Date: Fri, 29 Jul 2016 18:28:05 +0000
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 17

% This work of fiction is set in the format of real-world
situations. Identifying details to real people, alive or dead, is entirely
coincidental in nature.


% 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 laws and conscience. The pages of this story contain `adult
material', intended for an `adult audience.' Bypass this warning at your
own risk!


% 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.


% 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" 17

WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


^   0   ^


%


What was supposed to be a quick run through, eyeballing up the contents of
`Post & Beam Lumber', had turned into a 2 hour ordeal.


Not which it was a chore for Shane to punch his hard shaft into Wyatt's
rear ass chamber, while his nuts were ground into the desk. Pretty much
since he was aware of how good it could feel, the insides of a man's warm
irrigation system keeping his tube lubed up, stroking it without lifting a
finger, neither man were disappointed after working up a sweat.


The accountant didn't voice an opinion, but by grunts and moans, Wyatt knew
he was having the time of his life, "I agree."


"Wha-a-a..." Shane murmurs between panting.


Wyatt only hoped, the journal Jake kept on his desk was filled in with
waterproof ink. Though, Wyatt didn't know for certain, how explosive fluid
from a loaded shaft could do damage to ink on paper, "nothin'."


There was always a chair in front of Jake's desk. Wyatt had sat in it a few
times, mainly because his supposed partner liked to see how long Wyatt
could take alligator clips, attached to each nip! First time it was hell,
but then Jake made him stroke his own cock, while both nips were
clamped. Things evolved slowly, Jake having some dude under his desk,
sucking him, while another customer worked over Wyatt. It really made his
balls jive, with the side view.


On some occasions a horny customer would want to loop a rope over both
Wyatt's wrists, tied behind the chair. Psychologically, it would give
Jake's fuck-buddy the edge, the control factor kicking in. Jake didn't care
one way or the other, but always it was with Wyatt's nips, either snagged
up with the clips, or touched by fingers. Jake just had this thing with
tormenting a dude's nips and of the outcome, he didn't care if Wyatt came
out of it with `mauled' nips. His rationalization was, Wyatt having enough
fur to hide it. However nothing could hide reddened nips, nor the impending
swollen condition, perky and popping out from the hairy chest.


Apex of all of this, watching some hot fucker, impale Wyatt's throat. Some
fuckers would clamp both hands around the back of Wyatt's head and drill
him till he gagged. Of course, it would have been far more pleasurable to
dick his ass, but it was Jake's office, so what Jake wanted, Jake got!


Of course, Jake would be shooting off `under his desk.' If, by chance, the
spent fucker could come up with the gumption of another go around, he was
welcome to stay and work Wyatt's ass, while he went off on business.


After doing Wyatt, Shane had fell right back, into the wooden chair, butt
on the padded seat.


Wyatt proposes, "Uh, you can either clean off in the men's room, or I could
save you the walk?"


Shane knew Wyatt meant well, "thanks, but seriously, I'm kind of sensitive
there, afterwards."


He might have thought he had the 8-ball in his pocket, but Wyatt suddenly
takes command, dropping into a squat, "trust me, you'll love my cleanup
skills!"


"Whatever," Shane places hands behind his head, relaxing.


However, Shane was wrong about `every man', finding out how much of an
expert Wyatt could be, "have a lot of experience at that, do you?"


It's never fair, asking a cock-sucker questions, while getting a job done,
however Wyatt, finding Shane's shaft firming up again, stops for a moment,
subbing with his hand, "I really didn't have a chance in the beginning, but
I slowly found my place."


"So," Shane drops his arms, over each arm of the chair, "you're into
fucking too? I mean, `you' like to penetrate?"


Wyatt smiled, thinking what a peculiar word. Though, a good description, "I
do, but not more than...you know?"


"Well then, you better get back to it!"


Getting back to it, Wyatt did work up to setting off Shane's dispenser one
more time!


Finishing off, Wyatt pulls off Shane's shooter, using a finger to wipe his
lips. Looking up, he notices a figure in the office doorway, "how long have
you been standing there?"


With haste, Shane switches his head towards the door, "from what I can see,
Marco, I would say you've been there for quite some time?"


Truly, he hadn't been there long. Didn't take but a few seconds, when the
moment was right, for any guy to unbuckle, unzip and whip it out.


"Long enough to want ass!" Marco laughs.


Both Wyatt and Shane knew it was a hint.


Shane says to Wyatt, "well, don't look at me!"


Hinting like a wannabe, Wyatt says suggestively, "have either of you ever
double-fucked a guy?"


Marco was ready to answer in the affirmative, Shane interrupting, "I don't
think I can go another round!"


>From out of the blue, Marco says, "how's the inventory going, Shane?"


It was a hint, Shane knowing it, like sent to do a job, having gotten
sidetracked. Even though he hasn't worked for the town for long as
financial consultant, knowing Marco for about 4 months, he's learned a few
of his ways. Like, how a man could throw a hint and how he expected a
person to respond.


Getting up from the chair, Shane says, "I better get on it," he abdicates
his throne.


