Date: Tue, 24 Oct 2006 09:50:48 -0700 (PDT) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: STRIPEs 10 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. % STRIPEs 10 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % "Are you okay, Sean?" "I feel a helluva lot better than last night, but....." As we headed off to school, Mark swung his bod around, in front of me, facing me. His demeanor constituted that of a caring, sensitive lover, out to cheer up his best friend. "But what?" Suddenly a van whizzed by us. He grabbed me, heaving us both over, to the side of the road, onto the shoulder, our bodies slamming into the pebbly roadside. "Whew! That was too close a call," I told him, as we dusted ourselves off. However, Mark had another brilliant idea of the scenario. He looked far ahead, up the road. "Was `no' accident, as I see it." "Oh?" "Yeah. You know who's van it is?" "No. Who's?" Looking up the road, the van seemed on the edge of the earth, as we both gazed up the straight surface, known as Horizon Drive. "Jake Greeley and the rest of those no-do-gooders." "Those leather thugs Rob told us to steer clear of?" "One in the same." "Do you think they were out to get us?" His hand in his backpack, Mark fishes around for something. "Absolutely. Look at it this way, Sean, there's nobody on the road, having a whole two lanes to themselves. No reason why they couldn't have swerved away from us now, is there?" "Right. I see your point." Even now, no vehicles occupied the pavement, stretching from the `dot' where we came from, to the junction, the left turn taking us up Coronado Blvd., to Coronado Beach High School. "So," I interrupted his dialing his cell, "why are you calling Rob?" "What I didn't tell you... the subject never came up, but along with the playtime I have with Rob, comes `protection'." "Protection? From what?" "Guys like Greeley." Being on the coast, Horizon Road running parallel to the shoreline, the cell picked up beautifully. Though, the windy morning, cut down on me hearing Mark converse with him. "We're all set." "And what does that ensue?" "Ensue, Sean?" "Um, I do pay attention, in English class. So? What about Rob?" "Oh yeah. He says `not to worry'. He'll take care of everything. And oh yeah, he says the `party' is off. After he handles `our little problem', he's taking off for school." I know I seemed a bit disappointed. In a way, I had hoped to offer a farewell addressing of Gary's departure, moving off to San Francisco. "Well, I'm kind of relieved, but also not." Peering at me, as if I had two heads, I knew Mark demanded an explanation. Lightening up, I smiled. "I wanted to say goodbye to Gary." Right away, he shoots back with, "Have a last `body-to-body' fling, eh?" "No," I retorted, more sophisticated, "actually a handshake would do." "No hug at least?" "That too." "And?" "A kiss, but that's as far as I would take it, so stop prying!" Looking up and down the beach route, we made our left turn, onto Coronado Blvd. "I bet I can guess the reason why?" As is Mark's habit, his hands around the loops of his backpack, slung over both shoulders, drawing his tee shirt to the sides, tightening it over his teen chest, the tiny nubs of his pecs outlining the upper court, he did a pirouette, positioning his back to the wind, his front facing me, walking backwards. "Oh?" "Aldo Alfieri?" I smiled, became immediately red, as if embarrassed, but really feeling a joy deep within. "Yeah, so?" He rose his right hand, as if getting sworn in, in court. I high-fived him, signifying I `done good'. "You lucked out. That's all." "More than `that's all'. You didn't see when he peeled off his tank top!" "Really, Sean. Again you're thinking only from the cock'n'balls and not the heart'n'mind?" I have to admit. He made me stop and think. Then, looking at his watch, Mark tapped my arm, breaking me out of the thought mode, turning, running up the hill. He yelled back, "C'mon. I'm not intending on spending a Friday afternoon in detention... race ya!" I ran alright, but my mind wasn't fully on whether I'd be late for homeroom or not. % Speeding by, it seemed like one class began, the bell ringing, into the next. I thought it strange, being the second half of the school year, they, the board of ed., wouldn't have let Gary finish out. Then again, I thought or it more a personal choice to him, than a forced exiting by the board. The following school year, my senior year, I would have been taking history with him. My heart had been set on it. However, I didn't let it phase me too much. I swore I wasn't going to let my `teacher-crush' get the best of me. Plus, I was looking forward to spending time with my new