Date: Fri, 16 Sep 2016 11:40:33 +0000
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 22

% 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

Nifty Stories Archive Donation<http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html>
donate.nifty.org
Donation information for the Nifty Stories Archive



%


"JoLLy RaNCHeRs" 22

WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


^   0   ^



%


With the full scale meeting of the minds winding down, the gathering was
reduced to Marco, Rusty, Shane, Marco's rookie attorney, Aldo Iacono and
Jared Krempl.


It's not the first time a bee had buzzed in Jared's ear, Marco catching him
coming out of the hospital one evening, mentioning something about a career
change. Not a transfer out of the medical field, Marco had hinted they
needed to add a medical staff person to Cleg Ranch, while transforming it
into a resort.


"So, have you thought about what we discussed?" Marco singles Jared out
from the rest.


Staring over Marco's shoulder, Jared spies Aldo, chatting up one of the
others, "yeah, seriously," he tears his eyes away, dwelling on something
which could pave the way to a new future, "I think I'm okay with it. Only
problem is, where would my new office be?"


"Oh," Marco stands there, dumbfounded, having offered a position for which
there was not any facilities. Then it dawned on him, Michael's father,
having approached him with a blank check, to invest in not only his son's
future, but that of Cleg Ranch Resort, "why don't you draw up a list of
what you'll be needing?"


"First would be an office suite," Jared counts off, on his fingers, from
when a patient entered, "receptionist, with a waiting room, at least 2
examination rooms, `my' own personal office, bathroom, supply closet, not
to mention a roof overhead?"


Marco wanted to tally it all up as Jared spat it out, but he didn't have
knowledge of price per square footage. Anything out of the realm of his
job, or hobby, he left up to someone else, the reason why Marco had quite a
flock of personnel.


Simply because he felt empowered to do, Marco passes the buck, "Ahem! Well
then, why don't you get with my architect," he whips out his leather
wallet, pulls out a business card, "Monte Vaccaro."


Taking it, Jared looks at it for contact info, "where can I find him?"


Unsure of where Monte was at, at the moment, having sent Michael on a
mission to record that information, "what, do I have to do everything for
you, Jared?"


"Um, no," Jared smiles, holding up the business card, "I'll find him
myself. Thanks."


Ready to part ways, Marco turns back, "oh, by the way, you missed the last
party in my basement?"


"I don't think I had you on my calendar?" Jared replies, knowing Marco
might have mentioned some little get together.


Unsure of whether he mentioned it at all, Marco says, "I'll have to let you
know when the next party is. And oh, for your own information, it's first
come, first serve and bring your own toys."


That was Marco's closing line, leaving the middle of the main gate area. As
of this morning, there was no gate, but they called it a `gate', there
being one before all this construction started up.


Now Jared's mind was crowded, but what stood above the rest, was not the
idea of having his own office on the ranch, nor that shingle hanging
outside with his name embossed. Neither was contacting Monte, flipping the
card back and forth over a thumb, but peering up into the trees, thinking
about his assortment of `toys!'


Then it struck, looking up Monte, whom seemed to be the key to him getting
an office at all. Certainly, he looked forward to the big break, breakaway
from the hospital and into his own business.


Seeing a figure, coming from the `meeting of the minds', the pool, Jared
smiles.


The closer the two got, he found, staring, he got a smile back!


Two-people apart, Jared recognizes him, "Shane?"


"Jared?" Shane replies.


Both stopped dead in their tracks, like it wasn't to be a casual walk-by.


"Uh, say," he holds up the business card, "have an idea of where I can
find," he looks at the card to be sure, "Monte Vaccaro?"


If anyone wanted to know Marco's professional business, down to the last
detail, it was Shane, "what does this pertain to, Jared?"


Having this problem all his life, Jared learned restraint. Based on a man's
face, which meant he didn't have to be drop-dead gorgeous, even though
Shane was, facial fur was a big turn-on for Jared, especially a goatee,
carved out meticulously. Suddenly he developed a lust for reaching out and
kissing, but hardly knew the accountant, "I just finished talking with
Marco, about..."


On top of things, which right now Shane yearned to be on top of Jared, "his
plans to set up a practice for you. I know all about it. Just what did he
want you to see Monte about?"


All in a a nutshell, "building it to my specifications."


There was great power to be held in a simple answer, whether it ended with
decisiveness, or a question with a question. According to Shane, it seemed
Jared knew what he wanted, empowered to command a person in that
direction. If Jared had answered the question with a question, in Shane's
book, that would have shone weakness.


"Monte's too busy. C'mon, I'll see if I can find someone to help you."


Padding the back of his shoulder, Shane turns Jared back in the direction
he came from.


"I was under the impression Monte `is' the architect."


"He is, but I think he has his hands full. Therefore, we're bringing in
another."


Jared kind of liked the reception, Shane's arm over his shoulder, like two
best friends, gone-fishing. When they pass two construction workers, going
in the opposite direction as them, they have plenty to say.


