Date: Fri, 19 Oct 2007 13:48:29 -0700 (PDT) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: Natures Trail 33 The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. % Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection. % "Nature's Trail" 33 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % A couple of the swim jocks paced the floor, the remainder sitting on benches in the open area of the lockerroom, elbows planted on their knees and heads propped up on their palms. They kept their vigilance, looking at the clock every ten minutes or so. They should have been headed back to their respective dorms a half hour ago, instead of sitting there, whittling away the time. "Tony's been talking to coach for almost forty minutes," Matt says, looking towards the wooden door with the cloudy plate glass window, nervously smoothing his palm over his chest with an unconscious thought, his hand picking up his pec stubble.. "Maybe it's a good sign," Jason puts in. "How so?" Troy asks. "If Coach Hollister disagreed with anything Tony told him, he would be yelling at him, probably." Hearing the click of the doorknob, made all of them jump, guys reacting by hopping to their feet. Through a sliver of the doorway Tony slides himself through, closing the door behind him. "What did he say?" Adam beats them all to it. "Well, he's not really angry at us, as annoyed. Coach said," he mimics, "'never in all the years I've coaching the swim team, have I come across such a bunch of hooligans'." "He called us hooligans?" Troy asks. "Yup. His exact word for us. Coach said he has never received the disrespectfulness from any member of the swim team until the other day. He said he really felt more stunned than anything, by our behavior." Looking around the room, while he paused, Tony could see the heads hanging lowly, his fellow swimjocks feeling lower than an inch of shoeleather. "But he did concede on one point." Every face looked to Tony. "He apologized to me for not feeling more sensitive about Denis. He said it was wrong for singling out Denis, just because he's not matriculated." Then, a click was heard. This time they knew it was the door, behind Tony and it had to be Coach Hollister. As he appeared, with his trusty notebook, they expected him to embellish on Tony's words of remorse. "Well? What the fuck are you all standing around here for? We've got a competition coming up! Hit the bleechers!" It's what they missed, the stern voice of Coach Hollister, giving them their directive. Hustling, the swimmers made for the door. Adam was ready to voice all of their opinions regarding the time, telling him swim practice ended a half hour ago. "Wait a fuckin' minute there... lineup for inspection!" Most stopped in their tracks, backtracking into the lockerrom and lining up as if in the army. First in line, Tony, coach suggests, "Hitting the keg again, Gagliardi?" Tony smiled when he felt coach slap his stomach. "Now and then, coach. Nothing too obsessive." "Your on the wagon until after competition," he grunted. Next in line was Matt Drijver, whom cried out, "Owwwwwch! Oh shit, coach!" Taking Matt's right nip in his hand, the thirty-four year old coach gave it a hefty pull, disreguarding the soreness it caused it's victim, saying, "What's all this fuckin' hair?" Releasing Matt's nip, Matt rubbed his hand over it looking at the inflammation. As coach went on down the line Tony whispered to Matt, "I told you so!" To his remark, Matt says, "So, you going to do me later?" He meant the shaving. Tony had other thoughts! % "I'm sure my fee will not amount to this much," Owen Bergne reported to the round table of Denis' supporters. "I'll gladly return the difference." He folded the five thousand dollar check up and placed it in his shirt pocket, as if an ordinary grocery list. "We're mighty grateful to you," Barry looks across the table to Julian, "and your brother for coming forth to help us out. Tell you the truth we're very worried about Denis." "And you have good reason. I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily, but a charge of sexual assault, if proven guilty, could mean prison time." "Oh shit no!" Steve said, Barry turning to him, putting his arm over his shoulder, rubbing his partner's back. "If you ask me, it's a bunch of hogwash!" Bernice said, showing her anger. "I've known Denis Clark since he was a baby. He doesn't have a mean bone in his whole body!" Like Barry, Alberto cradled his wife in his arm, trying to calm her, saying, "C'mon now, dear. Getting upset over this is not going to help anyone." "Sorry," Julian tells Darryl, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're too good a guy for all this to be happening to you." "Forget about me," Darryl reacts, "it's Denis I'm concerned about." Barry glanced in Darryl's direction. It had been a matter of a couple of days, since Denis first met Darryl, yet the police officer was pouring out his heart, in regard for his family member. Saying to all of them, but locking eyes with Darryl, Barry said, "With the fragile state Denis is in, we all have to be strong for him." "I'm sorry I had to bring it up, but I felt you should know what you're up against," Owen tried to console them all. "Thank you," Barry relayed back to the attorney. % Spread out on the coffee table, the monopoly game sat, but Aidan