Date: Tue, 28 Jun 2016 12:19:55 +0000 From: TCHASE MCPHEE Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 14 % This work of fiction is 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 of habitats, governmental or non-governmental areas, farmhouses, nor barns. % If sexual scenes involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if dude-to-dude sex stuff makes you wanna barf or is gonna screw up your mind, you should not read this story. % States and countries have various rules regarding reading or viewing `adult material'. It is up to you, the reader, to research this subject, abiding by their own laws and conscience. The pages of this story contain `adult material', intended for an `adult audience.' Bypass this warning at your own risk! % Sexual safety matters. Guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection and I don't mean going out and hiring a security guard...unless he gives your nuts and bolt a jolt. Hey dudes, if you have enjoyed reading NiFTy stories as much as I have over the years, consider adding some $upport for `internet $pace' or else I will have to start cutting handsome, hairy or steamy characters out of my stories. Do you dare imagine a story without any tops? http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Nifty Stories Archive Donation donate.nifty.org Donation information for the Nifty Stories Archive % "JoLLy RaNCHeRs" 14 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee ^ 0 ^ % Yesterday, when Brett didn't show up, Bart fretted about it, thinking he skipped out, heading to Canada. When asking Coury about what he intended on doing, the answer was `nothing', followed by giving him a little leeway. Though, after continuing down a trail, following Coury, Brett slowly `wore off' Bart's mind, especially when his fearless leader got too hot for his shirt! At the next stopping place, Bart did the same. He looked for Coury's reaction. Except for an offering of water, which Bart said he had his own, there wasn't any comment made. He had hoped there was, because Bart had wanted to start up a conversation, which could lead to talking about Coury's muscled chest and stomach. Maybe it could lead to something `gay!' They were each to have their own tent to sleep in, but Coury, Bart as well, realizes Brett had the shared tent. Bart had insisted, since Coury's had a tent, "I don't mind at'all sleepin' out here under the stars." However, there was cloud cover. Hence, no stars! "Not a-scared of bears, eh?" "Nope," though Bart, with the dark night, darker than usual, nearly pitch black, it quickly made with scared shit, with every crackle or animal sound. Setting up Coury's tent, at first Bart watches. "Well, I could use a hand here?" Instead of a bump on a log, Bart gets up, walks over, "like, what you need me for?" Of course, Coury could have had designs on the 20-year old, but it wasn't that kind of a situation, "these hooks on the frame, the loops on the tent get connected to them?" "No prob," Bart says. "Not bad," Coury cracked his first smile, which after thinking about how cute Bart looked, shirtless and all, how the lad was taking pride in a task, easy as wiping snot off a cock! >From there, all that was left was to climb in a sleeping bag and start `sawing wood.' "Night, now," Bart heard the words from the tent. He never got that at home, Bart responding, "uh, yeah, you too." Bart did know, humans have a scent, which he figured, if he stuffed his whole self inside the sleeping bag, and covered himself completely, perhaps it would ward off getting `eaten' in the night. Inside the tent, Coury had to admit concern, after building up his story about bears and all. Plus, putting it upon himself, forgetting the camp stove, wondered if Bart's stomach roared as loud as his. However, something more than an empty stomach bothered him right now. Thankful Bart could go off to sleep, it made him wonder if the lad snored all night! Twice Coury tried nodding off and each time, was awoken by a snort, or what he apparently perceived, Bart having a nightmare, something about his dad, whatever that was about. Then, there were gasps, hearing Bart yell, `get away from me, you critters!' After the third time, Coury gave up and shared his tent, almost, asking, "where's your sleeping bag?" "Oh, was I supposed to bring it with me?" "Never mind," Coury went out to get it. Coming back, he hesitated. Apparently, with the security of the tent, Bart went off to sleep right away. Debating whether he wanted to stay awake all night, with Bart's snoring, he put the sleeping bag on, like a pair of pants and plopped his ass down. A pro at camping skills, soon Coury was all bundled up in the sleeping bag and had nodded off. Upon waking, Bart scoured the tent with his eyes, finding himself alone. Unlike at home, he didn't sleep in his undies, or less, but slumbered in the clothes he wore during the hike, minus the shirt. Exiting the tent, he hoped he would find Coury, maybe cooking up some breakfast. However, what he spotted, it was enough food for thought, Coury headed back from supposedly a stream or brook. Still wet, Coury wore only briefs. They were soaked, which gave Bart an idea of what he carried around underneath his pants, "like, wow!" Sure as hell, Coury knew what Bart meant, throwing off the scent, looking around, "what?" He didn't want to ask what was on his mind, whether the long tube, lay sideways in Coury's cotton pocket, was hard or soft, deviating to, "I was just gonna say, it sure looks different around here in the light, than last night. It was really dark, y'know?" Not giving in, even though Coury did feel sorry for the lad, deprived of the good life of camping out in the wilderness, remarks, "well...when you learn how to properly set up a tent..." Not without feelings, Bart jumps in with, "oh, so you did mind me sleeping with you last night?" "Well," Coury lets his guard down, smiles, "it `might' have been pleasurable, if you didn't snore like a bear!" `Bear!' There, that was it, the word Bart was trying to think of, Coury furry from head to...well, he had his boots on, so surely `toe', he didn't know! Rather than beat an issue to death, Bart changes the subject, "Brett never did show yesterday. I reckon he's on his way to Canada." Coury, stretching out a tee shirt, feeding it over his head, it hung there around his neck, stopping for a moment to address Bart. He could have gone about it in two ways, the wrong thing to do legally, but seeing Bart