Date: Sat, 12 Jan 2008 17:39:22 -0800 (PST) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: Adventures In Nature 09 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. % "Adventures In Nature" 09 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % Positioned behind the customer service desk a short line of customers seeking either help with a product or lottery tickets, Tom looked up with his eyes but not his whole face, watching John scurry in through the front door of Barr's & Bridges', head down like he didn't intend on making face contact. To himself Tom was saying, `let it go... let it go... there's got to be a logical reason for him being late'. In two minutes, John, having slid his personal card through the time clock slot, appears. With the same composure, he walks around the counter, admitting himself to the secured area. "You can go now," John came out with. "Alright," Tom replied, thinking to himself, `No `sorry I'm late'? Oh well, I guess there's gotta be a reason why.' Not pressing any issues, Tom proceeded to hit the pet food aisle, which would take him to the stockroom. "What's up?" Ethan asks, planing his forhead off with his hairy arm. If his mind wasn't absorbed with John, Tom might have gotten turned on to the twenty-eight year old stock'boy', his hairy chest and thin trail, dripping with sweat, muscles taut, as Ethan parked a pallet of canned goods. "Oh nothing," Tom responded, scratching his head. Stretching his white crew neck tee shirt between both hands his abs tightened up as Ethan pulled it over his head, smoothing it out over his chest and stomach, the sweat immediately giving it a wet look. "Liar!" Ethan accused. Not knowing Tom long, didn't shield his inner sense of knowing when someone is evading the truth. "Listen, don't give me a hassle. Not today!" "Yeah, okay," Ethan gave up, walking towards his next pallet, jacking it up. He stopped, pulling on a lever, letting the hydraulics do the job of making the pallet relax on the cement floor as he felt hot air on his wet back breathing on him. "I'm sorry Ethan. I shouldn't take my problems out on you." Turning, one hand still on the handle of the jack, Ethan cracks a smile, saying, "It's okay. I'm a big boy. I can take it!" Tom tried forcing a smile, but with Ethan's opinions already in place, he wasn't buying the cheery attitude. "So, how much more of the truck you have to bring out?" Being caught off guard, figuring Tom would unload some of the dead weight, Ethan took a mental inventory. "Let's see, this is the last pallet of canned goods... we got another pallet of charcoal... geez, I can't believe how much charcoal we're blowing out of here!" It's then Tom began snapping out of his downer as he looked upon the white tee shirt, damp, almost transparent, black chest hair almost showing through. At first, Ethan's eyes showed surprise, when Tom's hands began tugging the tee shirt out of his jeans. Then his chin took a dive, as he stood there immobile, watching the store manager's hands slip under his moist skin covering. "Um, isn't this mixing business with pleasure, Tom? Against company policy? Couldn't it get me... us fired?" Ethan followed the ascending hands as Tom stated, "You forget... I make the rules. I can break them!" Both of Tom's palms lay on his slicked down chest. What really made Ethan sigh with all out pleasure, is when Tom put his index fingers and thumbs together, lightly mashing his nips. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh...." he gasped, with total abandon, dropping his head back, eyes closing. With Tom's left hand sliding around Ethan's back, sweat-lubed, his other hand retreated, clasping onto the back of Ethan's neck, sliding through his mane, bringing their lips close. It was only a brief encounter, Tom taking the advantage of pressing his active loins against Ethan's. Totally immersed in the moment, Ethan's hand slipped down to Tom's zipper-zone, softly holding balls and cock, saying, "How `bout we lock ourselves in your office, so I can take care of this?" As if nothing erotic had taken place, Tom drops his hands to his side, turns his back to Ethan, walks away, saying, "I got a problem," then turns back to Ethan, leaning against a pallet of potatoes. Figuring playtime over, he returns the tail of his shirt to his jeans. "Don't you mean `we'?" Ethan replies, rubbing his package, sighing because he got all revved up for nothing. "We?" Tom questions. "The way I figure it, ever since you involved me in your life it meant... the good times and the bad?" "It doesn't have anything to do with you and me," Tom tells him. "Oh. Whatever, I guess the same rules apply," Ethan says, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder. Realizing it, Tom says, "Well, `our