Date: Sat, 21 May 2016 23:06:29 +0000
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 10

% 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



%


"JoLLy RaNCHeRs" 10

WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


^   0   ^


%


Too bad Deputy Jack had to leave the house in a hurry. If he had stuck
around, there would have been a choice of which `hot action' to join in on.


The whipped cream incident in the kitchen was at the tail end of being
mopped up. Pete was trying with all his might to force screws into the
refrigerator door.


Inside the ranch office, Rusty was joking with Alex, saying he should have
moved the file folders lying on the floor, before shooting his load all
over them.


Rusty called it, "you crazy boob, Alex!"


Alex, whom had looked a seemingly important document, deeming it unusable
in his research, was now slipping it around his pubic area, an effort to
get rid of the gunk. Looking where Rusty had pointed out, file folders with
their contents hanging out, dabs of wet goo soiling them up, "hey, don't go
blaming it all on me. You're mixed in there too!"






They had managed to pull their clothing back together, except Alex's white
dress shirt had overlapped with the file folders on the floor. Rusty had
remarked, his tank top being somewhere in the room. Regardless, they
thought it best to wash they thought it best to tidy up not only
themselves, but files.


Shuffling, without touching, wet papers, Rusty confronts Alex, "Next time
you open that file, bet everything will be stuck together like glue?"


Smiling, Alex replies, "right, and I'll think of you!"


Rusty retorts, inching his way up to Alex's chest, "In what way?"


Proving his point, Rusty closes up the gap, squishing the file folder
between, their chests closing it up.


Acting like he didn't suspect, Alex is on the receiving end of a tasty
kiss, "mm-m."


Neither knew what the other was feeling, until parting pairs of lips.


Knowing he felt something, Rusty didn't think of it as `love', but more in
`parting,' like not developing into anything longterm.


He confirmed his thoughts, when not receiving a favorable contribution from
Alex, "I'm ready for that shower, if you are?"


Alex spotted his dress slacks over Rusty's shoulder, "Oh, there they are!"


Even though stripped off in a hurry, the dress pants hung, nicely creased,
over the back of a leather easy chair.


A little depressed over sex leading to something more, Rusty was cheered
up, the back of the file folder `glued' to Alex's chest, so that when he
stepped away, it opened up, strewing its contents all over the floor.


"What's so funny?" Alex could plainly see and feel!


"Nothing," Rusty takes the folder by a corner and peels, revealing, "man,
are you a mess!"


This led to a debate, as they walked upstairs, who came first, who's fault
it was there was so much gunk all over the place, etc., etc.


Top of the stairs, Rusty was about to own up to his spunk making the
biggest mess, when Alex rushes ahead.


Walking in on Neal and Pete, Alex tells them they were going to shower.


Rusty can only laugh, Pete stealing hold of the shower closure, telling
Alex, "In your dreams, boy!"


"You handled that well, Alex!"


Not one to care if a guy gets in his face about something, Alex turns
around to Rusty, "are we going to let them tell us what to do?"


Feeling his cell buzz in his pocket, Rusty finds a new purpose, "Uh, Marco
wants me to call him. I better take this."


He hadn't set foot in Tim's room since he died. Turning the handle, the
scenario was a like a creepy movie, not a stirring within, the door
seemingly opening on its on accord.


Rusty rarely set foot in this wing of the cabin, using the bath room and
then heading back downstairs to his own room. It felt a little eery, until
he found the light switch. Even so, the room illuminated, he found it drab
and ordinary. Except for a bed, a dresser, closet and a small bench to sit
on, there wasn't anything else.


Curiously, he walks over to the window to see what the view could be. The
shade was down. Pulling down on the plastic tab, it launched the shade open
with a vengeance, "oh shit!"


So powerful was the scare, it made Rusty jump back. Right off, he gets the
impression, why Tim gave himself the best room in the cabin, the window
acting like a Tv screen, showing a picturesque view of mountains and the
surroundings, which instantly made Rusty forget his fears, "Wo-o-ow!"


It made him want to raise the window and connect with the outdoor
senses. He had a tough time doing so, even with the ketch at the top fully
loosened. Trying and trying, it didn't budge but a fraction of an inch,
causing one of the panes to crack. He didn't think anything of the dust,
not knowing it was really sawdust. However, it wasn't his opinion of the
pane not rising up.


Giving up on fresh air, he mulled about in the stale room,

walking over to a dresser. With Tim gone, Rusty reflects on the one time, a
young kid, having been reprimanded for opening the same drawer he had his
hands on now, Tim cursing him out, telling him to not touch his stuff.


Slowly gliding the drawer open, Rusty began to think on that incident, not
recalling whether he was 12 or 14. It didn't matter now, except thinking
about it, it was around the time Tim began to change.


Finding a steel box in the top drawer, Rusty had recognized it. Same one he
happened upon 5 or 6 years ago, the one he had his hands on, but never got
to see what was inside.


Backing up, the back of his legs connect with the bench. With hands on both
sides of the steel box, Rusty holds it like it contains a valuable Egyptian
treasure. Sitting, he sets it down on his thighs. Hesitating for a few
seconds, he finally feels `free' to open, like no one is going to be around
to yell at him!


However, before he gets a chance to lift the lid, his cell bothers him
again, "Dammit!"


Though, Marco asking to see him right away, Rusty didn't leave it to
chance, that when he opened the box, it might hold something grim. Stress
over his cursing alleviated, he stood and with the box, headed out to meet
up with Marco.


They could have crossed paths on the road, Deputy Jack heading out to the
ranch, unless Rusty took the back road to town.


Unknown to anyone, Deputy Jack did think it kind of quiet when, after
knocking, he helped himself to walking in the private ranch cabin. Too
quiet, he stood there, ears checking it out. Hearing some water running
upstairs, set off the motion of wheels in his brain. A smile forming on his
lips, he thought, `man wouldn't that be a blast!'


That would be one of the things which townsfolk would get peeved at, not
knowing if the town deputy were coming at them with a summons or a snappy
prank!


Climbing the stairs, Jack was loosening up the buttons on his cop
uniform. By the time he reached the top flight, his shirt was off. He hung
it on the top banister railing.


Peering down, even though he thought what a kick it would be, stepping into
a shower stall and feeling his uniform soaked through and through, on the
other side of the coin, it were the only threads available, afterwards. He
began to loosen up the buttons, from top to bottom. With each button, he
thinks what a shame, the times he's had with some dominant top, making a
fuss about how his wet shirt clung to his bulging pecs.


The smile stretched from one to the other corner of his mouth, thinking
back to the first person (other than himself), to touch his
pec-spots. Maybe he didn't realize what was happening, but sure enough Jack
knew, the college frat never felt happier about a speeding ticket.


Deputy Jack also realized, how much, much more sensitive nips could be,
manhandled by not just himself. In fact, not only the feel of getting his
nips mashed, pulled, it wasn't only himself getting his jollies, but the
other guy!


Yep, what should have been 15 minutes, tops, handing a ticket out to a
speeder, turned into one and half hours of what was not an ordinary case of
`cop abuse!'


Reality slipping by, Jack's hands worked his clothes off without thinking
about the shirt, unbuckling, dropping his pants, thumbing his briefs...


Thoughts dashing back to the past, his balls were boiling too much to give
up on the sweet dream of luring his frat boy to an abandoned building. Out
on a nearby ranch, Jack surrendered more than his clothing. He had a hunch
about something, when his man-boy told him to leave his shirt on, that he
liked the way it was fastened around his muscled pecs.


