Date: Sun, 29 Jul 2007 17:00:32 -0700 (PDT) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: Natures Trail 14 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's Trail" 14 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % "Okay, how do we do this?" Mark asked Coach McMillan about shaving Tony's chest. "Like coach said, it's just like shaving your face," Tony replied. "If you say so," Denis says, holding the can of shaving cream of a bag of plastic razors, following Tony into the shower area of the lockerroom. Tony stands at the towel table, a long, metal slab that looks like it was stolen from a hospital setting. Clearing it off, he says, "Okay. Now for the hard part." Denis was already feeling pangs in his swimsuit, utilizing Tony's words, to apply to his own condition forming in his crotch. What made matters worse, Tony put his thumbs under the elastic of his swimsuit and started peeling them down. "Whoa! Wait!" "What?" Tony questioned Denis, stopping the descent. "Why do you have to take off your swimsuit, Tony?" "Makes it easier to shower off, or else the shaving cream gets on my suit." "Oh," is all Denis said, his eyes watching Tony peel. "Y'know, you should take your suit off too." "Me? Why?" Denis "It's the way it's done." Standing there, Denis didn't get what Tony was talking about. Tony could see that. "Whenever we have a shaving party, all us guys strip." "Shaving party?" Denis questions. "Sure. At the beginning of the season. We all come back from summer break and need a shave." "What about the new guys?" "Yeah, I have to admit they feel a little weird about it, but they get used to it. After all, it's one of the clauses in the contract we make with coach, at the beginning." "And the new guys know this before they join the team?" "Nah. Some of the idiots don't bother reading it through before they sign. They follow the other guys who are signing it in front of them, thinking if it wasn't kosher, they wouldn't be signing it. Good thing you and your brother know, before signing your agreement next fall." "Yeah. Thanks, but it doesn't bother me. I don't really have any hair on my body." Tony begs to differ, looking at Denis' slight treasure trail. Stripping off his suit, he says, "I bet that grows in before the fall!" "What?" "Your treasure trail." Looking down, Denis' fingertip grazes over the thin, blond line, as if stroking the back of a caterpillar. "How can this little bit matter? It's not going to like slow me down or anything." "Hey, I don't make the rules, Denis. When Coach Hollister says to shave from shoulder to the beltline, we don't argue." Looking down, skimming over his bod, a hand feeling up his own chest and stomach, Tony says, "looks like I need a full body shave." Denis gulps, peering at Tony's lower half, eight inch cock, surrounded by dark fuzz. "Not down there?" Denis says, reluctantly. "My swimsuit rides low. Some of it," Tony says. "Wait! Where are you going?" "To the shower. The hot water softens up my skin. Want to come?" "Nah. I'll wait here for you." Choosing the closet jet atteched to the wall, Tony messes with the controls, evening out the hot and cold. From a soap dish, he takes a bar of soap and lathers up his whole bod. From a distance, Denis enjoys the view of Tony's ass, covered in suds. Then as the water rains down on Tony's head, it streams down his wide back, washing it all away, his skin still remains slick and shiny. Breaking off the stare, the water suddenly gets shut off. "All ready," Tony says, his bod dripping wet, as he walks over to the waiting table, hopping up on it. After sitting, he lays down. "Oh man... it's cold-cold-cold!" Before Denis even thinks about getting started, he looks down, making sure his bod, from navel down, is hidden under the rim of the table. "Hey, you didn't take off `your' swimsuit, Denis!" "I'll take my chances of getting shaving cream on it. Now what do I do?" Tony instructs him, "Spray a gob out on your hand, then pat it onto my chest." Doing as instructed, Denis depressed the tab, causing more than enough cream to billow out onto his palm. "Too much, I think." "Nah. Just keep spreading it around." Inverting his hand, the eighteen year old slobbered up Tony's chest, starting from right under his chin. In no time, his pecs were white-covered. "Good," Tony told him, "except brush some away, with your finger, from my nips." "Your nips?" "Yeah, you don't want to go over them with the razor." "I can see where they are." "Just the same, Denis, I'd feel more comfortable if they were in plain sight." "Okay. No sweat." Other than Mark's nips, Denis had never touched another man's pecs, let alone the peaks of white adorning Tony's chest. With an index finger, he zeroed in on the right pec, easily scooping up some residue from the right nip. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Tony's cock twitch. With haste he did the other side. "Felt kinda good." "What?" Denis asked. "Um, I got sensitive nips. That's all," Tony shrugged off. What Denis perceived as no big deal, shaving Tony, now he thought twice about doing it. Now all he wanted to do is break open the pack of razors and get the job accomplished. "I have to level with you Tony. I'm nervous." "Of what? Those cheap razors wouldn't hurt a flea. They aren't really sharp enough to nick a guy. You know Juan Ibarra?" "Yeah, I remember him? A senior, right?" "Yeah. He's got a lot of hair on his chest and this hot.. I mean a thick trail down his stomach." "But he's smooth," Denis had observed. "Yeah, because he keeps up to date on his shaving, but during the off season he's a real `bear'!" As Tony chatted about this and that, Denis glided the razor over his chest. The work went along with ease and soon he had finished with the chest. "You might as well do my stomach and here, too," Tony pointed out the distance between his navel and pubes. "Um, Coach McMillan said just your chest." "Yeah, but if I walk out there and he compares my chest to my stomach, he'll notice." Speaking of noticing, Denis was surprised Tony hadn't said anything about his cock, even though bent over, his stalk was hard. "What the hell," Denis said, forming a puff of shaving cream on his palm, then distributing it evenly over Tony's stomach. "Don't forget my innie!" With two fingers, he lathered up Tony's treasure trail. "And a little of my pubes." "Little? Like how much?" "It's hard to tell. I'd say half way to my cock." Carefully, Denis spread foam along a straight line, estimating where the top of Tony's swimsuit came to. Doing his stomach was no problem, but Tony was real picky about the treasure trail. "Make sure you get all of it. Seems like it starts in my navel and just flows out." "Yeah. Whatever," Denis said, as he first scraped the little bit of hair from below his navel, them tried to stick one end of the razor inside his navel, shaving it even if he couldn't make out any hair. Then the time came for his pubes. "Don't you think you could do this part yourself, Tony?" "I dunno, Denis. One time I tried shaving my own pubes. It's a struggle. You don't really mind, do you?" Shoving his hips against the table, Denis' navel was against the edge, making sure his priority was to hide what was underneath the steel table. "Whatever," Denis said, tackling the fine coating of pubic hair. Twice, he counted, he accidentally brushed by Tony's cock, but Tony said nothing. Finally, Denis said, "There. Done." "Great!" Tony replied. "But don't go anywhere. After I shower, there might be a touch up. Sitting up on the side of the table, Tony leapt off, pushing the table behind him. Turning around, he asked, "You okay, Denis?" "I'm fine," he replied in a solemn tone. As Denis blushed, his blond features seemed lighter than his skin, as Tony beheld the tented swimsuit. "That?" Tony said of Denis' covered erection. "Don't worry about it. All the guys get an erection when we're shaving." "Really?" Denis replied. "Sure. Most of the guys wind up jacking off. Happens. Well, I'll shower off and be right back." Tony reported back to the same shower. It's then Denis noticed bits of shaving cream on his torso, plus quite a bit clinging under each arm. First, he tried wiping it away with his hand, which only made it spread around more. Spying a towel, he grabbed it and wiped. Still, his skin felt uncomfortable. He thought, whatever's left will come off in the pool. "Ready for inspection!" Giving Tony the once-over-quickly, Denis says, "You look good." "No.. no, please. Look closer, Denis. If coach finds one little blade of hair on my bod, we'll only have to come back." "What the hell," he said. "Come out to the light." "Here, I'll lay down again." When Tony lay down on the table, he parked his hands behind his head, flaunting his dark, hairy pits. What Denis didn't know is, while Tony was in the shower, he had stroked his cock, making it hard-to-the-max. No wonder it pointed to the ceiling! % "Right on time!" Christian, hustling from the car to the cafe, dodged in the front door, to what he perceived as five minutes late. "Really?" he asked. "Yup, but wouldn't matter anyway. C'mon, I want to show you the new diningroom." "They're finished?" "Almost." "But what about the coffee? Eggs? Toast?" "We're staying closed today." "Closed? But don't you need the business, Michael?" "People have been staying away." Then Michael laughed, explaining a complaint from a longtime friend that, yesterday, his coffee tasted like it had sawdust in it! Cowered in the pocket of his arm, Michael led Christian into the other portion of the cafe, asking, "Well, what do you think?" "I think the workmen must've worked their tails off to get all this done in just two weeks!" Stepping away from Michael, he felt up the shine of the new tables, pulling a new chair out from underneath, trying it out. "When did you get these? They weren't here yesterday." "Last night. After you left. A truck delivered them. Kevin and I spent a good part of the night arranging the room." "What did you do with the old tables and chairs?" "Donated them to the college. Seems like the student lounge needed an upgrade and our tables looked better than theirs. It'll make a nice tax writeoff!" Gazing around, looking upwards, downwards, everything looked brand-spanking new. Suddenly the little jingling bell on the door, to alert them someone was entering the cafe, sounded. "That must be him!" Michael said, racing out of the refurbished diningroom. "Him? Who?" Christian asked, slowly getting up from his seat. Before he could get to the door, two figures stood in the archway dividing the two rooms. He knew Michael's silhouette by heart, but the other guy who stood with him, he didn't recognize. "This here is our new chef, Adrian Perreault. Adrian, meet our