Before sitting, Marco drops his butt down, doesn't even untie his Italian
shoes, before shucking them. Without the shoes he can easily work his legs
out of the pants. It's usually the case, a wound up set of balls makes a
man not care where his clothes wind up, even though it being a $500 suit
and fine accessories, like the tight fit of a pair of Nouguet briefs.


Before sitting, Marco notices blotches of wet on the leathery seat. This
wasn't one of his roleplaying games at `the Club,' and being more friendly,
"do me a favor. I don't feel like getting my ass dirty on some asshole's
leaky cum?


"Not a problem," the bear-cub knows exactly what Marco expects.


Though he hasn't been to `the Club' in an sado-maso capacity, Wyatt has had
the opportunity to participate in various one-on-one accounts of rope
bondage. Beyond being tied up, tied down, with the sex, he's only had nip
abuse. One customer at the lumberyard wanted to twist his balls up, but
Jake stepped in, saying he needed them in good working condition!


Coincidentally, it happened to be the other day, Marco telling Wyatt, "oh,
by the way, the guy who wanted to turn your balls into elastic?"


"What about him?" Wyatt knew Jake allowed Marco to handle circumstances
like that.


"Changed his mind about ever doing that again, after I made him aware of
how it feels!"


Even though he's never experienced `Marco-justice', Wyatt has heard, word
of mouth, how brutal he can be at certain things, "had a crush on him, did
you?"


"That's what I like about you, Wyatt...a man with a sense of humor!"


Marco was more humored by Wyatt's tongue on his cock.


As it happened, Shane did do a quick go around of the hardware and lumber
business, but now stood in the doorway, trying to throw an erection for the
third time this morning!


%


"Strange," Rusty calls it, standing in Marco's office, having let himself
in.


Michael asks, "What is?"


"My dad...I mean, `Marco,' whatever... He said to meet him here at 9
o'clock sharp. It's not like him to stand a dude up."


Placing a hand on Rusty's shoulder, Michael says, like a concerned
`father', "Y'know, it's none of my business, but like you say, you're into
making a connection with Marco, in a father and son way, you shouldn't feel
so confused with calling him your `dad'?"


"Still, it does sound weird. That's all."


"I can imagine," Michael tells him, "but think about Marco, who is trying
to make up for lost time all these years."


A feeling of animosity, Rusty says, "he had plenty of time to get to know
me, but instead, had me sent off to boarding school."


"Hey," Michael, who was only a year older, but with wisdom of ten years
more on him, "trust me...well, you don't really know me that much, yet, but
I can relate to all this. It's not easy to accept things, when you don't
fully know what the other person has gone through. For some of us, it takes
longer than others to find out exactly what it is we want with our
lives. Unfortunately for Marco...your `dad', it's taken longer. I think the
thing here is, it's not about Marco, but what you want to get out of it?"


Things were sketchy in Rusty's mind, "Right now?"


"Well, you don't need to make up your mind all at once. Take your time. Let
it sink in?"


"I have," Rusty replies, throwing his arms around Michael, giving him a
cub-to-otter-hug, plugging him, mouth-to-mouth.


Breaking off, Michael wears a grin, "I like your decision."


Last night, too tired to do much of anything, Rusty says, "I think we
should find a place to sleep tonight, where we're both not scared of
falling to our deaths!"


Michael thought so too, "yeah, it is a little tough getting frisky up there
in the loft, but look at the bright side of things, you'll be there to pin
me down?"


That's something which Rusty had in deep thought, whether he would wind up
`man on top,' or had it been Michael's plan to `pin' him down, "really?"


"What?" Michael wondered what was on Rusty's mind.


"Nothin'. Do you think we should go find out where.dad.has gone?"


More his mind on Rusty, Michael says, "and look at this way, maybe I'll get
used to calling him `dad', too!"


It wasn't a secret to himself, Rusty crazy about Michael. Now it was
certain, it was the same the other way around!


"I think my credit card still works. How about we do some clothes
shopping?" Michael pops the question.


"I agree, we need to get that baseball cap off your head and get you more
in-style, Michael!"


With difference of opinion, Michael says, "oh, but it's so much easier
kissing with a baseball cap?"


"Have it your way if you want to look like a nerd," Rusty grabs Michael's
arm and drags him from the office.


Back in the truck they were headed to the hospital.


%


Deputy Jack, who had accompanied the ambulance to the hospital, was putting
the finishing touches on his one-sheet report. Jack did that sometimes,
fill out a report at the cafe, or other place of comfort, the police
compound a boring place to work. He knew, if Chris Dallo were around, he
would be reprimanded for checking out the new doctor on staff, so Jack
remained incognito, holding the paper up, looking over the top of
it. Though, he got a little excited, seeing Dr. Krempl come from the
double-doored examination room, ripping gloves from his hand. It made him
giggle like a school kid, seeing the young doctor's zipper down!


"How's our patient doing?" Jack tries forcing glee out of his system, with
not much luck.


"Jon? Fine," though Jared did wonder what was up with the deputy.