and Philip weren't in the mood to play. The Tv was on, but muted. "I wonder what Denis did?" Aidan asked across the table, as he knelt on the floor. Seeing the progress in their first five turns had taken a half hour, he got up, walked around the table and plopped himself down next to his brother. Almost simultaneously, Berk walks in the room, asking, "How's the game going, you two?" With Max out for the evening, to a special cooking class, he gave instuctions for Berk to keep his eye on the kids, til their fathers got home. Both shrugged their shoulders, their attitudes downcast. In view of the Tv, Berk comments, "Star Wars?" "Yeah," Philip replies. "We're not really watching it." Aidan picks up the universal remote, hits `off' for the DVD player, then another `off' for the Tv. "Something on your minds?" Max had also warned Berk the two might not be their jolly selves, due to the events surrounding Denis. "No, sit here," Philip tells Berk, motioning for Aidan to move over, carving a place out between them. "So, why are you two not smiling?" "Berk, why is Denis in jail?" The tanned Turk responds, "What makes you think he's in jail?" "Max said Denis got arrested," Aidan replies. "Well yes, but he is too sick to be in jail, so they are keeping him in the hospital. There is a policeman at the door." "Why?" Philip asks. "Do they think he might run away?" "The officer is stationed there for his protection, also." "To protect Denis?" Aidan, to his left, looks to Berk for an explanation. On his right Philip comments, "I don't get it." "First off, a crime makes a good story for a news reporter. The policeman will keep the media from bothering Denis. Also, they don't want anyone else to disturb him." "What did Denis do wrong?" Aidan inquires. Berk pondered over the question for a moment. He decided to keep it simple, not mentioning the full extent of the crime, which would result in a sticky explanation. Instead he told them, "He was involved in a fight." "At the hospital?" Philip followed up with. "Yes. It seems some punches were thrown and it landed Denis into some big trouble." "Holy cow! Denis didn't get hurt did he?" "I think he is okay. When your dads come home they can tell you." Looking straight ahead, he decided the monopoly game would make a good diversion. "I never have played this game!" It worked, both boys declaring the fact of never hearing of a person that hasn't, once in their lifetime played the popular game. "Didn't you play games when you were a kid?" Philip asked. "No. I fix things instead." "What can a kid fix?" Aidan asks. "Well, when I was a little boy growing up in Turkey we did not have toys like you have here. My favorite was a wooden truck I receive for my birthday. My father made it out of scraps of wood and pieces of metal. When it broke, I find pieces to repair it. Soon I find out I like to repair things. I make a little money repairing things for people." "Maybe you can fix Phil's model," Aidan says. "What is wrong with it?" Berk inquires. "I accidentally glued his head on backwards," Philip confesses on his own. "The head won't come off?" "Nope. It's glued on for good!" Philip replies. "Maybe I take a look at it?" "Yeah. Cool!" Aidan replies, jumping out of the couch, like readying to skydive. Berk followed the twelve and thirteen year olds to their room. % "I don't get it." "What don't you get, Conn?" Sitting there in their room, Jim sat backwards on a wooden chair, twirling a basketball on the point of his finger. Connor sat on the queen-sized bed, his back cushioned by a pillow, his text book open, lying against his abs to save the page. Jim had a feeling of what this was about, but wanted his lover to vent his feelings. "You got calls from the Army & Navy `and' Birdy's, offering you a job." After mentioning it, Jim let the basketball tumble off his finger, onto the floor. Unstraddling the chair, like getting off a horse, he walked the few paces to the bed, saying, "Move over." "Owch!" Connor said, as he closed his book, pinching his stomach between the pages.. "Doofus," Jim jokingly scolded, but then as Connor stretched to the table depositing the book, Jim leaned over and kissed his stomach just above his navel. "Did you do that to make it feel better?" "Does it?" Jim replied. It forced Connor to offer a brief smile. As he lay back down, Jim stretched his arm out behind his lover's head, capturing him in a hug. "Now what is all this about?" Jim asks. "I was wondering what's wrong with me." Rolling his eyes, Jim turns to his side, cuddling Connor, placing his hand on his lover's stomach. Looking up into his eyes, he says, "The only thing wrong with you is you're too damn cute!" "Do you think it's true that blonds are dumb?" "Now what kind of a statement is that? You average into the top ten of the senior class. Doesn't that prove something? Man, I wish I had the brains you have." "Then what's wrong with me, Jim?" "Nothing's wrong with you. I'm sure Seb and Christian aren't in cahoots with each other. They didn't like get on the phone with each other and talk over whom they planned on hiring. It's just a coincidence." "I guess," Connor replied. But Jim was convinced. "You aren't jealous of me, are you?" "Of course not." "Prolly when I turn one of them down, they'll pick up your application and give you a call," Jim tried to cheer