Date: Thu, 16 Jun 2016 17:21:08 +0000
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 13

% 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" 13

WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


^   0   ^


%


Via a cell call, from Deputy Jack, Marco was called upon to offer his
expertise, exclaiming, "a baby?! In the dumpster?!"


Following, were more questions than Jack could answer, which prompted Marco
to appear on the scene. Walking into Karl's Cafe, the line dancing
discotheque was mobbed.


Jack was right there, at the front desk to meet Marco. Blasting music rose
above speaking or hearing levels. With fingers turned into direction
arrows, Jack wades through the crowd, pointing towards Karl's office.


With his mind on how the hell someone could do such a thing, as to dump a
human life into the trash, Marco suddenly had a lapse, feeling a hand on
his chest, inside his shirt!


"Oops! It was an accident, mister. I swear it on my mother's grave."


Under other circumstances, Marco might pursue, the college guy apologizing
for his hand accidentally going inside the shirt, when squeezing past each
other.


One thing, even though pressing business preceded all this, Marco knew the
dude wasn't from around here.


"Got a phone?"


"Yeah," the guy says, but who could hear over Cowboy Troy and boots
clunking to `Square Dance Boogie'?


Normally, he would have taken care of business right off, but a man with a
mission on his mind, this was not one of the run of the mill
pickups. Slow-going through the crowd, Marco annoyed at being shoved from
left to right, twisted around, some cowgirl, trying to get Marco to join,
he felt rightly man-handled, now someone grabbing at the back of his belt!


"Hi again. This time it was on purpose!"


With Marco, used to punching numbers into a cell and running, he snidely
says, "it's gonna be on purpose when I punch your ass, boy!"


The dude wasn't at all threatened, rather smiling. However, he wasn't about
to allow a hot man to tear away from him that quick. Pocketing his phone,
he tried keeping up with Marco's serpentining walkaway.


Finally, he made it to the back of the long dancehall and through a door,
almost at the corner of the building. Suddenly, with the heavy door
closing, most of the music was blocked.


Then, it opens, blaring down the small hallway.


"I thought I lost you," Marco says.


"Oh, so you knew I was following you?" the twenty-something cowboy says.


"Following?" Marco replies. "Whether you know it or not, they have laws in
this state against stalking?"


He tried to deny it, but what-the-heck, Marco didn't really care, "wait out
here. This might not take long."


Standing there, the dude wanted to make sure Marco's phone was really his
number. Sometimes he's picked up a guy and next time he checked his phone,
it was the number of a restaurant, which never heard of the dude!


Dialing, he was a little impressed, finding out it was a law office,
thinking to himself, `impressive.' Whether, he recites to himself, the name
given as the law firm of, "well, `Marco Veneziano,' looks like my accident
might just prove to turn out as a lucrative venture!"


Using his foot to push the door in, he pockets his cell.


Not which he wasn't happy to see the lad who felt up his fuzzy pec, Marco
says, "what the hell are you doing here?"


In all of his time spent practicing law in Owl Creek, never once had Marco
been to the backdrop of Karl's Cafe, except the men's room and that had
been a while ago.


Sometimes, when another person is around, especially someone to be a good
friend, a person will talk out what's on their mind. Marco doesn't know
why, but felt more of a connection with the lad who kicked in the door,
saying, "look's like Karl's right up there with the times, eh?"


There were several doors, all painted the same color as the hallway, a
bright yellow.


"What do you mean?"


"One room to do your business?" Marco points to the sign on one of those
doors.


"Hmm," the dude says, "non-gender bathroom. Who would've thought, way out
here in the sticks?"


Then, glancing at all the others, Marco casually says, "and that looks like
it's `it'!"


Right now, the dude wasn't concerning himself with yellow doors, but keyed
in on Marco, "um, your shirt..."


"What about it?" Marco looks down upon himself.


"I think I might have torn a button. I'm awfully sorry about that."


Sure enough, pulling his tie aside, Marco sees a place where it's minus a
button, but also, "what do you have, x-ray vision?"


"No, just being the investigative type of guy I am," he holds his hand like
a stop-sign, "my hand is too big to fit in between two buttons. So, either
a button would have come undone, or maybe you didn't bother to button it
this morning, getting ready for work?"


At this moment, Marco's attention was totally grabbed away from pressing
matters. His mind finally did make a connection with the lad. He was
Italian and he was certain he could bet his last dollar on the same,
"what's your name?"


"Aldo Iacono. Why? Have we met?"


`No,' they hadn't, but if Marco had someone to bet with, he would have won,
"Italian?"


"Both sides of the family!" Aldo replies, both excited Marco was taking an
interest and perhaps an `in', them both from the same continent, somewhere
along the lines of family heritage.


Before they could officially meet and greet each other, they hear a baby's
cry, "Uh, that's why I'm here. Excuse me a minute."


Turning his back towards Aldo and walking, Marco then got a last minute
palpitation, doing a reverse turn, "and oh, don't leave town."


At this point, Aldo wondered if they had met. Only someone would say that
to another person, if they had something in common, other than being
Italian.


"I won't!"


After he said it, Aldo was stupefied, wondering if he spoke too much, too
soon, walking towards the dull effect of music. Knowing his country music
about as much as how to play football, not a fan, it didn't really phase
him, name of the tune playing.