business' we can take care of later." "Sure," Ethan accepts it, happy with the thought that at least last night wasn't a `one night stand'. He proceeded to tidy himself up, unbuckling his belt, unzipping, tucking his shirt back in and then reassembling the works. "So, what's on your mind?" "John Torkelson." "Did he ever show up?" "Yeah, but it's one morning I wish he hadn't!" "You and he still not getting along?" Ethan inquires, hands on a stack of boxes, hopping up, parking his ass on top. "I thought we were doing fine, til he walked in a moment ago with a chip on his shoulder," Tom put it, waiting for Ethan's reply. "So, did you ask him `what's up'?" "How could I? We had a line of people," Tom responded, hands in play to help explain. Coming right out with what he thought most practicle, Ethan states, "There's only one way to find out. Call him back to your office." "When, Ethan?" "Would be best to get it out of him while it's fresh on his mind. What about right now?" "Right now? Like who do you suppose we can get to cover customer service?" "Hmm," Ethan said, thinking about it. It was part of their late night talking, which brought upon the fact, non-management employees were not CS material. Then he names, "What about the new stockguy you hired, um Josh?" "Cawley? The cello major at WRCC? The idiot almost dropped a pallet on his own toe!" Tom exclaims. "Yeah, but," Ethan defends, "he's really got it up here," pointing to his brain, tapping his finger on the side of his head. Then, over the loudspeaker system, they hear, roughly said by the customer service manager, "Manager to register eight!" "Hmm," Ethan ponders, "sure doesn't sound like the John Torkelson I know." "Told ya so, didn't I?" As soon as he said it, in walks Josh Cawley. "Whew, almost arrived here late. End of the month, you know. Cops have to make up their quota of tickets. They're handing them out left and right, up on College Drive," Josh complains, running right on, "I don't understand why they have to pick on us collegiates. Why don't they pick on somebody who is going more than a mile over the speed limit?" It's then Josh realizes Ethan and Tom aren't paying one word of attention to his story. Flat out, Tom makes the split decision, "C'mon with me", slapping the back of his hand on Josh's chest. "You're our new assistant customer service manager!" "What?!?" Josh exclaimed, his bod turning, as Tom walks past, breezing through the double doors. Then, to Ethan, Josh asks, "What brought this on?" "Hey," Ethan says, knowing it's own fault he'll have to haul ass for the rest of the day, "don't look a gift horse in the mouth!" "What?" Josh replied. "Don't they teach you nuthin' in that college?" Ethan joked. "I dunno," Josh said, a bit frustrated with getting no place with Ethan. "Just get your ass out there. Trust me," Ethan offers the advise, as one hand reaches over his head, to the back of his neck, to tug at his tee shirt, while the other pulls it out of his beltline, "what you're going to do, will be a heck-of-a-lot easier on those `musical hands' of yours!" "Coming?" Tom pulled one of the stockroom doors towards himself. "Um, sure," the nineteen year old musician replies, walking out of the steamy stockroom, Tom holding the door. After Ethan strips off his white tee shirt, he wipes under his arms, across his chest, then tosses it on a shelf. Assuring himself nobody else is around, he runs both hands up his tight abs, stalling at his chest, fingers and thumbs feeling up his pecs, targeting his nips, massaging them like Tom did. As a few minutes ago, he's sighing, revisiting the awesome feeling, head dropped back, eyes closing, imaging Tom standing behind him. "Um, having fun?" With haste, Ethan drops his hands, one applying pressure on the pallet jack, as he questions, "What are you doing here?" "Tom. He told me I got a new job. I'm relieved of chasing shopping carts and cleaning up after barfing babies. So, what do we do here?" Stopping, letting the pallet jack drop its load, Ethan takes a quick glance at his chest, deciding his nips don't look like they've been toyed with, before turning around. Obviously, the flourescent lights weren't to his advantage, as John Dellano looks to Ethan's hairy pecs. Making it more pronounced, Ethan then peers down at his chest, to where John is taking notice. Point blank, John says, "Like you're the only guy that's allowed to feel good, `there'?" Even though lightly tanned, Ethan's skin acquires a hue of staying out in the sun too long, without SPF 30. As if not a peep out of John's mouth, Ethan says, "We need to get the pallets out from the loading dock," he throws a thumb over his shoulder at the door standing open, rays of sun peering in. "Um, are we allowed to get like that?" John