Date: Wed, 1 Jun 2016 17:45:58 +0000
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 11

% 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.



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%


"JoLLy RaNCHeRs" 11

WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


^   0   ^


%


"Grit your teeth, son," the doctor in charge of removing the last piece of
glass debris from Alex's ass, prepares the lad.


Turning his head, Alex replies, "Got something to bite down on?"


Rusty thought he was being clever, thumb hooked in, just below the
bellyhole, hanging over his belt buckle and with his other 4 digits, pats
his zipper. With warning, he says, "Would be nice, but the way you've been
acting, like a big baby, why would I put myself in such a danger?"


"Big baby?" Alex questions, thinking, except for a `ouches' and whimpers,
he's been a model masochist!


Before starting on the procedure, the doc knew what the smirk meant,
picking up a toothbrush-sized piece of wood from behind, whipping it out in
front of Alex's face, "Here. Bite down on this."


His back, that was okay, but Alex thought of his ass to be much more
sensitive, even the to a slight finger, "thanks," he utters, before biting
down. In truth, it did hurt, but the anesthetic of his crotch rubbing on
the operating table did much to dull the pain!


%


Since Ricky `had so much to do' now that Mama Rosa had placed him in charge
of those in charge, to make sure the money she put out for the ranch
remodel was well spent, it was necessary for Ricky to win over Marco's idea
on hiring more medical personnel at the hospital.


Marco, one of two of Owl Creek's attorneys, had a say in most functions of
public workings, also on the administrative board of the town
hospital. People looked up to Marco, a person who didn't lie back and let
things evolve on their own. Before he came to live there and practice law,
that's just what town folk did, which is why they hadn't sped into the
current century!


The town owed much to Marco's presence. Some, owed more than others!


Fortunately for Marco, he had a reserve of army buddies and it wasn't at
all a chore to find Dr. Dunstable.


Relief had set in, the second Rusty found out Alex in no real danger. He
thought it nice of Dr. Dunstable, cutting jokes, throughout the whole
ordeal of pulling tiny fragments of glass from Alex's ass-cheeks. Looking
upon the two mounds, fragments of shiny glitter reflected off small shards,
Rusty knew Alex wasn't suffering too much, with the shimmy of his hips!


Dr. Dunstable insisted the boys call him `Brad'. A funny guy, talking
through `surgery', in the manner in which he worded some of those jokes,
told the boys he probably, at one time or another, used the phrase, `sorry
girls, but...'


None could more plainer, than Brad planing a hand over each of Alex's
mounds, arriving at a conclusion, "Well, I think that does it, unless you
feel any more pricks of glass, Alex?"


Rusty knew some things about Alex, which one of those made them
incompatible, in a sense, both preferring to be the fucker and not the
fucked. Since the piece of wood clenched in Alex's mouth only produced
syllables of words, his buddy answers for him, "I think what Alex was
thinking here, is more than a `prick' of glass!"


Acting appalled, Doc Dunstable slaps a gloved hand to his chest, gasps, "Oh
lawdy, you think I'm gay?"


With the surgery at conclusion, Alex once again turns his head towards the
doc, "Mrphkneitkrowt..."


"The worst is over," the doc prompted Alex to open his jaws. "You can drop
the wood now."


In doing so, the small, slender piece of wood drops to the floor, Alex
reporting, "Ick, that tastes so nasty."


He laughs, Rusty saying, "yeah, really, I can imagine," bending over to
pick up the wooden gag. Having it on his mind, thinking what could please a
submissive man with more pleasant an experience, Rusty kept his jokes to
himself.


Alex had to get his digs in, "by the way, doc, you wouldn't happen to be
into threesomes?"


New to the hospital, the community in general, Brad hadn't much of a clue,
until now if there were a large or small population. He knew, from his job
interview, there was a chance, one of the hospital board members was gay,
the attorney present, but far as backwoods locales go, `gay' didn't fit the
categories of citizenship. Fitting in so far, the 39-year old physician
didn't want to jeopardize anything, just because of his sexual orientation.


Although, an exception to any set of rules, Brad figuring the two lads in
the room with him, to be the same and not acting at all reserved, he outs
himself, "it was my opinion you two had something of your own going?"


Rusty was being quiet. Up until this very minute, he had thought he and
Alex indeed had something private going. Opening sex up to a third partner,
he wasn't sure he up for that. It was all too complicated and confusing, so
he just stood there, taking it all in.


Brad, he knew, without saying, they knew about him. What gay man, at some
time or another hadn't switched on the gaydar, with a 95% chance at being
right? Feeling this way, he sensed anything `gay' about him would not be
filtered back to the community, "it's been a while since I've gotten it on
with 3," he hesitates, "or more!"


A natural inclination to hear more, Alex twists his bod, to face Brad,
"tell us more..."


However, ass, nor back, not even into the healing stages, twisting himself
to face Doc Dunstable, it hurt like hell!


One would think, a doctor in general being kindhearted, good-natured,
unselfish, a humanitarian, could giggle right now, behaving so cruel and
callous, "I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but you can cross sex off
your list for the next few days!"


Right now, Alex felt he didn't have a friend in the world, both Rusty and
the doctor mocking him out, laughing about it, which made him make up his
mind, "well, I guess you can damn well forget about the three-way,
doc...ever!"


Putting his head back through the table insert, Alex went back to
whimpering. Of course, it was all an act to get attention.


Well deserved attention, Dr. Dunstable places a hand on Alex's shoulder,
smoothes it down over his left shoulder blade, saying, "oh, c'mon now,
don't be that way." Adding to comfort, Brad touches on a subject which
seemed to interest Alex immensely, "so, what's your opinion on this
three-way business, Rusty?"


"Me?"


"Right," the doc tests the thin ice, "have you set any rules in your
relationship yet? I mean, open, or..."


Bluntly, Alex comes out with, "Oh, we're not in a relationship." Then, Alex
felt like he's the callous one, turning his face to Rusty, "we're not, are
we?"


"Well, uh, um," Rusty had little time to think, only speculate on how he
thought it was going to be, turning out not as he thought, "no. Of course
not. We're just friends."


Up until now, Alex's been the spokesperson. Shimmying around on the table,
he confronts Rusty, "we never really got to talk much about who open we
wanted to be and stuff like that, did we?"


In silence, Rusty was thinking, way ahead of the question, then given a
middle-of-the-road answer, "My opinion, I don't think we've really known
each other long enough, to get to that place in time."


Then all conversation dropped dead.