his lover up. "Which one are you going to take?" "Neither right now. I think we should follow Maury's lead and check out the country club," Jim says, looking to Connor's face for a change in mood. "I don't think I should bother." "Listen. I could say your attitude sucks, but I don't blame you for being down. I really don't know why I got picked over you. I mean you're cute, always dress night and you've got a great way of expressing yourself." "Really?" "Sure you do. Who did all the talking when we went to fill out the applications?" Connor admits, "I suppose I did." "And I'm sure when Michael Byrd came in while we were filling out our applications, he had to be impressed with you. You and he were really talking it up there." "Then how come he didn't call to talk to me?" Out of ideas, Jim said, "I don't know," then proceeded to lean over Connor's pec, licking his tongue of his teen-lover's right nip. It didn't phase him. "Man, you're really feeling bad. When you don't respond to one of your hot spots you get me worried Conn." "Sorry. I guess I'm not in the mood." In sympathy, Jim decides to get Connor in the mood. Rolling up to his knees he straddles one leg. With both hands he starts unbuckling his lover's belt. "What are you doing?" Connor asks, putting a hand on Jim's, stopping his actions. "You're making me take drastic measures!" With a smirk, Connor lets his hand fall to his stomach, as Jim continues his assault to ward off the blues. "Oh man, you know what I crave?" Jim asks. "What?" "Finish stripping down. I'll be right back!" Not sure of Jim's intentions, except for to get him naked, Connor, knowing what sexual pleasures they can give each other pushes his jeans down, then strips out of his briefs. Freshening his pubes up from their confinement he pulls up on his cock and balls, letting them flop down. In walks Jim, a towel in his hand with one hand behind his back. "What do you have?" "Here. Lay the towel out on the bed and lay on it face down." "Why?" Connor questions him. "It's a surprise." "What if I peek?" "I've got a remedy for that too." Out of his jeans pocket, Jim produces black mask. "Steal that from Maury's toy inventory?" "He gave it to me last time we played around, just in case we ever decided to play without him," Jim says, smiling. "What else did he give you?" Seeing Connor slowly recovering from his distressful mood, he decided to pull all the stops out. "I'm game if you are?" "Bring it on," Connor replies, obviously forgetting his employment woes. Nodding, Jim says, "In the draw of the night table." "So you have it all ready to spring on me huh?" Connor says, turning over on his stomach, a hand reaching to open the draw. "And what is it I'm looking for?" "Four. Leather. Little rings on each of them?" While Connor busied himself with finding four leather cuffs, Jim had set his `surprise' down on the floor, at the foot of the bed. He went to the closet, reached up to the top and returned bedside, with a sportsbag. "Did I get it right?" Connor asks, holding one leather cuff, the other three lying on his chest and stomach." Just like when they played with Maury, Connor being their little boytoy, Jim noticed the provocation, Connor's cock swelling up. Before Jim could answer, Connor eyes up the black sportsbag, asking, "More of Maury's tools of the trade?" "Yup. Everything I need to turn you into my slaveboy!" "Cool!" Connor replies, a hand going to his own pubes. Swatting his hand away, Jim jokes, "I can see we're really going to need these restraints!" Still with his jeans on, Jim climbs on to the bed, straddling Connor. Picking up a leather cuff, he wraps it around one wrist, feeding the little leather piece through the buckle, them intently staring at each other. "Yeah, gonna make you my slaveboy tonight!" Jim says, coining a phrase he's heard Maury say. "What are you gonna do?" Connor says, playing the game. "You'll see," Jim replies, affixing the second cuff on Connor's left wrist. "Turn over, boy," Jim orders his blond slave, pushing up from the bed to allow him to rotate under his arched hamstrings . Hastily, Connor flips over onto his stomach, saying, "I hope this isn't going to hurt too much." With a big grin on his face, Jim keeps the truth from his lover, saying, "Got a big can of Crisco and a nice fat buttplug to work up to!" "No way!" Connor exclaims, pushing his chest up from the bed, looking over his shoulder. "You're kidding, Jim?" Pressing his knee against Connor's back, his eighteen year old lover falls back down onto his chest, as Jim jokes, "About what? The Crisco or the buttplug?" "My ass!" Connor replies, as Jim takes his right cuff and feeds the rope through the small ring. Kidding around, Connor tries moving his hand around, making it tough for Jim to tied the other end around the railing at the top of the bed. Jim straddles his lover, his hard cock, stuffed in his jeans, putting pressure against Connor's back. Remembering another `Maury-phrase', Jim states, "Resistance doesn't go unpunished!" "You're not gonna....." Giggling, Jim says, as he ties off the second cuff to the top of the bed, "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy the strap on your ass, as you ground your cock into the bed?" "Okay, I liked it, but it also hurt like hell!" Connor replied, but didn't contest the thoughts of having it