Date: Wed, 20 Sep 2006 15:39:18 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: STRIPES 04

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is
entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to
accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or
governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If
sexual scenes, involving male-to-male relationships
offends you, then you ought not read this story, by
law. Check with your local laws, regarding such.
Sexual safety matters. This is fiction. In the real
world, use protection, during sexual encounters.

"Stripes"04


wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

As we said our farewells, Mark promised he would call
tomorrow. His dad's cousin invited them back to their
house, so Mark and his little brother, Wayne, piled
into the car. I had hoped Mark's dad would let him
come back to our house, but that wasn't to be.
"Here son. Put this on."

"What about mom?"

"I'll be okay dear."
Lately I've felt like they have been being treated
like a baby. Then again, I loved my mom dearly. When I
told my folks, this past spring, about my lean towards
guys, it was mom who gave me the confidence that
things wouldn't change. Dad had little problem with me
being gay, but mom was a real trooper, surrounding me
with her arms, hugging me like she always did.

"But you can't swim... what if..."

She assured me that the hundreds of times they have
crossed the bay, nothing has ever happened.  Her
strong will seemed to make it so. However, none of us
would be able to control the evening weather. All it
took is fifteen minutes, to cross the bay.

"Damn wind," I heard dad remark, as he had to heave on
the oars.

A fitness freak, he never believed in getting an
outboard for the aluminum dingy.

"Want some help?"

Shrugging me off, which seemed to be the case lately,
he replied, "No, I've got it."

That's not how it's always been. I know I've gotten a
little more independent since being thirteen. I've
wanted to be with Mark more. Buds like to hang out.
But still, well there's no making excuses. Telling
them I'm gay, has made a difference to dad.

"The wind is picking up, dear."

I did sense danger in mom's voice. Her comment didn't
settle with me right. It's said that moms have a sense
of detection, built into their systems. She held me
close and started saying stuff like she loved me and
always will. I have to admit that my mind keyed in to
the choppy waves. Then thunder in the distance, with
streaks of lightning along the shoreline made me
cringe. A no-no, I cursed out loud, but what would
normally receive a tongue-lashing, brought nothing but
a kiss on the forehead, from my mom.

"Don't be afraid, Collin."

She calmly spoke to me, calling me by my real name, as
if I was five years old. I deemed `Collin', `the
uncool' namesake, taking up being called by my middle
name, `Sean', at twelve.

"Hold on, we're in for a rough one," Dad called out to
us.

The boat started filling up faster than we could ladle
it out with our hands. Last thing I remember, is a
wave taking us over. Several times I dove under the
water to catch a glimpse of mom, but it was too dark.
Even with the only lifevest on, I had a tough time
staying above the waves, with the rain pounding in my
face. I did latch on to one of the oars and held it as
if a loving arm. I believed it helped keep me afloat.
Next thing I felt, is an arm on my shoulder, someone
tugging on the lifevest, plucking me right up, out of
the water. Attached to the hand was Mr. Martin.

"Where's your folks?"

I was hoping Mr. Martin had the answer to the
question. After depositing me on the deck, he dove
into the water. I clung to the metal railing that ran
around the stern, looking overboard, wiping the sheets
of rain out of my face. I couldn't tell what matter of
time went by. However, soon enough the rain let up,
the booming sounds of thunder ceased, along with the
flashing light and blowing wind. Soon the bay returned
to it's serenity, the sun kissing the horizon, it's
reflection cast across it. I was stunned, my arms
still wrapped around the rail.
"I'm sorry, Sean."

I stare at the water, knowing what Mr. Martin meant by
his soft words. I didn't want to believe it. Didn't
want to fess up to the idea that my mom and dad hadn't
survived the ordeal. It's then we heard a cough. Mr.
Martin dove over the side once more. Returning to the
boat, I finally released my gripping.

Rushing to the ladder hanging over the side, near the
opposite side of the boat, I called out, "Dad! Mom!"
Dad climbed up the ladder, followed by Mr. Martin.

"Where's mom?"

Neither had an answer for me.

I repeated, "Dad, where's mom?"

He coughed.

"She could have swam to shore," Mr. Martin replied.

"Mom couldn't swim."

"Oh," is all he said, followed by the reality, "I'm so
sorry, Sean."