Seeing he's possibly put both boys on the spot, Brad says, "Well, we're
finished up here and I'm famished. If you know of a place around here where
we can grab some grub, I'm buying?"


He knew Evan was taking care of Hoot, but sometimes Rusty's horse became a
good excuse for breaking from a scene, "Thanks. I appreciate the thought,
but it's time for Hoot's four o'clock hay-break, but don't let me stop you
two."


In a way, Rusty was testing the waves, to see which shore Alex would swim
towards.


When he immediately got shot back at him, "You don't mind that I go get
some food with Brad?"


There. That was it. Rusty wasn't even sure why he even bothered trying to
hook up with a guy. He mulled over it, even after walking to the parking
lot. He thought, it was a beautiful Dakota sky, even though he stood in
eastern Idaho. The streams of reds, entwined with deep azure, turning
darker blue by the second, took some of that burden off his
shoulders. Inhaling deeply, exhaling, it was like saying, `easy come, easy
go,' allowing all the stress to exhale from his brain.


Force of habit, he walked towards parked cars, then realizes "not again!"


It was so easy to jut around town in the ranch truck, so why and when did
he fall victim to becoming a passenger? It might have even been nice,
riding in the front seat, but a more uneasy feeling, the back seat of a
patrol car?


After allowing himself to be caught up in Alex and what they might have had
going, Rusty just walked and walked. The full summer solstice was yet a few
days away and realizing it, he wondered what lurked in the natural
environment, away from the town. Rare to see a bear, Rusty knew they were
around and he didn't intend on becoming hors d'oeuvres for some wild
creature!


Whipping out his cell, he knew he had a half dozen reliable people, if they
were available. When none of the select six could be reached, Rusty decided
on hoofing it, but at a quicker pace. In no time he was pulling his tee
shirt away from his sweated bod. More time spent at that pace, Rusty lifts
the front tail of the shirt, parking it behind his neck. He smiled,
thinking of a tip a personal trainer, back at the boarding school gave
him. Looking down, indeed the tee, pulling on his pits, tightened up his
pecs, not which it took much torque to do so!


About twenty minutes down the road, after several ups and downs of roadway,
a car toots Rusty from behind. He almost dreaded it being Alex, being he
didn't feel like making that scene again. Thinking positively, he clears
his mind.


He waited too long, the car passing him, then pulling over to the side,
blocking his route.


Stepping out, there's a wave, a voice yelling, "What the fuck's the matter
with you, boy? You deaf or something?"


Kira waited at the tail end of the car, until Rusty hiked his way there,
greeting her with, "I guess you got my text and came looking for me?"


"Text?" she pulls her phone out of a jeans pocket, stares at it, "what
text?"


Putting his hand over hers, blocking the phone from view, Rusty says, "A
little too late now, huh `booby'?"


She smirks, saying, "don't you go an' pull that reversicated psychology
shit on me, poindexter!"


As he walked his way around to the other side of Kira's truck, Rusty was
wondering where from, out of the blue, `poindexter' came from. Though, he
kind of loved the way Kira came up with unknown words, or the cute
variations. It was all good. Right now he needed some cheering up and
Kira's quirky lingo was doing it for him!


She started out with very important business, "I heard the shit that went
down today and wanted to get a look for myself."


"Oh," Rusty says, "so, that was your very important business?"


"No. I'm on a mission for Marco," she glances from the road to Rusty and
back, "I mean your father, or whatever you know him as."


"I'm going with `Marco' for now," Rusty calls it.


>From the condition of the house, to the condition of Rusty's relationship
with `Marco', Kira says, "How in the hell are you two getting along?"


"Good, I guess," Rusty replies, "I mean, he was grateful I kept in touch on
how Alex was feeling," he ran his thoughts together, "but right now Alex
and me, what we had started, has kind of fizzled out."


Stopping abruptly, Kira reaches across, a habit, blocking the passenger
with an arm, just in case of no seat belt restraint, of which this was the
case with Rusty.


"Thanks, but maybe it's better I go through the windshield and end the
misery of finding a true love!"


"Don't fuckin' say stuff like that. We might not be each other's type, but
if you weren't around, I sure as hell would miss you. So, stop being a
boob!"


She didn't have her belt on either, which made it easier to give Rusty a
`sibling' hug.


Over the windshield bashing, Rusty lightens up, "don't even think about
sticking your hand down my pants, or we're not friends anymore!"


She `hmmpf-ed' and then drove on, quizzing, "whatever happened to the
helluva nice boy I met?"


Lamenting tone, Rusty lays it on her, "I suppose I should just immerse
myself in the business of getting the ranch going, instead of meeting the
guy I want to spend the rest of my life with."


"How old are you...18?"


"Nineteen."


"Em-merse yourself in the business..."


Rusty smiles at the mis-pronounce...


"And don't be so fuckin'," she slaps Rusty on the knee, "in a hurry to get
shacked up with some boy!"


Rusty smiled, thinking of her term, `shacked up.' Then again, he thought,
"You're so right. That's what I'm going to do, except there's one problem?"


"Fuckin' tell me," she wasn't much different from subject to subject, with
a mouth full of dirty superlatives.


"Well," he fidgets with the seat lever and reclines a bit, "as I see it,
with all the construction going on and dealing with people, there's going
to be `so many' good looking guys?"


In an ethereal way of saying, Kira suggests, "you've got to learn to let it
go way over your head."


Rusty wished, on that last curve in the road, Kira wouldn't use gestures to
tell him what she meant, "I get it," he sat up quick and grabbed the wheel.


"Oh shit," Kira cries out, "you fuckin' saved us from winding up in the
gully!"


"Yeah, well," Rusty lays back in his seat, "next time, talk with your hands
on the wheel!"


She did, even though Kira gabbed all the way to the ranch, tightly holding
the steering wheel, one-handed at least.


Rusty couldn't believe it, that some force was strong enough to put the
fear in her - `Kira scared of something... remarkable!'


%


Alex should have followed Dr. Dunstable's lead, to go for something to
eat. He felt pretty good for having over a hundred bits of glass pulled
from his back and ass. Probably it was the condition of his shaft giving
him so much mental drive.


There was nothing wrong with Alex's chest, easy for Dr. Dunstable to grab
his ankles and separate his legs. Reaching in between, the doc was able to
reach in between, like ready to do a cock and ball
examination. Unfortunately, he found Alex's shaft too rigid. Normally, a
deflated cock was easy to reverse, pull out from underneath. Though, what
he found, Alex's big balls, full to potential, a tasty enough treat!


As luck would have it, bad luck for Brad, he only tongue-bathed the
handful, when his beeper goes off, "What the fuck now?"