love interest. It softened the blow. That is, until I passed by Mr. Martin's classroom. As I gazed in, I caught a glimpse of the `new teach on the block', even if it meant two months, til school's out. `Oh shit!' Worst part, I said it right to Jake Greeley's face. "Watch it dickhead!" Like bouncing on a trampoline, my bod hit him, retracting to my standing position, then fell right on my ass. I'm no pushover either, being five feet, eleven and three-quarters of an inch tall. However, the swimmer's build, keeping fit for the team, made me a bit light-weighted. "Faggot!" Not only that, while down, in the crowded hallway, nobody would detect Jake bringing his foot back, heaving it forward, slightly, not meaning to maim, driving it into my mid-crotch. I saw stars alright. "Oh fuck!" More to hide my un-macho response, I grabbed my balls, trying to hide the dull ache shooting up to the pain center of my brain. I wanted to shout out with misery, but again, my fellow students around, made me stifle any vocal outcry. Only Jake's gang, two on one side, one on the other, could see my predicament. "Get him up," Jake dictated to his henchmen. I rose faster than an elevator. hands under both elbows. "Problem here?" Mists consumed my eyes, an unrehearsed response to Jake's connection with my balls, but I stood fast. "Um.....no," I responded. Quickly, the bastards departed. "Are you okay, young man?" It had been my immediate intentions, wordless, looking at Mr. Martin's substitute, to ask his age. He looked to be younger, but not younger than a college guy. "I'm..." I winced, then swallowed, "fine." He wasn't any dummy, either. Smiling, he looked down, then up at my face. "Well, just to let you know. I wasn't much younger than you, when I got my first `crotch-initiation', entirely by surprise." Then the worst possibly thing happened. He smiled! "I don't want to hold you up. Are you sure you're okay?" Making me smile, I replied, "Yeah. I'll survive." I hustled off to gym. "Late, Mr. Garrison?" If not for the unofficial title of `most valuable swimmer', I wouldn't get away with half the shit I do, in gym class. Like, while the others are out on the field, I'm over in the pool, practicing my dives. Plus, tardiness always gets a verbal warning. "Sorry `bout that Coach Hanson. `Had a little run-in with.... a guy." Not intending to bring up my confrontation, it slipped out. Better the dull ache in my crotch, from Jake's swift kick than the palpitation in my balls, caused by Mr. Martin's replacement! "Oh?" I knew I was in for an interrogation. Coach Hanson always had the perfect ammunition, too. "Nothing to worry about." "Oh?" Then, pounding his finger into my chest, states, "My office." There's a reason he didn't want me to go to my locker. The subject of my tardiness, how much I spewed forth, would constitute whether I'd be changing into my gym shorts, heading out into the heat, or speedo, to take a dive. As I rose, after earning to change into my speedo, Coach Hanson informs me, "Well now, don't you worry about anything." I wasn't. As Mark stated earlier, in his phone call to Rob, everything was copacetic. "I know." "Oh?" Thinking my `interrogation' was over, I was wrong. Well, it could have been, if Coach Hanson didn't pick up on my response to him. "Spill it, Garrison!" he said. He slammed the office door, almost in my face, trapping me inside the little domain, with him. I knew not to lie or brush him off. God forbid he should find out anything otherwise. I didn't wish to spend the rest of my junior year out in the hot sun, when I could be indoors, `swimming'. Biting my lip, I finally told him, "You see, we've got this friend." "We?" "Mark Richman?" I implicated. "Yeah, and?" Coach Hansen always had the habit of rubbing his right hand on his chest. I thought it kind of sexy, even though he planed it over his shirt. I already knew it a fact, from peering through his door, in my freshman year, a hot, muggy day, A/C out, him sitting there at his desk, barechested. My crotch had to be adjusted, peering at the blond, smooth back, a hint of dark blond haired armpits. However, when he got up, turned, his physique rang my teen chimes. A frosting of darker blond hair covered his bold pecs, a stripe dividing his abs, the tight trail, dipping into a dark navel, fuzz emerging. "Yo, Garrison! Are you with me?" "I'm here, Coach Hanson." "So, what's this about you and Richman?" `Oh man oh man oh man,' I thought. I hope this doesn't make Mark and I the `bad guys', where Rob is concerned. "Um, as I was telling you..." I paused, then replied, remaining neutral, "Our `friend' said he would handle it. Not to worry." His hands moved to hips, as