"You think they work out?" Shane poses to Jared.


"How do you mean that?" Jared adjusts his crotch pocket.


He was speaking Shane's language, "the way you're feeling it, is how!"


On a sexual plane, it could have gone the distance, except someone coming
between their thoughts.


Shane was disappointed, about to lead Jared off course, into the woods,
upon seeing Marco up ahead.


Apparently Jared wasn't on the same page, "oh, there's Marco. I'm a little
not sure of what's happening, so maybe he can straighten things out."


Watching Jared run ahead, catch up with Marco, Shane was a good sport, even
though he felt pulsing in his loins. Though, he was sure he would seeing
Jared a lot. He hastened his pace to catch up.


Sure enough, Marco, responding to Jared, saying what Shane told him, Monte
too busy to facilitate the building of his new office, "he said that, did
he?"


Marco more directs it to Shane, which has the accountant saying, "I think
it best to consider the medical facility separate from the rest of the
ranch resort building."


"Got someone in mind?"


Jared wondered what Marco's wink meant. Though, he could tells by Shane's
smile, there's an inside interest there.


"Of course!" Shane replies, that same smile lingering.


Marco leaves the matter confidently in Shane's hands.


"Marco puts a lot of trust in you, huh?"


"It goes both ways, `trust.' If you want to stay in Marco's good graces,
follow his first commandment," Shane replies.


He knew Jared would not guess.


"And that would be?"


"Don't lie to him, or else. You only get one chance. Once you lose that
credibility, it's gone forever. If you do something wrong, admit it. He can
be very forgiving."


This habit Jared had, when something irked him, he would scratch the back
of his head with with right index finger. It only took 2, to put the
question in his head, "um, like what happens if it's a really, really bad
thing?"


"Well," Shane smiles, "Marco, he's his own judge and jury. If it's that
`bad', he might require you to appear at one of his basement parties. Then,
you work it out from there."


"Oh, and then you're fired?" Jared adds a little giggle.


"Depends."


"On?"


"How repenting you are."


"Really?"


Jared wasn't really following the story part, but rather how slowly Shane
was coming onto him.


"Now, if it were me," Shane starts working some fingers, inside the white
doctor's coat, "I'd very likely give you a second chance."


A glorified `top' himself, Jared knew the difference between. Instead of
standing there, waiting for Shane to work his magic on him, Jared works the
attorney, placing hands inside the jacket, "exactly where is it that you
acquired your human resources degree?"


"No degree. When it comes to `humans', in particular, `men', well, that
kind of experience only comes from working in the field!"


A stalemate of such, each trying to gain higher ground, it wasn't the
place, nor time in which to investigate who was the stronger man at the top
of the mountain. Not far from the front `gate', it would easy to get
snagged by anyone coming or going.


"Well," Shane says, dropping his hands from inside Jared's coat.


With a group of construction workers walking through their perimeter,
carrying sacks of construction materials, Jared realizes it too, tucking
his shirt in, which Shane had just pulled out from his pants, "to be
continued, later?"


"Marco's Friday night parties are by invitation only," Shane says, "of
which I'm inviting you."


Sending a message, of what he thinks these parties entail, coupled with a
hobby of his, Jared accepts, "shall I bring my own leash to attach to your
collar?"


"Hmm," Shane says with a coquettish look, "perhaps we should have a private
party first?"


"My place or yours?"


Thinking about it, in the few short seconds which passed, Shane thought it
perfect timing, "what are you doing now?"


"Well, I don't have to report back to the hospital, though I'd check out
some fishing equipment, which I hear there's a good assortment at the
trading post. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"


Shane's imagination goes right over the fishing department, picturing the
door to the back room in his mind, "yes, they are very well-equipped. Shall
I meet you there, say, 6 o'clock?"


"Sure. Give me some hints on some `lures'?"


It was as if talking in code, both on the same wavelengths. However, if
they shot the bull too long, either they would need to go separate ways in
a hurry, or seek shelter in the woods!


Suddenly though, the front `gate' got busy with comings and goings, men
leaving empty-handed and returning, bringing in goods.


Jared and Shane decide to save `it' for later!


Walking bac, towards the pool, at least Jared got some satisfaction,
regarding architectural matters. He also reviews the sidetracked situation,
thinking what a blast it would be, getting it on with Shane. Jared would
definitely find disappointment, not being invited to one of Marco's
basement parties, which set him to thinking, maybe he would need to `bend'
a little.


Spying whom he looked for at the pool, Jared calls out, "hey, Aldo!"


Aldo had been speaking to Evan Parker, whom by matter of referral, Rusty
putting the two in touch with each other.


Son, like father, was getting the knack of having someone indispensable
upon whom to call on, to take the responsibility from remembering things
which would fill a 2 volumes of a book. For himself, Rusty didn't need to
go far, him and Michael never leaving each others side, since meeting up at
the henhouse.