What a fail now, going for his beeper, attached to his belt, when he had
already unbuckled it. His hand which was holding Alex's balls, with purpose
to hold them in place, was all slimy, so Brad had to work his phone with
one hand.


Busting in the room, nurse, Anthony Campo, was quite taken with the
situation, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important. Sorry
Dr. Dunstable, but they just brought in an accident victim and I can't
locate Dr..."


Standing right there in front of the orderly, it wasn't tough to see Alex's
wet balls, looking like they were squashed out from underneath, glistening
form the overhead lights.


"Gosh darned it! Really Anthony?" Brad turns to face him, totally
unfulfilled by the impending blast. Not to mention, his ass squinched
together for lack of something to grasp!


Having lived in town all his life, except college, but new at his position,
Anthony still had a long, long way to go, on becoming a doctor, which is
why he had reservations, "I'd help out myself, but..."


"Never mind Anthony. I know the drill," Brad quickly wipes both hands on
his shirt. Then, realizing hospital protocol on cleanliness, "oh shit, that
was just wrong!"


"I'll say," Anthony says.


Alex, he tries turning himself to get a look. Sometimes, it was worth the
pain to achieve certain standards. He remembers the voice and Doc Dunstable
using the name, but with his cheeks and chin seared into the ring at the
top of the table, he couldn't do any stalking.


"Quick, Anthony. Give me your shirt!"


Thinking on it, a man without a shirt, this was definitely worth the pain,
Alex giving some heft to shifting himself in a way, he could have a clean
gaze.


In comparison, Alex uses Rusty as a guide, Anthony more the opposite, not
that muscled, beefy pecs, dark hair covering, defined stripe down the
middle, over a slight gut, dipping about where his navel pulled in his
stomach and... wow, this was `his' type of man!


"My shirt?" Anthony replies.


"Do I need to say it in Italian for you, Anthony?"


Reaching behind, Anthony pulls the blue garment off, saying, "Okay, but
it's going to be baggy."


It was also a little raunchy, Anthony having come inside from a break
outdoors. Any break the 25-year old medical student could get, he spent
outdoors, under the umbrella of the summer sun, with his yoga mat.


"Just hurry it up," Brad orders, concerned about his beeper having beeped.


In his hands, Brad's sinuses picked up the musky smell. Light blue in
color, there were two distinct places, where the odor was coming from, wet
spots at the pits.


Alex, not a stranger to what some guys lived for, remarks, "Taking a liking
to having Anthony with you, doc?"


Playing dumb, Doc Dunstable says, "What ever do you mean?"


Anthony knew. Much as he would like to have every free minute outside,
basking in the sun, it got him a little peeved at first, called to the
janitor's closet. Finding out he was gay was not an imposition in the
least. Anthony was the type of guy whom did not cater to random sex. Though
that was not to say a little masturbation can't put a guy in a jolly mood!


First time Doc Dunstable pulled that seniority shit on him, Anthony did
stake his claim on the `no sex' clause.


With compromise, Dunstable accepted it, his intentions on neither of them
getting their assholes shish-kebab-ed. With no harm intended, none taken
offense, all Anthony needed to do is strip off the blue top and stand
there, hands behind his head, flaunting his arm pockets of black hair.


First time at that ordeal, Anthony thought he was going to barf, his
stomach more ready to upchuck than the first time he witnessed an autopsy!


"What am I supposed to do for a shirt?" Anthony asks, standing there
half-naked.


Opening the door and taking Alex's chart slapping it against Anthony's
chest, Brad says, "I'm sure you and Alex will figure something out!"


Turning to Alex, Anthony asks, "Got any ideas?"


Alex had plenty, but none to do with clothing Anthony's hot chest. However,
he also had a dilemma, "you're on duty, right?"


"For another hour, that is if they don't bring in anymore accident
victims?"


Coercing Anthony into helping his get dressed Alex seeks out info, "and, do
you and your boyfriend have any plans for tonight?"


Anthony was afraid of this, that stealing glances to Alex's wet cock, might
show him how much he loved the male bod, "so, you know I like guys?"


Playing it cool, stepping into his briefs, Alex says, "Guys, yes, but just
wondering if you like guys, my type?"


Chubby all his life, it wasn't until he hit college, Anthony started
beefing up on the weight loss and muscle gain. He never dreamed of ever
hooking up with an `Adonis', "You're just...beautiful!"


With only his packed briefs on, Alex approaches Anthony, freely weaving his
hands in between forearms and lats, "Then, I think we're going to get
along."


Anthony couldn't believe it, this trim, muscled, handsome, not to mention
big-build-below-the-belt dude was caressing him, kissing his lips. So
taken, he didn't really kiss back.


Which is why Alex loosened grips on Anthony's sides and lips, "what's
wrong?"


No, Anthony wasn't about to lose this chance of a lifetime, grabbing the
sides of Alex's cheeks and planting a big one on his lips. Jumping the gun,
Anthony states, "nothing!"


Alex lends Anthony the hospital shirt, he was supposed to be wearing, but
found it unnecessary to put on. His own shirt had been torn from his
back. It was kind of ripped apart anyhow.


Exchanging phones, Alex says, "Call me when you get off work, that is, if I
don't wear off!"


Anthony replies, "It'll be a cold day in hell before that happens!"


Neither realized it, how each other put a spin in their afternoon.


Alex thought it kind of cool, wearing a doctor's `coat'. Cooler even, a
badge saying Dr. Dunstable's name, adorned with his pic. Walking up to the
receptionist desk, to square things away, Alex watched Anthony hustle down
the hallway. If someone were watching from afar, they would know the
telltale signs, how a certain breathing pattern could signify a person `in
love.'


The nurse at the desk noticed Alex shirtless, and being it not really wise
to `steal' a doctor's coat, with an id tag, she went to look for a shirt.


In and out people came and went, but even though he `noticed' some hot
guys, images of Anthony still danced in Alex's head like sugarplums!


%


Rusty wasn't the only soul Kira had encountered on the way. She did think
it was kind of strange, an `adult' soldier, walking ahead of two
college-aged guys, all in the army fatigues. Right off, she thinks it must
be the college ROTC program.


It didn't matter whether she thought of it as army, navy, marines, or
whatever, because she didn't even know what ROTC meant, or cared to
know. At the time, her focus was on the guy on the road, who looked
familiar to her.


"We're never going to make it by sundown at your pace," Coury calls out.


Bart was trying to keep up, at the same time cheering his buddy on.