Soon, as on the side of the road, feeling some pulsing in the plumbing,
they got it on. What the deputy found out, it could move a guy just as much
as himself, pulverizing his nips. Not only the physical, but every step of
the way, purpose to make his nips swollen, leave a lingering `hurt,' his
highway offender `talked' his way through.


Jack had to admit, how much of a turn on, both nips thoroughly worked, show
through his shirt. Well, on that first occasion, through the right
side. The pocket was one of the means by which his swollen nip remained
incognito. Most likely, it was the reason Jack sought to have all the
police uniforms redesigned, without any shirt pockets.


On consequent pullovers of the same motorist, Deputy Jack credited the
19-year old driver with being the catalyst for the police department
getting new uniforms!


Because he heard the water running, it renewed efforts on Jack stripping
down. Though, he was still torn between memories of wanting the whole total
escapade, nip-torturing-college frat, shafting his gunkhole, tweaking his
nips, repeat through his mind. To this day, such a sweet daydream could get
him solid as a rock, a consequence of the floodgates bursting open.


It was also a first, with his teen highway offender, as the frat boy aged,
it seemed he became a late bloomer, cock growing in dimensions, since Jack
could feel it inflate his ass chamber!


However, the running shower overpowered the urge to jerk off, thinking, in
his wildest dreams, the possibility of either Rusty or Neal having urges
themselves to use a hot `cop' ass.


Deputy Jack was always punishing himself for going at stripping down,
`ass-backwards'. A small bench in the hallway, as he sits, he pulls the
whole works, pants and briefs up over his thighs.  Cursing himself out,
Jack unties and removes each boot. Standing, he looks at how his pants and
briefs have fallen down around the ankles.


Upon hearing the water being a little `sloshed', he questions, `should I,
or shouldn't I?'


He chooses to pull up his pants, which also snags his briefs in a tangle,
against balls and cock, causing him to gasp in a pleasurable pleasure-pain
response, `oo-ooo,' which signifies something like giant rubber bands
tightly putting pressure on his already big balls and ready-to-shoot-off
shaft!


Knowing he's not going to last long, Jack walks towards the bath room,
giggling, thinking out loudly, "this is gonna be so much fun!"


Like his place, when showering, there was a long, plastic curtain, with one
swoop, he brushes the curtain to the side, "surprise!"


However, the surprise was on him, viewing 3 in the shower, none of them a
key person in his thinking. Jack's response was not of wanting to jump in
there, "where's Rusty?"


Alex, for real, he was there just to rinse stale man-goo off, hops out,
"Rusty, he got called away. I'm just here to," he didn't want to elaborate,
"freshen up!"


For Alex, it was obvious, a stranger to him, not there to do do his
laundry!


Stealing a towel off the rack, Deputy Jack hands it to the naked lad, asks,
"and who are `you,' may I ask?"


Without full uniform, how was anyone to realize Jack as one of the town's
most respected?


Alex answers with a question, "Who am I? Who the hell are you, pops?"


`Pops?' Jack had it in his right mind to set the lad straight, telling him
he was only 41-years old!


Alex leaves the towel hanging over Jack's hand, grabbing a different one
and walking out.


Neal, he had swiped the shower curtain along the rod, sealing himself and
Pete behind it.


"Hmm," Jack sizes up the situation.


It was apparent, the two in the shower had their own thing going and did
not want to be disturbed.


On the other hand, Jack liked what he saw, the full `nude' picture of Alex,
slender build...to him, it looked like he needed to find another workout
partner!


Out in the hallway, it was vacant. He could have walked to the other end of
the hallway. However, hearing some mousy sounds coming from downstairs,
Jack followed through, after using his detective skills.


Descending the stairs, Deputy Jack racked his brains, trying to happen upon
some catchy pickup line. He thought it would also `help', not having `any'
coverup. While stripping, he thought on the pickup. He knew he knew a
million of them, but none materialized. At the bottom of the stairs, the
almost open area of living room and kitchen looked like a ghost town. Only
other place, was either the ranch office, or Rusty's room. He knew the
layout, having been there, several times, when Tim was alive. He helped Tim
out, whenever he got depressed, which resulted in doing stuff which acted
like a pick me up.


However, different story here, since Jack wasn't coming up with anything
suitable, stands there at the door, looking upon Alex's back and bum, "Um,
you wouldn't happen to know where Rusty is?"



Alex whips around, dropping the smile on his face. Purposely he slaps a
hand to his balls, "Rusty? Nope. Haven't seen him. Well, not lately." He
had softened his opinion of Jack, but now, "what do you want with him?"


Placing a hand of reassurance on Alex's forearm, Jack says, "no need to get
your feathers all ruffled up!"


Alex felt the slight violation, but overlooked it, because if something
wasn't done, he would have to wind up making the first advance. Loving a
man with a hard, muscled bod, it really got his motor going, "But if you're
wondering where Rusty is right this minute, I'd have to say he had some
business with Maurice," Alex covers up, placing the towel about his
waist. "It was kind of sudden."


He didn't really need the shower, Jack only meaning to impose on the pair,
whom really turned out to be a trio and Rusty not in their presence, "I
see."


"Plenty, no doubt," Alex acted sassy, after feeling Deputy Jack's eyes all
over him. Though, playing hard to get, he purposely shrugs the hand from
stroking the hairs on his forearm. He made it known, "don't they teach you
things about sexual harassment?"


Jack, he didn't care about stuff like that, not with a hot man in his
presence, "Who are `they?'"


Maybe Jack thought he was being cool, showing up half-naked, but Alex could
tell what a pair of pants, thin stripe down the side meant. Either
military, or some other, he chanced, "Down at the police station?"


He did remember, some higher-up from the state, coming around and lecturing
them about new guidelines, so some of ways of restraining would not be
construed as `rape'. Touching without asking was one of them. However, two
guys, obviously not in a hurry to dress, Jack totally disregards the whole
thing, answering Alex's question, "Sexual harassment, eh? Nope. Doesn't
ring a bell."


"Oh really," Alex still acts with a tinge of sass, "I guess I didn't
recognize you, being out of uniform?" He didn't wait for Jack's response,
"I'm surprised, seeing that I've been working for Nile Davis for a week and
you don't know?"


"Nile Davis?" Jack says, impressed.


Alex clicks his teeth three times, a fitting gesture to signify it's a
shame, insinuating Jack is supposed to know everything going on about town.


"A week you say?"


"9 days, if you count the weekend before and the one after. Officially that
is, but I have the weekends off. You do the math!"


Alex turns around, walks over to a bureau, opens a drawer, pulls out briefs
and begins stepping in them.


"You know what I can't figure out?"


"What's that?" Alex replies, purposely taking huge amounts of time to fit
his cock and balls into the front pocket of the briefs.


Since Alex had excluded his junk from sight, Deputy Jack did sense it a
little uncool to have his dangling balls and cock, slightly
extended. Grabbing Alex's used towel, he wrapped it around his waist.


"If you were in such a hurry to get away from me in the bath room, why are
you being so casually lazy about dressing and leaving the room?"


Whereas Jack probably thought he was doing something behind Alex's back,
Alex was taking in the whole jolly sight, through the mirror. He smiled,
seeing the cop make sure he was well-wrapped, though pushing the towel
lower, below his hairy bellyhole. `Yup,' Alex thought, nothing like a hairy
muscleman!'