saddened by the only friend he had in the world, off and leaving him, "I'm sure it's not like that." Sitting down on a log, Bart looks down at the edge of the fire, "I don't blame him." "No? From what I picture you two, you're kind of `tight'?" "Yup," Bart says casually. "We made a pact though," he looks up at Coury, or rather those built, hairy pecs, shirt sagging over half his chest, "that if it couldn't be both of us, one of us would make it there and then when we could, come back for the other." "What about if it were the other way around?" "You mean `me' on the run, leaving Brett behind? Wouldn't ever happen. Sometimes I think I like Brett more than he likes me." Seeing more, like right now, though he sensed it before, Coury puts it to Bart, "`like,' is it? I thought you two were more than friends?" "I dunno. I never felt like I do with any other person, except Brett." "Well," Coury puts hands on his own thighs, pressuring his ascent off the log, "regardless, we've got an agenda, so we better get moving. Know anything about throwing a couple of eggs in a frying pan?" "So you did bring the stove?" "Nope, but I managed to scuttle up some kindling and use good old matches." With the fire in progress, Bart relates, "Used to cook for my ol'man, until he didn't like my cookin' no more." "Well," Coury pulls a frying pan out of the bag he packed with light cooking essentials, "here's the pan and in the same bag you'll find a yellow plastic egg holder, made especially so we don't get any cracked ones. Think you can handle that?" "I'll try," Bart says, squinting one eye as he looked at Coury. He didn't question where Coury was going, Bart holding in memory the beautiful sight of the army build, silhouetted against the dawn. Then he figured he better get crackin'! % Last night, the vacant cabin Brett happened upon, became his sanctuary from the darkening skies. The place was a dirty wreck, but he was so tired it didn't bother him. Dropping the pack off his back, it didn't phase him to `be' hungry, dropping face forward onto the bed. Morning light, trickling in through boarded up panes, failed to awaken him. Sometime during the night, he must've gotten warm, stripping his shirt. So out of sync with the daylight, he didn't even hear the hand on the doorknob, turning it, nor the squeaky door as it opens. "What tha..." the mellow voice says, like one of the 3 bears, seeing someone sleeping in his bed. Actually, Justin hadn't been up to the family cabin in about a decade. Roughly 10 years ago, after the `rents divorced, going to live with his mom, Justin thought there would still be family vacations to the house, near the lake. Thinking deeper about it, it wasn't really `her' vacation spot, but rather his father the rightful owner. It had gotten complicated, around this time of his life, Justin wondering why two people, living together, had different last names. Little did an 8-year old know anything more, even later in his tween years, what they called a divorce, was really a separation. No attorney was needed, since their `marriage' wasn't recorded in the courts, never a legal document made of their union. Not really anything new to a tweener, Justin had plenty of friends from school who were in the same boat. Now, at 19, Justin didn't really get along, not crazy about the new guy his mom hooked up with. He already had one run-in with the older `spouse'. Offered a fistful of cash, an attempt to get him out of the house, Justin took it. Yet, instead of using the 2 crisp $100 bills, for a night out with his friends, he packed his bags, withdrew whatever he had in his savings account, something of substance from his piggy bank and said goodbye to that life forever. He and his mother had had words a few weeks ago. It didn't turn out well, which was a sign for Justin...time to move on. With moving on, he hadn't realized how sweet it could be, the ending of his trail, "hey, you," he nudges Brett's foot with the end of his guitar case. Slowly turning, Brett jumps out of bed, "oh shit! I thought you were a bear!" The bed between them Justin smiles, Brett holding his junk. "Hardly," Justin wears the broad smile. "What're you doing here?" Making himself at home, after all, it rightfully did belong to Justin, sets down his guitar, "I was about to ask you the same thing." "I don't know... I mean, I was supposed to meet my friend and this dude, but not sure... I might be lost." "Definitely lost," Justin gravitates over to the stove. "It doesn't work. I already tried it, `cause it got kinda cold in here last night." Having been there, even though not for a long time, Justin says, "probably the gas isn't turned on," he walks over to a cabinet, opening the second drawer, extracting a large wrench." "Hey," Brett replaces his hand with stepping into his briefs, "how come you know your way around?" "My dad owns the place. I used to come here when my mom and him brought me here on vacation. I was only, like ten years old." Justin did notice, the hand gone! "What's your name?" "Justin. You?" he returns. "Brett." He was thinking of more than the name, giving Brett the once over again, "nice name, but hey...watch my guitar for me, while I go outside and see if there's any gas to be had." Normally, for himself, Brett would not hesitate to lift a personal item and run down to the pawn shop to hock it. However, to grab it and run outdoors, first he had to get dressed. By the time Justin returned, Brett was dressed, "well, I doubt even a muscle-head would be able turn the valve. Rusted shut. I'll have to get my dad to look at it." "He live around here?" "Not really. I mean, if he did, he'd probably be living here. I did find out he's in town. That's a start," Justin replies, picking up his guitar and knapsack. "Say, do you need a ride anywhere?" "Ride? You have a set of wheels?" "Sure. My Jeep's right outside." "You wouldn't happen to be going to Canada?" Justin cracks a smile, "Nah. I'm planning on staying around and catching up with my dad. I haven't seen him in a long time." Brett figured, going any place else than where he's supposed to be, it would be a start working his way north, "I think I will take that ride." He couldn't put a finger on it, but there was definitely something weird with Brett. Though, since he's seen the whole picture, including the package deal, plus a big turn on, ginger hair, well Justin figures he would let things play out. Loading stuff into the jeep, Brett could not miss, "Whoa, nice detailing," he