"Got a little riddle for you, Doc," Jack says with a soft voice, even
though no one else around.


"Great. I love riddles," Doc Krempl wondered if Jack were on drugs or
something.


"What do birds do?"


"Eat worms?"


Jack smirked, having received the wrong answer, "got another one."


"Frankly," Jared would have liked to have stood around waiting for
meaningless punch lines all day, but since he had `scored' some points with
a certain emergency room patient, "if I wasn't on duty, Jack, I'd trade off
some jokes with you, but..."


"No, no, no," Jack replies, "you go and do what you have to do, Doc."


Doc Krempl walks away, through another set of double doors, trying to hide
lifting his zipper!


Thinking about it, perhaps he would back soon. Jack sinks into an evil
daydream. Just by chance, maybe the doc forgot to put briefs on this
morning and...


"Jack!"


He knew that voice. Turning around, Jack greets, "Chris! What's up?"


"My dick, thinking about how I'm going to punish your ass, for forgetting
about our appointment over at the Trading Post this morning?"


Jack would like that very much, but it sinks in, "oh right. We had an
emergency over at the lumberyard and..."


Chris made sure no one was looking. Finding the immediate area vacated, he
reaches out, gropes, "making excuses again, Jack? Tell me, who have you
been stalking today?"


A long time ago, Jack had told Chris he was a `looker', always on the prowl
for a hot guy. Slowly, it has become a plot for one of their kinky get
togethers, which knowing what hot water he could be in, "oh, it was really
nothing?"


His balls are grasped tighter, "Nothing, Jack? Usually with you, nothing
means something?"


Then, though the double doors comes the 34-year old doctor, fly zipped up,
"oh, Jack. I know it comes a little too late, but thanks for the..." he
leans into the deputies ear, "`fly' joke!"


He had also noticed, Chris withdrawing a hand real fast, "have we met?"


His hand was out, ready to shake Chris' hand, evacuated from Jack's crotch!


"Chris Dallo. I own the Trading Post."


"Oh really?"


When they shook hands, the two stare for a few seconds. Chris, he doesn't
smile too much, but senses something, whether it was the firm grip, or
something else, "yeah. You should come back and check out what we carry."


"Might just do that. When I moved here, I had to leave a lot of my gear
behind, if you know what I mean?" Jared winks.


When he leaves, Chris is all over Deputy Jack, "what did you tell him?"


"Nothing. I swear it. You know I don't go blabbing around, about the back
room."


"Still, you must've said something that got him to thinking?"


Poor Jack. He knew, one way or the other, he was going to `get it', not
which he minded, so made it good, "well, I did try out that old riddle,
about the birds flying. I just didn't want people getting the wrong
impression about him, new here and, walking around with his fly down?"


"I see," Chris was serious, like he owned the deputy. It wasn't strange to
him either, the doc busting through the double doors, his eyes landing on
the physician's junk, "you know I don't like it when you look at other men
that way?"


They weren't in public, per se, not with listening ears all about, so the
two could fall into whatever kind of fantasy evolved, "I can't fool you."


"And you tried, so that'll be double punishment for you," Chris looks up at
the clock, "so come over to the store in ten minutes and then we'll set a
time for later."


Hearing `twice' in one day, it made Jack's ass cheeks pulse, "yes, sir."


"Got a pen?" Chris asks, taking it right out of Jack's hand.


Whipping a business card out of his wallet, Chris writes something
down. Clicking the pen closed, he puts it back...in his own pocket!


"Here, give this to..."


Right then, the double doors bust open. Doc Krempl knew, being courteous
was key to a friendly atmosphere at the hospital, but after having met
Chris, "wanna move it, boys?"


Jack, he was taken aback. He knew Chris didn't like it one bit when a guy,
he knew or didn't know, talked down at him like that.


Chris, yeah he was slightly bent out of shape, but his pumping derrick made
him recover, "no problem." Then, talking to a town deputy like, "move
back," his arm literally pushes Jack out of the way. Leaning towards the
doc, he says, "by the way, I'm having a little party tonight. You're
invited," he wasn't keen on cutesy phrases. "Here's the address and time."


"I'll dwell on it," Doc Krempl replies in almost a rude way of saying,
pocketing the card.


After all, what's a doc to do, when he's wheeling a patient around from
`here' to `there'?


Afterwards, it dawns on Jack, "oh, I get it. He's like..."


Chris froze in place, infatuated not by the doc's qualities, like sassing
him back. For the 25-year old store owner, it meant, tonight could get
pretty wild!


For Jared, he had hoped to get some quality time with Jon, but then
suddenly things got buzzing around the hospital.


Upon hearing his name being paged, `Doctor Krempl to emergency, Doctor
Krempl to emergency', Jon says, "duty calls!"


Looking up at the door to Jon's room, being kept there overnight for
`observation', "I'll see you later," he bends over, giving Jon one last
peck on the lips!


"Thanks for treating me!"


Jared walks out with a smile on his lips, thinking of having treated Jon's
limp shaft!


However, walking into the emergency room, he's thinking, `time to treat
hottie number 2!"


