Date: Thu, 23 Aug 2007 07:56:27 -0700 (PDT) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: Natures Trail 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, 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" 22 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % "Oh shit! Is that clock right?" Tony asks, looking at the clock on the wall. Realizing what he said and Denis' dad still in their presence, he says, "Oops, sorry about that Mr. Clark." "No problem. I work in a school. I've heard a lot worse Tony. And by the way, the last name is Barr. Barry Barr." "Oh. Sorry. Denis mentioned he has two dads, I just assumed.. never mind," Tony said, then rousting the team from the room, "Time to hit the road guys." The second to last to duck out of the room, Barry says to Tony, "Thanks for bringing the team to see Denis. It's made a world of a difference for him. Just the shot in the arm he needed." "Can I ask you something kind of personal Mr. Barr?" "Personal?" "It's more about Denis." "I suppose." "I'm kind of embarrassed to ask, but is Denis like seeing anybody?" Tony timidly inquired. "You mean a boyfriend?" "Yeah." "Listen Tony. You seem like a nice guy, but right now Denis is having some problems. I don't think he needs to get involved with anyone right now." "Oh," Tony's upbeat disposition sank. Sensing it, like the loss of a dear friend, Barry rethought his comments, saying, "Why don't I give you `my' cell number? Give Denis a week to readjust and call me. We can take it from there." "Thanks, Mr. Barr. Um, you don't think Denis will be back to swimming soon?" "Frankly Tony, he could be out for the rest of the school year." "I don't get it," Tony said, a sadness filling his whole outlook. "Call me in a week, Tony and thanks for bringing the guys." "Okay, Mr. Barr." Then, to make a little joke, Tony says, "I hope my hair doesn't grow back too fast!" % Slamming the door to his office, it's a wonder the glass didn't shatter, as Riley tore out of there, cursing, "Dammit!" Out in the lobby, he asked, "Hey Sarge, did you see a kid run through here?" "Kid? How old?" "College age." "Got more to go by?" "Latino, light cocoa complexion, about five feet, ten, hundred and seventy pounds?" "Matter of fact, yes. He left about two minutes ago. I remember. He asked me the direction of the bus stop." "Terrific," Riley said, dashing out the front door. Scanning the immediate area turned up zilch, so he ran down the steps, through the chainlink opening and hopped into his patrol car. Heading towards the bus station, he was ten car lengths away, when he saw a figure get on the bus, dressed in a red and blue hoodie, same color as the WRCC swim team. Traffic at a standstill, Riley turned on his flashing lights and blurted out the siren, like the pulse option on a blender. The bus took off, alleviating the traffic. Pulling ahead of the remaining cars, he got behind the bus. Moving to the side of the road, the driver was thinking he would let the squad car pass. Sticking his hand out of the window, Riley motioned for the bus to stop, as he slowed down to a snail's pace. Out of his car, he approached the bus, recognizing the driver as one of his high school buds. "Hey Riley. Long time, no see." With a stern look on his face, Riley left the greeting to, "Hey Eric," then proceeded to hike up the steps, standing at the front, eyeing up the passengers. "Who are looking for?" "Latino who just boarded." With his thumb pointed over his shoulder, Eric says, "Try all the way to the back." Passengers watched Riley, as he checked every empty seat. Sure enough, second to the last seat, on the right, Juan sat there, scrunched down, compact. "So?" Riley said to him, crossing his arms about his chest, leaning his ass on the seat behind him. "Please.... just let me leave...." It's been a long time since he's seen any young guy so scared, desperate enough to beg. Walking to the front of the bus, Riley said to the driver, "Don't leave yet Eric." "Problem?" "Maybe. Don't let the kid leave the bus. Be right back." Reporting to the squad car, instead of using the police equipment, he whipped out his cell phone, dialing a preset number. "Josh? I know you've been looking all over the place for me and the kid.... put Callan on." Waiting, Riley drummed an unknown rhythm on his steering wheel with his fingers. "Callan... yeah, it's me... I've got the kid. I need for you to do me a favor..." On the other end, Callan replied, `anything'. "I want you to drop the charges.... yeah... no, trust me.. the kid isn't going to give you any trouble... no, I'm sure he didn't mention it to anyone... okay... thanks." Boarding