rubs a hand over the yellow flames, patterned against a slick, shiny black finish. Anyone would be able to detect the animosity, Justin saying, "yeah, my stepdad was a real asshole, but at least I got something good out of the deal." Brett, a little dumb about stuff, asks, "Really, then why didn't you go live with your dad?" "Uh, because at the time my real dad was having problems with moving around so much and the judge, she thought it best I stay in one place," Justin says, like putting on airs, "where a child could be brought up in a more `grounded' environment. What a crock of shit!" Justin could laugh about it now, but back then, barely 10-years old, it was tough to get a grasp on adult ideas. Call it a hidden agenda, Brett was out for comparisons, "Like, what made you want to be with your `real' dad?" Standing there, leaning on the hood of his jeep with one elbow propping him up, Justin reminisces, "Y'know, at one time this cabin didn't look so run down. Dad took really good care of it. I think he did, partially because of me. He didn't want a kid spending his summer in a dump." The keys were right there in the ignition. All Brett had to do is jump in, fire it up and put it in reverse. Though, right now he was immersed in his own feelings, taking mental notes on how it maybe could have been for himself, "like, what made you like him?" Turning to Brett, he smiled, leaning both elbows on the fender, staring over the flame-embossed hood, "oh, we used to do lots of stuff together. Soon as I was up in the morning, he'd take me out fishing. He said there was nuthin' like a home-baked fish breakfast!" "Fish for breakfast? Yech!" Brett's saliva show the distaste in his mouth, thinking about it. "Like, have you ever tried it, dude?" "Nope." Smirking, Justin told it like it is, "if you haven't tried it, then how do you know you don't like it?" When at home, Brett had to behave like a soldier, sometimes slave, keeping the home immaculate, which is not to say it looked like The Maids swept through the place. Venturing outdoors, whether it was for walking to school, out shopping or any detail, Brett was `master' of his own world. What he said, went. Sometimes Bart didn't see eye to eye with Brett, but went along with him, liking him so much at first, but more then that later, when the two brushed up on their `gay-sex' skills! "I guess I'm okay with that." "You guess?" Justin stands up. "You're okay with that, are ya?" Brett could see Justin wasn't lecturing, but mocking him. Why, if Bart were there, Brett'd grab Justin up in a full nelson and have Bart use his stomach for a punching bag! That was the duo's `calling card', which made dudes go the other way, when they were out and about. It had interrupted his thoughts, Justin's cell ringing and him taking the call. Giving Brett time to analyze the situation, plus not having his sidekick around, he was getting a different take on things. Just maybe this `Justin-guy' was a cool dude. Sure enough, he had a cool set of wheels! "That was my dad," Justin slips his cell in his pants pocket. "What's up?" "He wasn't sure where he would be, when I got here, like I said, he moves around a lot, but he told me he's got a job now which will keep him grounded. C'mon. Hop in. You gotta meet him." It wasn't exactly in Brett's plan. Yet, being a good persuader, persuasion could take a long time and if he wanted to get to Canada, he needed to take it slow. Sometimes a good con took time to develop and he didn't want to scare away his `taxi driver!' >From Justin monopolizing the travel time, Brett could see there was a good sense of father-son love there. Man, he wished he had the same relationship with his own pop, fishing, learning how to rough it in the woods, learning some skills Native Americans used to thrive on a desolate landscape. Surprised, it actually made him interested to hear the story of Justin finding a dinosaur bone when he was eleven years old. Of the interest, Brett was not sure the story was that interesting, because maybe his fascination was with `Justin' and not the tales he wove. Other than being handsome under the baseball cap, "hey, you always have a beard?" It made Justin smile, of course, Brett wasn't interested as much in `fish tales', as checking him out, "nah. My stepdad liked it his `son' was clean-shaven. I suppose, out of `revenge', soon as I packed up and left I swore I'd grow a beard," Justin pricks his 5-day old stubble with fingers and thumb, "and let my hair grow long." For certain, compared to Brett's crewcut, a little spiked on the top, Justin with a shaggy cut and the face follicles, there was a big difference, "you think I'd look good with a beard?" Probably Brett thought Justin gunned the brake to check out his chops, but instead, "Oops! I think we passed the road." Brett knew. He had walked up the hill, coming in the direction they were driving towards, "trust me, the only road is the one that goes to your dad's cabin." Putting the jeep in reverse, Justin slowly backs up, "no, I don't think so," he looks in the side mirror, studying foliage by the side of the road. Now, Brett, he wasn't used to dudes telling him he was wrong. His way was the only way and let no man think otherwise! Though, the jeep stopping, made Brett refocus, from checking out Justin some more, "uh, you got something there?" "Yeah," Justin gets out of the jeep, leaving his door open. Oh man, Brett's eyes on the keys in the ignition, the motor humming, he got the feel similar to a dude making his balls boil...he could taste freedom. Though, he didn't do all that stalking for nothing. Not only did Justin seem like a truly nice guy, the contours of his clothing made him thirst to want to see more. Instead of jumping in the driver's seat and taking off like a bat out of hell, he turns the ignition off, pulls the key out, props open his door and goes to see where Justin was off to. With a growth of trees and bushes, seeing Justin had gone in there, Brett heads in the same direction. Except, Justin was on his way out of the forest, "oh shit! I'm sorry!" Brett wasn't used to being swatted at, landing with his butt on the ground. However, being it wasn't in defiance, but by a limb of a tree, catching him across the chest, he was stunned like he had seen Luke Skywalker's light saber do, immobile for a minute. Normally, he would have jumped to his feet, Brett and Bart making the dude sorry he had... "Here, give me your hand," Justin reaches his out. As Justin