done again. Getting up from the bed, to remove his own clothes, Jim admired his handiwork, seeing Connor's sexy back, muscles in his traps and lats moving about, as Connor squirmed about, for effect, as their game progressed. Playing right along, Jim said, "Like I could care that your ass is on fire?" As he stripped off his jeans, thumbing the waist of his lowrise briefs, unwrapping his dark-haired pubes, his hard cock gaining freedom from it's cloth prison, he spied the brown, curvy, plastic bottle sitting on the floor, which made him grin with evil delight. Before he carried out his plans for his slaveboy, Jim fastened cuffs to both ankles, spreading Connor's left leg out to the edge of the bed. With a short length of rope, he tied it to the leg of the bed. Taking his other leg, Jim pulled hard. "Oh shit! You're gonna split me in half, like some turkey's wishbone!" Connor complained. "You mean wish-boner!" Jim replies, laughing, as he reaches under Connor's pubes, stretching his hard cock out from under him, his balls mashed up against his bod. Since Jim had already decided their bondage game wasn't going to have the sadistic impact Maury would have pulled off, he relaxed his dominant nature, putting to his lips the precum exiting his lover's cock when he stroked the barrel. When they outted to each other, years ago, as young teens, Jim had his first taste of cum when they `69-ed'. In the following years, Connor surrendered to the bottom role, as Jim seemed more fitting for man-on-top. It's rare he tasted nutjuice, but when he did, he decided he liked the taste. Now, with his slaveboy all trussed up in an `x' fashion, it was time to `torment' him. He decided to try something he's seen Maury playout with one of his college frats, positioned as Connor. Taking a small leather strap from the sportsbag, he lay down next to Connor, his left cheek using his bicep for a pillow. "Too bad you were such a bad little slaveboy!" "What're you gonna do?" Connor asked, before Jim brought the strap down across his ass cheeks. "Akkkkkkkk!" Connor cried out, followed by, "Oh shit!" His hands coil around the ropes, to cradle his pain. Immediately, like Maury had done, Jim set the strap on Connor's back, using the same hand to force Connor's head in his direction, kissing his lover on the lips. "Like my kiss?" Jim offered, as a prelude to more of `the game'. "You know I do." "How much?" Jim provoked, a grin creasing his lips, as his hand picked up the strap. With eyes targeting each other, Connor replies, "Do it." Not as fierce as the first time, Jim slaps the strap across Connor's ass, immediately dropping the strap on his shoulder blades, the hand moving Connor's lips into position. The cat-and-mouse game plays out til Connor has ten varying degrees of red stripes across his ass. Connor knows this phase of their play is ended when Jim takes himself and the strap away. "Oh man is your ass red!" "Tell me about it!" Connor says, still feeling the fire and the sting. "Time to move on." "You're not really going to use the large buttplug are you?" "We're beyond the small and the medium, Conn, remember?" "But Jim, that was like four months ago. Prolly my asshole has gotten smaller again," Connor protests. "Then we'll just have to open it up again!" "Ughhhh," Connor moans, stuffing his face into the bed. Then giving in, which also signals the go ahead, he tells Jim, "Just make sure you grease me up real good?" "Oh, I will," Jim replies, reaching for the brown plastic bottle sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. Pulling at the cap, which allows the contents to dribble out, Jim holds the bottle right over Connor's asscrack, letting it flow down his crevice like lava down a narrow canyon. At the touch of it to his ass, Jim giggles, sensing his lover's glutes contract. >From his perspective, Connor tries looking over his shoulder, feeling Jim rub the `Crisco' into his crack. "Won't be long now," he prompted Connor, as Maury would do his victim. "Soon I'll be stuffing that ass of yours." Turning back, Jim hears more groans of not wanting, yet no protests to stop the action. Continuing, he rubs the liquid in, lining the crevice. "Ready?" "No," Connor says, the appropriate answer. "I am!" Arms stretched out, the rope taut, stretching his upper bod, Connor readies himself for the big buttplug. >From Jim's view, after setting the bottle down, he eyes up his teen-lover's ass. Spreading the cheeks wide, he can view the coated ass opening. "What are you doing?" Connor asks, but can't see over his shoulder. Having every right to ask, he can't see, only feel it, as Jim lays down on his chest, hands still spreading asscheeks. "Getting ready to open you up, boy!" Said fiercely, as a tough master would dictate. His hard cock already grinding into the bed, Jim leans his head forwards, saying, "Here goes!" Even though Jim has never done this before, only heard of it being done, his excitement in faking out Connor presses him onwards. Without hesitation he lowers his head, tongue stuck out, zeroing in on the ass depression. "Oh shit!" Connor calls out. Instead of pain, he feels a soft stab into his asshole. Realizing it's not the buttplug, he says, "No. You can't be! That's for me to do!" Stopping his ass-tonguing, Jim says, "Don't forget... the master makes the rules and can break