By the minute, Brett was falling behind. Soon, he just caved in, stood
still a minute, threw off his gear bag and sat down on it.


"C'mon man. He's not foolin' around."


"So what?" Brett's attitude sucked. "Let'em hang me."


"Or worse, send us to the penitentiary?" Bart painted the grimmest picture
he knew, especially since Coury had made a u-turn and headed in their
direction.


Coury right on top of them, he yells, "Hey, didn't you hear me? If we don't
make tracks, we're not going to be set up by sundown."


Before Brett could get words out, Coury had tumbled him over, falling face
first onto the pavement, having whisked his gear bag out from underneath!


`Wow,' Bart thought of how it must take ounces of muscle to do
that. Certainly, under Coury's shirt, he had to be dripping with the stuff!


Seeing Coury was helping, rather then grieving about Brett slacking off,
Bart paraded on ahead, yelling back over his shoulder, "C'mon, Brett. Get a
move on it, will ya?"


Bart was torn between wanting to be a follower, yet the friendship he had
with Brett, since grade school. Bart was overall a good kid, straight A's
in school, helping Brett achieve at least a `C' average. The bond which
really held them together, was being gay in households which didn't hold a
candle to that type of thing.


In grade school, the inevitable happened, only months apart. Bart's mom
passed away, Brett's mother running out on the `old man'. Truly, compared
to the mother, Brett's father was an `older' man.


For both though, the circumstances following, proved not to be
different. Keeping their secret was the easiest thing. Being abused on
occasion was the worst part and it's not the first time the two buds had
thought about running away to Canada.


In turn, the abuse they received, was passed on, Brett shaking down kids at
school for spending money. Bart, he was innocently brought into it, yet
could not deny he had a `fetish' for passing on the abuse.


Much worse than Brett, Bart doesn't know how he put up with his father
laying his leather belt down across his back. He sometimes wished the
unthinkable, having another sibling, so he could share the burden. It
didn't happen all the time, only when his father, who was generally a
cheery person, had to put up with the drudge of problems at
work. Unfortunately, Bart's father brought those troubles home with him.


Both, living under those conditions, were happy to have each
other. Sometimes the two friends said they were going to be at one or the
other's house for the night and camped out in the woods. They didn't have
the equipment that was in their army sacks, but still they had each other
to cuddle up with and a blanket.


Bart did admit, Brett taking it a little too far, picking on that
Manu-kid. He wasn't in high school, but with Brett, it didn't matter, if
the kid was a wimp, a wimp is a wimp, at whatever age.


His fault, Bart blamed himself for going along with it. However, once he
got into it, he couldn't pull himself out of it and kept punching Manu in
the stomach...until they got jumped!


Bart, he figured Coury must've slowed. There was no way, even jogging, he
could have caught up, asking, "Aren't we going to wait for Brett?"


"He'll catch up. Having lived in these parts, I'm sure you boys know where
the dude ranch is?"


Feeling good around Coury, not like his dad at all, Bart replies, "Where
the dudes hang out?"


It was the first time Bart caught Coury crack a half-smile, though it could
have been mistaken for a smirk.


"More than dudes," Coury replied, then doubling his pace, with two packs on
his back, one bigger than the other, "let's see if you can keep up!"


Coury took off, which made Bart stop. His heart ached to leave Brett
behind, but figured out, sometime in his life he needed to get on the right
path. Part of those thoughts could be, there was a lot about their new
leader, Bart liked and it wasn't just the attitude. Bart had to admit it to
himself, "yep," he sure had a hot looking bod!


He started running as fast as his feet could take him.


"What the?" Brett says of his friend, diminishing in size, as Bart puts
distance between them.


Though Brett thinks he's outfoxed the fox, when he hears a motor coming up
the road behind him. With quick reflex, he pushes himself up off the ground
and turns around, sticking a thumb out.


It was Darryl Dowdle, having finished up his shift at the police station,
thought he would head up the mountain and see how Marco's army buddy was
doing with the two offenders.


He was just in court, so knew the appearances of Bart and Brett. Not
pulling over, he stopped there. The road was too rural for highway lines,
but he judged he could be a little over it, if it were painted down the
middle.


Getting out, he didn't even look to see if someone was coming up the
road. Frankly, Darryl, having grown up in these parts, knew the daily
traffic, which would sometimes include an elk!


"Where's Coury?"


Brett wasn't about to be left behind, sweat like a hog to hike up the
incline, even though he wasn't hiking Everest.


"I fell behind, but Coury said, if a car came by, I could hail it and bum a
ride...that is, if you're offering?"


Sounded legit to Darryl, "Fine with me. Hop in!"


Darryl had no problem being a good Samaritan for a hot lad like Brett.


Brett sank in to the front seat, with force as if he had hiked 50 miles. He
smiled too, having outfoxed the fox!


He was amazed though, at how far Bart had gotten, it taking ten minutes to
catch up. With closer view, instead of lagging behind, his bud was in
stride with their fearless leader.


"Oh, here they are." Darryl also jokes, "the fare is so small, I'm not
gonna even charge you!"


According to Brett, who had superlatives of how a man should look to him,
it's a shame. Darryl would have made a hot fuck!


"I appreciate that."


Darryl didn't stop behind, but pulled in front of the two jogging hikers,
about 10 feet ahead.


Instead of angry at Darryl, when Coury caught up to the patrol car, he
didn't ream into the police officer, but rather confronts the smiling
offender, "get back in the car."


Half in, half out, Brett freezes, "what?"


Brett lost the smile. Most likely it was Coury's tone of voice, which
didn't sound much unlike his old man's, so he responded with coldness.


Reacting, Coury presses a hand against Brett's chest, "you heard right. Get
back in the patrol car. Then, to the driver, "Darryl, take Brett here, back
to the edge of town."


Bart just stood there. He kind of got the impression of what Coury was
doing. If Darryl drove his bud back to the edge of town, then unpacked his
gear, it would mean he would have to walk the route all over again, and
further!


"What tha fuck? I'm not doing any such thing. I don't care what the fuck
you do to me."


Throwing Brett off kilter, Coury says, "oh, so you don't care, if Darryl
here, instead of taking you back down the hill, drives you over to the
kiddie's penitentiary?"


By this time, Darryl had slowly walked, stepping his feet side to side,
till he stood next to Bart, "Wanna place your bets?"


Instead of a tough police officer on duty, Darryl stood there with Bart,
like a friend and not a supposed foe. He took advantage of it.


However, softly and not out loud. Bart didn't want Brett to hear that he
was casting a vote against him, "ten bucks Brett takes the deal."