Right into Jared's caring arms, one of the construction workers out at
Cleg's ranch, was all prepped for the examination, "I got myself all ready
for you doctor."


Indeed, Doctor Krempl's eyes were already examining the dude on the table,
legs hanging over the edge. Propped up, sitting straight, Jared could tell
a well-contoured set of abs kept his patient from sagging, able to clearly
see his bellyhole, "indeed you have," he looks at the preliminary check
sheet, `Shefton', is it?"


In small territories, word gets around fast. If you're an important person
in town, lawman, attorney, doctor, bank president, a person with title, the
ordinary person knows all about you, even without asking. Gossip tends to
run rampant.


Having the heads up on the country doc, Shefton cordially reaches out a
hand, "Shefton Bathgate. It's good to meet you doctor. I hope you can do
something about my arm?"


Already, Doctor Krempl wanted to do so much more!


"Why don't I take a look at it?"


Wasn't tough to see the abrasion on Shefton's forearm, right above where he
offered the handshake, "well, certainly this is worth looking at."


Shelton says, "Normally, I don't bother with small stuff like this, but..."


Knowing how much going to a gym or perhaps a construction worker's work
goes, "takes a lot of discipline to maintain a build such as yours. I
imagine all the small aches and pain don't bother you?"


He didn't say, Jared very happy Shefton had prepared himself for the
examination, taking off his shirt.


"It comes with the job," though Shefton was thinking, if a little cut or
bruise didn't bother him, why was he here for a little scratch, "but of
course, sometimes something small, can turn into something big, if not
taken care of?"


"I agree," Jared says, really examining Shefton's arm, which `by accident,'
on purpose, rubs his forearm against the lad's ribcage.


After probing the forearm, Jared reports, "feels pretty good... I
mean...you've got some light lacerations. All we have to do is get you
cleaned up, apply some ointment and a bandage."


Jared wanted to do so much more. Too bad he wasn't like Jon, a foot injury,
which required him to drop his pants!


Lo and behold, Shefton says, "I was wondering about something," he lays
back on the table, a slide out for the feet, unbuckling his belt, "I kind
of have a rash and wondered if you mind taking a look, doc?"


Shelton sits, pushing his pants down to his ankles. Wearing work boots, it
was tough to remove the pants quickly.


"Which leg would it be?" Jared looks between!


Standing was a different perspective than sitting. Apparently, Jared had
noticed Shefton wanting to show off as much muscle as possible, having sat
in a position which would hold his bod erect, flex abs. Tall, from ankles
to head, he was much more so, as the doctor guessed, standing at about
5'11, a step up taking him to about 6'1.


"Right. Above the knee."


Except for some dark hair, grazing over Shefton's thigh, the only thing
which was impairing Jared's view was the white briefs, holding a bulging
tube and two golf ball-sized impressions.


Even though living in Owl Creek for a short time, he's found how things can
get around, like Jon knowing for certain he was gay, Jared inquisitive
himself, "tell me if this hurts."


He had no idea what he was looking for. Certainly, there weren't any
bruises, nor abrasions, but it's not the first time a patient had faked an
illness to find out some imperative answers to questions.


Placing palms on both sides of Shefton's right legs, above the knee, Jared
works them upwards, "tell me if you feel something."


Like examinations of this kind, the doctor knew just how far to go. Toying
with a patient, he would inch his hands up, pressing with his fingers as he
went, "anything yet?"


"No."


"Feel any pain?"


"No."


It made Jared smile, seeing Shefton's pouch seem to `grow' right before his
very eyes!


"Still no sensation?"


"Um," Shefton wasn't sure he should report something he was feeling,
entirely not having anything to do with leg pain!


"Well," Jared, being very tricky, about to touch the bottom of Shefton's
ball-sacs with the back of a hand, detaches, "can't seem to find anything
wrong. Maybe it's one of those things...hurts a little, goes away and
then...I bet it will bother you when you leave the hospital?"


"Could be," Shefton didn't know what else to say. Certainly, he was a bit
disappointed.


Folding arms across his middle, Jared says, "However, I'd like to keep an
eye on it."


"You would?" Shefton says it, like a sexual proposal.


Game over.


Jared takes a chance, like not wrong too many times in the past, reaches
over, folding his fingers in the seam of Shefton's briefs, pulls it out,
"for safety's sake, maybe I should take a look anyway? Wanna stand?"


Balancing himself off the table, Shefton takes a misstep, "Whoa, doc!"


`That was an original,' Jared catches his patient between arms and lats,
instead of letting him do a face-plant.


Both hands braced Shefton, from the full catapult, which would bring
collarbones crashing together into a full hugging position.


Jared, sly to the fact, asks, "you can't tell me that was an accident?"


The jig was up, the 26-year old gulping before confessing, "sorry, doctor."
Shelton regains stability, standing face to face with Jared. Then, face to
face, "is the examination over?"


Jared wasn't immune to the charming, cunning way the lad tried weaseling
his way into his personal affairs, "for now, Shefton. Uh, but I certainly
would like to see you again?"