Cooly, Alex says, "Is that a question or a statement, based on how your
nuts are driving you crazy right now?"


Thinking they've met with agreement here, something Jack could tell here,
when a man surrenders to his charm, he walks closer and closer to Alex.


With no where else to go, backed up to the bed, Alex falls over onto his
back, bed, it giving him a little trampoline bounce. His junk, tidied up
into one of those Nouguet sock-pockets, even soft, it's a mighty mass.


A little giggle, Jack thinking he's got it in the bag, "since you're not
fighting me off, I suppose that's a sign you can't resist me?"


Bent forward a bit, Jack moves in for the kill.


On the contrary, Alex was not so easy to fall prey to any man, whether
charm, nor balls to the boiling point, "why don't you try fucking
yourself?!"


With that, Alex unbends one leg, positioned right between Deputy Jack's
ankles. With a swift `move in for the kill' tactic, he lifts his foot like
a springboard...


"Arg-g-gh-oh-shit!"


Poor Jack, he had no where to go but down, taking his whit, charm,
integrity and over-inflated ego with him.


"Serves ya right," Alex sits there, watching Jack move into a crunch
position.


Watching the out of uniform deputy grab his crotch with both hands, roll up
in a fetus pose, like he was doing yoga or something, the towel opens up,
revealing a hairy ass crack.


Alex continues a dirge of moral views, "A dude doesn't just assume things
y'know? The proper thing to do would be to ask. I'm not an easy guy,
y'know?"


Obviously, the reason Alex tried to throw Jack off track, by grabbing his
own towel, keeping his loins covered, until he could suit-up. He probably
could have thrown Jack a warning, before it came to the `pow' to the balls,
but he hesitated, trying to make up his mind whether to be nice, or follow
instincts in an attempt to keep his values.


Choosing the latter, seeing Jack now on the floor, turning over onto his
belly, with hands still cuddling balls, suddenly Alex senses remorse for
his actions.


Standing over Jack, hearing him pant like a horse on a hot summer day, Alex
says, "Hey, you all right?"


It was embarrassing for Jack. With life, outside the sexual box, never had
he been treated with such humiliation. Whenever he accompanied Marco to
`the club', guys would look up to `the uniform' and a 6'5 muscle man. Then,
dudes would be flocking to him, baby him with wanting to buy him drinks,
get familiar enough to run hands all over his bulbous pecs, even taste.


Lying faced down on the floor, Jack did finally analyze the situation,
flipping over on his back, still cupping his aching anatomy.


Even though he had physically hurt Jack and mentally bruised his ego, Alex
loosened his temperament, extending a hand, "I'm sorry I had to resort to
that, but..."


Jack took the heave upwards. If he wanted to, he could have acted
differently, bringing Alex down to his own level. However, he figured there
was enough damage done, even though he was only admitting it to himself.


To show he had no interest in revenge, after all, with Marco to answer to,
Jack jokes, "a guy should have a built-in, early warning system or
something?"


It took two out-stretched arms to haul Jack's `muscles' off the floor. Upon
noticing Jack was not in a vengeful mood, Alex says, "that `was' my early
warning system!"


Still, a little feeling sorry for himself, Jack says, "I don't suppose you
would mind checking me out, down there, in case something's...broken?"


"Sure," Alex gets on the defensive, "no problem. Long as I can check it out
with my heel?"


Forgetting about the idea, Jack says, "never mind. I'll put some ice on it
when I get home."


Alex could not deny, for a big, muscled galoot, Jack was not really that
bad a guy. For certain, the cop did not take on an attitude of revenge,
trying to pin him to the bed and raping his ass with that big shaft of
his. Cuffed, Alex thought that would be interesting.


"Well, why don't you lay down on the bed and spread'em. Least I could do is
take a look?"


"Really?" Jack replies. Maybe his prayers were coming to light in dribs and
drabs!


"Yeah," Alex brushes it off, as nothing. "You lie down and I'll stand at
the foot of the bed and study your...you know?"


He sure did `know', Jack crashing into Rusty's bed.


However, a 6'5 dude, with globs of muscle, tossing himself into a bed as if
into a swimming pool, there was a big difference, "oh-shit!"


Alex, he had to jump back, the bed hitting the floor. Right out of the
sockets of the frame bolts and screws popped, yanking out both headboard
and bottom frame. If he hadn't had quick enough reflexes, surely he would
have been pinned under the foot-board, "Yikes!"


"What's that?" Jack looks to Alex, for an answer to why he hears a cracking
noise.


With small earthquakes running along the soles of his feet, Alex reports,
"I have a bad feeling about this!"


Sure enough, a splintered piece of flooring pops up, between Alex and the
doorway.


"Quick! Jump!"


Scared shit, Alex doesn't even think about it, jumping onto the bed,
feeling and hearing his chest slap against Jack's pecs.


At first, Alex thought it was some kind of trick, however he's the one who
took the initiative.


Would have been some nice, erotic take, only there was nothing porn-ful
about hearing one cracking noise turn into fifty.


Suddenly, Alex's attitude made a 360-turn, clutching Jack's shoulder,
boldly yelling, "Don't worry...I'll get us through this, Phil!"


What could Jack do, but comfort the lad, putting him in a bear hug?
Secondary thought, `who's Phil?'


Good thing he did, because in a matter of minutes, the floor was giving
away beneath them, "Hold on, we're going for a ride!"


Who says, things don't happen without a good reason for them occurring?


In the line of duty, on the town police force for 17 years, there's been
more than rescuing kitty cats from trees. More than once, Jack's been
commended for rushing into a burning house and saving a life or two. Doing
daring stuff like that can get a guy killed. If not, it builds him up his
courage and stamina, for the next time.


However, for Alex, he wasn't in that position, but a 16-year old kid,
growing up in `tornado alley.'


When the dust had settled, about 3 minutes later, both Jack and Alex were
coughing. This was a good sign, no one had been killed.


It wasn't neither Jack, nor Alex stirring, but Neal and Pete, standing at
the opening to the bedroom door. Only problem, they were high up and the
bedded pair were 20 or more feet below. There was no longer a bedroom, but
a big, open cavity in the pit of the log house.


"What're you guys doing down there?" Neal asks.


Pete, more the ruff-and go-ready, reacts right away, rushing to the top of
the stairway, reporting back, "Uh-oh, we got a problem!"


Neal, who was checking out the welfare of Alex and Jack, runs to meet
Pete's voice, gasping at the stairway, no more! It was gone, along with
everything else which had been part of the second story, except where they
were standing and the bath. Apparently, the stairway banister ran all the
way down, into the basement. The long post acted as the only means which
held up the bath and hallway flooring.


To make matters worse, Rusty arrives home. Trying to get in the front door,
even though he was sure he left it unlocked, can't budge it, "Hey, what's
happening in there," he pounds with a fist.


Everything and everyone sprang into action at once.


Jack, he sits up, taking Alex with him.


However, Alex winces in pain, which makes Jack slumber back down,
"Something feel broken?"


"No," Alex tried looking over his shoulder, wincing.


If the second floor hadn't caved in and this a dire emergency, Alex pressed
against his loins, would have led to more, but instead, Jack was yelling
out, "Rusty, call 911!"


Suddenly the rapping on the door stops.


>From on high, Pete yells, "Wish we could get to you guys, but the stairway
has collapsed."


Fortunately, Rusty had left some dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper. They
didn't fit perfectly right, the tight jeans, but at least Pete and Neal had
something for cover up.