grabs a hand and heaves, he's apologizing profusely, something Brett is not used to. Instead of a `thank you,' Brett says, "the forest, I guess it can be dangerous?" "More than you know!" For Justin, it was a pun, but knew Brett didn't get his `flirt!' With a feeling of certainty, he sensed Brett was gay, but wasn't sure Brett knew he was. Justin didn't see any harm in the scruples to find out! Paling around with Bart, it was different than Justin just now, a friendly `bro' arm over the shoulder, walking the downgrade to the jeep. Forgetting about `Canada' right now, he unfolds his hand, "oh, here's the keys." At the rear of the jeep, both part ways, Brett going for the passenger side. Justin's door was already propped open, so he had visual. About to throw a leg in, he shouts, "no! Don't get in..." He watches, too late, as Brett jumps in. "What do you..." too late, Brett spots the skunk, "mean?" Knowing what a skunk can do, but not keeping his cool, Brett screams and jumps out faster than when he hopped in, "ahk-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h," the long wail goes on and on. Justin knew it was too late. The skunk had `reacted.' At least he wasn't in the line of fire, but still got the stink on his clothes. "Oh man, bro, you reek!" They had regained footing at the rear of the jeep, Brett already knowing it, "what're we gonna do?" Even though not fully sprayed, Justin knew he was rank, a little. However, he treated it like he was an equal, "First, we've got to get the skunk out of the jeep." "Then what?" "Leave it here for the next 10 rainstorms to clean it out!" Again, no apology from Brett, but he weakened a little, "I can't believe it was me who done it." Slapping Brett on the back, "you're kidding, bro? It wasn't your fault. You're not the one who snuck into my jeep!" Brett couldn't believe it. Justin wasn't kicking him in the ass for the misdemeanor. If his pop caught him doing some dastard deed, even if beyond his control, he would've gotten slapped around. But here, Justin was letting it go right over his head! He had to check, "you're okay with it?" "It could happen to anyone," Justin replies, "but be forewarned, after we get the skunk outta there, you're gonna be the one to sanitize it!" A bit overwhelming for Brett, getting the skunk out, then what Justin meant by `sanitizing it', "how are we going to get the skunk to leave?" "Well," Justin leans his back against the jeep, "I don't think tying a Clif bar to a stick will lure him out, but a stick is what we need." Without warning, Justin walks off into the woods. Brett goes to follow. "No, you stay. Here," he tosses the keys. There it was again, Brett's ticket to Canada, free and clear. However, he thought, how would someone, in their right mind, dare drive with a stinking critter as a passenger! In no time, Justin is back with a rotted branch, breaking little pieces off. "I though you said a stick?" Justin smiles, "A big stick!" The `skunk' wasn't on Justin's mind, the whole time, hunting for a stick. Feeling for one, sturdy enough, he wondered if Brett's `stick' was as skinny or fat as the one he searched for. Man, the guy was already `hot', but just what lurked inside those jeans... "What do we do with it now?" "Stand clear," Justin makes a play, pushing Brett on the chest. "Um, okay," Brett replies, gulping. Brett tried thinking of a `sweet' reprisal, but was not good at instantaneous thought. "Here goes nothing," Justin slowly inserts the branch into jeep. "Oh yeah, I got him on the run!" Being not an `out in the woods' dude, Brett probably should have been worried, but not with Justin there. He's also glad to be behind, rather than in front of his rear end. This gave Brett a bird's eye view, Justin's reach over the car door, inching the skunk out of the open, driver's side door. With every inch, it made his tee shirt slip up. Brett smiled, noticing Justin wasn't wearing a belt, which made his pants sag. Soon he saw the crack, which had him thinking, `wow!' In his own devious, comical way, Brett wasn't the only one cracking a smile. Justin knew, from what his father had taught him, how relatively easy a task it could be, coaxing any small critter out of a tight place. If only humans had a built in, rear cam, could they tell what was going on behind their backs. Right now, all Justin could do is imagine! "How's it going?" Brett hoped, `not well!' Playing right into Brett's pocket, Justin complains, "the mutha-fucker thinks it's `his' territory!" Then, playing his trump card, Justin eases his way back, `hoping' the button on his jeans would get caught on the slit where the open window slides into. He smiles, most likely an evil grin on his face, feeling a widening space around his hips. Going back on task, Brett exclaims, "oh shit, Justin!" Masquerading his thoughts, knowing his pants slipped down to his knees, Justin says, "I think the son-of-a-bitch is backin' down!" Brett would have argued, something like play it safe and let the animal do what he damned well pleased. After all, the skunk had sprayed so much nostril-inflicting odor, the breeze probably took it back to town! While waiting, Brett had a flashback. Once, Brett and Bart had taken on a footballer, from the opposing team. A full nelson was out of the question, which bummed Brett out. The restraining position did much for his cock, pressed against a dude's ass, even if he was wearing the uniform. But this one time, Bart got a little too aggressive with his boxing skills, when his fist bounced off the bulky dude's stomach, going for the jockstrap. First the jock was laughing at Bart, but not after the punch to the balls! Afterwards, Bart, who wasn't as tough as Brett could be, placed a finger in the top seam of the footballer's pants. He thought the dude went down without hesitation, seeing the reason, he probably was traveling light, in case he ran into his girlfriend. Brett, he was glad the jock wasn't wearing any hardcore protection. Bart, he was relieved he didn't do any life-rendering destruction, later on the footballer becoming a high school `daddy!' >From that experience, it taunted Brett, wanting to stick a finger in, which would be `into' the crease of Justin's ass, pull back his designer briefs and see what opportunity lay ahead. Right now, playing him, Justin knew Brett was suffering, inching forward, pulling hard backwards, which made his tee shirt ride up to below his pecs. It hurt a little, his crotch grazing the top of the door, but