them!" % "Dad, before we go I really need to see Denis." With Mark's belongings stashed in a clear bag, Steve stands there, looking to Barry for the final say. "They've given him a sedative. He's most likely asleep, son," Barry tells him. "Doesn't matter. I still need to see him... tell him something." Seeing the longing in Mark's eyes, his father couldn't bear the thought of saying `no'. "Tell you what. Mike Green is guarding the door. If he'll let you in, you can see him." Thinking it a fair-square deal, Mark walked out of his room, Steve in front, Barry following the two. Zooming up two flights in the elevator, they made their exit to the right, Steve allowing Barry to lead. "Hello Mark. How are you feeling this evening?" Officer Mike Green asks. "Better, thanks." Then, before the dads could intervene, Mark pleads, "Mike, I've really gotta see Denis. It's so important... please, let me in?" Placing a hand on Mark's shoulder, Mike explains, "Y'know it's a real shame. You would think the police department would have backup for me. They think I have an iron bladder!" Mark wasn't getting the full gist of it, so Mike sped up his explanation. The dads were way ahead of him though and smiled at his gesture. "It usually takes me about five minutes to take a leak." Without any other explanation, Mike hurries off down the hall, ducking into the jon. "It's your call, son," Barry says, going for the doorknob, holding the door open for him. Moving past his father, Mark enters Denis' room. "Aren't you going in with him?" Steve asks Barry. "Nah. Probably what he wants to say is meant to be private anyway." As Mark enters the dimly lit room, his eyes never leave Denis' face, as he comes into a closer focus. "Denis, can you hear me?" Of course he couldn't, unless Mark's voice pierced his dreamcenter. "I wanted to tell you I love you... I always will...even if you do have a boyfriend and.." shrugging his shoulders, "I might have one someday..." he fixed the blond hair, tumbling from Denis' forehead, arranging it in the messy look he liked, trying his best to spike it with his fingertips. "I'm going to be here for you to help you through all this... " Sneaking the door open, Barry says, "Mike's on his way back, son." Mark responds, "Okay." In closing, Mark says, "I gotta go now, but I want you to never forget I love you, Denis." He turned Denis' head and put his lips on his face, kissing his brother, even though no response came back to him. % "Are you going to be alright tonight?" Darryl leaned against his car in the darkened parking lot, fidgeted with his keys, his eyes fixed on them as he contemplated the events of his day. "Earth to Darryl.... do you read me?" Julian says, waving his hand in front of Darryl's face. "Oh yeah. Sorry." "No problem. Remember, I've been there?" Looking up at the twenty-five year old teacher, Darryl recalls the times they sat or lay side by side, talking for hours, over the events life had dealt then, good and bad. "Yeah. I know you've had your troubles." "And if it wasn't for you, Darryl, y'know I would have gone crazy?" "If you say so." "Once a humble guy... always a humble guy," Julian says, wanting to take Darryl in his arms and hug the daylights out of him, but resorted to a pat on the shoulder. Then, looking up, Darryl asks, "Julian, come home with me tonight?" "What! But I thought?" "I know. Don't think you're getting mixed signals here. I do really like Denis. If I go back to that lonely house, without somebody to talk to, it's going to drive me out of my gourd." "No strings attached," Julian brings up, knowing it's probably on Darryl's mind as well, all things considering. "Before we became involved, we used to lay in bed with our clothes on. Remember?" "I get the message, Darryl. You don't have to spell it out to me." "Thanks, Julian. Thanks for being a good friend to me." Even though Julian knew the route to Darryl's cottage, he followed behind, knowing the turns before they happened, in the road. After Darryl pulled his Sierra 4x4 into the drive, as he's done over and over, in the past, Julian made a left, following. "Be right there," Darryl says, walking to the end of the drive, scooping the pile of mail from the box, walking the curvy flagstone walk. He's surprised when the door opens for him, admitting him into his own small home. "I still have my key. You want it back?" Julian tells him, holding a wad of keys up. "Nah. It doesn't matter," Darryl replies, in a somber mood. Having been there a dozen times, feeling right at home, Julian asks, "Drink to settle your nerves?" "Yeah. Would be good," Darryl replies, dropping the mail on a little table, in the foyer. Still in his police uniform, he unbuttons the shirt down to his navel, dragging it out of his beltline, then finishing off the buttons, as his daily habit, letting his shirt flop open. Entering the house, he finds himself in his livingroom. He flops himself down on the sofa, blowing his breath out. Stretching, Darryl places his hands at the back of his head, which widens the gap of his shirt, exposing his smooth chest, the thin, blond trail through the wrinkles in his stomach. "Here we go," Julian says, standing over Darryl with two cocktail glasses. "I made you a double... thought you needed it." "Yeah. Thanks," Darryl replies, as Julian places the glass in his hand. He