"Oh-h-h," Darryl lets out a slight whine, "that was going to be my bet!"


Bart smiles. Darryl was being cute!


Not about his friend, Bart takes a long shot, "By the way, you wouldn't
happen to be gay?"


Placing hands on his hips, Darryl shuffles his feet, so he's facing Bart,
and after dropping his jaw opens, says, "Really? I look like the type?"


Much smarter than his partner in crime, Bart spells it out, "Well, as I see
it now, I'm on the opposite side of the law than you. But some day I think
we could be on the same side. Just looking out for myself, in case you
don't mind being friends with a man with a record?"


Didn't take long for Darryl to chew it up and spit it out. After all, it
wasn't a shyster who tried ripping his old grandmother's bankroll off with
foul play, "If a man pays for his wrongs and is sincere about it, why
should we `not' try to be friends?"


"Exactly what I was thinking," Bart bluntly says, walking away, having seen
Brett sink back into the passenger seat.


Darryl stood there with his jaw dropped, thinking this teen-kid had just
tried to pick him up?


Coury approaches Darryl, saying, "Catching flies, Officer Dowdle?" Not
waiting for an answer, "I want you to take your taxi fare back down the
mountain and dump him 2 miles out of town."


"Okay," Darryl replies, sketchy on anything else, except he hoped Coury
didn't detect his slight bulge.


"Then come back up here. We have things to discuss for our hike tomorrow."


While Bart chatted up Brett, the two talked their own business.


Most of the topic between the friends was `Canada.'


For Darryl, he was all hyped up over his extended leave, provided by
Marco's `say-so', "I'm really obliged for Marco's say in all this. It's
going to be right up my alley, hiking around the wilderness and showing you
and the boys..."


Not ready for a paragraph from some Sierra Club journal about letting the
wild be wild, Coury cuts in, "well you better get going. The other one..."


"Bart?" Darryl smiles.


"Right," Coury gages something has passed between the cop and `the
prisoner'. "We have to set up camp yet and I doubt either one of them knows
a thing or two about setting up a tent."


"You don't have to, if you don't want to," Darryl says.


It piqued Coury's interest, "Oh?"


"Nope," he says with pride, "you go up another 200 feet and cut off down
the road that's almost hung over with trees and vines. You follow it for
about a mile and there's a cabin. Belongs to a friend of mine. If he's
there, you say Darryl sent ya. Not, you go right in and make yourself at
home."


"Sounds good. The key, is it under the mat or above the door?"


"Key?" Darryl acts like it's absurd, "no key. Not in these parts of the
country!"


So, they got on their way, Darryl hopping back in the patrol cruiser,
starting and stopping a few times in making his u-turn.


Bart resumed the hike, right next to Coury. He was so overjoyed to hear the
news about sleeping indoors, grabbed Coury's forearm and gave it an excited
squeeze, saying something about Brett `deathly afraid' of spiders!


Rather than get gruff over the kid touching him, Coury just smiled and gave
the order to march on!


%


Meanwhile, Kira hadn't put the pedal to the metal, but rather leisurely
drove through the backroads to the ranch. There were direct routes, a lot
less bumpy, but when your passenger is unloading his sad history, it's
better to keep the wheels turning slow.


With Rusty pausing, Kira picks up the pace, "You've got too much of your
mind on fuckin' with boys. Frankly, I don't know why you're worryin' about
it. Comes the time when you can't hold it back anymore, there's still going
to plenty of fish left in the sea."


It didn't take long for Rusty to warm up to Kira's wisdom, which is why he
felt he could joke, "even with global warming?"


"Shut up and hand me the flask from under the dash."


It wasn't your standard glove compartment, but some kind of plate added,
`under, under', "where?"


"Keep feeling for it. You'll find it."


Rusty did as instructed, but all he could find were different colored
condoms, finally pouting, "where?!"


Coming to a stiff halt, she leans over, gives a harsh rap under the dash
and comes up with, "Right here, booby!"


It made Rusty smile, "Booby?"


Untwisting the silver cap, before she takes a sip, Kira lame-brains him,
"Not in the way you're thinking, you stoopid kid!"


"Oh," Rusty gets it, smiling, giddy about having felt her `boob' with his
forearm, not which he was getting any adrenaline rush over it!


She takes a swig. With cap dropped on the floor somewhere, she hands it
over to Rusty, "Here. Best medicine in the world for a fuckin' broken
heart!"


"My heart's not broken," Rusty replies, mainly because he wasn't into hard
liquor as much as hard cock.


"Fine. Just hold it."


Hold it Rusty did, listening to Kira ramble on. What he was slowly finding
out, she was an expert on everything, handing out expert advice, when in
reality, she had no idea what she was talking about. Finally, with boredom
setting in, a sniff turns into a sniff. Whiffs into a sip, then sips.


A few minutes up the road, he asks, "Why have we stopped?"


Taking the flask back, Kira holds it upside down over her opened
lips. Nothing comes out.


She retorts, "You're not going to tell me you didn't fuckin' notice the guy
hiking up the road?"


Rusty hiccups, putting a hand over his mouth. Removing it, "Nope!"


"You're a hopeless chico!"


Getting out of the truck, Kira puts a hand over the top of her eyes, like
looking directly at a Malibu sun, thinking, "Where tha fuck did he go?"


On the other side of the tall vehicle, Rusty is getting out to see. But,
`oops,' he almost falls flat on his face, if it wasn't for some dude
catching him!


The dude says, "No, no, no you don't," catching Rusty from falling on his
face!


"Hi-i-i-i!" Rusty stands, face inches from the slightly bearded guy.


Hearing the chatter, Kira walks around the back of the truck, surprising
the hitcher, "There you are!"


"Oh shit woman, you scare the hell out of me!"


He almost drops Rusty to his original fate, the hiker catching him in a
full bear hug.


It was an innocent save, but Kira makes the best of it, "Why not get a
room?"


"Room?" The dude knew exactly what she meant, "Why I want to get room?"
Then, not accustomed to be spoken to with such allegations, the dude
forcefully hands Rusty over to her, "here. You go get room!"


The pack he dropped, to catch Rusty's aquaplaning bod, the dude picks it
up.


"Wait. Don't you want a ride?"


"Where you go?"


Feeling very apologetic, Kira says, "there's a ranch up the road."


Almost passed out, Rusty slurs his words, "My ranch!"


He lets out a disgusting burp!


Kira detects something, "Oh fuck, you're not gonna..."


Both Kira and the hitch hiker stare at each other for a split second,
before hustling Rusty off to the side of the road. He barfs on the side of
a tree.