if he meant business, demanding, nicely, "And `whom' would that be?" "Um," I tried lubing up my parched lips with my tongue, "why do you have to know?" His tongue rolled around in his mouth. "How would feel playing `jock games', in the hot, sweaty sun for the rest of the school year, Garrison?" Don't get me wrong. I love the summer sun, even if it consumes a majority of the school year. However, I wasn't one for getting sweated up, when I could be dousing my teen bod in a swimming pool. "Rob," I gave out. "Lassiter?" "You know him?" Responding, he said, his hand on the door knob, opening it, "Get into that speedo before the period's over." "Um, okay. Thanks." I walked away, towards my locker. "And Garrison?" "Yes, coach?" "You have nothing to worry about. Believe me!" As I approached my locker, my inquisitive nature got the best of me. I wondered what Coach Hanson knew that I didn't know. My imagination soared, as I dialed the combination, opening it. Peeling off my tee shirt, then diving into deep thought, I revived myself, by trying out a habit of Coach Hanson's. My hand glided over my chest. I can't deny it didn't feel good. I looked down. As if seeing my own chest for the first time, I examinded it, as if analyzing a science experiment. After realizing I was on the verge of my seventeeth milestone of life, I thought, `why shouldn't I have some type of hair on my bod? After all, look at Aldo. Eighteen years old and he looks like a grizzly bear!' Not exactly, but I pictured in my mind my new love interest, lying there on the sand, his golden tan, almost jet black hair starting at his neckline, fanning out over his chest, to just underneath his pecs. Then, the tight, dark stripe down his stomach, digging into his belly indentation, exiting and... we didn't get any further. So, I broke from my reverie. My own hand had slid down my stomach, not even picking up on the very faint, hairy trail, sliding into my jeans, underneath my unbuckled beltline, separating my briefs from my skin. `Oh shit! I got a hardon!' Looking around, the important thing was nobody else occupied the lockerroom. I wasn't in the habit of carrying a watch, but realised the double period had washed away my quality time, with fantasizing. I backed up two gym sessions, opting out of lunch. Hearing the bell, I hustled, dropped my jeans, ditched both them and my briefs in my locker. I wasn't about to be caught, literally with my pants down, by the sweaty gymjocks, returning from outdoors. On the way to the pool, I stepped into my speedo, taking an alternate route, through the weight room, passing by a coupla Freshman working out. "Hey," I called out, waving. They looked kinda cute, but I kept my pace. Getting one hard-on to die out was enough for the period. % "Here!" "Oh thanks. I'm starved." At the last bell, the high school emptied quickly, except for after school activities. Mark didn't eat his apple. "Hey, Sean, what do you think about me joining the Cooking Club?" "What do they do?" Obviously, my mind wasn't on the subject matter. "Um, cooking, dah?" I smiled. "By the way, what did Coach Hanson want?" "The usual. Busting my chops for being late to gym class." "Yeah, right. What did he really want you for?" In his older age, Mark started getting wiser to me, or anybody, who put him off. It probably went along with his high grade average. "That was it... until..." Walking down Coronado Blvd., Mark walked backwards, his attention towards me. What a gift, I thought, the ability to chat and walk backwards, up and down hills. "Give it up." He had me. Come the bottom of the hill, the junction where Coronade Blvd. meets Horizon Drive, if I didn't fess up, my bod would be crashing into his, a prisoner to his will. In a way, this amazed me, my complete thoughts on how Mark became so submissive to Rob, yet could turn his alpha male on and off. "Well.. I accidentally mentioned. No, I didn't accidentally mention it... well it came out..." "Um, Sean, I don't have all day, dah?" On the contrary, at 2:45p.m., rather shortly thereafter, we had the afternoon to ourselves. "Okay, okay... Coach Hanson got it out of me." Not only did Mark have his backpack on, but the afternoon heat had made him strip his tee, after leaving the building. Stashing the sweaty tee in his bookbag, the black straps outlined the sides of his bare bod, going over his shoulders. "By the way, I think you're starting to `fill out'." "Don't try and change the subject. What happened?" On the contrary, I had deviated from the matter, out of pure sense of gazing to Mark's handsome front. However, I wasn't about to go through the next twenty minutes or so of heckling. "Okay. So I spilled