With Rusty reporting, "Help is on the way," he tries walking around the
cabin, to find a way in. He knew, from a child, his father, well, Tim, had
taught him some safety measures. The situation never arose to do so, but
right now, seeing that wrench hanging from the gas valve made Rusty
instantly recall `how to' and in no time he had turned the spigot
off. Right past it, he found the back door. However, he was very concerned,
the frame `leaning'.


"Uh, guys," whether they were listening or not, while Rusty searches the
area for something to bust in, "I think you should think about getting out
of there."


Instead of the door, Rusty sensed it would be better to break in a
window. An old shovel was the perfect weapon for breaking and entering. It
cleared away all the shards of glass and in an instant, he was stepping
into the kitchen sink.


Meanwhile, Pete had Neal find sheets and together they knotted them
together.


"Brilliant plan," Pete, even in the face of danger reacts, kissing Neal on
the cheek!


"Thanks," Neal forced a smile.


Then, a crackling of wood makes them return to their previous
predicament. They tied knots faster!


Downstairs, just as Rusty was cursing the kitchen sink for having water in
it, his boot cracking plates, Jack is addressing his problem.


Whatever was wrong with Alex, Jack was not oblivious to the cracking of
wood, thinking the worst case scenario, the cabin ready to fold in on
itself. He wasn't about to become like a can of sardines!


"I'm going to move you a little?"


By now, out of pain, little fear, Alex cries, "it hurts so bad."


"Don't worry," Jack tries sliding out from under Alex, "I'm going to get
you through this."


However, he stops shimmying about, not knowing Alex's predicament. He
didn't want to rupture anything unseen.

Jack senses a bad situation could get worse. Though, from what he can
detect, looking over Alex's shoulder, "Doesn't look bad at all."


"Really?" Alex whines and gasps, thinking he can move.


"Really," Jack replies, though he was worried by the impact of some pieces
of glass, producing tiny openings in the skin and splinters, totally
embedded, "nothing a bandaid won't fix!"


Though, he was afraid to move, not knowing the full scope of things.


However, leave it to Neal to shatter the moment, making Jack a fat liar,
"Oh my god, Alex, you're a bloody mess!"


Having paid more attention to Alex, Jack hadn't realized how the two
dropped down to the first floor, looking up and seeing knotted sheets,
hanging down.


With more cracking sounds, Pete says, "We've gotta get you outta there."


Hurrying towards the bed, Pete assesses the situation, "this is gonna be
tough."


"I know," Jack share his thoughts.


For whatever reason, Neal could not move, his feet `glued' to the floor.


Rusty, appearing out of nowhere, says, "I've got an idea." He carefully
places himself between a tangle of legs.


There wasn't time to explain, only spring into action, Rusty saying, "get
ready to pull Jack out."


It wasn't a secret to Rusty, reaching underneath Alex, with both arms,
acting like a forklift, taking the pressure off Jack's stiff, `cardboard'
bod, that his hands were being placed in precarious places. He didn't think
anything of a hand placed right between Jack's junk and inner thigh, nor an
arm grazing the underside of Alex's chest.


It wasn't a well, thought out plan, but it did the trick, Pete using every
ounce of muscle to break Jack free. Once that was done, Rusty could
dislodge himself free.


First impression, Alex says, "Don't leave me."


Instead of standing, Rusty slips over the side of his bed and holding
Alex's hand, "I'm not going anywhere."


First thing, after being pulled out from Alex and some rubble, Jack says,
"I owe you one, Pete."


However, Pete was more attending to Neal, "I think he's in shock."


"I think you're right," Jack agrees.


With the cracking sounds increasing, Pete says, "I think we better think
about getting outta here."


"Let's move it," Jack replies.


They left Neal sitting on an overturned dresser, while they ran to untie
knots.


Running back to the bed with sheets in hands, Jack says, "Want to repeat
what you did before, Rusty?"


Standing there, in the midsts of disaster, Rusty did bite a lip and even
though he had been nursing Alex, there were thoughts of being asked to do
something to save the world, "No sweat!"


Carefully they spread the sheet out on the bed, half-folded. Rusty,
standing on the other side of the bed, lifts Alex, like opening a dumpster
from the hinged side.


When Alex winces, Jack says, "Slowly."


Even in the face of danger, Rusty was not immune to all the bare
bods. Once, he came in almost sucking distance of Jack's right pec. Another
instance, Pete would probably have apologized, if he had realized his hairy
pit was lingering over Rusty's nose.


Having showered, for Pete, the heat of the moment made him sweaty all over
again.


It did cause Rusty to have a `wakeup call', moving his head away from the
sweaty stench. It was comparable to telling someone to get a breath mint!


Working together, they were able to situate Alex, still faced down, onto
the surface of the sheet and acting like it a stretcher, were able to carry
him off the bed.


Neal, he was a mess of frozen fear. Therefore, Pete took one corner, Rusty
another and Jack, takes up the slack, grabbing onto two corners, whereas he
faced Alex's ass crack.


Upon hearing a big crack, they all look up, except Neal. He was in his own
little depressed world.


"We gotta get outta here quick!" Pete yells.


Pete instructs them to set Alex back down on the bed.


"Go, help Neal," he tells Rusty.


Rusty protested, out of concern for carrying Alex out.


Pete says, "I haven't been working out all these years for nothing!"


Even though he had to work almost twice as hard to lift Alex, Jack admired
Pete and his time spent at the gym.


Rusty was instructed to take Neal out the way he gained access. Feeling it
better to act, rather than vocal instruction, Rusty fed Neal's legs through
the window opening. He was glad he had pulled the plug on the sink before.


"We're not going to be able to do this through the kitchen window," Jack
says.


"Agreed," Pete is eyeing up sides and top of the front door.


"What's on your mind?"


"With the second floor in front of it, we're not going to pull it in."
Casually looking for Jack's opinion, it wasn't hidden to Pete, "uh, I would
suggest covering that up, in case the `good guys' have arrived?"


Having set Neal down, Jack could very well acknowledge what Pete means,
looking down at his wiry pubes, "uh, yeah," he scans the area, "I get what
you mean. Thanks."


Reaching for an old curtain, Pete replies, "You owe me 2 times, now?"


Grabbing the curtain out of Pete's hand, Jack says, "I suppose it's three
times now?"


"Nah. It's not my curtain!"


While Pete consoles Alex, Jack fashions the curtain into a diaper,
complaining, "feels kinda scratchy."


"Well, if I have to run around here and find something better, it
definitely will cost ya!"


Even though joking, when Jack got his loins clothed in the makeshift
diaper, the two went back to the door.


Pete bet, "I think if we pool our strength, we could more than budge the
door?"


Possibly, it gave Jack a jolt, feeling Pete slap the back of his hand
against his pec, "I think we could," though Jack wasn't speaking of the
door completely!


Their impromptu plan worked, the door busting out of the frame. Of course,
like a building block, taken from its foundation, they heard cracking
intensify. With fast-thinking they grab up Alex in the sheet and hauled his
ass outside.


"Away from the house," Pete's warning takes them across the driveway and
against a corral fence.


"That should do it," Jack says, laying Alex down.


Just as Alex hits the ground, an ambulance and police cars drive up.


Jack's 6'5 frame jumps out, saying to back up. If they had parked in front
of the house, depending on which way it caved in, or out, the vehicles
could be a total loss.


First outsider on the scene, Marco jumps out of a police vehicle, pressing,
"Where's Rusty, Jack?"