On his knees, holding his stomach, Rusty keels over like a newborn, "I'm
so, so, so, so sick."


"With no wonder," Kira reprimands, "when you drink my whole stash?!"


"You got more white lightning?" the hitcher asks.


Kira wonders where this guy was dug up. Yet, riding back to the ranch, she
was glad she was the one with hands on the wheel. Rusty stank and someone
was needed to keep his head up.


Too, she had a cool, calm conversation, learning that Hwan Jeong had
secured an `expensive' visa, to come to the US. On his way to the west
coast, dropping in on West Hollywood, Hwan had great plans of becoming an
entrant for the new Tv show, `Best Chow In America.' Hyped up with
excitement and passion, Hwan speaks of his undying love for the show hosts,
Nick East and Haley West!


When she heard that, the brake was applied abruptly, almost sending Rusty
to the windshield, "No way!"


"Yeah," Hwan share his honest opinion, "man or woman...I love them both!"


>From that moment on, Kira was in a higher heaven than Hwan. Right there in
her truck was the perfect guy, which could solve not only the glitch in her
own love life, but Rusty as well, "Please tell me you're bi?"


Moving his head back, Hwan just didn't get it, "If that is bad, you stop
again...let me out."


She just waved her hand as if to say, `what's wrong with you, brother?' and
continued driving, saying, "No chance, booby. I'm not letting this fish
go!"


Laughing at herself, Hwan, taking the liberty to feel what was under
Rusty's shirt, taut abs, fine pecs, he didn't dare journey too far
south. Though, he hadn't a clue to what `the woman' meant.


Sooner than later, they came to the front entrance of the ranch. However,
it didn't look exactly like the last time she rode under the sign hanging
over the entrance. In fact, there was no sign, "Holy schmoly, what the fuck
is this?"


Much less alert than the rest, when the highly illuminated `front yard' of
the ranch blinded Rusty, he stirs, "What the fuck is happening?"


Hwan hated like heck to loosen his grip, but Rusty had intentions of
sitting up. Instead of holding him back, Hwan places hands on both sides of
Rusty's ribcage and helps him to remain upright.


By this time, Kira was out of the truck and with her signature, `shading of
the Malibu sun,' cased the heavy trucks, lifting debris and carting it
away. She thought all on her own, the reason the fencing was ripped out
along the roadside, was to get the heavy vehicles inside.


Coming back to her side of the truck, she doesn't take her eyes off the
action, yelling, "Rusty, get your ass out here, you gotta see this!"


His `seat belt' was Hwan's arms, so the Korean held the power in
controlling Rusty's movements. Carefully, Hwan leads him out, moving
himself backwards, saying, "Go one step, one step."


However, the baby steps didn't take hold as planned, Hwan falling backwards
onto his bum, Rusty on top of him!


They lay there for a moment, until Rusty figure out the cushy mass
underneath him, "Oops. I hope I didn't break anything!" Rolling over, off
of Hwan, he says, "Who are you?"


"Me? I Hwan. I know you. You Rusty."


Hovering overhead, Kira states, "That's nice and I'm `Ellen', welcome to my
fuckin' talk show!"


With brute force she pulls Rusty to his feet, offering Hwan a hand.


Juggling two men, mostly Rusty, she leads them into the space on one side
of yellow tape, extended between trees.


"Oh my god," it sobers Rusty up, "my bedroom's gone!"


Lo and behold, who steps out from the bushes, fixing his zipper, "Rusty,
what are you doing here?"


Right off, Rusty's head tilts to where the action seemed to be, "I might
ask you the same," he looks up, "uncle?"


Marco could tell he was drunk and who to blame, "Is this your doing?" he
interrogates Kira.


"Shut the fuck up, Marco. Where were you for the past 20 years of Rusty's
life?"


It did shut him up, hitting a sour chord, "well, what are you doing here?"


Of course, Marco couldn't keep from noticing one other.


Keen on things, after hiking half way around the world and some, Hwan knows
when he stands face to face with an influential man, placing his hand in
Marco, "I here to be your help," having already helped Rusty, "you hire me
to cook cowboy food, uncle?"


Making it more than it is, Kira opens her big mouth, "Hwan is a celebrity
chef, headed out to Hollywood to be on Best Chow In America. Hwan, he knows
Nick East personally!"


Hwan wanted to correct her, never even getting an email from him, that is
if he owned a networking device, but if she thought it was cool, so did he,
"Nick'n'me. We like this!"


Except, instead of two peas in a pod, with his index finger through a
circled thumb, the pod appears to be quite active!


"Really?" Marco softens his tone, slipping an arm over Hwan's shoulders,
"perhaps we might have a position for you after all."


Every Thursday night, Marco would give up sex to drool over Nick East. His
only regret, it wasn't that type of show where Nick would remove his
shirt. Online, they were very stingy, with posting pics of Nick's dick or
even less. Blond, he was a bustling bombshell nonetheless, standing tall
and wide-shouldered, a mixed blond-ginger beard, looking like Nick forgot
to shave and to top it off, those dreamy blue eyes, which Marco loved, when
the videographer zoomed in for a closeup.


Of course, rather than takeout on a Thursday night, Marco would surf online
during the commercials and by the time Nick had finished his segment, the
attorney would have a fish on-the-line!


Since Marco was getting friendly with the hands, arm over the shoulder and
a quick pat to the tummy, Hwan didn't hesitate to reciprocate, using
Rusty's slang, "You cool, uncle!"


Even though he had just come from `the bush', Marco's system began building
for a blast all over again, getting his jollies just by Hwan's hand
slightly slipping between a shirt button he neglected to fix.


"Something tells me you would be an `ass-set' for the ranch. Why don't we
walk around, while you fill me in on some favorite recipes?"


This made Hwan a little nervous, stating, "I have not nothing to hide and I
can cook good cowboy food!"


Marco knew the signs, a dude hiding something, but what interested him
more, of what Hwan was hiding in his pants!


Meanwhile, the fresh country air and the slight cooling of the daylight
hours, giving way to night, made Rusty sober up somewhat. Adding to it, was
the sight of the whole ranch house, gone!


Standing outside the perimeter of the yellow police tape with Kira, Rusty's
tummy put pressure on the `keep out' letters printed on the elastic warning
sign, his feet underneath and walking towards the empty foundation.


Suddenly, from the direction which did not command their attention, walks a
guy, both hands up, like getting arrested, pushing them backwards, "hold it
right there."