restaurant manager, Christian Houtenjik." "Nice to meet you, Adrian," Christian offered, along with his hand. Seeming to remain in Adrian's hand longer than necessary, Christian coughed, "Ahem," then looked down at where they made contact. "Oh, I'm so sorry," Adrian said. In a way, Christian wasn't at all perturbed. In reality, he was probably checking out Adrian, as much as Adrian was checking him out. "You are Dutch?" Adrian asked, with a little French accent. "My parents are from Holland. I was born here in the United States, but they moved back there," Christian divulged a bit of his personal history. "I see. Well, it is good to know you," Adrian said. Then, standing there, the conversation died, each of them looking at the other, smiling. Michael had strayed back into the cafe, hearing the phone ring. "Um, you look a lot younger than what I figured you would be," Christian ventured to say. "Michael told you my age?" "Um, no, but I thought from your experience, master chef at a fancy LA restaurant, I figured maybe you would be older." "I am twenty-six. And you?" "Twenty-three," Christian responded, with a smile. "So, you are still in college?" "Um, no. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you it sometime," Christian replied. "I think maybe I would be interested in hearing it." "Sure," rubbing his palms together, he said. Then, even though Adrian was a total stranger, Christian says, "Um, my boyfriend and I will have to have you over for dinner sometime." "Boyfriend? You are coupled?" "I guess you might say that." "But also," Adrian asks, being cautious, "you are out? You are not afraid people are listening to you?" "Are you talking about being gay and out?" "I suppose that is what I am saying," Adrian confessed. "Are you gay?" Christian asks. Checking behind himself, he returns his attention to Christian. With his own opinion taken for granted, Christian assumes, "You're not out, are you Adrian?" Nervously looking back into the cafe, Adrian replies, "It will be our secret?" "Let me clue you in to a little secret, Adrian," Christian says, smiling, walking towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Michael?" "Yes?" "He's gay." "Your partner?" Adrian replies, shocked. "No," Christian giggles, setting the record straight, "Michael's partner's name is Kevin. He's at work right now. You'll meet him later, probably." "Oh, so that is why you don't mind speaking about yourself out loud?" Christian fills him in, "Let me tell you something. I don't go around broadcasting I'm gay, but you will find our community very open to the LGBT community. We don't go around pretending, plus this area seems to have a fairly large gay population. Most of the gays I know are out." "Still, I would like to keep it secret?" "Fine with me, Adrian. It's not for me to say. You come out when you feel it's right for you." "Thank you. I appreciate it, Christian." "Well things have a way of working themselves out, I suppose!" Eyes on Michael, walking into the new diningroom, neither had the faintest idea of what he was talking about. "What was that, Michael?" Christian asked. "That was Angela De Ferrari on the phone." "Who?" "The other chef I had hopes of hiring, form New York City." "Had?" "Yeah, she backed out. Got hoodwinked by another restaurant," Michael said, but didn't look shaken over it. "So what are we going to do, Michael? I thought you were planning on a grand reopening next weekend?" "Calm yourself," Michael said, putting up his hand like a stop sign. "It so happend Angela's brother, Mario, straight out of cooking school, is up for employment, so I hired him." "Hired him? Do you know anything about him?" Christian asked. "Not much. It'll be his first job at a restaurant, but going on Angela's raves, I told her I'd be willing to hire him on a trial basis." "Whew! That's good." Michael smiled, thinking of how Christian was sinking into his position as manager, taking a vested interest a different aspect of the restaurant business, other than flipping burgers. It made him think he did right in appointing him manager, overseeing things when he couldn't be around. "Oh, I wanted to tell you something...." "Who me?" Christian and Adrian said at the same time. "Both of ya's. I had human resources, at WRCC, put up an advertisement on the bulletin board, regarding employment." "Very good move," Adrian said, adding, "When I was in cooking school, I waited tables. It is also a good way for college students to earn money. If they are a caring waiter, they will earn good tips." By explaining something, both Michael and Christian started on their education, regarding Adrian's background, beyond his professional experience. Paying more attention to Adrian, Christian noticed how the thin fabric of his white shirt showed he wasn't wearing an undershirt. Right through it, he could pick out the two dark spots of his pecs, a line down his stomach, the pull of the fabric where his navel was situated above his beltline. At the same moment, he felt a twitch under his zipper. % "Aren't you boys interested in swimming?" Looking up, the seven squirts looked at one of the swimmers, hands on his hips, still dripping wet. "Hi," Callan said, getting up, offering his hand, "I'm Callan O'Meara." "Nice to meet you. Matt Drijver here. Listen, I don't have a class right now, if you want me to show the guys some swimming