the bus for the second time, Riley hurried to the back, telling Juan, "C'mon, get up." "I'm not going to jail." "No, you're not. The charges against you have been dropped." "What? But I...." "I can't let you leave town." "You just said the charges have been dropped. I'm free to go." "Do you want to go? Do you want to give up what you earned at college? Give up on the swim team?" Reaching out his hand, Riley tried one last time to be nice about it, "C'mon Juan." With reluctance, he lifted his hand, placing it in Riley's palm. Gently, Riley helped him up. Marching Juan down the aisle, in front of him, he held the college jock by the shoulders. "Thanks, Eric." "No problem, Riley." As soon as they hit the dirt, Juan takes off, running up the shoulder of the road. Being athletic, he was fast, but Riley worked out, ran everyday, so he didn't allow Juan to out-distance him. Catching up, he threw his arms around Juan, engulfing his arms and chest in a prison. There was a struggle, Juan desperately seeking release. Being a few inches taller and with great strength, Riley was able to let the jock squirm around until he gave up. It's like he gave up on life itself, turning to jelly in Riley's arms. "I'm doing this for your own good," Riley says, reaching behind his back, like he's done hundreds of times, releasing the cuffs from it's little pouch, bringing them forwards, while still one arm is affixed around his chest. In no time he has the latino bound with his hands behind his back. "You lied to me," Juan said as they road back to town. A quick glance to his right, Riley says, "I don't usually transport criminals in the front seat!" "You said I wasn't going to jail. `Said the charges were dropped." "I gave you a chance and you ran." "So, what are you going to do with me?" "I'll let you know when we get back to the station." Parking in the lot, Riley reached across the vehicle, saying, "Turn around." With Juan's back toward Riley, he keyed the cuffs, releasing the nineteen year old. "Aren't you afraid I'm going to run?" "I caught up with you once. I could do it again, with no sweat." Instead of using the front door, Riley escorted Juan in through a side entrance, bypassing the front desk. Opening his office door, he invited Juan to take a seat. Straight ahead, he saw a long ream of paper cascading from his fax machine. He tore it off, scanning through it. "Oh now, this is very interesting," Riley said, pinging a part of Juan's college records with his finger. "What's that?" "You claimed you were from New Mexico?" "That's right." Rubbing his five o'clock shadow, Riley tells him, "Then how come on your college application you say you're from Bedminster, New Jersey?" His mouth dropping open, Juan's thigh kicked in, a nervous reaction following as if his muscles were tense. "It's... it's gotta be a mistake. You have the wrong student." "You are Juan Carlos Ibarra?" "Yeah. That's me." "Then we have the correct information here. The only mistake, as I can see it is you lying to me." His head dropping to his chest, Juan says, "Why can't you just leave me alone?" Crumbling up the report, tossing it in his garbage pail, Riley said, "Let's get outta here." As Riley held the door, Juan sat there looking up at him. Slowly he rose from the chair, walking past Riley, as he closed the door behind them. "Hang a right," Riley told him. They exited the same door they entered through, walked the same path to the patrol car depot. "Which one?" Juan asked, all of the cars looking exactly alike. "This way," Riley said, coaxing Juan along by taking his arm. When they were situated in the police vehicle, Juan asked, "Where are we going?" "To life's sanctuary." % "Do you smell that?" Standing in the middle of the remodeled diningroom, Michael sniffs at the air. "If I'm not mistaken, it smells like fresh-baked bread." "I thought Adrian left?" Kevin says. "Apparently not." Upon checking the kitchen, it was deserted, but the same aroma lingered in the air. "Where do you think it's coming from, Michael?" Kevin asked. Snapping his fingers, Michael states, "I bet I know!" "Where are we going?" Kevin followed Michael, leaving the cafe, the little jingle on the door sounding. Walking the facade of the cafe and restaurant, they come face to face with the building next door, all glass in the front. "Here's the culprit I betcha!" Michael says. "Dean's Bakery?" "Right. I didn't think they were in business yet. C'mon. Let's do some spying!" Kevin giggled as Michael tried the door, expecting it to open, but instead hit his head on it. "That's using your head!" Kevin kidded him. "Yeah, thanks. I'll probably have a red mark there til hell freezes over!" Looking in, from outside, they see a figure approach. Unlocking the door, the guy says, "Hi. Sorry, but we're not open until tomorrow morning." "I'm Michael Byrd, owner of the cafe and restaurant next door." "Oh really? Then come in." Kevin was all eyes, looking the place over, as the guy yells towards the back of the store, "Nicholas, come out and meet our new neighbors!" Standing there, eyes focusing on the guy stepping out from the back, Kevin thought `wow!' "This is my partner, Nicholas Achille." "And you are?" Michael asks. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I introduced myself. Dean Solari." The names rode right over Kevin's head, as he stood there, dumbfounded, still taking in the sights of the Greek god, standing there at six feet tall, a baker's cap making him look skyhigh-taller. "This is `my partner', Kevin Spangler. Yo, Kevin," Michael said, calling his attention, as he slammed his elbow into his ribs. "Oh yeah.. um, I'm Kevin Spangler," Kevin said, offering a handshake, along with a wide smile. "So, you're partners, too?" Dean asks. "Um, Kevin sells produce. He's a distributor. Has his own business." Then outs them, saying, "We're partners, as in a relationship." Nicholas admits, "We're partners in both our professional and personal lives." Being affectionate, Nicholas cuddles Dean in one of his arms. "Well, we smelled the aroma of baking bread and thought we'd track down where it was coming from." "Oh, I'm sorry," Dean says, "the realtor guaranteed a buffer zone, between establishments, would contain any aromas." "No matter," Michael assures him, "it's a very attractive aroma. I bet the patrons will love it!" While Michael and Dean chat, Nicholas offers to show Kevin around the back. At first, Nicholas instructs on where the product is mixed, shows off the ovens, then turns to the closet where flour and other ingredients are kept. While inside, Nicholas says, "I see how you stare at me." "What was that, Nick?" Kevin says, as if not hearing correctly. "It sounds sexy when you say my name, Kevin!" Kevin gulped. Before he could rebound with a reply, Nicholas had both hands on Kevin's shoulders, his head cocked, lips puckered, ready to kiss his. "Um, wait a minute," Kevin dodges the kiss, "we hardly know each other." "But you seem so... compassionate." "Um, what about your partner? My partner?" Nicholas replies, with a grin, "Maybe we all get together and make love orgy?" Kevin coughed like he had a feather tickling his throat. Slipping past Nicholas, heading for the door, he exits, saying, "Let me talk to Michael and get back to you on that, okay?" He zooms out of there, into the bakery sales area. Walking right up to Michael, Kevin says, "We have to go. I think I left something in the oven." Excusing themselves, Michael bids his farewell, telling Dean, "Say goodbye to Nicholas for us." "Will do," Dean says, locking the door behind him. Back at Birdy's Michael asks, "Something in the oven? What's up with that?" "Nicholas Achille. He's a sex maniac!" "Whoa. Calm down Kevin. What's this all about?" Going through the whole story, which took all of three minutes, Kevin spells it out to his lover. "I'm sure he was kidding," Michael assures Kevin. "No way. He grabbed me and tried to kiss me." "Hmm.. maybe he was just trying to give you a friendly greeting. Europeans are like that." "No way. He went for my lips, not for my cheeks!" "Well, I wouldn't think anything of it. Just forget about it." Then Kevin hit him with the punchline, saying, "Nick asked if me, you, him and Dean could get together for a," saying it with a Greek accent, "`love orgy'!" "A what?" Michael asked, startled. "An orgy. The four of us." Michael was silent, uttering, "Hmm..." "Don't tell me you're thinking about it!" Kevin panicked. "Wouldn't be the first time I experienced more than one-on-one sex." "You're shitting me!" Kevin replied, his mouth gaping open. "High school stuff. Spring break. You know, you get eight or ten guys in a room, drink up, start doing stuff they don't talk about in textbooks." "You never told me." "It never came up," Michael replied, grabbing a beer out of the fridge, twisting a cap off for Kevin. "Wow! I thought I was bad for thinking about it!" "Oh, so you thought of taking Nicholas up on his offer?" "No.. no.. no, I meant thinking about it when I was younger," Kevin covered himself. "Well, it's old news. I wasn't serious about any guy then... What's the matter?" "Nothing. Let's just go to bed." "It's only three o'clock in the afternoon, Kevin!" % Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.