Originally, his idea was bent on getting an `in', a mentor with an
established law office, for which to do some apprenticing. Now, a hand on
the hand which touched `fur', Aldo had a different take on running into
Marco.


Over heads, he perused the crowd, searching for his college buddy, whom he
intended on spending the summer with. Spotting Dave, he was drunk. It's one
of things Aldo picked up on at college, whenever Dave partied, he partied!


With less of his mind on Dave and more of it on `Marco', Aldo makes an
about turn, pushing on the door, back towards the new gendered bathroom. He
didn't need to `go,' but had a stronger desire to keep in touch with Marco.


When he caught up with him, all Aldo could of to say it, "oh, how sweet!"


He was more of a spectacle, than Marco holding the baby, all eyes on his
hotness!


Then, ready to leave, Aldo says, "Sorry. Another time."


"No, no, no, you stay," Hwan grabs the Italian's arm.


Marco, even though he knew Hwan not a threat, for certain he wasn't about
to even think of `stealing' Aldo away from him, "I'll call you later."


"Oh. Okay. Sure," Hwan releases his grip, Aldo backing out of the door
frame and leaving.


Then, things shifted from the bundle of joy in Marco's arms, to what the
plan of action was next.


What `became' the next move, was Kira phoning Marco, asking where he was.


His arms full, Hwan reached into Marco's pants pocket to retrieve his cell!


Marco scolds him, "What're you trying to do? Make me drop the baby, Hwan?"


Zack, who had found the 12-week old infant, also acted as liaison between
Karl and what events would unfold. He had an eye on the situation, which
included Hwan. At first, he thought there might be something there, but
slowly he discovers the Korean much too frisky for his tastes!


What they find out, the mystery unraveling, Kira has the mother right there
with her.


At first, Marco blew up, but moments after hearing Kira's rational reason
for everything, which included a young teen, desperate and without a place
to go, he calmed down. For certain, he didn't want to be holding a baby all
night, so told her to bring the mother to Karl's.


After hanging up, he curses, "someone tell me where the fuck Ricky is?"


Zack was cool to jump in there, "Uh, the baby, Marco?"


"Oh," he looks down, saying, "sorry there, Martin."


"Martin?" Zack questions.


"Kira, she said the baby's name is Martin."


One thing leads to another and soon they have almost everything Kira told
Marco.


"Sorry. I was at the picnic," Ricky says, reporting with his little black
bag.


"I hope you brought me a burger?" Marco says, surrendering little Martin
over to Ricky.


"Nope, but got a nice hot dog for ya!"


"Hmph," Marco growls, "just take care of the kid, while I make a few phone
calls."


Stepping out of Karl's office, his first call was to Aldo, which as he
finds out, never left the club.


Marco offers to meet him at the bar, but Aldo says, his friend John is too
wasted and the bar is the last place he needs to be at.


Okay, so Marco looks in on Ricky and Martin, then turns around, seeing a
guy, perched over Aldo's. Suddenly, Marco is madly in love, "this is your
friend?" he goes to help.


"Uh, yeah," Aldo detects something quirky.


"I think I'm gonna be sick," Aldo's friend says.


Marco suggests, "Quick, the gender-room!"


Aldo couldn't help but giggle, "Is that what they're calling it now?"


What had really grabbed Marco's attention, was not the cowboy hat, which
now Aldo held in his hands, but the upper lasso of a leather harness,
gathering up his friend's pecs.


More to find out info on his friend, Michael Johnson, Marco starts
questioning Aldo, "where is it you said you were from?"


Aldo almost slipped, not wanting to divulge too much info, not right now,
"Seattle University," and to throw off suspicion of why he wanted to get to
know Marco, "we're on summer break."


As Michael upchucked, Marco carries on conversation, "then you're not from
the area."


"No."


"Where are you staying?"


"We haven't figured that out yet. This is our first night in town. Michael
and me thought we needed a night out, after the long drive."


Finally Michael stopped heaving, turned around, from lurched over the bowl,
sits on his butt, "I think my drink was spiked."


Aldo had to add, "Possibility. Michael, he always holds his liquor."


Right now, Marco would have liked to holding those perky nubs sticking
through the forest of Michael's chest!


"Well, I can't say I haven't heard of that happening, but not around
here. What did you have to eat before coming here?"


Michael looks to Aldo, who returns his gaze.


Marco says, "Well, I guess we can rule out your drink was drugged?"


"Yeah," Michael says, putting a hand up, wanting a lift to his feet, "would
you mind?"


Lifting him up, Michael slaps right up, against Marco's chest, saying, "Oh,
I hope I didn't get your shirt dirty," studying it like a billboard sign.


Revisiting the half-harness over Michael's upper bod, Marco says, "if you
did, I'm sure you won't mind using your mouth for a vacuum cleaner!"


Aldo is quick to jump in for his friend, "Michael isn't like that. It would
more go like, another dude licking his chest off."


"Oh really?" Marco ventures to overstep boundaries, running both hands up
the sides of Michael's lats, over his meaty pecs.


Whereas the harness had become a little disheveled, Michael adjusts,
pulling it down to hug his pecs, "thanks, but I can handle it from here!"


Now, how could Marco, a bulwark of Owl Creek, on the hospital board, the
school board and assuming other illustrious titles, possibly turn out 2
college boys, down on their luck, "If you're needing a bed to spend the
night, I've got an extra bedroom at my place?"