some things were worth the turnout! However, it was going on long enough, so Justin senses it's time to turn up the heat. Apparently the little bugger had had enough as well, on the verge of falling off the door ledge. Seeing an opportunity, Justin scrapes the barrel of his cock for the last time, yelling out, "grab my legs, will ya?" Oh man, was his crotch feeling the pain-pleasure syndrome! "Grab your legs? What the fuck do you..." Brett didn't have time for complaints, trying to process the `how to', coming right up the middle, like wedging his bod into the handles of a pair of scissors, cutting through till his chest was right between Justin's thighs. Wanting to tease Brett more, it just wasn't meant to be, the stinkin' creature falling off the ledge and scurrying away. At least he got this far and maybe someday, if Justin play his cards right, next time Brett came up between his legs, he'd have a ragin' hard on! Instead though, Brett did his best to rescue Justin, who was ready to topple over the edge of the door. It wasn't over though, for both, Justin's poor cock, dragged across the window slot. In the nick of time, Brett, after having Justin's feet to the pavement, slams him against the door, narrowly being missed by a speeding truck! "On shit!" Justins exclaims. Thinking he's reading Justin's mind, Brett says, "yeah, I know. If it wasn't for me, we'd both be road kill." `True,' Justin thought, but more `pressing', "uh yeah, thanks, but I think you better get me to the emergency room, for them to put my balls in traction!" At this point, Brett didn't care what Justin thought, typical mindset for a bully in action, leaning his front against Justin's back, arms at his waist, hands digging into his cock pocket, "maybe I should take a look!" Playing hard to get, Justin says, "uh, does `looking' require you touch?" Happy he took the initiative, Brett says, "I can't believe it!" "What?" Justin smiles, staring off into the woods. "That damn skunk must've had some effect on you!" Justin couldn't behave, like nothing was going on, turning around. Instead of tearing Brett's hands out of his briefs, they acted like a can opener, peeling away the fabric. Brett didn't care. It made it easier for him to play with Justin, lightly stroking, feeling up his balls, claiming, "don't tell me you don't like that?" That's the thing, he loved it, fruits of his labor paying off, `tremendously'! "Like? Hardly my reaction," he kisses Brett on the lips. Not exactly the romantic type, Brett moves his head aside, complaining, "I'd much rather have your lips on my crotch?!" He could be a romantic, if the other dude were into it, but Justin liked it rough too, saying, "yeah, get tough with me. Take me into the woods...tie me to a tree and make me suck your big meat." `That's a switch,' Brett thought on it, but wasn't immune to the forces that be, driving his balls with static electricity. Testing, to see if Justin was for real, "you got some rope?" "Nope, but I could put my hands behind my head, like this?" When he did, his shirt, which had been pulled up, looking like he had a halter holding his worked out pecs, Brett pulls it down and for the first time in life, owning some responsibility, "maybe we can pick up where we left off, later?" "I see what you mean," Justin really didn't know, but thought it might be that another truck could coming roaring down the hill. Brett didn't get what Justin meant, but provides his own excuse, "I kind of have an appointment with this `fuckin' wingnut', who thinks he owns me and if I don't serve my time, I'll be stabbing garbage at the park all summer in an orange outfit. Orange, it really ain't my color." When they were feeling, thinking, talking `sex', the skunk smell seemed to dissipate, but having to start the jeep, pulling it over to the side of the road, both dudes felt like heaving up their guts! Having left the jeep, Justin grabbing his guitar and backpack, Brett with his army pack, the two set foot on the road which did not look like a car path. More of a grassy knoll, with two brown tracks, looking to be made by a vehicle having come this way not long ago, the two make their way. It was on Justin's mind, `why' the orange uniform, first thinking he might have buddied-up with a mass murderer. Then again, with Brett's hands on his cock and balls, they weren't twisted off, or put under duress. On the contrary, thinking about it, Justin had wished he did carry some rope in his jeep! They traveled about twenty minutes, Justin hearing Brett out. When it slipped out, Brett telling Justin about `some army guy', he related, "really? My dad was in the army. I think he's called it quits. He's going to work at a ranch near here, doing something environmental." Condoning it, Brett says, "well, I hope he's nothing like this bastard." Brett goes on to tell Justin how his `drill sergeant' made him go all the way back to town and walk up the mountain," telling it like the worst chore of his life, "all over again." "Well, then it's good you found my dad's cabin." With other thoughts on his mind, when they did meet up with Brett's mentor, "I'll kind of feel bad I'm not going to get the opportunity to be tied to a tree and suck you dry!" Wishful thinking, Brett says, "maybe we'll find some rope lying around in the woods?" "Could be," Justin's balls are hoping! They don't come across any rope, but do happen upon a place where the grass has been beaten down, Justin saying, "someone was here." Going over to where a circle of rocks form an extinguished campfire, "it's still warm. Someone was here recently." "You're so smart at that stuff." "What stuff?" Justin play dumb. "Like, you know someone was here, probably Bart and that damn asshole!" Shrugging both shoulders, Justin stands, "maybe," he dusts hands off, "but they probably aren't more than 15 minutes away and since it's on the way to meeting my dad at the lake, we can both," he stutters, "enjoy each others company!" It did phase Brett, Justin liking to be with him, but still not letting his guard down, that he more than `liked' him, like a brother, "well, maybe, before we catch up, you can give me that blowjob you owe me!" "Owe you? May I remind you who set off the skunk in my jeep?" Then Justin is sorry he said it! "That wasn't my fault." "How so?" Justin stands there, hands on hips, gawking at the audacity Brett has. Having a lot of moxie, Brett says, "you didn't warn me fast enough!" Thinking he blew the blowjob, Justin accepted