Rusty immediately caught something there, a hand on his chest, but not
Kira's, though a guy with values wouldn't put his paws on a lady's
chest. In Rusty's opinion, Kira was no `lady', but that was beside the
point!


Looking down at his own chest, Rusty says, "excuse me?"


"Oh!" he withdraws his paws. "I'm so, so sorry."


Still half-liquored up, Rusty smiles, exclaiming, "No you're not!"


Kira knows where this is going, walking a few feet down the tape and
slipping underneath.


Smiling, the Italian knows he's been had, but rather dwell on anything
right now, he lifts the yellow tape and crosses the line to Rusty's
side. In doing so, the warning tape flips back, catching on his Seahawk's
baseball cap.


Reaching down to pick it up, Rusty says, "I got it!"


As things go, Rusty was still under the influence and his reach spun him
off balance, casting him on his bum.


They both pause, looking up and glancing down.


With Rusty laughing, he lifts his arm, "Here's your hat!"


Reaching down to claim the hat, he also uses it as opportunity, taking
Rusty's wrist in a clenched fist, "Thanks," he hauls the lad up to his
feet. "I'm Monte," their eyes meet, "Vaccaro."


"I'm Rusty," he simply states.


Monte still held Rusty by the wrist.


Rusty still clenched the Seahawk's emblem at the back of the hat, "Uh,
here's your hat."


However, a predicament, off kilter when he went for Monte's hat, Rusty's
cowboy hat now lay on the ground.


Bending over to retrieve it, Monte offers, "No, you stay put. I have it."


Grinning, Rusty didn't make a sound, but notices, when Monte's polo shirt
stretches out of his pants, he can see a little `crack'!


Standing, Monte detects something, but just smiles back. Taking his own
cap, he places it on his head, pouncing the Cowboy hat over Rusty's
ginger-red hair.


Rusty was waiting for it, the pickup line he got from most men, but the
`green eyes' saying never came!


"So, being that I'm one of the architects brought in and grounds planner,
can I show you around?"


Now Rusty didn't give two-hoots about his eyes, accepting the invitation,
"Sure!"


When Rusty almost trips over his own feet, Monte jumps to his rescue,
grabbing an arm, "Steady there."


Turning his head, Rusty faced Monte's cheek. If he had known him a little
longer, he might have given him an affectionate peck against the day-old
beard, but instead offered, "Thanks."


"Oh, before I forget," Monte, still attached, does turnabout..


"Uh-oh!"


`Uh-oh' was right, Rusty's feet not following Monte's steps. With quick
reflexes kicking in, Monte turns back, catching Rusty chest to chest,
"Gotcha!"


For all of 5 seconds, Rusty stare into Monte's eyes, then moved arms, from
dangling at his sides, to over Monte's shoulders. Not knowing what got into
him, Rusty caresses shoulder blades and puckers up.


One kiss later, he backs off, "I guess I shouldn't have done that, huh?"


Smiling, Monte not so sure it was all reflex action, "I think, if I was
straight, I might have been highly offended!"


"Whugh!" Rusty thoroughly exhales, dropping both arms, glad he's not
getting socked in the gut, "you don't know how relieved that makes me
feel."


Even though Monte attributed part of Rusty's cuteness to the smell of
liquor on his breath, part of him was saying not to allow excuses to keep
him from doing something lurking in his mind. Except, being a gentleman, he
didn't want to make it look like he was stalking Rusty, especially since,
when he got out of Kira's truck, it's exactly why he crossed the yard when
he spotted the ginger lad!


"Are we ready for that tour?"


"Ready when you are, captain!"


It was a lazy salute, but Monte sensed, when sober Rusty might be a
different man. His worst case fear would be waking up tomorrow and not
remembering the `accidental' meet up, especially that sweet kiss!


Meanwhile, across the lot, Marco was making up his own tour as he went
along, side by side with the Korean chef, applying for a job.


"Isn't this romantic?"


He had stopped along the way, Marco standing with Hwan, like in the
spotlight, a full moon shining down through a hole in the roof of the old
homestead.


Not wasting time with this so-called interview, Hwan commands Marco's
attention, "You hurry and get strip off. I make firm to fuck!"


Marco thought to himself, `that's not how it's supposed to go,' "Uh, wait a
minute there, buddy," a hand on the hand, to lend a hand unbuckling his
belt.


"No problemo," Hwan copycats a Mexican dude he met along the way across the
globe, "I take off first, if you like, we get it on!"


He had to admit, Hwan having spunk and so horned up from the buildup along
their journey, he was very `up' for almost anything. Right now though, Hwan
was seconds ahead, kicking off shoes, which were sandals, which Marco
hadn't noticed, but did, when Hwan drops his pants.


"Wow. You say you're a cook?"


"Yup," Hwan, making sure he's a shoo-in, "I cook good cowboy chow."


>From the bulging briefs, Marco can tell, "well, that's some pork loin
you've got there!"


The roundedness of his `rump roast' wasn't bad neither!


"Good you like. I like lips and tongue."


`Was that an ultimatum?' Marco thinks, not used to taking it, but
aggressive at giving it.


Fully stripped down, flaunting those monster pig-parts, slight fuzz from
neck to navel and beyond, Hwan is way ahead, saying as he grabs up Marco's
worked-out-rounded, hairy pecs in both hands, "Bet you like?"


Right now, Marco wasn't pinning labels on himself, nor Hwan, just going
with the flow of things. Feeling hands on his hairy pecs, fingers and
thumbs moving into place, like rehearsed, giving his nubs a little
tweaking, all he could do is howl to the moon, "Oh-r-gh-uh-h-h-h!"


"I know you like," Hwan gets animal on Marco, helping him to catch up on
revealing his man-meat. "You like me get rough on you?"


All these years, being in the opposite shoes of the way Hwan was treating
him, Marco could not deny, to be in another man's boots wasn't turning him
on immensely.


Then, groping Marco's inflated-ness, Hwan says, "I know you like."


If he thought, pinching nips till they were perky was on the painful side,
both the sexual response and pain resulting from Hwan's grab, Marco felt a
new revelation, "Oh yeah, work me, babe!"


Like others before, Marco is forced to sit down onto the dried semen-soaked
tarp, on a crude loom of a bed, Hwan's hands on both shoulders, uttering,
"You give me good blowjob now."


`Damn!' Marco thought, feeling both bitter and sweet. Down at the club on
Friday or Saturday nights, or both, he was the one in charge. In a turn of
events, now he was the one being forced to pry open his lips, a fully
engorged shaft no more than an inch from his mouth.