He looked so beautiful, shapely cut outs of a beard along his chops, stripe
up the chin, and then all that lovely hair from the neck down, Marco found
it tough controlling himself.


Aldo slowly got the impression, all his work, at trying to woo Marco into a
summer position at his firm, was crumbling away. However, since he got one
foot in the door, "Maybe that's not such a bad idea, Michael?"


Michael saw it his buddy's way, saying, "Soon as we get some cash, we'll
pay you some rent for the room."


Marco liked the sound of it, `rent', which perhaps one night was not long
enough of an offer!


%


Meanwhile, Rusty and Monte were enjoying some barbecue and thanked Alice
profusely for the invitation. Alice thought nothing of it, thanking Rusty
for `babysitting' the boys.


It wasn't only him, but Rusty sensed Monte a natural in relating to kids.


One of the pleasurable things which helped Monte to warmup to Ricky's clan,
was meeting Trew Dumbarton. Learning Trew a high school workshop teacher,
they got to talking `art'.


Rusty was slowly getting to know the Valdez-Pau'au-West clan, for the first
time meeting Clyde. Entering college, hopefully next fall, Rusty related
well to the 24yo, discovering Clyde to be a very smart guy. Not only this,
but Clyde seemed to know exactly what he expected to get out of the higher
learning experience, all set when he graduated, to dive into the work
force, explaining his ambitions.


Clyde spoke softly right now, "I'm not going to be like Kira, wasting half
my life away."


He didn't elaborate too much, but what Rusty discovers, Kira hadn't a clue
to what she wanted to do early on in life. Art was one of her forte's, but
she fell into the wrong crowd in college and soon dropped out. Now, the
details were sketchy, though she still had to follow up on her promise to
her brother, Tommy, finding the


"She travelled for awhile, but when she finally came back to earth, she
came home. By then, she had forgotten about all her ambitions, to become a
great artist. That's not going to happen to me."


Rusty admired not only Clyde's respect for what was important, but also the
cocoa skin and fuzziness, which ran down from the base of his neck, to
where wrinkles folded his stomach, indistinguishable as the rest was
situated below the beltline.


Suddenly, Clyde got a chill, which made him throw off the wet towel at his
back.


"Mine's dry," Rusty offers.


"You need it," Clyde says.


"Not really," Rusty replies.


"We'll share."


Rusty didn't balk at that, turning over half the towel to Clyde. Using the
oversized towel for a tent, they both were able to cover one
shoulder. Rusty's right shoulder met with Clyde's left and even though the
towel did not really cover both, it sheltered them somewhat from the light
breeze.


Over an hour ago, Alice had taken Mauri and Scotty inside to watch Tv. A
few minutes ago, she came out to tell Trew, the boys were `gone' for the
night.


It took much off of Trew's mind, knowing Scotty was in good hands,
especially for the night. Though, he didn't know exactly what his own
sleeping arrangement was to be. If it came to it, he would just wake Scotty
and they'd head back to the motel for the night.


Right in the middle of their conversation, Monty has used Trew's shoulder
as a prop, to get up and go inside. However, returning, feeling his
shoulder used for leverage, Clyde slaps his ass down.


Two bottles clutched in one hand, Clyde says, "Here, pick one."


Glancing at Clyde, with question on his face, Trew says, "They're both the
same."


"I know," Clyde replies. "That was a test."


"Oh, and did I pass?"


Clyde replies, "it wasn't a test."


"I know."


Clyde had wished he knew `what' to say, instead of dilly-dallying away with
idiotic banter.


"I also know," Trew furthers, "you're not into alcoholic beverages."


"Sorry. I don't drink...alcohol, that is."


"Not a problem with me," Trew says, chugging his bottle of water."


Seeing 6 beer drinkers on the other side of the pool, "if you want, Trew,
you can go have a beer with them?"


"Hmm, that's a new one on me."


"What is?" Clyde asks.


"How to get rid of a guy with a kid, without implicating it's the kid?"


"I think Scotty's a cool kid. I've already thought about it. Someday I
might be wanting a kid in my family." Clyde, he was more thinking about the
generation gap, "I just got to thinking, maybe you're looking for someone
more your `equal'?"


Even though a 7 year generation gap, Trew was already under the impression
Clyde more mature for his age. Then, there was always, "I didn't want you
to think," he moves his hand to Clyde's forearm, "an old man was hittin' on
you."


First smile he got out of Clyde, such a serious young man, "Don't worry. I
can roll with the punches."


"Well," Trew says with a kinky attitude, "how about we show these old men
up and roll out of these shorts and into the pool?"


High-5-ing Trew, the two stood, stripped and hopped in.


True to what they were thinking, it drew attention, the dudes on the other
side of the pool, thinking, `what the hell?'


The circle of drinking friends, Ricky leading them, was like a tornado,
carrying the rest along, his boyfriend, Jordan, Rusty and Monte and family
members, Manu and Tommy.


Maurice hung back, waiting for another family member, Troi Pau'au. Troi had
left his business partner and `partner' in charge of the nightclub they
managed, Maurice wanting to speak to him.


However, `pleasure' before `business', the big bear of a man hastily
unbuttons his shirt, shucks shoes and pants and runs towards the pool.