to him all about Jake Greeley and what he did to us and..." "And?" Not even close to the bottom of the hill, at the intersection, my body slammed into his barechest. Immediately I felt his body sweat soak into my tee shirt. "I hate when you do that!" "Yeah right. So?" "I didn't get a chance to tell you about Greeley," I replied, backing up the hill a foot. With my index finger and thumb, I clenched my tee shirt, mid-pecs and pulled it out, letting the air whoosh in, aerating the insides. "Aren't you a bunch of news? So? What about Jake?" "I was passing by Gary's room." Suddenly his eyes lit up. As if a totally different person, inside the same features, he reports, "Did you see the stud, taking Martin's place?" "Not only saw, but talked with him in the hallway." "Really? What about?" Interrogating me, drew us back to the matter of the why's. Tight-lipped, I paused. "So, I was checking out Kaestner." "Kaestner? That his name?" "Yeah. He introduced himself, after Jake's thugs scraped me off the floor. Can we get home. I'm thirsty." "No!" Defiantly, Mark took up his stance. I walked. He stood like a rock. "Will you get outta my way?" "No. Tell me what happened." "My own fault. While checking out Kaestner, I didn't see where I was going, but still he didn't have to..." Rather sparing myself the humiliation, I let loose with the whole scene, right up to where I felt up my chest, in the lockerroom. "Now, will you get out of my way?" Instead of him moving, I leapt to the side, walked around him, leaving him facing uphill. "Sean! Sean! Wait!" Again I faced him, as I looked downhill. "Look, I'm thirsty, okay?" "But tell me one thing." "What?" "Did it feel cool?" "Did what feel cool?" Immediately, I thought of feeling up my own bod. "Getting hit in the balls?" "Get outta my way, pervert!" "Sean? Wait! Wait!" I didn't give him the chance, breaking out in a light jog. Pausing at the bottom of Coronado, before turning right onto Horizon Drive, I stopped short. Mark plowed into me, his hands wrapping around me, enclosing me in the prison of arms. "Oh shit!" "I saved you, didn't I?" True, if he didn't throw his arms around me, lean back, I woulda fallen flat on my face. "Yeah, you did. Okay?" "You're welcome!" He started laughing. I wasn't laughing. Instead, something across the junction caught my eye. "What tha?" Still clutching me, Mark almost the same height, stood on his toes, to look over my shoulder. "Hey, isn't that Aldo?" "No, dah. Come on." Looking both ways, we dashed across the road. The other end of Coronado, changed over to Old Beach Turnpike. It's said, of the history of Coronado Beach, in days past, this had been the main tourist route, before they paved two alternates. Pebbles ground beneath our sneakers, as we hightailed it down the descending slope, following the curve of the hill. Soon the rocky pavement turned to sand. Even though Mark yelled to stop, him taking off his sneakers, I kept up the pace. As I reached the shoreline, Aldo sped to the beach, his belly lying on Uncle Sep's surfboard. "You pick up quick," my first words out, had been meant to accuse. His naturally tanned body, doused in seawater was hot, but my mind focused on a nonsexual thought. "I practice." "Liar!" "Whoa, Sean," my best friend said to me. "Butt out!" "Um, catch up with you later." Mark butt out. "So? What's the story Aldo? You told me you don't know how to surf and yet I see you on your board, taking a wave as if you are Dean Miller!" "Okay. I know how to surf." We both stood there. "So?" Another pause. "I pretend. A bad thing to do." It's obvious my eighteen year old love interest didn't know how to frame his thoughts together, to give the whole picture. "So, yesterday, on the beach was a put on, was it?" "Put on?" "In other words, you lied?" "No. I no lie." "But you can surf?" "Yes." "You told me you couldn't surf?" "Yes." "You kissed me." "Yes." "You didn't feel anything?" "Yes." I sensed he wanted to make himself clear, so reiterated, "I mean no...I did feel something." I can be forgiving. My hopes, hinged on all the right answers. I drew a sign of relief. "Did you?" Aldo posed the same to me. "I think." "It okay. No matter. We meet only one time. Maybe we need more?" By now, Aldo's skin had dried. Only his pecs, covered with black hair, remained semi-wet, as well as his head of hair. Giving in, I cracked a smile, saying, "I'd like that." Aldo went on further, as we walked back to almost the same spot as yesterday, where I learned how to French kiss. He explained, as best he could, his lack of social activity, when it came to gay sex. Even meeting with a guy, kissing, had been a foreign idea. "So, have you ever been