It was a trick question, one in which Jared would find out if a dude was
`interested.'


Puzzled, Shefton replies, "you mean, for an exam, or..."


Frivolously, Jared's hand reaches out, plants a finger in the band of
Shefton's brief, tugs at, allowing the elastic to snap back, "a thorough
one at that. You know, with testicular problems, one cannot be too
cautious!"


What's fair in love and war, Shefton felt okay with payback, but much less
than a sting against the middle of his happy trail, a hand touches the
furry fibers of Jared's forearm, "like, when?"


"I might find time in my schedule this evening?"


"What time?" Shefton was game.


Taking Chris Dallo's business card out of his breast pocket, the plan began
to take form in Jared's mind, "you know, I'm really concerned over that leg
of yours. I think it might be good in you stayed for awhile, to see if the
pain comes back."


Turning to leave, Shefton was shaken with concern, "you think there's
something horribly wrong?"


With the British accent, it humored Jared, though he didn't show it, "no,
no, just want you around for observation."


"Sure," Shefton was nervous now, bending for his pants to pull up, the top
of his head grazing right down the middle of Jared's bod, bopping him in
the pleasure zone. "What about my arm?"


"I'll send the orderly in," Jared replies, "he'll take good care of you!"


Leaving the O.R., Jared left message at the front desk, to put some
ointment and a bandaid on the patient's arm and then admit him...placing
him in the same room as Jon Tor. Much as he would like to invade the lad's
private parts, Shefton wasn't his type. Still, it was fun to toy with
him. Part of the fun was seeing a dude's reaction, plus see how far he
would play the game.


%


Enjoying some morning juice and a rather ornate danish at the Open Door,
Rusty and Michael's conversation had turned personal. With things looking
serious, it's how it usually goes.


"Then, after my father wanted me to be an attorney," Michael says to Rusty,
"and me not wanting it, I skipped out. I mean, I was very tired of the same
old hassle. He wouldn't see it my way, that I really wanted to either be a
personal trainer, or coach high school sports."


Smiling, Rusty says, "well, Michael, you sure have the physique for it!"


No question about it, the way Michael filled out every square inch of his
tee shirt, bulging pecs and 2 perky pec-spots.


Back at Rusty, Michael smiles, "thanks. Now tell me about you," he reaches
hands across the table, taking Rusty's.


"I already have."


"I know you went to boarding school and all about your dad," he was getting
Rusty into the habit of what to call Marco, "but what is it you really want
to aspire at?"


Shrugging both shoulders, Rusty surely didn't know, "sex?"


"I know your qualifications there. Really, what do you find an interest
in...and don't say, `me'!"


"Okay," Rusty skips over his real desires, "other than you, I dunno."


"You have absolutely no idea what you want to do and that's fine."


"It is?" Rusty questions.


"Sure it is and there's no reason not to jump into a career you will
regret. I mean, as I see it, once this whole ranch concept gets going,
you're going to be rolling in the dough and..."


Giggling, Rusty cuts Michael off, "that sounds interesting. You and me in
the buff, rolling around in that cash!"


Uncoupling Rusty's hands, Michael says, "Seriously?"


Becoming serious, Rusty replies, "sorry."


Acting more like a father than a lover, Michael says, "I think over the
next 2 months, you should `look' for something to do...that you want to do
and it doesn't have to be for the rest of your life."


"I know," Rusty guesses, "how about I manage your gym!"


"Or you can babysit the high school football team?"


"Cool! I could stand at the shower and hand out towels!"


Since things hadn't progressed to a serious nature of future employment,
Michael goes with the humorous side of life.


In walks a man in hot water.


Breaking up all this, finally, "just where have you been all morning?"


Rusty felt it a good time to try out Michael's idea, "I was wondering the
same thing about you, `dad'? Michael and me waited at your office for like,
a whole hour?"


Folding, Marco says, "oh...well...I was busy. But I'm not busy now?"


He stared intently at Michael, which mentally asked the question, `don't
you have something to do?'


On the receiving end, Michael says, "I better get back to the ranch."


Pinning Michael's arm to the table, Rusty says, "Michael's done with
construction."


"I am?"


Marco's wise words of wisdom follow, "the ranch isn't going to get built by
itself?"


With Michael's arm glued to the table, there was little he could do.


However, Rusty finally got up the gumption to proclaim some
decision-making, "since you made me CEO, I'm using my power to make Michael
assistant-CEO!"


"There's no such thing," his father replies.


Rusty says, like it's final, "well, there is now!"


"I see," Marco stands there, perturbed over not getting his way, "well
there's nothing I can do about that," for now!


Marco sat down, but then got up, seeing Shane walk in.


"Excuse me a minute. Got a little leftover business to attend to."


While away, Michael says, "so, I'm assistant-CEO now. Does that mean I'm
going to have to be around you day and night?"


Cheerfully, Rusty replies, "don't you want to be around me day and night?"


"Well, definitely in the nighttime!"


While Marco and Shane talked, it wasn't all about business.