Ricky yells out, "Tsunami alert!"


Like it's always been, knowing Troi's big, beefy bod capable of sloshing
water out of the pool, Maurice shouts from the side, "Tidal wave!"


When Trew, buoying in the pocket corner of the pool, suddenly floats high
up, he says, "wow! Can he do it again?"


Maurice didn't allow Troi to stay in long enough and when he got out, he
stayed out, for business.


"Do I gotta?" Troi acts like a big baby, wanting to kick up the surf again.


"Sit," Maurice calls him over to a circular table, moving the chair as a
hint.


Troi knew, those wrought iron, metal chair were easy to sink into, but a
pain to get out of, his chunky physique filling it up without an inch to
spare. He found it out one time, sitting and when he stood, the chair stuck
to his fat ass!


That's why he pulls over an armless chair, asking, "What's up?"


With personal and private business on his mind, Maurice hits Troi with the
one which will lead to the other, "I've heard you and Joseph have not been
getting along?"


A tight knit family, there's not much which could be kept under wraps, as
Troi was finding, "Was it Kira who told you?"


Quite frankly, since Marco was a good buddy of Ricky, he was more family
than a mere acquaintance, Maurice reporting, "I suppose you already know,
Joseph has sought legal advice with Marco, over separating your entwined
finances?"


Shocked about this, but not about how the two have not been getting along,
Troi says, "I wish I knew?"


"You know now."


"I meant from Joseph. As you can see, the fink doesn't tell me anything!"


Over the years, Marco has rubbed off on Maurice, who used to be meek and
mild, a regular Clark Kent, until he started wearing a suit, instead of
polo shirt, "Get over it, Troi and move on."


As a reprimanded child, Troi says, "Okay. What do you want to see me
about?"


"A buyout. Marco has handed me Joseph's paperwork. He's offering $150,000
for your half of the business and wants the key to your Mercedes."


"Wait...he wants my car that I saved and saved to buy?" Troy claims.


"Would you rather we drag into this the college boy Joseph found you with,
in the men's room at the night club?"


He didn't like it, especially since he had the Mercedes detailed on the
sides with the `bear' insignia; black-brown-yellow-white and bear paw.


"It could get messy. I hardly think it's worth it, not handing over your
$140,000 `bear-mobile'?"


"How do you know how much it's worth?"


"In separating finances, it's my business to know. Oh, before I forget, he
wants the diamond friendship ring back!"


Having it on now, Troi tries forcing it off his finger. Being moist, it
wouldn't budge, "Well, he's not getting it now, the cheapskate!"


"You know, Troi, you're taking this way too personal. All the time you two
have been together, what has it been, 10 years?"


"Eleven. What about it?"


"For 11 years you remain faithful to each other and then Joseph finds you
in the men's room with your cock prying open some fratboy's jaw?"


"He tricked me," Troi whines.


"I could understand if you were the same age, but a 27-year old man, who
could have been very well happy with a find like Joseph..."


"He's not a `find,' and frankly..."


Maurice knows his own kin, "Troi, why don't you just pay up cut your
losses. When it comes down to the law, you can either abide by the judge's
ruling or make this more than it is."


Force of habit, making little growling noises, like a true bear cub could,
Troi sulks.


"Besides, let's look on the bright side. What I have planned for you, you
will recoup those losses in no time."


"What do you mean?" It did the trick, sparking Troi's interest, as much as
a bear smelling `campers'.


"Well, if you can keep out of trouble look enough, Marco and I agree, you
would be the perfect candidate to manage the Ranch Resort."


"Yeah, right, okay, but what do you mean by `keeping out of trouble?' I
can't help it if I'm drop-dead gorgeous and have multitudes of men stalking
me?"


Maurice wanted to laugh out loud. That was part of Troi's problem, more the
comedian than a realist, when situations called for it.


Things were winding down, Troi asking, "can I go back in the pool, before
they all get out?"


Then, like a parent and not a step-bro, Maurice says all cutesy, "yes, you
may go back in the pool."


"Thanks, dad!"


Maurice just rolls his eyes. When Marco had suggested Troi for the position
he wasn't exactly thrilled about it. However, he knows from experience, if
a person is not given responsibility, he may never be able to achieve
greater heights. He recalls back to a few days ago, when Marco dumped the
whole Ranch Resort project in his lap!


Finally the pool party did wind down.


Alice and Kira had fallen asleep in the main bedroom. Maurice, not
surprised and not the first time it happening, was glad they had invested
in a kingsized bed. The first time he was a little appalled, finding the
two tangled up, slipping himself in the vacant half.


Mauri and Scotty were still `sawing wood', Maurice saying they would be
fine.


That gave Trew `permission' to follow Clyde home. Living on the same
street, in `Deer Run', a division of property, whereas a forest grew
between residences, in an area where real estate went from $650,000, to
$2,574,700, Mama Rosa's `villa' tipped the top of the scale.


All of the Valdez-Pau'au-West brood loved their `mama', but couldn't be
happy living with her. An exception was Clyde, who adored his mother and
quite frankly was the only one of the siblings who could put up with her
sometimes antiquated personality.


Not at all strange, even though Clyde had only 1 true friend, a buddy from
high school, whom had the same interests, both sexually and interests,
followed Clyde when he went off to college. They were roommates for 4
straight years, but nothing ever became of their romantic life. Still, they
remain very good friends, almost as strong a bond as blood brothers.