asks, nodding his head towards Ethan's bare bod. For a sec, Ethan immediately thought about the redness still encompassing his nickel-sized nips, more visible from the `wet look'. Alerting himself to John's quizzing, he responds, "Um, yeah. We can strip down... I mean strip our shirts, as long as its not on the other side of the stockroom door." "Cool," the eighteen year old replies, like Ethan, going for the back of his shirt, to peel the orange garment from his bod. While passing over his head, hiding his view of the stockroom, Ethan glances his way, checking out the blond, darker hair trailing from his beltline, a strip right up his stomach, fading midchest, the rest smooth, except for the hairy pits. "I guess that about clinches it," John says. "What?" Ethan asks, not realising he's responded too late, from checking John out. Never one to hide his feelings John Dellano stands there, hands on hips, feet spread shoulder width, as if pretending to be Superman, looking down on his studly bod, finally saying, "Like what you see, Ethan?" It about threw all whims aside, labeling Ethan, same time branding John's sexuality into both minds. At first giggling, wising up to the facts, Ethan tells him, "You've got nothing worth hiding, okay?" Bold, to put it mildly, John retorts, "Anytime you want to check out the rest," he gropes himself, "let me know?" Gulping, Ethan says, "Uh, sure. I'll let you know." Going on, Ethan starts in on the stockroom routine. % A week prior to grand opening, Christian sat on pins and needles, reading through internet articles, regarding the training of personnel. Hand to his shoulder, Michael says, "Nervous?" "No, but having to know all this stuff, scares the hell outta me!" "No problem. I can assure you," Michael put it, sitting down, setting a Dr. Pepper in front of Christian. "Thanks, but it's easy for you to say. Like look at all this stuff a waiter has to know." Taking up the papers, amounting to almost a novel, Michael turns the pile over, saying, "Like I said. No problem. My ole buddy, Winston Cooperman, from Scottsdale-- well his son, Marty, has just graduated from the Arizona Culinary Institute and well, I thought I would give the kid a break. Maybe make him your assistant. What do you think?" "What do I think? I think Marty probably knows a lot more about running a restaurant than I do!" Christian says. "I think it should be the other way around. Marty running the show and me following him around, looking over his shoulder, learning the ropes." "Or looking down his shirt?" Michael said, joking. "Hey, one never knows!" Christian came back at Michael, grinning. "Yeah, well, I was just wondering what you thought of my idea." "Looking down his shirt?" Smling, Michael tells him, "Noooo... Marty as your assistant?" "Sure, but like I said, I feel he's so much more qualified than me, so..." "Great!" Michael cut him off. "Winston says Marty will need a week to get himself together and..." "Wait a minute, Michael. You just asked me about having him as my assistant. The way you're talking is like it's a done deal," Christian interrogated him. "Well, uh I just figured you were going to...." Then, hanging his head, he turned around and apologized to Christian, "Sorry `bout that. I should have asked beforehand, but... well I owe Winston a lot, which I won't get into now, but talking with him on the phone, I just couldn't cough up the words to give him indication of a negative answer." He made Michael look up, as his hand met Michael's half way across the table, saying, "No problem. Most likely I could learn a thing or two from him. Besides, who knows? He could be good for business." "Thanks," Michael said, turning his palm over, taking Christian's hand like shaking it. "For what?" "Let's just say, if you didn't already have a cemented relationship with Justin, he'd have some fierce competition!" Christian sort of gets even, saying, "Oh yeah? Who did you have in mind?" Stealing his hand back, Michael jokes back, "I'm gonna smack you!" "Who's getting smacked, now?" Kevin Spangler asks, standing over the two, a bowl in hand, spooning the contents into his mouth. "Whatcha got there, loverboy?" "Oh, I was passing by Dean's Bakery, next door. They're open, you know?" Both Michael and Christian noted they weren't aware. "Anyway, I was eyeing up this sponge cake with blueberries and some type of sweet sauce. This guy, not Nicholas, not Dean, comes over... he had a badge on, but introduced himself... Scott Cutler?" "Nope, haven't heard of him," Michael says. Christian acts as interested as Michael, hand holding his chin up, elbow parked on the table. Kevin carries on, "Cute college stud. Kind of nice build, I thought." "Um, you want to get to the point?" Michael says, even though