takes a hefty swig. "You keep on like that and you won't be needing my company!" Instead, Darryl pats the cushion next to him, saying, "Sit." Still in his teaching getup, Julian sits, placing his drink on the coffee table. Immediately, he loosens his tie, pulling it apart. Removing it from the collar, he folds it in half, places it on the table and unbuttons three buttons of his shirt simultaneously, revealing a partial glimpse of his dark brown, furry chest. "So, how are you doing? Okay?" Julian asks. "No. I'm not doing okay," Darryl replies. Placing his drink on the table, he voluntarily turns to Julian, scooping the twenty-five year old up in his arms. "But...." Julian protests, not for himself, but in lieu of all Darryl's told about his budding relationship with Denis. "Just hold me, Julian?" At first, his hands out to the sides of Darryl's ribs, Julian thinks things over in a matter of seconds, then follows through, clutching Darryl's bod. The longer he held Darryl the more amorous he became, his lips at Darryl's neck, giving him small, soft kisses. Peeling back the shirt from his left shoulder, Julian traveled the length of Darryl's shoulder, til he realized what he was doing. He broke off their hugging. "I'm so sorry Darryl," Julian said, with eyes pleading forgiveness. "It's not your fault," Darryl says, leaning back in his portion of the sofa. "Has there been anybody in your life since... you know?" Holding his drink, almost in his crotch, Julian's head hangs low, his chin almost embedded in his furry chest, as he nods his head. "I thought I had something going.... this guy from the bar, but he turned out to be a one-night-stand." "It's my fault you are unhappy and I'm sorry, Julian." "You can't blame yourself, Darryl. You had your reasons for breaking off. I was being too pushy. All I wanted was sex, sex, sex." Julian downed the rest of his drink. "Maybe it's a bad thing, me being here." Catching Julian, hand flat on his thigh, Darryl kept him from standing up. "Don't go. I... I need you here tonight, Julian." Knowing tomorrow morning he would be hurt, Julian lived for the night. Accepting Darryl's strong-willed invitation, he leaned in, dividing the shirt draping over Darryl's shoulders, peeling it back, turning the cuffs inside out, as he removed it. As they used to do, Darryl placed his hands behind his neck as Julian licked his pit of blond fur. From his arm pocket, Julian migrated to his dime-sized nip, teasing it with his lips and teeth. Soon he felt a pair of hands at his midsection. Not giving a damn, he allowed Darryl to rip open his dress shirt, tugging it behind his back and off his shoulders. Surprised, but also reved up, Julian is taken aback, when Darryl presents, "You know where the bedroom is. Let me grab a bottle." % Next morning, the Clark-Barr residence was all a hustle with foot traffic. "Y'know, Max, it's not so bad taking Scruffy out," Aidan says. "Easy for you to say," Philip follows up with. "You don't have to pick up the poop!" "Aren't you boys sharing your responsibilities?" Max asks, as he turns the sausages. "Y'see," Aidan lays out their plan, "we decided I'll walk Scruffy and Phil picks up after him for two weeks. Then we switch." Philip, still unsettled by the plan, reveals, "It's only the second week. Ai isn't the poop picker-upper until next weekend!" "I really think you should alternate days, but it's your business how you choose to do it," Max suggests. Before the discussion could continue, the two youngsters get all cheery when Mark walks in the kitchen. "Hey, look!" "When did you come home?" "Last night," Mark reports, "after you two were asleep." Not as giddy as the two squirts, Mark parks himself in his usual seat. Max reminds the boys they better put a hustle on walking Scruffy, as the `nature walk' will be starting soon. As Philip and Aidan put Scruffy on a leash, letting the back door bang shut, Max turns his attention to Mark. "So, how does it feel to be home, Mark?" "Good I guess, but it's kind of lonely in our room." "Missing Denis, are you?" "In ways you'll never know," Mark replies, placing his arms on the table, his forehead to his forearms. Turning the gas off, placing the pan on a cold burner, Max came over to the table, sat down on the bench next to Mark, put his arm on the teen's back and rubbed it. "I don't know if the others noticed, but I've been keeping my eye on you and Denis. If I'm not mistaken, you two have had more than a friendly, brotherly relationship going on?" Instantly, Mark picks his head up, looking to Max, saying, "You know?" "I've watched it grow and blossom," he replied, his hand still lightly massaging. "But how did you..." "I'm a gay man, in a gay relationship. I love Berk. You and Denis weren't behaving much different than two ordinary lovers. Besides, I've found a lot of cum on the sheets from your room, where only one bed has been slept in?" "Oh," Mark said of the dead giveaway. "Let me say something. You're home and like I sensed something between you and Denis, if you don't at least act cheerful, your little brothers are going to start to suspect something." "They know." This threw Max back to base one. "They know? How?" "They came to wake us up one time, instead of our dads. They walked in on us while I lay there, Denis kissing me." "What did they say?" Max asks. "Nothing, except