It was not until recently, 2 years ago, when Mama Rosa purchased the
multimillion dollar estate. Since finishing up on a bachelor's degree in
botany, Isha followed Clyde home.


Keying the front door, Clyde says, "Isha said he would wait up for me, but
I know he was working all day in the studio, so is probably asleep."


Briefly, back at the pool, Clyde had brought up his best friend, in high
school, the first boy he had sex with and how great they got along together
as roommates in college, watching out for each other.


"Studio? As in..."


"Same as me," Clyde replies, "except, instead of cello, he plays
violin. We're good in that respect."


Meant like it sounded, Trew says, "I bet you two play beautiful music
together!"


Hoping he got the message, Clyde says, "you and Mama Rosa will get along
perfect, living under the same roof!"


They had briefly discussed it, Trew on the rebound, "hey, I said I would
think about Scotty and I moving in."


"Scotty would be so happy, living down the road from his best friend."


Suddenly out from the side of the vestibule they hear, after a big yawn,
"Who's Scotty?"


Trew got his first look at Isha, which was quite a shocker, totally nude,
holding a sofa pillow up to his pubes!


"Really, Isha?" Clyde scolds his friend. "What if that was mama coming
through the door?"


"Sorry, but I thought she left for Fiji yesterday?"


With the beautiful view, Trew comments, "don't coverup on my account!"


Clyde glances to Trew.


"Sorry," Trew replies, still the grin on his face, but he wasn't.


On the contrary, most likely Isha got plenty of views, even if he had
clothes on. Even without the semi-muscled bod, looking like he was still
working on it, he was very handsome.


"I better get some clothes on," Isha looks to Clyde, "in case `Mama' shows
up!"


"Nice guy," Trew tells Clyde.


"Right, when he's not being sassy," Clyde says. "Well, you want to see
where you'll be sleeping?"


Trew was all ready to bunk down with Clyde, assuming that the case. Ready
to say, he suddenly realizes where Isha fits into the picture, saying, "So,
you and Isha, you're boyfriends?"


"Nope. Roommates at college and he's just staying here for the summer,
because he doesn't like the drama he gets when at home," Clyde says,
walking up a circular staircase, with a wrought iron railing.


Going round and around, if was tough to carry on a conversation, so Trew
waited till they got to the top step.


"Here you go. You have the whole loft to yourself," Clyde says, walking in
giving him the tour.


"Who could ask for anything more!"


However, Trew though it might be nice having company!


"There's a half bath over here," Clyde opens a door, "but if you want to
shower, you will need to walk back downstairs." Then, meant to loosen up
and be funny, "if you're needing one, Isha can give you directions!"


Not really dirty, after swimming off and on tonight, Trew was a little
disappointed he was so clean, "might be nice rinsing the chlorine off. Gets
a little sticky, if you know what I mean?"


Clyde did, know what Trew meant, but already figured out, Trew could be a
good friend, but not what he looked for in a relationship-minded man.


Then that was it, Trew left all alone. Being he didn't know he was staying
overnight, he didn't have extra clothes, toothbrush or anything else,
personal or otherwise. Thinking on it, if indeed he did get the sticky
chlorine off, perhaps Isha might have some extra clothing.


Of both, Trew struck out, apparently neither Clyde, nor Isha, interested in
hooking up with an `old man,' so he slept by himself.


Sleeping alone was fine though, because he was tired and knew there were
some big doings tomorrow, at the ranch. Then Trew thought how nice the silk
pillow felt on his cheek.

His last thought of the day was Scotty's face and how happy he was this
afternoon.


%


The picnic, which turned into a major pool party, Rusty realized what
congenial company he was in. He had no doubt of Monte being a nice guy, but
watching him `play' with the older crowd, Rusty didn't think it fair to
hold him back. By no means was he into age discrimination. On the contrary,
back east at boarding school, he had no problem relating to his mentor and
the acting superintendent of his residence, Jordan Barre. At the time, he
knew Jordan had standards to hold high and because he thought him to be not
only handsome, muscled, ample fortifications down yonder, Rusty would
rather be friend, than foe. Not the case with some of the others, giving
Jordan a tough time. Whereas they accumulated demerits, Rusty kept his nose
clean. In doing so, Jordan thought of him as a role model, which made it
easier for Rusty to pay attention to his studies, instead of `living' in
the dean's office!


Because of his good behavior, like some of the other students, he was
allowed off campus, which included evenings during the weekend. Not which
he stalked Jordan, but Rusty often found himself in the same place!


Since they were in public, Jordan could break free of the stalwart mold of
boarding school life and joke around.


One particular Friday evening, Rusty took a chance that Jordan would be
hanging around at `The Library', a coffee shop which also had volumes of
reading material.


Not which Jordan lived to read, often there could be discussion
groups. This is how Rusty found out Jordan was gay, the discussion on this
one particular evening, the topic of gay rights. Strangely, the topic had
included young people today and how they did or did not stand up for equal
rights.


Walking in, Jordan through his hold hand up, right in Rusty's direction,
exclaiming, "Here. Perfect example of a concerned student!"


Rusty looked behind his back, then around, "Who, me?"