he wished Kevin had named stats and other pertinent information to feed the beginnings of a tingly feeling, down yonder. "Anyway, Nicholas Achille comes over, tells Scott to help the other customers. Giving me his attention, Nicholas asks if he can help me. Well, to make a long story short...." "It's already too long, but go ahead," Michael butts in. "Well, I would have settled for the name of the cake, but Nicholas went on to describe every ingredient in it," Kevin explained. "What's it called?" Christian wondered. "I forget," Kevin replied, "but Nicholas boxed it up for me and said, `on the house'." "Sure," Michael said, "next thing you know, Nick will be over looking for a free steak dinner!" Kevin was quick to say, "Nicholas isn't like that... and oh, he hates the name Nick. Call him Nicholas." "My.. my... what? Did you stick around for his life story?" Suddenly, all the glee went out of Kevin, setting his blueberry desert down on the table, replying, "Y'know, when I told you about Nicholas, you weren't suspicious of anything, saying to let it go. Now, it damn well looks like you're.... you're jealous or something!" Retrieving his desert, Kevin marched off, back into the kitchen. "Did it look like I was jealous, to you?" He asked Christian. "Um, will I get fired if I say yes?" Smirking, it's all the answer Michael needed. "I think I'll see about getting some of that dessert!" Christian watched as Michael followed Kevin's trail, into the kitchen, suspecting an apology and a kiss were on the menu. % "Wow! They sure have some hot looking guys in this magazine!" Closing his book up, with a clunky sound, Luke slammed it shut, getting up and walking over to Denis, sitting up in bed. "Not bad," Luke said of the hot model, half dressed in some CK's. "Nothing like the real thing, though?" He smiled. "Yep. You're right," Denis hastily agreed. "Seems like I've been going through hot studs faster than Michael Phelps through water!" "Nice build that Michael Phelps has." "Too tall for me," Denis replies. "Oh? And what would your ideal man look like, Denis?" Laying the `Out' magazine faced down, to save the page, Denis places his hands behind his head and lays back. "Oh, I don't know. I don't have any specifics. He could be tall or short, but not wasted. Not too muscular either. I kind of don't go for those muscle jocks with the bulging biceps, veins wrapped around them, like vines." "I know what you mean," Luke sided with him. Then he let Denis ramble on, "Yeah, I wouldn't care if he had a little gut." "What about intelligence?" "Wouldn't matter much," Denis replies, but adds, "I think I'd look for a guy with lots of intelligence. Like Jose Vega. Do you know Jose?" "I don't think there's anyone at the hospital who hasn't. He's like our `mascot'," Luke drops the one-liner. Smiling, Denis liked the reference, thinking of it as a favorable aspect of Jose's personality. "Yeah, I wish I had more going for me, than... than sitting here in this hospital room," he looks around, eyeing up the white walls and ceiling, one bureau, a closet and a few chairs set around, ending with looking down, staring at the upside down, half-naked stud on the cover of `Out'. "Well, just remember this, Denis. There's people here who care for you... who want to help you get better, along with your family. They..." "Hey! I just thought of something!" "Yes?" Luke inquired of the burst of energy. "The squirts!" "Squirts?" Luke inquires, along with his facial expression. "Yeah, my kid brothers, Philip and Aidan. My older bro, Chad... well he's not my real bro, but sort of we all adopted each other... well anyway, Chad told us when they moved here he used to call Philip.. that's his brother... my stepbro, sort of..." Luke sat there getting entertained with Denis' story, the stepped up kick in his attitude. "Philip, who used to always miss the bowl and piss on the floor. Chad got into calling him a `squirt'. When they moved in, my dads getting married and all, we all started calling Philip and Aidan... Aidan's my real bro... well not really real. He's adopted like me. Did they tell you I'm adopted?" "I didn't see it in your paperwork, but...." "Yeah, we're all adopted and then when my dads got hitched, my dad and dad-Barry adopted all of us." "Some story. I'd like to hear more about it, but what were you originally going to say about... the `squirts'?" "Oh yeah. I haven't seen them since before getting in the hospital. It's been like two weeks ago," Denis guessed. "Well, I'm sure there's a reason for it. I'll see to it your dads bring them in for a visit. How are you feeling now Denis?" Luke tests the waters, having received an earful within the last half hour, plus an exibition of changes in Denis' behavior patterns. "Great. Hey, can