He was a man whom could make split-second decisions about business matters,
but right now was lost as a sheep, Hwan doing the shepherding!


"Now you open, okay?"


Not giving Marco time or a chance to think, tilting his interviewer's head
back, Hwan knows how to get that mouth to open, "You not coperate."


He meant cooperate, which Marco has seen those nights, a boy acting out of
stupidity, or plainly wanting to experience rough sex. However, he's not
used to the brutality of being made to open up, by his `top' mercilessly
applying nails to his nip, "Ow-w-w-w-w-


No time to think, only react, Marco's mouth is rounded enough, but not wide
enough.


With his fat, 9.5c shoved in, there was more reason than a pinched nip to
open wide!


Thinking, force, if he didn't act to accommodate the thick shaft, it's
possible his jaw could be maimed for life. On the other hand, Marco thinks
back to the club, using the same, aggressive `stuff now, think later'
technique.


His worst fear was Hwan resorting to driving that shaft down his
throat. Marco knows how it feels, a colleague doing the Heimlich Maneuver
on him during a conference, having gotten a shrimp fragment stuck in his
throat. It was no picnic - yet, it did feel kind of freaky, feeling cock
through his suit pants, right before the crustacean popped out!


Pushing his luck, Hwan says, "Ok, now I see your ass!"


The moonlight shining off his mouth-juices, was enough of a picture to
imply a threat, Marco responding, "not with that weapon of mass
destruction!"


Hwan knows, whether a man wants it or not, the pain involved, shoving a
hard tool like his in to the hilt. Generally, he works it in slow, unless
he's doing one of those kinky, masochistic freaks, who want it all at
once. Rarely has he found a man ill-prepared to open his ass lips for such
a rare treat.


However, what is running through his mind is still the protocol, himself
being `interviewed' and his `interviewer' calling the shots, "Ok. I bend
over for you."


Knowing a taste of honey is worse than never a taste at all, Marco
exercises his jaw, thinking, "Maybe."


"What you say?" Hwan senses the candle hasn't flickered out just yet.


"Here," Marco invites the hard shaft back, a finger signaling, `bring it
back,' "looks a little dry. Maybe it needs a little more lubing up?"


"Ok," Hwan innocently says, "you say-so!"


They never got to `down the throat', nor `up the ass', but Marco almost
choked-like-shrimp, on the wave of goo which surfed down his throat, Hwan's
shaft tipped to the front of his lower lip.


Pulling out and delirious with the pangs of coming, Hwan didn't have an
interest in Marco choking on the flood, but grabs up his monster cock and
continues secreting rope after thick rope of man-creme, dirtying up Marco's
bod from under the chin, to his own pubes!


%


Being a gentleman, even though driven by desire, Monte play it cool,
walking Rusty around the ranch. Standing quite a distance from the naked
foundation, the architect talks up how it's going to be replaced with an
A-frame log home, which will be built right up against the apron of the
in-ground swimming pool.


"It's up to you, but Marco thought it might be nice to replace the pool
with something larger, in case of a large party, which would include a
cocktail bar, cabana, a hot tub and sauna. What do you think?"


By this time, the walk and cooling temps had sobered Rusty up quite a bit,
even though he was drunk over Monte's good looks and a suave style of
speaking, "I think the ranch guests will like it."


"Oh no, you misunderstand. This pool is for `your' use and the guests you
invite. For ranch use, an olympic size pool will be built."


With the existing pool, Rusty stands, strips off his tee shirt and says,
"will you be my first guest?"


Monte was a little leery starting up anything with Rusty, being he was sure
there were 6, or 7, or 8 years difference in age. Though, he's never pushed
himself into a serious relationship and at 27-years old, figured he wasn't
getting any younger, "Me? Your first guest?"


Already down to his briefs, Rusty thumbs them, "You like going skinny
dipping?"


Rusty didn't wait for an answer, running all the way across the yard, to
the pool, naked.


Astounded by the lack of reluctance, Monte, after hearing a loud,
`Cowabunga!', starts working his tie out of the loop.


When he arrived on site, he was wearing the full suit and shiny black
shoes. With June heat assimilating a July summer, he has already stripped
the jacket, having taken it back to his car. Still wanting to project a
professional look, he left his tie on, but soon loosened it and undid the
top button. Along with dust and dirt, his shoes got scuffed up in no
time. He could have walked along the outskirts of the construction, or in
this case, `destruction', but how could he and not get a closeup glimpse of
the hot workers?


Right now, his shirt wasted with sweat and the swarm of dirt, dried to
perfection with the overhead day of sun, he would write it off as a
business expense, tearing it down the middle.


Finally making it to the pool, the cloudless night, coupled with a full
moon, put him in the spotlight.


Rusty, upon surfacing, spitting out a stream of water, says, "Sexy!"


"You think so?" Monte says, diving head first, in.


Sure, it was sexy, gazing at whatever Rusty could make of the hairy
Italian, right on down to the dark area below his waistline, but also the
fact, Monte forgetting to strip the still attached necktie, "tell me you
don't always dress up to swim?"


The two on the surface, facing each other, Monte's necktie swam between
them, "a boy scout is always prepared!"


They could both touch bottom, but preferred to remain buoyant, Rusty saying
with a purpose in mind, "You, a boy scout? Like, how many years ago was
that?"


Cutting through what could be a bunch of silly conversation, Monte says,
"I'm 27. How old are you?"


"I just graduated out of boarding school. When a guy is 19-years old,
around a bunch of 18-year old's, they look up to him."


Rusty could see Monte's teeth causing lips to form a grin, "well, I'm not
18, but I've already had the chance to look you `up and down!'"


"Oh?" Rusty floats closer, "And what is your opinion of that?"


"Um, I tend to like to get to know a guy better, before getting into more
of a permanent relationship."


"Have you been in one?"


"One," Monte replies, "and he was almost your age, 22."


Feeling his way, in thoughts, Rusty asks, "and you were?"


"Twenty-five. He wasn't as mature as you are at 19, though."


"Oh? So you have me all figured out?"


"Oh no," Monte says in a pompous attitude, "I don't pretend to know
anything about you...not yet, anyway!"


It sounded to Rusty like a pickup line, though he wasn't against it, pushes
the button, "so, I guess we'll be spending more time together?"


With intention, Monte says, "Are you sober yet?"


"Totally," Rusty shows he's not kidding, touching Monte's waist!


"You're okay with someone older?"


Comeback, Rusty says, "you're okay with someone younger?"


Since Rusty was touching him, Monte gravitated closer, forming a loop of
arms around waist. Without a word, he shows his approval!


%


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.