a bunch of `holy cows'. Denis didn't give them much time before he started hurling sneakers at them, calling them `perverts' or something like that. Now they know and there's nothing we can do about it." "Well, I suppose you could do some explaining to them, saying you were trying it out... as two novices in an experiment." "But it wasn't like that Max. I can't lie. Denis and I were really going at it and it's not the first time. And it's not like two kids trying something out. We went all the way. I fucked my own brother!" Breaking down in tears, Mark's head fell into the circle of his arms, braced on the table ledge. "What's wrong?" Barry asks, entering the kitchen. "My fault, I'm afraid," Max confesses. "I thought I was helping, when I should have been minding my own business!" "It's not your fault!" Mark calls out, his hand dropping to Max's, as they sit there together. "None of this woulda happened if I didn't press Denis into liking me." "Whoa now, son," Barry says, sitting down on the half foot of bench. Max gets up, going back to the stove. "What happened between you and your brother could have happened to any pair of brothers." "But dad, we had a full blown love affair going. Then," Mark raises his head, "we find out it's the wrong thing to do." "I was under the impression you and Denis had sorted this out somewhat." "We talked about it... decided we shouldn't have the same relationship as two lovers... but up on that ridge, when Denis..." Mark realizes the exact truth of Denis' intentions, "Denis was about to jump. I couldn't let him do it. It was in... Pastor Jack would say `the hands of God'... whether we both went over into the gully or fell backwards." "So, God had you both live.. to go on. There's no reason why you two shouldn't go on. I'm not saying as lovers, but as close friends. Can't you think of it in this way, son?" "If I may interject something here?" Max asks, holding up the turner, using it as a baton. Barry looks up to him, as does Mark. "I think it may be a wise decision to separate the boys. Let each have their own room." "Where?" Barry quizzes him. "We're overloaded as it is." "Berk and I can see about finding an apartment," Max concludes. "On who's salary?" Barry questions. "That should be of our concern and not yours." Edgy, a slight dab of anger, Barry tells him, "Well I'm making it my business and you're staying, so just mind your own business and get the breakfast on the table!" Taking one grain of advice from Max, Mark tried acting more upbeat when the back door banged, Aidan and Philip entering, with Scruffy. % "Would you believe the baker from next door came over, asking if he could borrow a cup of sugar?" "Let me guess. Tall, dark, handsome and Greek?" Michael questioned Adrian Perrault, the new chef. "That's him," Adrian agreed. "Did he do anything else besides borrow the cup of sugar?" "He didn't take it. I think he was just trying to check out the place." Going on what Kevin told him, Michael figured Nicholas Achille was checking out more than the wallpaper! "He didn't happen to ask you to show him the supply closet did he?" "No," Adrian replied, in his French accent, nodding. "Hmm... I wonder..." "About?" "Never you mind. Like you said. He was just trying to check out the place," Michael assured him. Then their talk turned to `kitchen conversation'. % His eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the light filtering in through the miniblind, Kev doing a slight pushup. Looking down, he realized he was utilizing Kirk's bod as a mattress. "Oh shit!" he remarked. Then, looking down between the two, his cock and balls hung down, ordering up another response as Kev found himself to be fully unclothed. Fully kneeling, he straddled Kirk's right leg, his hairy balls barely making contact with Kirk's thigh. "Oh man... what did I do?" "Are you awake?" Kirk asked, stirring, arms stretching above his head. "I wish I weren't!" "Whatever," Kirk responded. "It felt real good last night. Thanks for breaking me in, Kev." Recollecting his thoughts, Kev tried recalling `any' details other than innocently kissing. "We didn't... go... " "All the way?" Kirk replied. "No, Kev. Remember I told you I'm saving myself up for a special guy, like you and John?" "John," Kev said, as if just remembering he was in love with him. "Oh man... I'm such a jerk!" Falling, back against the wall, both legs crisscrossing Kirk's, Kev realises his infidelity. "You can blame it all on me, Kev. I'm the one who talked you into it." "John's not going to buy that. I don't even think I buy it myself!" "What do you mean?" Kirk says, scooting his legs out from underneath Kev, getting himself up, backing against the wall next to his roommate, bending his knees, circling his arms around them, squishing his cock and balls up into his hairy package. "I should have never had slept with you. It was wrong. I should have found you a guy on the net." "Really?" Thinking back, Kev cited it as a bad idea. "No, I should have pounded on Dalbec's door, dragged him down here and shoved his face in between your legs!" Kirk couldn't help but sprout a smile. "You think it's funny? John's gonna be furious at me." "Are you going to tell him?" "Of course I'm going to tell him. I can't keep a secret from him. It'll haunt the hell outta me!" Overcome with seriousness, Kirk