you see about my dads signing me out of here?" Not wanting to dash Denis' hopes completely, Luke put it, "I'll have to confer with the doctors, then let them evaluate you. I have to warn you it takes a while." "I guess. I don't know." Sitting on the end of the bed, Denis' legs off to the side, Luke asks, "Don't know what, Denis?" "Nothing." "Now, if we are to help you, Denis, we need to know what's going on inside your head. Besides, if you start keeping things inside, they will only build up and lead to more depression. You trust me, don't you, Denis?" Staring over the length of his bod, Denis tried forcing a smile, as he looked into Luke's eyes. As he took his time thinking, his thoughts traveled from the Squirts, to Luke. He thought of what he said a few minutes back, when Luke quizzed him on the qualities in a man he would look for. Rather than answer Luke directly, Denis asks, "Is it against hospital rules for you to give me a hug?" Sitting there for a few moments, Luke thought about it. Then, when Denis' tiny smile began fading, he figured it wouldn't be a bad idea. "Of course not." Standing, Luke walked the length of the bed. Leaning over, Denis surprised him, reaching out with both arms, wrapping them around him and pressing their chests together, as Luke regained his footing on the floor. Parting, Denis kept his arms attached to Luke's shoulders, saying, "I think you and I might get along okay. What do you think?" % "Nobody's called," Julian says, his eyes dropping from the clock on the livingroom wall. "It's only eleven o'clock," Darryl replies. Sitting there, Darryl in the easy chair, Julian on the sofa, Darryl's right hand hangs down, Julian's left chained by the other half of the handcuffs. They did manage to shower, but confirmed a `no way' situation with a shave. Drying off was a tough one, until Julian suggested toweling each other's bod. As for clothes, they were totally out of the question, since Riley had pirated every stitch of clothing either of them owned. "What time did you have to be to work today?" "Eight," Darryl tells him. Julian confirms, "That was three hours ago. Long enough for you to be missed. Like I said, Riley..." "Riley, that son-of-a-bitch! I can tell you, he's not getting away with this.. I'll sue him for all he's got!" Julian couldn't help but sit there and listen, leaning towards his left, trying to keep his left wrist from being accosted by Darryl's flinging his right hand about, as he griped. "Are you finished?" "For now," Darryl replied, with obvious sighs of frustration. "Good. I have something to say." "Well say it and shut the fuck up!" Calmly, Julian asks, "Why? I didn't tell you to `shut the fuck up' when you were ranting and raving about Riley." Still with the chip on his shoulder, Darryl says, "Well say it." "First of all, the calvary isn't coming for us. Riley's a stickler for detail. I'm sure he's got everything planned out. Look, did I get a call from the school?" Darryl remained silent, the answer in the silent phone all morning long. "We can't go out, since... well, I haven't done any streaking since college and I don't intend on prancing all over the countryside in..." then, in a calm, more seductive voice, Julian says, "not that you or I have anything to be ashamed of...." Stopping dead, Julian looks to Darryl, his handsome face, with it's rough shadow, the lightly blond-haired chest, the trail down his stomach, rippled by sitting in the chair, hairy pubes, his soft cock laying on top of his big balls.... "And?" Darryl questions, obvious to the fact he's being checked out. "Let's just leave it as Riley is not coming back til the end of the week, so why don't we just make the best of this?" Julian spelled out the only option. "It just pisses the hell out of me, to think he's actually getting away with it!" "I know, but I'm kind of famished. I think I need some breakfast in me," Julian says, rising up, walking towards the kitchen, crossing in front of Darryl, still seated. His body moved forward, but his left arm didn't keep up with the rest of him. Julian had no choice, but to follow Darryl's directive, which was the state of being motionless. Moving forward quickly, his arm acted as dog's lead, causing him to `heel', falling straight back. If it wasn't for Darryl's lap being there, his ass would have been deposited on the floor. Immediately, to stay stable, as he sat his ass down on the cop's package, Julian threw his left arm around Darryl's neck. Their faces lined up, Julian joking, "Can't wait to fuck me, eh?" Straightening out his legs, Darryl let Julian glide down, being careful not let his descending ass be the cause of tearing at his own wrist. "I thought you were hungry?" % Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.