Monitoring the situation at the luncheon table, Shane replies to Marco, on
Michael's physical appearance, "sure would like to have him stripped down
at `the Club!'"


"What I'm concerned about is, Rusty showing less interest in what's going
on at the ranch and Michael being his distraction."


Shane rubs a hand over the beard he's been trying to grow, "I could try
getting him interested in someone else!"


The smile on Shane's face told all.


"Well, if you're willing to make that sacrifice?" Marco replies, smiling
back at Shane.


Having learned of Rusty's intentions, Shane says, "just get him back on the
construction crew and I'll take care of the rest."


So, there, as Marco headed back to the table, he had a goal in mind, "sorry
to keep you waiting. Shane needed some advice on something monetary. Where
were we?"


"Us." Rusty questions, "what did you want us at your office for?"


Marco had no idea how he was going to separate the two. For certain, he
didn't want Rusty wasting his summer away for some construction worker,
when he had a real chance to do something with his life.


Instead of worrying about Michael, he lay out the plan, "first, about the
ranch. We're in the process of sprucing it up and at the same time, this
fellow, the one interested in developing the fishing resort?"


"Oh yeah. How's that going?"


"It fell through, but I have two brothers, who have a ton or inheritance
money, wanting in on developing the ranch."


First thing on Rusty's mind, "are they cute?"


Michael smirks. He knows what it's like being 19-years old. Only a year ago
he was that immature guy, who didn't know which end was up, "cute is not
the issue here. Listen to your father."


`Hm-m,' Marco thought on it, `maybe Michael isn't all muscle and...' If at
`the Club', he would pay no mind to who was looking, bending over to tie a
shoe, eyes peering under the table.


"Okay," Rusty says, wiping the smile off his face, trying to calm his teen
hormones. "so, what's up with the bro?"


Placing his briefcase on the table, Marco snaps the case, opens it, taking
out a folder, "Adam and George Gerard. Stepbrothers, who upon their
father's passing, have inherited the bulk of his estate, or 8 million
dollars."


"Wow!" Rusty replies with excitement, "I sure know what I'd do with that!"


Again, Marco's impressed, Michael saying, "I'm sure your father doesn't
mean going out and spending it on a four-hundred-thousand dollar
Lamborghini?"


As they spoke, Shane was running a check on Michael, for his own
itinerary. Back at his office, using both internet and cellphone, he was
finding out some amazing facts, of which his worth, enough to buy a fleet
of Lamborghini's!


%


"CANNONBALL!"


Bart on Coury's shoulders, Brett's legs hanging down over Darryl's, the 2
pair of chicken fighters were busy at their own competition, when Justin's
new friend, Antonio, took a leap off the dock and upset the balance.


It was enough to cause Darryl to lose balance, sending Brett backwards into
the water.


After he falls off Darryl's back, the deputy heaves backwards, sinking
under the water.


Brett surfaces, gasping for air, condemning, "Darryl, you idiot!"


Coming up, shooting water out of his mouth, "what'd I do?"


"You're stoopid head clonked me right in the balls, that's what!"


Seeing no real harm done, except Brett's hands still under the surface,
"you need me to deep-sea-dive and examine them?"


It's amazing, yesterday morning, how dead set against `the law' the two
friends were, especially Brett, walking around with a chip on his
shoulder. It took Justin, showing up at the cabin and later on, the ranch,
to show the two that Coury wasn't that bad a guy, just doing his job.


However, Bart was won over way before his friend. After a day, a night and
into the next day, already Bart has warmed up to Coury, having woken up in
a spooned position. Teasingly, he has referred to Coury as `dad,' but his
mentor has already `corrected' him, telling Bart it can't go that way.

However, in the lake for a morning bath, things have regressed to Coury
very well rescinding on that idea, those words. Already Coury has taught
Bart how to float on the surface of the water and hasn't restrained himself
from holding Bart's bare buttocks!


Much as Darryl wanted to achieve the fatherly trait with Brett, is hasn't
progressed to that. Matter of fact, when Darryl wanted to show Brett how to
build a campfire, all Brett said was, he missed having a cellphone to text
his friends!


In all thought, Brett was aware this wasn't going to be the same as
stabbing garbage at the public park and decided to play along. Still in his
mind lingered, `Canada!'


For Justin, reconnecting with his dad has been great. Though, there was the
fact, his father had a job to do, so he found his own form of something to
do for the summer. Already he had a job at the ranch and after reporting to
the `chow tent', has gotten to know one of the chef's, Antonio Lombardi.


Having delivered pizza to the hoards of construction crew, Marco promised
him a job at the ranch. Just by that short encounter yesterday, Antonio now
found himself cracking eggs. However, after meeting Justin, he felt the
need to take a dip. The dip became a big splash, upon which Antonio
formally meets and greets the others.


Antonio brought along a football, originally being a footballer, until he
got hurt...then turned into a chef in culinary school.


Brett thought he could wisely steal the football from Antonio and thus the
game `began!'


With quick response, Antonio's rounded belly took Brett under the water.


They all waited, Justin saying, "uh, think we should go find what
happened?"


