button the jeans, would be a risky sight, leaving Mr. Pink's. Javier Yacouba still had to face his groupies, stationed at the exit. "And here..." "Hmm?" Walking over to a box, he strummed through the different sizes of tee shirts. "I think a small will do." "No," Bruce replied, "a medium... please." Another glitch in the testing, Javier thought. Very few guys he offered a tee shirt to, turned into `brown-noses', accepting whatever size he pulled out of the promotional box. Purposefully, Javier learned these little tricks, all adding up to the psychological profiling. Bruce scored high in this round. "Medium it is." Tossing the small back, they played catch, Javier catching it, tossing the medium to Bruce's bare chest. "Still a little small," Bruce summed up the medium. "Sexy, though." "I'm not really a sexy guy." "Oh, on the contrary I think you `are' very sexy, Bruce." Walking over to Bruce, he allowed Javier to tuck the tiny remnants of the shirt-tail into his pants. "C'mon. I'll escort you to the door." "Um, what about you?" Looking down at himself, Javier peered, as well as Bruce, at his black briefs, hugging his hips. "Yeah. Sure," Javier took as a hint. Reaching into his closet, he pulled a fresh pair of jeans from the pants hanger. "Looks almost like `mine'." "They are, except for the designer details Claudio added." In two minutes, Javier Yacouba was ready to greet his public, Bruce alongside, with the intentions of showing him out the front door of Mr. Pink's. His dancing boys, like magic, donned street clothes, transforming into his bodyguards. "Nice guys," Bruce complimented. "Nicer without the threads, huh?" "Yes, but I think there is more to a guy than the outward, physical beauty." Nodding his head up and down, Javier figured, with Bruce answering all his questions before being asked, made it credible to skip his `final'! % Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.