tips?" So, the kids followed the wet footprints over to the shallow end of the pool, Callan bringing up the rear. As Matt moved, Callan watched every muscle in his back twitching to his walk. Suddenly stopping, turning around, the leader, Aidan, plowed right into Matt's stomach. "Hey, are you alright there, buddy?" Matt asked him. "Wow! How did you get such a hard stomach?" Aidan asked him. Matt started to talk about fitness, hitting the gym most days of the week, lifting weights, crosstraining with swimming and biking. One thing led to another and soon each of the boys wanted to feel Matt's taut abs. Making his abs more pronounced, Matt flexed with his hands behind his head, doing a triceps stretch. "Awesome!" Philip said. "Someday I want to have abs like yours, Matt!" He smiled, remembering being fourteen and saying the same thing about a high school guy. Right away it brought a name to the surface; Brad Donahue. For now, he didn't have time to relive his thoughts, being torn away from his reverie by the kids. "Can you show us how we can get abs like yours, Matt?" Seth asks. "Like I said, it takes a lot of work, but sure. I can show you guys some moves. Run back and get your towels and bring them over here." The seven charged around the corner of the pool, whipped their beach towels off of the cement floor and hustled back. "You sure have them charged up," Callan told Matt. "Oh yeah?" Then the nineteen year old asks, "How about yourself?" Callan looks in the direction Matt stares, not knowing what to say, so he lies, telling him, "Um, I guess I've got to go to the jon. Can you handle them for a minute?" "Sure. Go ahead." Then, as if reading Callan's mind, "Have a good jerk off!" Checking before he left the kids alone, Callan wanted to make sure Matt's voice hadn't carried. In one respect, yeah, Callan felt kind of horny, but in another way, he was annoyed at Matt for being so vocal about his tenting swimsuit, especially so near the young guys. Entering one of the stalls, he wanted to piss, but his cock wasn't getting that type of signal. He knew Matt was right and the only way he could get rid of his erection, was to fire it's load into the toilet by stroking it. But he tried one last idea before resorting to the pleasureable means. He tried `willing it' down. "Be calm," he whispered to himself. No matter how he tried switching his thoughts, pictures of Matt kept creeping back in, the smooth back, all it's muscles working in conjunction with each other, the taut abs, tight pecs and an area the squirts weren't thinking about, below the belt. "Shit!" he exclaimed, in frustration. Knowing he had to report back soon, Callan slid his swimsuit down, forming his hand around his shaft. Leaning against the side of the stall, he slid his hand up and down his rod. Not all the way there, he suddenly stopped when he heard a male voice, singing. With a look of surprise on his face, he stood silent, listening. Soon he heard water pounding the tiles, streams of water soon forming, running under the wall separating him from the guy showering. Strange thing, he thought he knew the tune, but couldn't make out the words, since the song was being sung in spanish. It was only a temporary thought, as he stood there, still holding his loaded pistol. The singing stopped. A hand appeared, slowly opening the stall door, a guy asking, "Need help with that.... oh sorry, mister. I thought you were one of the guys!" However, the dripping wet swim jock stood there, hand still holding the spring-loaded door open, eyes keenly focused on Callan's pubes. "I'll just pull up my suit and..." With hands on the sides of his swimsuit, Callan slowly pulled it up. Only one thing, it wouldn't go over his hard shaft. Another problem arose for him. The frat-jock had stepped forward, grabbing at the middle of his swimsuit, saying, "I'd really like to have that!" "What the fuck you talking about, buster?" Callan said, out of surprise, a twang of anger in his voice. Hand partially inside Callan's swimsuit, his knuckles rubbed up against his hairy balls, the jock said, "Y'know, I could tell coach you asked me in here?" "Listen, kid. I don't know what you're trying to pull, but if you don't get your fuckin' hand off me...." "Coach!" the guy yelled out. "What the fuck you doing?" Shrugging, he said, "It's okay. I don't think he heard me with the water running, but I could yell louder. Just think of what it would look like. A college jock and a grown man together in a lockerroom jon, standing here, your cock as hard as a rock and me naked!" "What are you trying to pull?" "Nothing. All I want to do is suck you off mister. Now how `bout it?" Callan wasn't sure what to do. He had already stayed way past his time, away from the pool, the kids. He wondered how his word `would' stand up against the kid. Already, Matt Drijver had snagged him, checking him out, getting an erection over his frat bod. He knew it would be wrong letting this guy suck him off, but then again, what would be the outcome if the guy made up lies to suit his own satisfaction. Then, his mind began to quickly wander, thinking of the repercussions, rippling throughout the community, of Alonzo, the impact it would have on the kids. Most of all he thought how careless, how stupid of him to enter the stall and forget to lock the door! % Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.