It was the first time Jordan was a `buddy' to him, getting up out of his
chair, coming over, ushering Rusty to the table, while saying in his ear,
"it's okay. I've got your back."


Partially, Rusty's fear dissipated, with one of Jordan's hands on his
shoulder, the other on his arm, escorting him to the conclave. When he
spoke in his ear, Rusty got a sensation almost like hot breath on his
balls!


Sitting at the pool on this night, reminiscing, Rusty had wished it were
different times and he wasn't being backed up by his 28-year old
mentor. Then again, he watched as Ricky and Jordan were getting along so
well. Rusty was glad Jordan wound up with someone nice, as he found Ricky
to be also friendly, sometimes crazy!


As the evening wound down, Clyde and Isha came over to hang, Monte finding
a place among the older dudes. When they left, Jordan came by and they
talked over old times.


It was the first time Rusty had ever mentioned, "by the way, you know I had
a crush on you?


"Oh really? How do you know I didn't feel the same?" Jordan replies.


Giggling, Rusty says, "I've always wanted to mention something about that
habit of yours?"


"Habit?" Jordan was unaware, "and what would that entail?"


"Well, even if you had a shirt on, you would do that `hand' thing, placing
it on your stomach and rubbing it up and down to your midchest. I always
thought you were turning yourself on!"


Rusty laughs.


Jordan replies, "and how do you know it's not?"


At the time, Rusty would be much to embarrassed to say, "because you're
not, like, showing?"


Same, Rusty would never even think about `touching' Jordan, like now, a
hand sneaking over his thigh.


"Get that thing away from me!"


Rusty's evil giggles gave way to full laughter, Jordan brushing his hand
away, as if a lobster!


Instead of dwelling on the past, Rusty looks towards the future, "so,
when's the first time you started falling for Ricky?"


"When I pulled up to the curb on my bike. I said to myself, `now there's a
man I could really get into!'"


"And have you gotten `into' him yet?"


"Mind your own business!" Jordan awards him.


Rusty comes back with, "You `are' my business, Jordan."


Jordan hadn't a bad word to say about Rusty. For one thing, he had saved
Jordan's keister, from getting butted out of the school and slapped with a
lawsuit, when some rich kid tried to pin on Jordan he had been `touched.'


Okay, so it did cost Jordan his job, but not because of some brat who
wanted to get even over being disciplined, but because, in order for Jordan
to prove he was at certain places, certain times, Rusty came forth on his
behalf and told about the forums down at `The Library.'


"I thought it was the last I would ever see of you Jordan, but I'm really
glad it's not," Rusty says.


"The feeling's mutual. Hey, I just realized something."


"What?" Rusty asks.


"I never properly thanked you."


Figuring maybe tickets to some night out at the movies, Rusty was shaken
out of his gourd, Jordan leaning over both their chair arms, a hand to his
neck and placing a kiss on his lips!


It was short, sweet, nothing romantic, "there. Now we're even."


"Even, Jordan? I thought `even' might be something more, like touching your
junk?"


It made Jordan laugh, "I don't trade my virginity for small favors!"


"Really? You've been with Ricky for 24 hours and you're still a virgin?"


"Like I said," Jordan gets up, "it's none of yer business!"


That's okay. Rusty was just glad they had a mutual connection. One good
thing, even though Marco had been showering him with kindness ever since he
got home, was bringing Jordan back into his life. Although, Rusty knew, all
those daydreams, bringing to fruition hard-ons, then wetting the bed, those
would remain fictitious thoughts in his mind.


"Hmm," Rusty wondered, just how good a cocksucker Jordan would be!


When the party was breaking up, Maurice and Alice offered him a room for
the night. He declined.


When Clyde heard this, he acted cordially also.


Rusty declined, wanting to go back to the range, but once again was
`truck-less'. Again, Rusty hit `his old man' up for a car and found Marco
amiable about giving up one of his cars for `junior' to take home.


When he got back to the ranch, is was like a ghost town. Some work lights
had been left up, so he was able to find his way around without tripping
over a hoe or shovel.


Walking over to where the family cabin stood for decades, he walked all the
way to the middle. Rusty tried thinking, which part of the house stood
there, but couldn't figure it out.


"Wouldn't Karl like this kind of room for a dance floor?"


Knowing the voice, Rusty turns around, "Devyn! What are you doing here?"


"I was in between blowjobs. When I saw you pull in, I thought I'd stop and
see if you needed any `assistance'!"


Smirking, Rusty says, "Thanks, but I'm good!"


Chatting, they found out their lives over the past two days have not been
all that different, with guys in and out of a revolving door.


"I know you're not into it, but temporary sex, here and there, it seems to
satisfy my tastebuds."


Rusty interjects, "just your tastebuds?"


"Yeah, and that too!" Devyn laughs.


They didn't talk much, interrupted by, a Hyundai pulling up. Stepping out
of the driver's side, standing on solid ground, they hear, "You ready to
go, Dev?"


"That's Anders," Rusty says.


"I know what you're thinking, but I've convinced him not to leave town just
yet."


Rusty takes a wild guess, "I can guess why he will miss you!"


Devyn smiles, saying, "it's not every guy who knows how to sensually work a
tongue around the barrel!"


"Have fun," Rusty bids Devyn a good night.