Dad just sat there on the deck, his back up against
the cabin, legs scrunched up, his head in his hands,
sulking.

"C'mon, let's get you below, into dry clothes."

Even in the face of calamity, I couldn't draw myself
away from what attracted me to Mr. Martin. His
sweatshirt was too big, but it fit me okay. He didn't
hide from me, us both stripping down in the same room.
When he came out of the jon, with a towel wrapped
around his waist, it sort of made me forget about
everything. It's like I was in a void. It totally drew
my mind away from all the horrible things that had
happened.

"Mr. Martin, are you gay?"

I could have kicked myself for coming out and saying
it, but I had to know. Also, it came as a surprise
that he didn't make up excuses.

"Yes, I am." Then he put it, "Do we both have
something in common?"

I know I blushed, feeling the warmth in my face.
Especially after being pounded by the cold rain. It's
then, the sense of hot and cold, that drew my memory
back to a few minutes prior.

"Yeah," I replied.

He could detect that I had slipped back into reality.
What was more surprising is that I didn't even notice
him unwrapping the towel from around his torso, his
bare butt, nor slipping on some sweatpants and a tee
shirt. I awoke to him being there, when he sat down
next to me on the bed.

After putting his arm around my bod, grasping my
shoulder, he told me, tenderly, "Everything's going to
be alright."

I looked up at him. I had thoughts about my mom and
somehow they got crisscrossed with my feelings about
Mr. Martin. I took him in my arms and hugged him. He
let me. It felt weird. I know he was trying to comfort
me, but inside my pants, it kept reminding me that two
shirts separated my smooth teen chest from his hairy
one.

Breaking the hug, he asked, "Why don't we see if we
can get your dad to come down and change into
something dry? Hmm?"

"Wait!"

I stopped Mr. Martin from getting up, putting my hand
on his chest like a stop sign. Realizing I touched
him, my hand on his shirt that covered the dark hairy
center, I withdrew it. It seemed different than his
tender hug, like something dirty. He smiled when I
backed off, stood up.

"Yes?" Mr. Martin sensed another subject arising.

"You and Rob. In the men's rest room. Did you...."
Not knowing how to put it, I dragged my words, hoping
my brain would find the right input. However it seemed
Mr. Martin knew where I was headed.

"Rob and I..." He stuttered for a moment, before
resuming, "and this is only between you and me."

"I," I corrected his grammar.
Smiling, he replied, "You and I, and maybe your
friend..."

"Mark?" I clued Mr. Martin in.

"Yes. Rob is seventeen. A minor."

"But in the stall. You stayed after we left."

"Yes. Like I said. I don't leave myself open for
criticism. That is why I'm asking you two to keep this
to yourselves."

"Than why are you telling me?"

"Because," Mr. Martin stood, standing almost eye to
eye to me, looking down a coupla feet, "you asked and
I think you need to know, so there leaves no
misunderstanding."

`Rational thinking,' I thought, even though I wasn't
positive of the meaning of what I just thought!

"I used to tutor Rob. He was sick, out of school for a
couple of months."

"I remember that," but didn't harp on it.

"His parents hired me to come out to the house. We
usually met when his parents weren't at home."

"Yeah. So Rob tells us.. same with Mark and I. His
parents are business people and aren't home a lot."

I figured I was saying too much, interrupting, so shut
up and let Mr. Martin talk.

"You see, a long time ago, along the lines of your
age, I discovered something about myself."

I saved him the trouble, blurting out, "You like only
boys."

Smiling, he agreed, continuing, "And I found a boy
that shared the same feelings."

"Like Mark and I?"

"You, yes."

I looked at Mr. Martin strangely. He knew I was
baffled.

"Except, the `boy' was more a `man'."

"Man?"

"Yes. A man, meaning older than myself."

"How old?"

He probably knew `that' was coming, because it made
him smile.

"A `lot' older."

He didn't mention age, but I drew up a figment of my
imagination to equate Mr. Martin, as a young Rob and
the other guy, a duplicate of Mr. Martin's frame.

"By the way, Mr. Martin?"

"Yes?"

"I don't mean to get off the subject, but how old are
you anyway?"

Another smile brought forth the answer,
"Twenty-seven."