it, cordially saying, "yeah, I guess I do owe you!" For the next ten minutes, the two talked `gay history', Brett giving his shortest version, wanting to hear Justin out. He was surprised, it wasn't long, drawn out, but informative that his dad didn't mind it, but his mother and stepdad did! "Hey," Brett puts an arm across Justin's chest, having walked side by side, "I think I hear my bud's voice!" Though, from the sound of it... "Wait," almost quiet falls upon them, Brett saying, "he's not supposed to be having fun!" For Justin, he could pick out the laughter, a high-pitched, young dude and that more of an older man. While Brett sailed on ahead of him, Justin says to himself, "oh boy, is this gonna be a rude awakening!" True to his thinking, before entering the clearing, whereas Brett's buddy was getting a cackle or two out of hanging food from the trees... "Oh man," Justin whined, thinking of another use for that rope, instead of keeping some bear from eating their dinner, he rubs his crotch. Other thoughts begin running through Justin's mind, like the other individualistic sound of laughter, one he's known his entire life, "this is not going to go well." Entering the clearing, he knew he should be more jovial, but Justin wasn't sure about glad to be seeing the man Brett loathed. As it goes, his father was the more assertive one, running over to him, "Justin! You made it!" For Brett, he just froze in place. Bart, he ran his words on, explaining about why they had to hang bundles of food from the trees. It would have been sweet, if Justin hugged his dad, looking over his shoulder, to make a connection with Brett, but his back was toward him. "What's the matter?" Coury says. "I thought you would be glad to see me?" "I am," Justin didn't act like it, looking across the way. Brett's true feelings, he wanted to run and hide, feeling betrayed. However, his feet wouldn't move! He felt trapped in a bottle of feelings, really liking Justin, but of Justin's dad, Brett just `did not know.' "What's the matter?" Bart asks, seeing his friend visibly shaken by something, having fallen to his knees. Thinking it really nothing much, "hey, while you're down there, bud?" Looking up at his friend, Brett yells, "do I look like I'm in a good mood?" Coury knew all was not right in Margaritaville, his son walking over to Brett, Justin claiming, "I swear, Brett, I didn't know my dad was your...whatever he is to you." Apparently, over the course of one night and morning, Bart's opinion of their summer counselor had changed dramatically. He was amazed at how Coury had such a knowledge of things, like hanging a grub bag from a tree, to keep a bear guessing where he sniffed food, or signs that someone's been through here lately, but not like, in days. They even reached an understanding, joking with one another about how they looked naked, but it would be better if they did not tangle with each other. Though there was nothing to hold them back from sharing their experiences in nature. Stepping past Brett, Bart sticks out his hand, "hey, it's good to meet you. Your dad, he's a cool guy." Coury was without words himself. Indeed, he thought of meeting up with his son, but didn't expect Justin and Brett to become friends. It made things a little complicated, "Uh, I need to explain something to you, Justin." "It's okay, dad," Justin jumps in, "I know all about it, why Brett and Bart have been placed in your charge." For once in his life, Brett's life is at a standstill. Standing, "I...I don't know what to say." Seeing maybe things are working out, Coury jokes, "well, I don't know about you, but I spent the night out in the woods, while Junior here snored away in the luxury of a tent. I think I'm ripe enough for a bath in the lake!" Brett was a little appalled, or surprised, Bart boasting, "I didn't force you to do anything, Coury?" Knowing how they started out yesterday, both boys not being too hip on how their summer was going to go, Bart, has come a long way, understanding Coury's not the mean ogre he appeared to be. Brett, without being along for the ride, he knows how it looks, the easygoing atmosphere between his friend and `archenemy.' Not which Coury had a plan, but his son steps in for him, "look, can't we start over?" Obviously, Brett is standing there, trying to figure stuff out. Hanging around Brett's neck, from behind, Bart says, "c'mon, bro. You'll see...Coury's not really the bad guy here." Even though he had hoped to keep up the chain of command, Coury sees a change in game plan, "Yeah, really, I'm not a bad guy to get to know." Right now, there were no cons, both his friend and Justin vouching `pro-Coury'. Not sure what he's feeling, Brett says, "I don't know. You guys kind of weirded-me out." "Well," Coury says, tired of standing around feeling gritty, "I've got a date with a lake, if anyone wants to join me?" He was staring straight at Bart, but of course, Coury had already won the 20-year old over, "I'm in!" Breaking the ice, which was a statement, Brett over his former self, "I wish I was." "Trust me," Justin says, "my dad's really a good person. This thing, with what he has to do with the court, you and Bart, I don't know much about it, but..." Standing in front of Justin, perhaps moments ago he wasn't so romantic before, but Brett had to say what he had to say, "What I know now, that I didn't know before, I mean, about your dad, I just want you to know...that...something like, whatever we have, I'm not going to use it to get your dad on my side." "I appreciate that," Justin says, having felt truth in Brett's words, along with the strumming of fingertips up the hairs of his forearms. "Good. Now that we've got that covered, you saw me this morning. Do I get to see you now?" "Um," Justin didn't really have much of a say in things, Brett tackling his tee shirt. "What is fair, is fair!" According to Justin, it would have been fun, being tied to a tree and choking on Brett's shaft, but he proves now, it doesn't have to be that way, to get what he wants. "Only what you want?" Brett had to disagree. Shirts stripped, Coury and Bart unbuckling their belts, they were so set on the swim in the lake they could almost taste it, until Coury questions, "what the hell is that?" "What do you mean?" Bart looks towards the direction Coury stares in earnest. "Singing?" Coury replies. "It's Snow White and the seven elves, I think." Bart loved it, Coury reprimanding him, "That's dwarfs, dork!" "Oh. Right. I knew that." The singing