says a simple, "Sorry." "Eh, it's not your fault. Now that I'm in a serious relationship, I've gotta program my mind that the one-night-stand days are over." "I think I should apologize to John too. I like him. I don't want to make an enemy out of him," Kirk says. "When are you seeing him next?" "He said something about a `walk'." "A walk?" "Yeah. It's been going on for awhile, where everybody in the neighborhood comes out and they go walking down the streets. He said you have to see it to get a clear picture of it." "When?" "This morning." Then, faced down, reaching over Kirk's legs, cock and balls dragged over his knees, Kev grabs the clock, looking at it's face. "Shit! If we don't hurry, we'll be late!" "I gotta shower. You shot your cum all over me," Kirk says, feeling a scaly residue on his stomach. "Did I?" "Man, don't you remember anything, Kev?" "C'mon," Kev said, tossing a towel to Kirk. On the way to the shower, hustling in the buff down the dorm hall, he tried to remember last night. He did recall sucking Kirk's shaft, but little else. % "How much more do we have to go guys?" Jeremy complained. With Barry and Steve at the hospital, looking in on Denis, while Owen Bergne took down the teen's statement, they left the kids in the company of Alonzo and James Kitchner's dad, Frank. "My place is about the halfway mark, to your place. I'm sure Emily would not mind serving up some lemonade. Give it some thought," Frank offers, returning from the nature walk. Alonzo and Frank led the troop of seven kids, walking alongside the road, in their sweaty tank tops. "Okay, timeout guys!" Alonzo calls out, turning around, as the seven stop short in their tracks. "Mr. Kitchner has offered us to stop at his place for lemonade. All in favor say..." A regiment of `yays' went up before Alonzo could finish his sentence. "I'd take that as yes," Frank said, laughing. With the offer on their minds, suddenly the group of ten to twelve year olds changed their pace from `dragging' to `brisk'. Perched atop twelve year old James' shoulders, he carried ten year old Jeremy, piggyback style. When the mode of speed changed, James let go of Jeremy's thighs, a signal to him he was on his own. Two houses away, the dads quickly became the last two members of the `nature walk' brigade, the squirts tearing away. "Easy guys!" Alonzo called out. Unheeding his warning, the kids sped up their pace, running, til the dads saw them hang a left, turning into the Kitchner driveway, from still a ways back. "Funny how they suddenly became so energetic," Frank said to Alonzo, as their walk took to the opposite, a snail's pace. "Adrenaline rush, I'd say," Alonzo chocks it up to. "Whew!" Frank exclaims, whipping his tank top off, over his head. Glancing to the side, Alonzo takes in the full view of the thirty-four year old's physique, but quickly diverts his attention away, saying, "Sure is hot today." "Mind if I ask a question?" Frank stops at the end of his own driveway. "Go ahead." "I don't want to offend you or anything. This is the first time I've really talked with a gay man." Smiling, Alonzo says, "Fire away," readying himself to be hit with a question regarding the gay lifestyle. "Do you think another man would find me attractive?" It was a strange question indeed, especially coming from a straight, married man. Standing there, hands on his hips, Alonzo thought it over. He decided to keep it general, replying, "You seem to take care of yourself." "No," Frank says, "that's not what I mean. Hypothetically speaking, if you weren't already committed to your partner, would you find yourself attracted to me?" Still not sure where Frank was headed with this, Alonzo, rubbing the midsection of his tank top, to soak up the sweat, tells him, "I suppose a man could find you attractive. Me, in particular? You're just not my type of guy, Frank." "I see," Frank replies, on the downside, as he flips his shirt up over his shoulder. "Well, I guess we better get inside." "No, wait a minute. I'm getting the feeling here that you might be... well... Frank, are you trying to say you're bisexual?" "If I could be so lucky. No," Frank wipes the sweat from the back of his neck, "for the last couple of years I've been feeling strange about myself." "Strange?" "Yeah, like I'm always looking at guys. Like yesterday, when I sat in traffic, there was construction going on, at the side of the road. My eyes became affixed on one of the police officers directing traffic. Before the guy behind me leaned on his horn, my mind was miles away, thinking about undressing the cop with my eyes. What do you think of that?" "I'm not sure, Frank. I think what you need to do is talk to a professional." "Like a shrink?" "I suppose. There are a couple of them at the hospital. I could get their names and numbers from Callan." "I guess it would be my best bet. I'm starting to lose concentration at work over this." "What about the family?" "Emily and I aren't really a `couple' anymore. We put on a good act, for James' sake." "Have you talked about divorce?" Alonzo didn't need an answer from Frank, as his face showed it. "As I said, we're only together for James' sake." "I'll have Callan get the information you need. Now I think we'd better get up to the house." "Thanks," Frank replied. % Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.