Looking here and there, Jack doesn't spot him, "I'm on it."


Marco did move an eyebrow, watching the 6'5 `baby' hustle towards the side
of the house, thinking what that was all about?


He didn't have to go far, Rusty walking towards Jack, on the road from the
lake, caressing Neal, `walking' him down the pathway, "we're okay," he says
to Jack.


Walking on the other side of Neal, Jack helps him to a patrol car. Trading
off Neal to Pete, Rusty opts to ride with Alex in the ambulance.


Jack, standing there with the other officials, including a local
contractor, to assess the damage, he says to Marco, "I was sure it was
going to come down on top of us."


A man, who could make another man squirm, just by looking at him, Marco
breaks down, hand high on Jack's shoulder, saying, "thanks for saving my
son."


Really, Jack didn't do anything to save Rusty, but took the credit anyway,
"no problem."


Looking down, Marco looks Jack in the eye, "you look silly as hell in that
diaper, though," he feels free to touch, "you'd fit right in with the `big
babies' down at the club!"


Jack knew Marco's scene, having come across some of those babies, grown men
in diapers, a rattle in hand, `pacifier' in their mouths, "oh really? I was
thinking maybe I could put a diaper on you...oh, but a waste, because I'd
only wind up ripping it off when I pacify your ass!"


Marco didn't take kindly of that, even a guy insinuating wanting to
`fuck-around' like that, saying, "C'mon. Let's go see what the contractor
has to say about the house."


"Like this?" Jack questions, hands to each side of where the diaper grabbed
his hips.


He would have loved to see the humiliation, embarrassment on Jack's face,
but this wasn't one of those times that fit the situation, Marco saying, "I
carry an extra suit in my car."


Though, Marco was getting some kind of jolly vibes, knowing he wasn't
Jack's height, nor had big muscle pecs!


%


If Jack had spent more time around the precinct today, he would have been
witness to Brett and Bart's fathers showing up to get their wards out of
jail.


How Brett and Bart got to the way they are, could be seen through the
actions of the fathers.


Brett's father needed restraint, after slapping him hard across the face,
for `not keeping his nose out of trouble.'


Having the audacity to strike back with words, Brett yells, "It should be
`him' in cuffs and not me!"


Pointing the finger, his father, having lacked parental guidance all these
years, defends, "I shoulda had you locked up a long time ago!"


"Same here," Bart's father follows suit.


Bart stood there, as usual, taking cussin' and cursing and an occasional
push, to instill words of condemnation.


On the sidelines, their attorney, Marco Veneziano, stood there, taking it
all in. When it came time for the judge to make his decision about the
welfare of the boys, releasing them into the custody of family members was
not an option.


First, the fathers did mind paying a fine, but for the boys to be released
into their custody, that was about the worst idea they've heard, Brett's
dad saying, "I'd rather leave him in jail...teach him a lesson, mind you!"


Marco had the notion to march the two fathers down to the club and show
them a thing or two!


However, the special downstairs rooms at the bar was not an option in real
life. It was only a fun place for willing victims and their captors.


When they were all alone, the fathers having left the small town court
room, they agreed, it was time to visit the local tavern for a beer, or
two.


After the judge confers, as to the fates of Brett and Bart, they hear the
magistrate say to Marco, "what did you have in mind?"


Turning around, to face the two youth offenders, Marco offers, "You boys
have one of two options. Either spend the next 6 months at the county youth
facility for rehabilitation, or community service."


The two had heard about the `rehabilitation' facility, where they lock you
up as if a prisoner in a state penitentiary. Perhaps they were thinking the
same thing right now, what they should have done already, run away to
Canada, or some other place where they couldn't be tracked. Anywhere, where
they were not exposed to the squalid living of single parent-living. Both
were tired of their dads bringing home some hooker every other night, tired
of getting smacked around for hardly a reason at all.


Bart, if he were to remove his shirt, could should the kind of discipline
his parent though was `justice.'


For Brett, he didn't have marks on his back to show, but hated it when his
father slapped his face. Once he tried to fight back and it cost him a
night with a sore stomach.


Both warranted good reasons why it not an option to stick it out at home
anymore, so the buyout of `community service' sounded okay, until they
could find a way to duck out and head north.


So, the two agreed to community service and when the gavel came down, it
had been likewise with the court judge.


"Good," Marco called it, asking the bailiff to remove the cuffs.


"We're free to go?" Brett asks.


"You both are," Marco replies, with stipulation, "providing you go to your
respective homes, gather up some clothing and personal items and," he looks
at the clock, overhead in the small courtroom, "be back here at 5 o'clock."


"Our stuff?" Bart questions, looking to Brett, instead of Marco.


It was always the case, Brett being the more dominant of the two, Bart the
follower.


"Fine," Brett was playing it by ear, until their moment of escape would
come.


The bailiff, who happened to be the latest hired for the court system, also
new rookie to the force, doubling up on the responsibilities, says to
Marco, "I didn't know we had a community service program?"


Smiling, because he had it all planned out, "we do now!"


Yesterday, Marco got a call from an old army buddy, Corentin
Gendreau. Coury had told him he was retiring from the army, but as of yet
hadn't anything to go onto, except sitting at some spa, sippin' on a pina
colada.


Familiar phrase, Marco had asked, `how would you like to...'


He had built it up, telling how `his son' had inherited a dude ranch and
there would be plenty of room for Coury to work on building his idea of a
Boot Camp-Warrior business.


Coury was skeptical, really wanting to sit by a pool all day and watch the
boys go by, maybe get some numbers, while dwelling on the idea. However,
like an old shovel, a man could get rusty with that type of lifestyle!


On the rebound, Marco offered more than twinks in skimpy speedos.


He had sold Coury on it and by tomorrow he would set foot on the ranch
resort property.


Marco had given Darryl Dowdle, rookie, court bailiff, donut-go-for and
other assorted duties, enough to go on, but also, the officer was called
out of the court, on an important mission, enticing a pet gerbil out of a
drain pipe!


Usually, the judge didn't stick around either, leaving Marco alone with the
boys. Gathering his stuff, he shoveled it into an attache case. Later would
be a better time to sort it out, which he would leave the chore to his
office secretary. Holding that thought, that was his next deed, finding a
secretary!


Normally, after court he would head down to the club, but with things left
in the balance of life, Marco had uncontrollable itch to head down to the
hospital to see what was up there. Turning on his cell phone, there was a
message, from Rusty, saying everything was as well as can be expected, Alex
out of any kind of danger.


After storing the message, he clicked off the phone, standing there,
gloating over the fact his son `bothered' enough to make the call. It made
him smile.


Proud, he returns to court business. Darryl came back, so he lit out of
there very quickly. With a special tag hanging from the rearview, he was
able to park right in front of the court house. The 3 cops on the force
knew his graphite-colored Lexus and wouldn't dare issue a parking ticket.


Second day on the job, Marco cut Darryl a break after placing a ticket
under his wiper blade!


Pulling into the hospital parking lot, Marco parked in one of three
doctor-specified slots. Considering there were only 2 doctors on staff,
there was always room for him, even though Ricky and the other doc juggled
schedules and there were always 2 empty parking places.


So revved up over `his son' calling making the call, he whistled while
crossing the lot. Maybe things were coming together after all.


Entering, Rusty was right there, "thanks for coming, `dad'."


Earlier, Rusty and the injured were all witness to Marco, saying, if they
had to, he would have Alex either air-lifted to a major city hospital, or
the staff brought to him.