Reporting to the barn, Rusty checks in on Hoot and then looks up at the
loft. He gets it in his mind he's not climbing down that ladder in the
middle of the night to take a piss.


Step by step he finds his way to the top and then, whipping the mattress
off the bed, in one hefty pull, he tosses it over the edge of the loft.


"Owch!"


Rusty knows that voice, "Monte! I thought you weren't coming back tonight?"


Hustling down the ladder, Rusty is there just in time to unearth Monte,
"Apparently!"


However, face to face, Rusty was not seeing signs of having his nose bashed
in, "you should be raving mad at me."


"I should, should I?" Monte smiles.


Nodding, Rusty says, "Well, if that's your face of anger, feel free to get
mad at me all the time!"


They were cute little phrases, but at a quarter past midnight, they weren't
fresh as daisies.


"I was wondering if I could spend the night, but I didn't think you would
be so agreeable?"


Late June, the weather had turned warm usually quick for this part of the
woods. When Monte had returned, his tee shirt was hanging out, from being
tucked into the back of his pants.


"Well, at least one of us is half ready for bed?" Rusty questions.


"Look," Monte says, far from forcing a situation, "I don't think we
should..."


"Do this?" Rusty says, walking forwards, placing both hands on Monte's
hips.


Knowing Rusty had read through him, "yeah. That's exactly what I'm getting
at."


Both frozen in place, Rusty says, "I don't see you running the other way?"
he slips his hands around, back of the knuckles grazing Monte's bellyhole,
as he goes for the belt buckle.


"Maybe it's because...I don't want to."


That's all Rusty needed, the go-ahead, unbuckling Monte's belt.


He wasn't the only one being aggressive, Monty lifting Rusty's tee shirt
skywards.


Then, all hell broke loose, kissing fervently, stripping, sweat gleaming
off their skin, early morning moonlight seeping in through the barn
windows.


Whether the effects swimming pool water can have, all that spent energy
playing keep-away with a beach, dozens of times having for someone to be a
go-for when splashed out, or chicken fights, or just the fact the two men
have been out of the sack since early morning, not much transpired, other
than a bunch of snorers!


%


Earlier, at the pool party, this was not the case, the jolly ranchers wound
up, full of energy.


With Ricky and Jordan. Seems like they could not get enough of each other.


Except when Jordan cut off to talk over old times with Rusty, he was
consistently at Ricky's side, or back, or front!


While in the pool, the pair hardly participated in ball games, other than
where hands were situated, while kissing and cuddling.


Ricky states, out of experience, "Usually water makes a guy soft?"


"Hmm," Jordan anal-yzes things, "I wonder why I've got a raging hard-on?
Oh, your hand is wrapped around it!"


"No, dah!" With hint, Ricky says, "I wouldn't want to be the one
responsible for plugging up the pool filter, if you know what I mean?"


A very nice, cordial, considerate kind of guy, Jordan replies, "I would not
normally be rude, as to leave our guests, but you've got a point there,
Ricky!"


On the same wavelength, Jordan leads, Ricky following.


"Hey, where you guys going?" Marco yells across the pool.


Whenever he was around, Marco was the man in charge. However, there were
times when he didn't get his way and that was okay. After getting the
finger from Ricky, he wanted to follow, but knew his boundaries.


Monte, who had been hanging with Marco, discussing more business, than
playing ball games, "Haven't you ever heard, 3's a crowd?"


"You might have a point there," Marco started to have further designs on
Monte, beyond taking him to bed. Maybe for starters, he would teach him how
to be a `nice boy', give that tush a little thrashing with his palm!


Rusty, more interested in jock games, currently was wrestling with Isha and
Clyde. When ganged up on, he surfaces, with the ball, "hey, that's not
fair!"


What wasn't truly fair, if Rusty had a partner, as Clyde was to Isha, then
maybe he'd had a good chance of the ball being in his hands. Standing
there, watching Marco and Monte, all over each other, it sent a message,
"so much for words."


Yet, it's like it's been for the past few days, nothing materializing much,
except friendship.


"Then again," Rusty cheers up, "what's wrong with friendship?"


Taking it as a grain of salt, Rusty gets back to the jock games. As luck
would have it, when he's ready to get back in the game, he's the only jock
left in the pool!


That's when he decided to call it a night. With Monte all tangled up in
Marco's arms, he figures it a solo drive home. Thinking, while driving back
to the ranch, he wondered, `stealing' Marco's car, was it a stab at
revenge.


"Dammit!" Rusty exclaims, taking his frustration out on the steering wheel.


It almost made him run off the road, hitting a rock or a stone, or some
other obstruction.


"Whew!" he gathers his whits, nearly missing a tree.


Then the rest is history, parking, entering the barn, climbing the ladder,
sulking as he throws the mattress `overboard', only to conk Monte in the
head. From there it was a matter of the two in heat, then hitting the sack.


Which, right now, falling asleep, Rusty wakes up on Monte's chest,
follicles of hair tickling his nostrils. Realizing something, "hey," a
finger thumps on Monte's chest.


Monte doesn't move, except breathing in and out.


With question on his mind, Rusty deviates from his thoughts, spotting
light, illuminating Monte's nip, like the moon had chosen it for a song!


A `song' is what he got out of Monte, tackling it with his finger and
thumb, "Hey-ey-ey-ey-ey, watcha doin'!"