Before they could, the two surface, Antonio with a bearhug around Brett,
arms around the front, football in hands, Brett sandwiched in between!


Bart says of his friend, "hey, you two better get a bed!"


Justin, already fond of the cub, "really, Tonio?"


Brett teases, "it's Tonio, is it? How sweet!"


Antonio stole the ball and ditched Brett under the water!


He throws it to Justin, it going over his head, his father catching it.


"Here, dad!" Justin calls attention to themselves, like on the same team.


Justin looks to Bart, "what the fuck, dad?"


Coury gives his `real' son the `complicated' look, "don't worry, I'm not
going to adopt him!"


Normally, Antonio would not give up on a football game, but something had
become more important in his life. Like an alligator on the prowl, he
propels himself toward the unsuspecting, "hay-lo!"


Feeling a pair of hands on his waist, Justin turns about, "hi there!"


It's exactly how they met, greeting each other in a friendly, country
manner.


"Need some lessons in floating?"


"Faced up or face down?" Justin replies.


"Either, or!"


However, when Antonio gets bopped in the head with the football and gazes
over at Brett laughing his ass off, "excuse me for one moment!"


Justin never got his floating lessons, but it was fun watching Antonio
getting even. Wanting to get in on it, Justin swims over. He's surprised
when Brett surfaces near him and then uses him for a shield.


"Hey, you wanna watch where you put that dick, Brett?" Justin tries looking
over his shoulder.


"Really?" Antonio is suddenly charged up with sexual energy!


Perhaps finding out something more about Antonio, Justin confronts him,
"you're okay with that?"


With confidence, Antonio says, "I'm okay with it, if you're okay with it!"


Suddenly, Justin shows how much of a grip Brett had on each arm, at the
elbow, breaking free and swimming free like a guppy.


"Now look what you did!"


"Me?" Brett replies.


Antonio, ready to break into a swim, says, "you and your big dick!"


Brett had to check. He didn't think he was `that' big, but hurls at
Antonio, even though he wasn't sure what the phrase meant, only heard other
people use it, "don't flatter yourself!"


"Who is," Bart surfaces like a water moccasin, "flattering himself?"


To anyone else he wouldn't admit it, but to his bosom buddy, "my big dick
getting me into trouble again."


"Again? How long ago was that?" Bart says, smiling, thinking of the time
Brett fucked some footballer, the first time they went to a college game;
how afterwards they had the whole team on their tails, running out of the
locker room and down the street.


Hearing a wet clap, Darryl performing it to gain attention, "C'mon
guys. Ready for round two?"


"I sure am!"


Darryl's new acquaintance, Ned Barklee had to duck out of their lives
briefly to cover for the set up, people at Uncle Karl's line dancing
joint. Two hours of breaking down tables and chairs, it seemed like a
lifetime for Darryl.


However, watching Ned on the dock, slowly dismantling his wardrobe, it left
action in the water at a standstill.


Getting it on, with friendship, even though Bart's boot camp discipliner
was more for looking up to, he slaps Coury on the wet tummy stripe, "hot
man, eh?"


Out of context with this whole thing, setting 2 youths straight, in the
name of the law, Coury loses all recognizance, "I'll say...about to get
hotter!"


It was hours and hours ago, Bart started looking up to Coury as the dad he
never had, or rather wished he always had around, growing up. Strangely,
even though Bart always put a hot lad like himself ahead of some older
dude, his attention was geared from the top of that dark, wet-infused
stripe, to where the water stole his view away.


While Coury was busy, all eyes on Ned, Bart dares to venture beyond Coury's
bellyhole...


"Hey," that did it, tearing Coury's attention away, grabbing up invading
fingers, "wanna watch the hands?"


Not, feeling guilty as hell, Bart clams up, "sorry `bout that. Won't happen
again."


Then Coury was the one feeling guilty, rather harsh on Bart, "well, that's
enough cooling off for now. Why don't you get your buddy, so we can dry off
and get on with our day?"


Through the water Coury walks, gathering the others, "sorry Darryl, but
duty calls?"


They all show disappoint, Ned's fingers tucked in under the elastic of his
briefs, stopping right at the line of demarcation, flange of his cock-head,
"what're you all doing?"


Darryl, swimming over like an athlete, popping up at the wharf, chest high
to the dock, says, "trust me. No one is more disappointed than me!"


His own thought, Ned says, "yeah. Right. All I had on my mind, driving over
here, was a cooling swim in the lake," he pulls his briefs back up,
obliterating half his treasure trail.


"Really?" Darryl replies. "That's all that was on your mind?"


Giggling, nasally fluctuations in his laughter, Ned tells on the rebound,
"I was hoping you would react that way."


"Hmm," Darryl replies. Getting even, "wanna give me a hand?"


"Sure," Ned leans over, extending a palm.


With a hand in need, Darryl gives a hefty pull!


"What tha..."


"Splash!" Darryl says, laughing his ass off, knowing what affect his
`handshake' would produce.


"Can't say I mind what you did."


"Oh shucks," Darryl responds, "I was hoping you wanted to get even!"