"Twenty..." I wanted to say, `fuckin'-seven', but
acting more reserved, in light of Mr. Martin being my
teacher, replied the simple, "-seven? Geesh!"

That gorgeous smile crossed that handsome face and
what with the hot, outline of his body, pressed
against the sweatshirt,  standing there, I wanted to
embrace him, but didn't think it a cool idea. It
wouldn't have the feeling of the one Mr. Martin
offered me, more of a sexual kick, since my cock had
funny sensations pulsing through it.

"Anyway, with Rob and I it became kind of the same
scenario, except..."

I was in the dark again.

"Whereas, in my youth, this `older man' and I ventured
beyond some `simple pleasures', Rob and I have
only..."

He took a deep breath, as well as I. He admitted
falling on his knees in front of Rob, taking his cock
in his mouth, sucking it.

"That's it?" I answered, almost disappointed.
Nodding up and down, he replied, "Oh then I pulled out
my cock and we jerked off today. That's all that
happened."

"Wow!" I thought.

My emotions, which had originally raced to
expectations of something far more involved, had
calmed. Still, picturing in my mind Rob and Mr.
Martin, both with pants down around their ankles,
hands on their hard shafts and stroking like mad,
seemed erotic enough.

"But that is to remain a secret between us two."

"Us three, you mean?"

"Us three," Mr. Martin replied, smiling.

"Hey, do you think that you, Mark and me could do that
sometime?"

I should have known better than to ask, as Mr. Martin
shook his head and answered in the negative.

"Doesn't hurt to ask," I shrugged.

"Can I ask one other favor?"

"What?"

He sensed suspicion.

"Could I just take a peek of... of..." then pointing
to his midsection, "what you look like?"

Mr. Martin stood there for a moment, hands on his
hips. As if being seductive, he looked down at where I
pointed.

I pleaded, "Please?"

Sucking his teeth, his hands went to the edge of his
sweat shirt.

"I'm adding this to part of our secret," He replied.

My mouth actually watered, building up saliva, with
such expectations.

"Oh-man-oh-man-oh-man!" I gasped, watching him lift
his sweat shirt.

LIfting, he revealed first, his deep bellyhole, the
dark hair swirling around it, then above, the thin
trail. Next, he let the shirt slack downwards.

"No!"

He looked at me.

"More, please?"

Mr. Martin smirked, raising it again, above his navel,
hiking his shirt up the thin trail, between his abs,
the furry outline of his pecs, then hesitated.

"More?"

"MIght as well just do this!"

I had to do something. The sight of Mr. Martin
stripping off his sweat shirt, shaking his head to
iron out his mane, was too much for me. There's a
difference of looking upon him, playing volleyball,
him not knowing that I checked out his body and Mr.
Martin standing there, him and me both knowing that I
was checking him out.

Cheerfully he asks, "What do you think?"

I drew up my next conclusion.

"Um, do you like me checking you out, Mr. Martin?"

"And what makes you say that?"

Perhaps I was already wising up to the facts of male
to male sexual response. I pointed to his crotch, the
tent in his sweat pants, moving my finger over and
over, to tell him why I thought what I thought.

"Oh. That!"

I took my next step.

"Can I see that too?"

He stood there, hands on his hips, looking at my
inquisitive face, tapping one of his bare feet on the
floor.

"I swear, Sean. You tell anybody..."

"I'm not gonna tell anybody. I swear!"

I crossed my teen chest, to let Mr. Martin know I
meant business.

"Well, okay," Is all he said
Slipping his hands down, his thumbs snatched up the
waistband of his sweatpants. My gaze returned to his
stomach, the deep, dark navel, hair almost making the
depth hard to see. I followed his progress, my eyes
led, by the thin, hairy trail from his bellyhole, to a
long line of dark hair outlining his pubic region.
As he moved his sweatpants downwards, he complained,
"I know I shouldn't be doing this, but..."
And suddenly all was visible!

"Oh-man-oh-man-oh-man!"

He notice, not me, my hand cupped over my crotch, as I
viewed the two balls, nestled in his dark hair
surrounding it, all bushy.

"Wow! It's... it's... it's beautiful!"

Mr. Martin blushed.

"Thank you," he said, quickly hiding his pubes.

"Oooooh," I sighed. Then I came out with, "Do you
think I can touch it?"