getting closer, soon they could picture the visual, Coury comfortable enough around Bart, "tell me I've died and gone to heaven?" "I'm way ahead of you on that one, sarge!" Carrying a big log over their shoulders, 4 shirtless dudes parade through the forest, the log their battering ram, trampling anything in their way. "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go..." Looking about, heads turning towards sounds in the forest, for Coury, it seemed like where they stood, was slowly becoming the grand concourse for assembly of all who were involved in the day's activities. Bart was cleverly sexy, saying, "uh, maybe we should put off that swim for now, boss!" Even though shirtless men, coming at them from all directions put a spin in Coury's pants, he was aware of Bart's antics, "so, it's `boss' now, is it?" A day ago, Bart could have constituted a `puppy punch,' slap of Coury's hand over his bellyhole as something offensive and grounds for an attorney's lawsuit. Now, he wasn't seeing things as then, Coury a fun guy to be with. With Coury, yesterday was different as day and night, his reaction towards Bart, that of a mean mongrel, versus being a cool father figure. It all fit together, like a picture puzzle, seeing that what worked in military school days, needed a change up with the times. It would be unheard of, a drill sergeant standing there, allowing a raw recruit to lazily lean on his shoulder, as Coury was doing now. The 42-year old even had a hunch this grueling experience in the woods might blossom into something more than friendly. "Hey, boss," the name stuck, "if you could, which one would you want to fuck the living daylights out of?" Sly smile on Coury's face, he turns a cheek towards Bart, "um, would that include you?" With his other hand, Bart brings it over to Coury's sixpack and slowly inserts it below the treasure trail, "depends, on if I get to make this buttplug big and fat?" Much as he wanted to feel Bart's digits fondle his tube, Coury brushes it away, "careful, soldier!" Snatching his hand out, from hairy pubes, Bart complains, "you know, you really know how to kill a sexy moment!" "Yeah, well," Coury starts walking towards a familiar figure, "quench your thirst with a drink from your canteen!" Standing there, watching droves of men walk in, from all directions, Bart visually had the pick of the litter. It was a shame Coury had to step into something appropriate, walking towards the crowd. Though it was a benefit, as Bart saw it. Later on, it would be sweet to his tastebuds, lapping at that sweaty he-man. It made Bart even speak his wishes out loud, "yup, nuttin' like the taste of a musky set of balls!" "What was that about `balls', bro?" Turning to see Brett, no more than 10 feet away, and `the other guy,' Bart was in total surprise, "oh, it's you," looking over his bud's shoulder, "and...what's your name again?" Brett, suddenly remembers he's supposed to tough as nails, "His name's Justin and we're hangin' together, so don't forget it, bro!" "Justin. Right," Bart puts a fingered `gun' to his head, doesn't pull the trigger, "I'll try not to forget." "Are you going for that swim?" Justin asks. Bart guesses he is, Coury all tied up in talking with the four loggers and the counselor-dude who was in court, `Venice-zano,' or whatever they called him, "uh, yeah, might as well, being that I'm naked," he coyly looks down at Justin, still suited up, "and you're not?" `Typical,' is what Justin thought, but at 19-years old, Brett, 20, how different could be the flow of testosterone. Joking, Brett turns to Justin, "need some help with that?" In their own little, young guy world, talk and action driving up the hormone levels, they didn't see society creeping up on them, "listen, if you two want to do stuff like that, get a room!" Justin cocks his head, "really dad?" Though, it was the trick that stopped Brett from dismantling Justin's jock-center. "C'mon, we've got work to do." Brett, thinking he's on easy street, now that Bart and Justin seemed to melt down that rough exterior, "we were just about to go for a swim." Two things crossed his mind. One, Bart follows right after Coury, as if a puppy dog on a leash. Secondly, the traitorous act, Justin saying, "hey, you'll learn, when `dad speaks', you better follow!" "Some friend you turned out to be," Brett shuffles his feet, catching up to Justin. Though, Brett could not deny it, maybe he and Justin could be friends, or more, accepting the feel of an arm over his shoulder. Even though he and Bart had the same buddy-to-buddy hold on each other, with Justin it was a different feeling. When they arrived at their destination, others were there. Though, secretly, Brett had a chance to study the hunks who were carrying the bulky `toothpick' over their shoulders. In particular, one man stood out, a dude who looked like he could be a year or two older. Regardless, more than age made Brett's loins tingle, the guy dressed like the others, khaki work pants, but instead of a tee shirt, this one dude wore a tank top. Man, could he fill it, big, bulbous pecs and worked biceps to match, the epitome of what constitutes an incredible hulk! Then, `the nerve', this red-headed ginger dude walks right over to him, fraternizing with him, which makes Brett's voice opinion out loud, "what-tha-fuck?" "What?" Justin questions, his head suddenly spinning around in the direction Brett is looking. "Oh yeah," Justin connects, "I was checking out that muscle-head way before you caught on," he laughs. "Yeah, but that cowboy stole him away from us. Man, I just got this hankering to plug his ass!" Justin responds in a disagreeing manner, "oh really? A few minutes ago, I thought you wanted to plug mine?!" It grew apparent to Brett, Justin being sweet on him, switching his head back, "yeah?" "Hell-yeah," Justin sweetens the pot, "I'm really looking forward to getting tied up and having you work me over with that fat thing in your pants!" Brett needn't force that evil grin on his face, taking charge, "hmm, maybe there's hope for us yet!" To break the spell he had on Justin, Coury calls over, "you want to get your ass over here, Brett?" While still in Justin's face, Brett says, "I still think your old man's an asshole!" There were a number of words Justin could call his own father, but if it weren't for that `army' upbringing and the choice of superlatives, the tough love, perhaps he wouldn't have grown up without drugs, or alcohol part of a steady diet, nor