Smiling at each other, Ned knew there would be room in his mind for
revenge!


"Darryl, are you with us today?" Coury, clothing his wet chest in the
regulation shirt, stare down at the two in the water.


A day with nothin' to do, Ned inquires, "mind if I tag along?"


Doing a head count, Coury could see Justin slipping away with Antonio, not
which they were obligated to be along for the ride, "suit yourself."


The fortunate thing, while Coury spoke to the two in the water, he had a
chance to check out Ned closer up. Regardless of the water line, hiding
every part from the pecs, down, he loved looking at a man's chest as if a
museum piece.


"I won't be a problem?"


"Yeah, that's the thing," Coury says, "I've already got 2 problems and
don't need a third!"


The way Brett was looking at this, he didn't mind, for now, using Darryl to
pal around with. He was thinking, if he played his cards right, by sundown
he could most likely charm the pants off of the young cop. However, as he
looked at things now, another challenge had been added to his slate!


Darryl wasn't too terribly disturbed, Coury asking him to go back to the
kitchen and fetch some vinegar, buckets and rags, not with Ned accompanying
him!


"What's that all for?" Brett asks.


"Well," Coury says low-keyed, calm and collective attitude, "there happens
to be a jeep parked out on the road, which a skunk has made its spraying
ground. I thought it fitting to add it to your day's roster, cleaning it
up!"


Coming across as an order and not a question as to whether they would take
it on, Brett takes it with attitude, "fuck that shit. I ain't doin' nuthin'
that's gonna make me smell like some skunk!"


It was apparent, eventually, Bart's feeling the way about Coury as he does
now, would cause a rift in the brotherly friendship, "oh c'mon, bro. How
tough can it be?"


Thinking of the `campground for criminals,' where they should have been
sent, Brett says, "I didn't sign up for any personal favors!"


With saying, Brett walks off.


"Aren't you going after him?" Bart turns to Coury, sad because he's all
dressed!


"Nope. One thing your friend knows, if he walks off the property, he's out
of my jurisdiction."


"And what does that mean?"


"He'll be back in court and this time, I'm certain there will be only one
alternative?"


Coury reaches down, picks up his boots and then slaps his ass down on the
dock.


Doing the same, Bart slips, not his feet, but with tongue, "or maybe he'll
cut out for Canada." Immediately he realizes what he's blurted out, "I
mean...just forget what I said."


With a snort of laughter, Coury says, "you don't think I don't know about
your intentions?"


"How would you know? Brett, he didn't say..."


Giggling, Coury gets serious, "trust me, I won't let on how you talk in
your sleep!"


"I what?" Brett follows Coury's lead, standing up.


"No one's ever told you that?"


Bart gasps, "Oh my god! So, that's what Brett meant!"


Truthfully, when Bart broke away from his pal and `the warden,' he didn't
even think of Canada. More on his mind was going back to the work gang,
having his eyes filled with all that man-flesh, which reeked havoc on his
shaft and balls!


%


While in the army, Marco had many friendships. At a time when it wasn't
cool to be out and `serve', Marco provided an atmosphere of `off the
record' sexual habitat. Having the gift to know `who was' and `who was
not,' he could turn on or off the gaydar, for a person of deserving. It
became difficult sometimes, upon meeting a married man with hidden desires.


Such was the case with Salvatore Iacono. Trapped in a marriage and military
career, Salvatore retained a name for himself, an attorney who traveled
around, helping those in trouble, out of trouble, thereby keeping the
military name untarnished. He had a way, dealing with matters, which
sometimes took him out of the bonds of matrimony.


At the time, going back decades, Salvatore met up with a crackerjack
attorney, Marco Veneziano. The two hit it off, both in the courtroom and
the bedroom.


Years later, Salvatore would call in a favor, asking Marco if he would take
on mentoring to his son, Aldo. One of his peeves was, Aldo wanting to
become an `artist', rather than following the family tree of
lawyers. `Drawing pictures' or `playing the violin' were sissy-stuff!


Long story made short, Marco took the kid, now 23-ears old, on for the
summer as a trial period. What he thought would be a drudge, keeping tabs
on him, now turned into an asset. Like, 10 minutes ago. While he had his
cock embedded in a fellow's ass at the lumberyard, all it took was phoning
Aldo and telling him to follow up on some hurt workers from the ranch.


Dr. Krempl didn't seem to mind a bit, looking upon the suited attorney,
with a hand extended, "good to meet you counselor!"


Aldo didn't hear the name, but the little brass plated i.d. on the doc's
chest badge gave him indication, "same here, Doctor Krempl..."


"Nonsense," Jared could be cordial and friendly to those he really cared
about, "call me Jared."


"I came to check up on the men from the ranch and..."


"Coffee?" Jared disregards `why', concentrating more on getting to know the
hot, Italian lawyer.


"Sure," Aldo digs in his pocket for change.


"Nah, this is on me," Jared says, stripping off his hospital `whites.'


"Thanks."


Given his ways, Jared thinks on the ways Aldo will be thanking him later!


%


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.