I got slapped with a quick, "No!"

"Okay," I whined.

"Have you told your parents?"

The subject changed quickly, as Mr. Martin hiked up
his sweatpants, pulled his sweatshirt on, then talked
long distance, from the jon.

"They know. My dad doesn't like it very much... that
I'm gay."

It all happened so fast, I couldn't figure out how to
react, with my teen erection, so I just rubbed it.

"I figured so," Mr. Martin let on.

Like I figured, my dad didn't have much to say. When I
suggested dad get into some dry clothes, he shrugged
off the idea. But when Mr. Martin mentioned it, it was
like it had a different meaning. As the sun dipped
below the horizon, I once again clung to the metal
railing, and openly wept. My heart sank with the sun.


%

I didn't go to school the next day, nor the rest of
the week.

Mark apologized, after saying, "At least I don't have
to go to school," deciding it entirely lame.

His parents suggested it a good enough reason, for
Mark to miss out on his education, to stay with me.
"I'm such an idiot!"

I tried smiling at him. He looked so cute, the light
brown hair, tossed about, the upturned lips. As we
stood there, in my bedroom, it hit me. I loved Mark.
Not fighting the feeling and regardless of what he
thought, I drew him into my arms. Tightly.

"What's this?"

My senses, as well as not feeling his palms on my
back, the manner in which I held him, as the front of
our bodies pressed into each other, showed the
surprise or it could have been the lack of what Mark
perceived, at the moment. Then it hit. I felt his
hands touch my back. As if we knew all the ins and
outs of a gay couple in love, his hands rubbed up and
down my back. With our stomachs still knotted, we
leaned our chests apart, far enough to line up our
lips. We looked at each other, deciding on our first
kiss. Thinking no more about it, our fourteen year old
minds went blank, as our lips met. Holding the pose
for about a minute, neither of us said a word to each
other, staring.

I opened up the conversation with, "How did you like
it?"

Nodding up and down slowly, Mark replied, "I
like---dah... it."

He cracked a smile, which made me do the same.
"Can we do it again?"

I didn't protest, instead leaned in, my hand going to
the back of his head.

"Wow!" Mark said, stunned.

"What?"

"That was better than the first one!"

"Maybe we're getting better at it."

"No doubt. More?"

"Sure."

This time, as our lips met, Mark must've sensed
something else happening. Not feeling it, until the
last minute, after his right hand slid down my back,
crossed round my torso, did I jump back. His hand
stayed, caressing the outline of my erection, through
my shorts.

"Hmm... looks like you really do care for me, eh
Sean?"

After a quick glance, below, my hand went right to the
front of Mark's shorts, groping him.

"Heeaaaaay!" He shouted out, bouncing backwards.

I was left holding the fabric of his shorts, whereas
he had a firm grip on my shaft.

"Um, can I?"

Answering, I said, "May I please?"

He didn't have to correct himself, nor did I get a
verbal answer. As in the men's room at the picnic
park, a coupla days ago, Mark sank to his knees.
He came through, looking up at me, asking, "May I
please?"

Smiling, twitching with anticipation, the bulge
showing that I wanted it, I told Mark, "Help
yourself."

What a comedian, I tell you. Like a thief about to
crack a safe, he rubs his hands together. Then,
blowing his breath into them, he rubs them together
again.

I'm the one who became impatient, saying, "Damn, can
you just get on with it?"

Yeah, I needed it bad. I needed to feel Mark's lips
wrapped around my cock, doing whatever it is a mouth
does, to make it feel great. Being our first time,
neither of us knew what it would be like. We only went
on what Rob had said, enough to spark us. Mark giggled
again, when I tugged at my own shorts, stepping out of
them.

"Wow!"

"What?"

"You got hard just for me!"

I don't know what came over me. Maybe nerves from all
that's happened in two days, with the funeral and all.
As soon as Mark opened his mouth, he froze. Picture
two fourteen year olds, one on his knees like he's
praying, hands clasped together, from being massaged,
warmed up with heated breath and mouth ready to take
it's first cock. Well, I jumped the gun, to say the
least. My teen hormones raced ahead of Mark's easy
entry. Like I said, `pressure'. My hands grabbed the
back of his head and I forced his mouth over my
erection, like a hand in a glove.