with a....." "No!" He quickly responded. He sped to the punchline, before I even popped the question of making it with the opposite sex. I smiled. He posed the same question to me. "Nah. In fact, the only other guy I've made it with, is..." I mention Mark, almost revealing my other deep, hidden secret. I was expecting him to pop the question, regarding anal sex, but he didn't, like it wasn't important. "I'm thirsty. Do you want to walk up to the milk bar?" "Yup," he simply replied. As we walked, him with his surfboard tucked under his arm, his tank top hanging out the back of his swimsuit, we chatted. "So, how is it you got down to the beach so quick and hiked up on the waves?" "You not tell on me?" I smiled. "I'm not a rat." I had to explain the `rat' routine. He laughed. "Everyday I leave school last period." "Study Hall?" "No. Italian class." I laughed. "Already know the lingo, eh?" "Yes, but also...." He smiled. "What?" "Mr. Viani say I can leave." "Hmm... and what do you have to give in return?" "He not gay. He married." I hadn't asked that, but something of that nature surfaced in my mind, but I detected some truth to my insinuation. "So?" Setting his board upright, we stood on each side, Aldo bringing the conversation down to a soft pitch. "I think Mr. Viani like us, some. He ask me to.... I get to school early. He want to suck my cock." I grinned. "Not every day," Aldo informed me. I wanted to know more. I didn't have to ask, as Aldo rolled out the facts. "It start when I first come. Mr. Viani tell me, after class, that I speak Italian very well." "No doubt." Brushing my reaction aside, Aldo continues, "Then he tell me he see me surf." I gave him a smirk. "I tell you already `I sorry'?" I grinned, giggling. "We're beyond that, okay?" I assured him. "That good because I really like you." Cute the way he mentioned it. Somehow, I sensed some truth in his feelings. How would I know much, only knowing one guy and for sure, Mark wasn't any smarter at a relationship with a man, than myself. However, along with approaching seventeen, I sensed my intelligence soared, in the field of interpetating thoughts and desires. "Let's see what happens." "That good enough for me," Aldo was quick to retort. "So, what about Viani?" "I say to him I don't get enough practice. I tell him sun go down quick, after I do homework. He say to me I can leave class after I tell him I'm `here'." "So, you check in?" "He check me in book." "Then you hightail it down to the beach?" "After I get board from Uncle Sep." "Nice arrangement." Not that I personally had to have every detail, but my teen balls wanted some nitty gritty detailing. "So, how many times has he sucked you off?" He had some kind of keen perception himself, as he looks down to my crotch. My jeans, spoke, with `intent'. "We get drink first, then talk?" `Wow! I just realized I was thirsty!' I wasn't the only one with a `full pocket'. Aldo insisted on buying, so I put in my order. Instead of walking back, from the way we came, we traisped off, in the opposite direction, away from Mark's house. "Aldo, you mentioned Viani sucked you off?" "Yes. You want to hear more?" His eyes dashed to my crotch. However, I wasn't thinking in that direction. "Um, no," I replied, taking a drag on my straw, supping up the cool, frosty coconut drink. "I actually wanted to clear something up." Waiting for any response, I figured would buy me some time, to figure out how I was going to communicate my next idea. "It about me and you?" "Yes and I don't know how to put it." Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, "Just come out and say it?" "Well, you mentioned Viani gave you a blow job?" "I say that," he didn't refute it. "Well," I hesitated, "I wanted to tell you that... and I hope it doesn't make a difference.. but if it does, I understand..." What a patient guy. "I... I don't suck cock." "That make no difference with me. I like to get sucked, but I like to suck too!" All this blow job talk, I hadn't realized the change. >From the natural sand, big boulders and crags of fissues, along the stretch, separating the hillside from beach, all had transformed. "What's all this?" Last time I had ventured down this way, I had been thirteen. "C'mon. We go to Uncle Sep's." My mind on every detail, I focused more to my left, the hilly area, than the breaking waves against the shoreline. The area, as I recalled, hadn't been neatly manicured with timbers and odd-shaped trees, ones you would see in a Japanese garden. I choked, sucking up the last of my coconut frosty, inhaling air as well, when I saw the only beach home in immediate sight. % Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.