Rusty smiles. Not which he was trying to be totally evil, "getting your
attention, that's all!"


"You could've slapped my cheek?"


Rusty slaps Monte up aside the head.


"Owch!"


"You told me it would get your attention?" Rusty smiles.


"I didn't mean slap me that hard!"


"It didn't even leave a mark."


Monte addresses it, "How can you tell, in the dark?"


"You got a point there," Rusty slowly sinks off the side of Monte's bod.


"So, what is it, that you had to wake me out of such a sweet dream?"


Thinking it a means to work his way into the subject of discussion, Rusty
asks, "Marco didn't happen to be in that dream?"


"Rusty, we've got to talk," Monte does a pushup, sitting, then moving his
butt back, wedging it between the mattress and front of the bureau.


A little pissed, Rusty says, "so, this is why you even bothered to come
back to the barn tonight?"


Still in the reclining stage, Monte says, "are you going to stay down
there, sulking like a child, or sit up here with me and face it like a
man?"


"What?" Rusty was shocked.


He did sit up, but not as an equal. Instead, he sat opposite Monte.


"Marco," Monte starts in, "I mean, your father, he told me a lot about your
personal life, before going off to boarding school and..."


This is when Rusty really got vocal, unloading bottled up
frustration. After trying to put the past behind him, it just let loose,
"What-tha-fuck? How would he know anything? He was never around when I was
growing up..."


Monte just sat there, audience to Rusty's grief, like bullying at an early
age over alleged reason why his father, Tim, was a single parent, hearing
from his peers his mom was a no-good slut. Then, later on, involvement with
the swim team, physically and emotionally taunted by bullies again. Then,
the time Tim came home jobless and drunk, getting swatted around.


"I don't even think Marco knew anything about all of this!"


True, Rusty had kept this all inside. He doesn't have a clue to whatever
kept him from running away, or a last resort, suicide.


However, there was a light at the end of his tunnel, spending four years at
a boarding school, which gave Rusty insight at this moment, "probably
not. The only person I've ever told is Jordan. You ask him. He'll tell you
about all the fuckin'-stuff I've gone through!"


Key here, Rusty didn't break down and cry, which had Monte thinking, as he
leans forward, putting a hand on Rusty's shoulder, "I had gotten that
feeling, you and Jordan having a good relationship."


Though, other than telling his woes, Rusty was not ready to tell anyone
about how consoling Jordan could be. It was personal business, meant to be
kept secret.


"We were. I thought maybe it could be the same with us."


"I'm confused," Monte sits back, folding arms along his hairy pecs.


"I don't know," Rusty goes from sitting cross-legged, to lying chest to the
mattress.


"You know what I think?"


"What?" Rusty asks, lifting his chin.


"First, don't confuse friendship with sex. It doesn't have to be that way,
you know?"


Nineteen years old, he hasn't been around the globe enough, is what Rusty
figures, "I know." Though, thinking it's what he's been doing, "y'see,
I...I don't know how to explain it."


Unexplained, yet, Monte has been through much himself, "I can guess, and
mind you, this is only speculation, you've been lonely your whole life,
except with Jordan and now that you're back, you want someone who can be
`like' Jordan, to take care of you. Am I right? Wrong? Maybe a little
right?"


"I wish it could be Jordan. I think what I was thinking, telling Jordan
about coming to visit me, enticing him with a job, it's what I was
hoping...but then he met Ricky."


"And then `you' met `me'?"


It was all true, though Rusty hadn't realized it that way, "I suppose."


Rusty buried his nose in the mattress. A pat on the back made him lift his
head, "I'm so sorry."


Now, Monte sensed Rusty was about to cry. Slipping his butt down, "sorry
for what?"


It might have sounded like Rusty was frustrated by everything, the sarcasm
in his voice, "Nothing. Go on, if you like Marco, go be his boyfriend."


"Now, there you go," Monte once again butts his butt up against the bureau.


"What?"


"Just because two guys are speaking to one another, with hands-on activity,
doesn't mean they are loving-it-up!"


Contrary to what Monte said, Rusty says, "like Ricky and Jordan?"


To wipe the slate clean, Monte states, "look, I know you had a lousy life
for years, went off to boarding school, had a great relationship with
Jordan, straightening out your life, but don't expect to come home and have
everything hunky-dory. If you want you're life to turn out differently,
you've got to make it so. Don't harp on what was, but change and make your
future a different outcome. Jordan, myself, even Marco, we're all here to
help you achieve a rewarding future. However, if you don't help yourself,
it could be helpless and hopeless, if you get what I mean?"


Rusty was smart. He proved it while away at boarding school, achieving all
A's, except a C in math! Still, he was often complimented by his
instructors, how he was a quick thinker. Sifting through all the jargon,
Rusty had figured out, what Monte was telling him, the main theme here, if
he wanted to get out of this rut, he had to make a stand to do so, "yeah. I
get it."


"Good, because all this talk is tiring me out. Let's get some sleep!"


Rusty watches Monte sink down and turn with his back facing him.


"Thanks," Rusty says, turning with his back to Monte.


A few minutes later, Monte shuffles himself back around, Rusty feeling an
arm slide over, a hand patted against his six-pack.


Compared to boarding school, it was just something different, Jordan's soft
cock lying behind him, as opposed to Monte, except for the snoring!


%


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.