"Oooooooooooooooooooooooh!" I gasped out.
Mark damn near well choked, as a result of my actions!
The protests didn't last. In fact, when I loosened my
grip, he backed off only a little, enough so that I
didn't feel the tip of my teen cock, stuck in his
throat. He gagged a little, but didn't come off my
rod.

"You're unbelievable."

"Huh?" Mark stopped and stare up at me, my
undetermined amount of meat still around his lips.
He looked pathetic, trying to smile at the same time
my balls rubbed up against his chin. Then, as if by
instinct, Mark found his niche. My head dropped
backwards, mouth propped open, eyes closed and I
sighed for a long interval, as Mark's tongue, with
cock still stuffed in his orifice, began massaging the
barrel. When he licked around the outside of my cock
head, I lost my balance, falling backwards onto the
bed.

"Yeooooooooooooooooooow!" I screamed.

"Oh..oh, so sorry Sean.. I swear..."
Mark apologized like crazy.

"Oh shit!" I shouted, as I looked at the irritation on
my cock.

But I couldn't stay mad at Mark. Especially for
something that wasn't his fault. How was he to know
that I was going to collapse backwards, pulling my
cock out of his mouth, scraping along his teeth.
"I guess," he began to sumise, "stuff like this
happens to first timers?"

I couldn't help but smile. Mark knelt down on the bed,
on all fours, studying my cock, as if a scientific
experiment. I reached up for his head. He swung out of
the way.

"Oh no you don't, Sean. Y'damn well nearly impaled my
throat last time."

No coaxing was needed though. In fact, leaning
directly over my cock, like a plane keying in on
dropping a bomb on a specific location, his mouth
slowly lowered over my pubes. My erection cooperated
in keeping a straight, upright positioning. For the
second time, I felt the most awesome sensation. One
that I'm sure ruled the universe. At least that's what
it was doing for me, when Mark's warm mouth slowly
engulfed my hard teen shaft. When my hands went to his
head, I rustled his hair, petted him, showing my
appreciation, more or less for the soft way in which
he massaged my inches.

I looked to him, as I complimented, "Oh-man that feels
soooo, soooo good!"

I could see the whites of his eyes, as Mark looked at
me, then he closed them, memorizing each part of my
cock with his tongue, up and down the barrel, under
the flange, surprising me with sticking his tongue in
my piss slit. My immediate reaction was `gross', but
when I felt how good it is to have the tip of Mark's
tongue stab me there, well, words can't describe it.
Then something else weird started to happen. My balls
started churning, I started bucking my hips. Okay, so
this can happen when I'm jerking myself off. Did I
expect it to be any different, with a pair of lips? I
don't know. We never did this before.

Mark pops off, gasping, "Oh shit! I'm making you
come?"

I didn't give him much time to think, my hands turning
to their aggressive state, pressing Mark's head down.
As a reflex, his mouth shot open, just in time to
absorb my still hard and now throbbing cock. His head
in my hands, like a vice, I now owned the action,
moving his head up and down, my shaft being massaged
like I do when I jerked off with my hand. I suppose
the `collapsing on the bed' incident forwarned Mark to
keep his teeth from grazing my cock. Smart guy that he
pursed his lips, coating his teeth, to keep from the
abrasive action. Regardless, it added to the total
bliss I was having, what with my cock pulsating, my
balls churning, my torso bucking around like a fucking
rodeo and... they have had to have heard clear across
the bay, as my cock let loose it's torrent.

"Ooooooooh! Oh-man... oh-man...! Ohhhhhhhhhh!
Arrrrrrgggggggggg!"

I don't know how much a teen cock can pump out, but it
felt neverending. I didn't even sense Mark gagging, as
I held his head in place, as my cock unloaded it's
cream. All I know is, eventually he won out, pressing
his palms against the mattress, needing for me to let
up.

"Oh shit!" He called out, as he rolled over, next to
me on the bed, panting his lungs out.
Not being able to add any remorse, I was having my own
pangs.

"Ooooh-man! Did that felt so fucking good!"

Mark didn't answer. It then occured to me. He got
asphyxiated! I quickly reponded.

"Mark! Mark! You alright?"

My body half covered his.

He smiled and said, "Oh man do you taste so fucking
good!"

%

2B continued

Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
collection, without prior consent from the author.