What Rusty had found out, word had gotten around the small town, that
`Alex' and he had hit it off. Though, Rusty knew that didn't turn out to be
the case, since each had an idea of how a relationship should go...at least
for themselves. When Marco got wind of it, he had Steve Magnetti, the only
detective in town, check up on this `Alex'.


Steve had informed Marco, he was son a billionaire oil magnate, and that
Alex had simply `vanished.' Right off, he knew where Alex vanished `to!'
Yet, when Steve wondered whether they should contact the family, Marco put
it on hold.


So, for Rusty to meet up with Alex, it was stamped with Marco's approval,
which is why he was concerned, "how is your boyfriend doing?"


Rusty knew he hadn't mentioned it to anyone, not which at what point Alex
and he were rightfully called that, but let it alone, "Alex is doing
okay. Ricky said he had a lot of glass fragments embedded in his back, but
they are still picking them out. None went as far as too cause any
permanent damage." Because of this, Rusty was upbeat, could joke, "worst
part is pulling glass out of his ass!"


Marco didn't know whether laugh or not, but hearing his son giggle, he at
least smiled, "that's good news. I'm glad we don't need to ship him off
to," he thought this might be a hint, if Rusty knew anything, "Houston."


"Houston?" Rusty questioned. "Uh, wouldn't Seattle be closer?"


Marco didn't know anyone in Houston, but said he did, which satisfied
Rusty's inquisitiveness. Mostly, walking, side-by-side, Marco was happy he
and his son were on good speaking terms. He hoped, the rocky road, from
here on in, would be paved and life as it is would entail getting to know
each other, making up for lost time.


And - there was still that fishing trip!


%


Brett and Bart went home, first to the dump Bart called home.


Brett waited for him to pack, immediately diving into his bed, placing
hands behind his head, relaxing.


"What should we take, besides clothes?"


Even though people claimed both their middle names, `trouble', Bart had
this stigma about cleanliness. Opening the one bureau he had in his room,
which when Brett had first seen it, termed it a big closet, all his tee
shirts were folded neatly and placed three abreast in the drawer. Though,
Bart wasn't as neat now, placing hands on both sides and scooping them all
up in a hug.


"We should take stuff we'll need on our trip."


"What trip?"


Brett snickers, taking a pillow and throwing it him, "Our trip to Canada,
you idiot!"


"Oh. That trip." Having dropped the pile next to Brett's foot, Bart
continues to pack, placing each shirt nicely, one on top of the other, in
his backpack.


"Bro, you gonna take all day?"


"No," Bart replies, "considering it's night time!"


"Wiseass," Brett takes to slipping a hand down the front of his
pants. Looking at the ceiling, it helped him to concentrate.


Taking the pillow off the floor, the one thrown at him, Bart pounces it on
Brett's pubes, "Hey, we don't have time for that!"


"Oh shit, Bart, I was just working up a nice one!"


"Let me ask you this, do either of us want to be around when our dads get
home?"


"You got a point," Brett pulls his hand out of his pants.


Sitting up, flapping his shirt down over his happy trail, Brett lifts
himself off the bed. Looking around, he was searching for things which
would be needed on their trip.


"Oh, this is good," he finds Bart's penknife on a table, used for a desk.


"I know. Give it here."


"You don't trust me, bro?" Brett asks, showing he's hurt.


"Don't give me that look," Bart replies, his hand out.


"Fine," Brett digs in his pocket and hands it over.


Well, other than the penknife and clothing, there wasn't much else left to
take. Neither had laptops, doing whatever electronic business on their cell
phones.


Though, they both stare at each other, hearing the front door jimmied.


"This way," Bart knew the auxiliary exit by heart, lifting up a
window. Stuffing his backpack into Bart's chest, he went first.


Outside the window, Brett tossed the pack out and then, because footsteps
were close at hand, jumped out, head first!


"What the hell, bro?"


Bart lay on the ground. Fortunately, the stuffed backpack cushioned Brett's
fall.


At the same time, Brett's hand went over Bart's mouth, "shut up a minute!"


No one else, except his dad would be in the house, so Bart figured it was
him who closed the window. In a way, he took it as his father shutting him
out, which was not a bad thing.


Half the wind knocked out of him, Bart pried Brett's hand away, "you can
get off now?"


Rolling clear over onto his back, Brett does console, "Lucky for you, my
knee missed your nuts by inches, bro!"


Bart wanted to know how his friend could tell, but now he was under the
gun, to get walking over to Brett's house.


When they got there, both serpentined around the junk in the front yard;
old fridge, rusty car, assorted garbage.


Brett says, "hold it." He went around the house, looking in windows,
`sniffing' the place out, should his father have returned. "Coast is
clear," he waved Bart on.


Though, inside, they heard rummaging going on in the basement. Brett crept
over to the door to the basement, carefully closing it. He was always kept
out by a padlock, which after fixing the latch, locked it.


"Oh shit," Bart exclaims, but in a whisper, "your old man is gonna be
pissed at you!"


"Right and we'll be on our way to Canada," he giggles, but then gags his
own mouth.


Still, the two were as quiet as church mice. They walked up the stairs at
the outer edges, which compensated for what would be a squeak with every
step.


Like Bart, Brett had as about as much to pack and soon they were making the
descent to the first floor.


Bart thought Brett was right behind him, but turning around, spots him at
the top of the stairs, saying and waving, "C'mon."


A bright smile appears on Brett's face as he makes all the racket in the
world, running down the stairs faster than a freight train!


At the bottom, the two hear through the floorboards, "Who the fuck's up
there?"


They hightail it out of there, not waiting for the fireworks, when Brett's
father finds out he's locked in the basement!


%


It was comical, both Rusty and his dad looking at each other, Alex lying
faced down, all covered up, but his butt!


Then they burst out laughing, Alex responding, "you enjoy seeing me in
pain, don't you?"


"Sorry," Rusty says, walking over to where Alex lay his head, through a
circular cushion, whereas all he could see are Rusty's sneakers.


"You better be."


"I'm here, too?" Marco says.


There was no way Alex could move his head, or bod, to see with whom he
talked with. Plus, every few seconds he felt his ass pinched!


"Almost done," the doctor replies.


It wasn't Ricky, but the newer arrival, having been there six months and
proven his worth, Marco saying, "So, how many more you got to go, Doctor
Krimpl?"


He smirks at Marco, saying, "why don't you come over here and help me
look?"


Going back six months ago, the review at the hospital, which was composed
the towns finest, the mayor, fire chief, Ricky, Marco and the doctor on
staff retiring, Marco wasn't too thrilled about hiring such a young
intern. Though, it's not like the 29-year old had to fill out an
application, where Marco was concerned.


Again, drawing off the myriad of souls he's known in the army, Marco had
received an invitation to Jared Krimpl's graduation from medical school.


Jared and Marco went way back, to when he was a 16-year old lad, growing up
on a base in Wiesbaden. Marco was there to pick up some secret papers,
happening upon Gregg Krimpl. Even though he was married and widowed, Marco
had a sense about Gregg, inviting him out for drinks. Tipsy, Gregg gave in
on his secret-sex and came out to Marco. He accredits the then courier with
being the first to know.


Over a period of months, Marco shuffled back and forth between Germany and
the US. He and Gregg became not only sex-buddies, but good friends. Marco
never had as good a tour guide as Gregg. Gregg never experienced better
sex!