the will to go on to college and make his life meaningful. Then it dawned on him, watching Brett walk off, the words his father once bestowed on him, life is not all about ourselves, but how we relate to others. Sometimes that can be important, when the other guy doesn't have his head screwed on right! Smiling, having thought about it, "yup, that's Brett!" Seeing saws being handed out, the long, two-man type, a wooden handle on each side, Justin headed towards where the action is. He did happen to pass by Brett's `muscleman,' but it wasn't Mr. Muscle-pecs which phased him, much as the red-haired dude, "Hi. I don't think we've met. I'm Justin. Coury-there is my dad." "Hey," the red-headed lad, hair sticking out from under the cowboy hat takes the handshake, "I'm Rusty Cleg and this is... oh, I didn't get your name?" Justin knew that story, hanging around a guy, the want of finding out all about him, but forgetting what to call the `adonis'! "Michael," beefy-muscle-pecs responds, offering up a handshake to Justin. After the little speech he just gave Brett, how could Justin possibly think of hitting on Michael, "great to meet you." As a matter of not wanting to sport a hard-on, Justin wisely says, "I'd like to stand around and chat, but need to get on the wood." Turning to walk away, Justin is self-conscious of what he just rendered, turns back, "um, I swear, I didn't mean it that way!" Michael says to Rusty, "uh, does he think I'm gay?" Rusty had his doubts too, Michael so masculine, deep voice and all, "nah. I myself, wouldn't ever think it," he managed to trip over his real thinking! However, Rusty didn't have `the gift', like others do, Michael brushing the back of his hand up and down ginger-colored hair covering a slender forearm, "that's a real shame," he looks up at a surprised face, "because I was thinking how much easier it would be to get to know you." Change of heart, quickly, before the moment was lost forever, Rusty hastes, "Trust me, I'm gay, as gay as they come!" Michael bursts out laughing. Who would not, with the confession like it was coerced out of a person by the snap of a whip! "What?" Rusty says, blushing red. "I have a confession to make." "What's that?" Michael smiles, saying, "when I had that log up on my shoulder, I was hoping you noticed these," he holds up both arms, his head completing the `W', formed like 2 square U's. Rusty jokes, figuring Michael can handle it, "all muscle, no brains?" "Ha ha," Michael paces his false laughter, "I'm that and more. All it takes is getting to know me, to find out what a sweet guy I can be?" Trying to figure out the difference between humble pride and a dude so much into himself, Rusty wasn't about to allow what he thought, compared to finding out, "I think I'll take a chance with you, Michael." "Oh thanks," Michael replies, disdain in the tone, "do you want me to sign on the dotted line or something?" "Nah," Rusty goes for broke, "I should be able to tell with a kiss!" Playing along, Michael says, "Oh, wow, I thought maybe you would want to wait until the first date?" "True," Rusty looks around, "might seem funny, getting it on in the middle of the woods, being the center of attention." One of his comrades calls over, "Mikey, you with us?" "Mikey?" Rusty repeats, like it sounded repulsive. "Yeah, comes with the territory. I don't particularly like it, but they're a nice bunch of guys. We get along. I much more prefer Michael," said like he was sending a message. "Mikey," they hear again, from the same dude, "are you gonna get your ass over here or what?" Having never met Rusty till now, Michael says, after giving his friend `the finger,' "I better get my ass in gear. Wouldn't want the big boss giving me grief over not doing my job." "Yeah, me too," Rusty says, not giving Michael the heads up on his position, `CEO', or head honcho, however Marco wanted to pin on him. However, all was not that rosy in Oz, Rusty walking over with Michael and pitching in. "Whoa, what are you doing, son?" Whereas green growth was being cleared out of the way, Brett and Bart each on a side of the long saw, everything came to a complete halt. Hand Rusty's shoulder, Marco had just `pinned the tail on the donkey', singling his son out. "I'm not standing around and doing nothing," Rusty addresses his father. Truthfully, Marco looked like the only one `out of place,' dressed to the hilt in a suit, Italian shoes on his feet. Already having the hots for Rusty, Michael walks over and defends, "hey, why don't you lay off?" Steaming mad, the way Marco could get when put down in public, says to Michael, "why don't you just walk. You're fired!" "No, stay," Rusty stares into Marco's sunglasses. If not for Michael's physique and drop-dead gorgeous looks, handsome face carved out with a beard along his chops, stash over his lips, he might not have been so quick to back down. However, instead of the confrontation being in front of so many, "I'll speak to you later, regarding this, Rusty." He turns his back and walks off. Much as he was thankful, grateful to Rusty for saving his job, Michael tried to put it as nicely as possible, since being hired, fired, rehired and fired again, all in one day, "uh, thanks for saving my bacon, but when were you going to tell me my boss is your father?" Michael's attitude irked Rusty in such a way, not allowing him to walk off, grabs him by the arm and whips the muscled dude around, "my father is not your boss. `I' am your boss!" Under their breaths, Michael's friends were almost silent cheerleaders, with `give him another chance,' or `doing anything to have the boss as a boyfriend,' or other sly digs, one of the older ones, `forgive and forget is my motto, especially when he's hot!' Slowly the sawing started up again, accompanied by singing some Dierks Bentley song. "Um," Michael humbles himself, taking Rusty's finger with his pinky, so as not to make it too obvious and weaseling his way back into what their lives could become, "do you think we might be able to start over?" Seeing Michael's kind-hearted side showing through, Rusty makes amends too, "long as you're okay with me being your boss?" Shrewdly, Michael says, "I hope you don't wear the boss' hat to bed?" It could have evolved into a sweet moment, but not in front of this crowd of cowboys! % Copyright 2016 T. Chase McPhee "JoLLy RaNCHeRs" and developing segments of this story, may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author, or you will be forced to your knees.