Shortly, after returning to the states, which would be his last trip to
Germany for awhile, Marco was informed of Gregg's death, an accident at the
base.


Knowing Jared his only surviving relative, Marco felt compelled to take
care of the kid. By now, Jared was in medical school and Marco made it a
pact with himself to see him through to graduation. Money was not an issue,
paternal care Marco's only endeavor.


Something, over a period of his lifetime, starting when he was bullied in
high school, Marco always sought justice for the `little-guy,' one who fell
through the loopholes, simply because he was not as assertive as men who
think they can push their weight around, solely because of wealth or
position. He learned to be a tough motha-fucker and that has helped him
achieve a strong, resilient character among the military, professional and
general persons of the community he resides in. Not to mention, down at
`the club', it has built him in stature, playing the role of a hot,
dominant top!


He remembers when Jared flew in, saying he wanted to meet Marco at a bar,
instead of being picked up at the airport. At the time he hadn't seen Jared
for 3 years.


Marco was exclaiming, `what-the-fuck?' the taxi pulling up to a well-known
leather bar, Rack'em. Twice he questioned the driver, but he informed
Marco, if he wasn't on duty, he'd accompany him inside, for a game of
`pool.'


All was not a total waste of a trip, Marco getting a number and other
vitals!


Working off of the only picture he had of Jared, Marco whips out a
graduation picture of the lad. He knew the photo to be 3 years old, but how
much can a guy change in that period of time?


Walking all around the bar, small dance floor, restrooms, which under other
circumstances, Marco would have loved to have lingered, he hadn't spotted
Jared. Returning to the bar, grumbling, he hated waiting around for
people. People waited for him!


A really hot, beefy cub, waiting on customers, steps over to where Marco
has just plopped his ass down on a stool, asking him what's up with the
attitude?


It partially made him revert to how evil he can be, when confronted with
that tone of voice Marco in a gruff, "Attitude? Meet me in the men's room
and I'll show you my `attitude!'"


Much as the glass-shining bartender would have liked to oblige, "Sounds
nice, but I'm on duty."


The bartender, whom introduced himself as Luca, did apologize for popping
the question, but it brought out of Marco the reason for likewise, his
harsh response.


Luca then suggests, "have you tried the downstairs playroom?"


"The bar has a downstairs?" Marco questions.


"Not to sound like I'm sassing you, `sir'," the cub smiles, "but the sign
outside, hanging above the doorway, `Rack'em?'"


"What of it?" Marco answered with authority, yet a gentler approach.


"Well, you didn't think you'd be walking in on a bunch of guys playing
pool?"


It was Marco's first impression. Second, the truth coming to light, he acts
like a hunger for juicy steak, "Really?"


"Right through that door," Luca eyes the direction, hands full.


"Hmm, I wonder..." Marco responds, seeing a big dude standing smack, right
in front of the entryway.


"Well, not just anyone is allowed. You have to know someone to get in."


Taking a sip of the free drink put in front him, Marco says, "I know you?"


"I meant," the cub leads in a slow manner, "you have to have already played
with someone, downstairs, if you catch my drift?"


Marco had already caught `the drift', eyes mulling over the cub from neck
to where the bar cut off the rest of the hairy view, "I've been catching it
for the past hour!"


Taking up pad and pen, Luca writes some words on a napkin, saying, "This'll
get you in and as for me," he winks, "you can owe me!"


Here Marco was, sitting in a bar in New York City and already he's made one
new friend, "Count on it!"


Looking through the mirror, Marco spots an even hotter catch walk in the
door. About 6-feet tall, trendy hair style, short on the sides, piled up on
top like a haystack, one of those `half-harnesses' over the right shoulder,
corralling in one nip, fully smooth bod, except a defined trail from navel
to the chaps demarcation line, he stares for the longest time, but didn't
get a connection. Intent staring not drawer any reaction, he figures it's
his age and the young dude is looking more his own range.


Minding his own business, suddenly he feels someone at his back. Though, it
could be a patron waiting to get his dibs in on a drink at the crowded
bar. Lifting his glass, he realizes it's the hot leather dude at the door!


Not getting the first word in, he hears from behind, "bet you don't
recognize me, but I know you, Marco!"


Turning around on his revolving stool, Marco realizes himself not the only
one stalking, "Jared? Is that really you?"


"It's me!" Jared replies, smiling.


Sliding off his stool, Marco, instead of looking down, looked up, "You've
grown."


"Six feet, two," Jared says. What follows, "it's really good to see you."


Marco was surprised as hell, expecting a handshake, instead a full force
hug!


They had much catching up to do, before their flight back to the
northwest. What better atmosphere, than a club they both had an interest.


Downstairs, which Marco hadn't a problem getting into, with the writing on
the napkin, he was a little peeved, when Jared, a total stranger got in on
just his looks!


They talked over old times, which included Jared's father's accident,
boarding school and how Jared got into the leather scene.


Marco had wondered, how a `sissy-boy' turned into such a strong character,
Jared claiming, "the leather did it!"


>From then on, Marco and Jared have been close friends. Of interest also,
Jared a top, with a dominant attitude, they had their first tag-team at the
dungeon club last Saturday night.


Marco was a little jealous, like at the Rack'em, Jared getting more stares
than him. Good thing they were friends!


Meanwhile, Alex and Rusty are talking up a storm, but right now, Alex
doesn't think this is the right time to bring it up, the reason he wound up
on top of Deputy Jack, when all hell broke loose.


%


Filled with excited anxiety, Brett and Bart had hoped to make their getaway
to Canada. However, there were a lot of loose ends, like food, water and a
map, along with a plan on which route to take. So, they figured they would
stand with Marco's direction and meet him in front of the courthouse.


Approaching it, they didn't see Marco, but there was this dude standing on
the steps. Dressed in army fatigues, they hardly thought he was there for
them.


How wrong, when he addressed them in a stern voice, "You Barringer and
Bilborski?"


Snidely, Brett says, "I'm legally getting my name changed to Barr."


"Until you do, it's Barringer, get it?"


Brett got it, along with Bart, a wad of paper pressed into their
chests. Whether they caught it, or allowed it to drop the multiple pages
onto the courthouse steps, eventually they would need to make it their
business to check it out.


"What's this?" Bart leafs through it.


Brett crumbles it up and lets the five sheets drop to the ground.


Not allowing Brett to get the benefit of riling him up, Coury smiles, turns
and walks back into the courthouse, leaving them with, "You can come in
when you've read and signed the last two pages."


Bart quickly skips to the last two pages.


Brett just stands there, saying, "Asshole!"


Always the muscle, Bart was more the brains, saying, "I suppose you want me
to sign for you too...not!"


"Look, if we intend on getting to Canada, we need to get along with `sarge'
here and," Bart stops, stutters, while reading, "we're only obligated
through the month of August."


It looked rosy to Brett saying, "Lemme see that."


Sure enough, reading, from this day, until the last day of August, they
would be able to go scott-free.


"Well?" Bart asks.


"I don't know," Brett's now scrutinizing the whole packet of papers, picked
up off the steps.


"Two months and a few days are like nothing and then we can skip out,
legally, wherever we want, bro?"


"Yeah," Brett says, though not with a whole lot of enthusiasm, "all we have
to do is put up with `soldier boy.'"


Little did they know, their detail would not be walking parks and poking
debris left behind by others. For certain, being away from their dim images
of home life, was the first step in gaining their freedom.


Standing still, they signed the papers, each others back as the
table. Whereas Brett was the one to lead the way, now he hung back, Bart
his shield.


Inside, Bart hands both packets to Coury, saying, "Here you go. We're in."


Coury just stood there, not taking them, but saying, "Are they signed?"


"No, dah," Brett offers.


Coury says to Bart, "Hand him his copy."


Brett takes his wad of papers from Bart, "what the fuck?"


"Now I'll take your papers."


He had a smirk on his face, which Coury knew Brett was wondering what the
difference was, whether Bart handed him both, or each gave it in.


With the papers in one hand, Coury reaches out his right, first to Bart,
who takes it, "Welcome to the program."


In doing so, Brett just stands there.


With Brett's hand out, Coury reiterates, "Welcome to the program."


Brett still stands there, looking at the floor, his peripheral vision
spying Coury's hand, held out.


"Will ya just take it!" Bart forces his hand, literally taking Brett's palm
and holding it up to `the sarge.'


Before the hand could be slapped down to Brett's side, Coury takes the
opportunity to latch on, "Welcome to the program."


Lecturing the two, Brett and Bart notice army packs, 2, sitting on the
table.


Bart says, "Excuse me, sarge, but are those for us?"


"First of all, you don't call me sarge. You'll call me Coury. This isn't
the army!"


Brett was thinking to himself, out loud, "you could've fooled me."


Coury didn't smile, but did lighten up.


Not thinking it too bad, Bart says, "That's cool."


Brett didn't say anything.


"And oh, except when you get an idea that you know what I'm talking about,
it would be helpful if you say, `yes, sir'," Coury waits.


"Yes, sir," Bart salutes.


Immobile, Brett says, "Yeah, sure. Whateva..."


Coury wasn't pushing it. After all, this was not the army, but something
which was designed to help both parties. Hopefully it would instill
responsibility into two youths who've had it rough most of their lives and
for their leader, to see if he could cut it, running a business which would
entail getting people into shape, motivate them into becoming more
meaningful members of society. He had left the details, finances and buying
into the resort ranch, up to Marco. There was no reason not to trust Marco,
the truly first love of his life, even though it didn't work out in the
end.


"Now, before we get started, I will be relieving you of your packs and you
can choose which one of these you would like. They are both the same,
packed with the same essentials..."


"I need my pack," Brett claims, Bart making the trade.


"Dude, don't play hard to get along with. We know the deal," Bart tried
supporting his friend.


Even though Bart hated his father, he didn't think all older men were
bad. Right off, he thought Coury wasn't a bad guy. He looked kind of macho,
the army cut, a little more hair on the top of his head than regulation,
the beard, yep, he was a regular `Paul Bunyan'-of-a-man!


"Fine," Brett saw it more Bart's way.


"And," Coury knew this would go over big, "you'll need to leave your
clothes behind and slip into the gear in your bag."


A side room, for jurors, it was small, a round table and chairs, of which
one pack remained, Bart asking, "do you have a place for us to change,
Coury?"


Bart did look to Brett to get his reaction, for being so compliant.


Brett said nothing, Coury saying, "I'll be right outside."


Leaving the two, Bart became the encouraging one, taking off his hoodie,
whipping his tee shirt off, "All you have to do is remember...Canada, bro!"


%


Outside the juror's chamber, Coury stood, like guarding the door.


The front door to the courthouse opens. Walking through, is Officer Darryl
Dowdle, "Oh, hi. You're a friend of Marco's, right?"


Right off, Coury was mesmerized by the twinkle in Darryl's eyes, not to
mention his gaydar buzzing, "that's right," he takes the offer of Darryl's
hand, "Courentin Gendreau, but my friends call me Coury."


"I'm Darryl. My close friends call me...um, Darryl!" He laughs.


To cut to the chase, whereas the first few minutes of meeting another guy
could turn into unnecessary hours of meaningless banter, Coury says, "you
sure got gorgeous green eyes!"


Feeling flustered, Darryl, even though 29-years old, hadn't been involved
in many gay experiences, meeting up with a the occasional dude for coffee,
"Thanks. Uh, does it show?"


"Oh sure," Coury knew Darryl means something else, "it's that emerald
glitter, when the light hits them."


"No," they finally unlock hands, "I meant, me. The way I am? Uh..."


"Gay?" Coury helps out.


Realizing Coury knows he is, Darryl says, "You too? I mean, you act so
masculine."


As with his line of work back at the army base, Coury loved helping a
newcomer slip into his new life, "Thanks. How about a cup of coffee later
on?"


"Sure."


"Got a phone?"


Exchanging cells, they put their numbers into each.


Darryl said he had to pick up some papers, of which Coury said he would get
them.


Walking in on the two, they had geared up to their navels, Brett saying,
"Uh, can we have our fuckin' privacy?"


"Sure. Right after I grab these," Coury grabs the two packs of signed
papers.


One falls on the floor, Bart picking it up, "Here ya go."


"Obliged," Coury says, walking out.


Darryl waited outside the door, taking the papers from Coury, who smiles
with suggestion, "Oh, by the way, later on, dress casual!"


Even though Bart didn't think much of having their own backpacks
confiscated, Brett wasn't happy about parting with his entertainment, tunes
locked up in his phone, nor the prospect of communicating with friends on
Facebook, not to mention, just getting the hang of Snapchat. When Coury
ducked out, he sneakily slipped his phone out of his own pack and into a
side pocket of the `army' pack. Seeing the brown-noser his bud was turning
into, he didn't let on to Bart.


Returning, Coury had to wait, after Brett led the two of them into a tirade
of why they couldn't wear sneakers. He decided to let them wear sneakers,
but cautions, "trust me, it's lot tougher for a snake to inject it's venom
into the side of a sneaker, than a leather boot."


Bart drops his ass to the floor, peels both sneakers from his feet and
starts planting one foot in a boot.


Standing there, Brett stares down Coury.


"Hey, if you don't want to listen, fine. Die of a snake bite and thwart
your plans of getting to Canada!"


Right now, Coury wasn't under the gun, Brett attacking Bart with his words,
"Bro, you fuckin' told the man?"


"I didn't say anything, I swear!"


"Chill," Coury seemed out of context, "unlike city courthouses, we can't
afford big, marble doors. Now, are we going to get a move on it and forget
about Canada right now?"


Bart in no time had laced up his boots, even though a little crooked in the
stitching, then finished buttoning up his shirt.


It could be easily seen, by the still open seam of Brett's shirt, which had
Coury reprimanding, in a nice way, "You're going to be sorry you didn't fit
yourself with an undershirt."


Standing next to his bud, Bart says, "I told him. He doesn't care."


Coury needn't say anything, Brett saying, "Who's side are you on?"


"Both of us's," Bart replies. "Like, we gotta get through this, so we might
as well start now, unless you want to go to jail?"


They both knew it wasn't jail, but the alternative would mean facing dudes
more bullying than themselves. Besides, what fun it could be, exploring the
woods, getting closer and closer to Canada!


While Brett and Bart tied up the loose ends, Brett stripping his shirt to
pull on a tee going through their army packs, looking at snake bite kits,
bear warning canisters and other stuff, Coury had some last minute prep
things to contend with.


Knowing his army bud had a lot of clout in town, all it took was a phone
call to add new personnel to his camping party.


Five swift minutes later, Coury's cell is buzzing, Darryl saying he didn't
know how it was done, but his captain just called to inform him he was
being put on a special case, Coury's guide for the next 2 months!


%


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.