"Dr. Kempl, is it?"


Already having a secreted infatuation over Marco's `resort-related'
attorney, Jared is happy to return, "that it is. What's on your mind?"


Then Jared felt kind of sick, dopey, like how a guy says something, coming
on to a guy, then regretting it 5 seconds later!


Aldo did have something on his mind, but was able to control it, putting it
aside in the name of business. Also, since it were Jared who first called
out to him, "I was about to ask the same?"


`Oh man,' Aldo thought, giving the lamest response in the book.


Since Jared `thought' they were on the same track, hearing a splash in the
pool, got him to thinking, "a swim?"


Aldo didn't know what to say to that. Standing there, dressed in a suit,
tie, hand attached to his business case, he was lost for words.


There was a reason for being stunned, Jared either following through on his
spur-of-the-moment reply, or feeling like he was coming on too strong,
peeled his white doctor's coat. Tossing it on a chair, his eyes remained
glued to Aldo.


Unbuttoning his shirt, he subconsciously tries getting Aldo to do the same,
"getting kind of hot in here, eh?"


He wondered for a second, why Aldo shot this weird look at him, until Jared
realizes, "oh," hands freeze on the next button, "we're outside! Oh well!"


Continuing, Jared knew Aldo show an interest, his eyes following him down
the middle of his shirt!


Glancing up, Jared was sure Aldo would follow his lead, but instead he just
stood there, so he thought he would throw him a hint, "well, if you're
thinking you need to wash your suit and tie, that would be fine!"


A fine-lined smile on his face, the pressure on, Aldo reacts much like the
bullies in high school, "uh," he looks around, the pool beginning to buzz,
with late afternoon bathers, "I better get going. I still need to file a
report with Marco, before day's end."


Allowing the tales of shirt to slack to his sides, Jared condemned himself,
`oh shit, I blew it!'


%


Shane had lit out at quite a fast tempo. He had tons of work, which Marco
had just dumped in his lap. Shane had been bucking Marco for a raise. The
raise he got, but also added responsibility was a new hat, `human
resources'. So, in the long run, getting into his car, Shane cursed himself
out for even bringing up the fact.


Regardless, there were benefits, as with meeting Jared on the way back to
the main road. Starting up the ignition, Shane dwell on the flexibility of
division between `work' and `pleasure'.


Shane had grown up in affluent Basking Ridge, NJ and in his teen years,
suffered through living with quite rigid conditions around the Dean
household. His father was a corporate attorney for a well known NJ
pharmaceutical company and benefitted greatly, from the father's 6-digit
salary.


Treated better than his sister, was most likely because she was an older
sibling. When the `rents found out she preferred life as a lesbian and not
homemaker, nor baby-maker for their grandchildren, it put him in the realm
of being a `normal' son.


Sure, he had to stay in the closet all through high school, but it was a
small price to pay, in exchange for being lavished upon with a car, rather
large allowance and freedom to go to the city, or participate in the
`secret life of boys.' It's not like he didn't have pals, in the same
predicament as himself. For certain, Shane was not about to go to college
and not have a working knowledge of how gay sex went, all the advantages of
learning how to pick up guys, learning the do's and don'ts of this
interesting `hobby' on the side. Shane a smart teen, knew how to keep `all
thing gay' on the home front.


For certain, in college Shane found his true self, coupling sex with other
attributes, which took the edge off his studies.


The first couple of parties Marco had at his house, Shane loved putting
into practice things which were extracurricular activities of dorm
life. The off-campus parties were great, especially when there were more
bottom-boys to be had, creating a lopsided balance!


In addition to dominant tops, like himself, at the parties were tons of
guys trying to catch his eye. It was one of the reasons he didn't mind
working for Marco, with the pay scale not what it is back east. Who would
dare to argue, when lying on a sofa, glass of champagne in hand, two boys
licking at each hairy nip, another two keeping his balls in the oven and a
maso-dude trying to keep him hard?


One of those non-course college things, keeping the endorphins going,
working a boy's back with a soft thrashing of a leather flogger. If he paid
the piper, he'd get to dance to the music!


Shane didn't work out, but lucky for him, had the genes which made it look
like he did. Barreled stomach, a defined stripe of dark, ginger-red hair
runny down the middle. Pecs completely covered with the ginger stuff. All
Shane had to do is, allow a tongue to discover the trails and let a
bottom-boy find his way!


It not only took the wants of a boy, but a man who knew how to take care of
what turned both players on. Some were into taking mind-boggling amounts of
pain, staying hard and dripping throughout the ordeal, while others were
just working for a deep fuck. Shane knew how to show who was boss, while
both got hard and reaped the rewards of one or two hours of getting what
they wanted. Call it a cruel streak, but in a dominant mood, he would make
a guy not touch themselves, yet demanded lips and tongue on his chest,
stomach and beyond. Sometimes Shane would even get a tickle out of making a
boy lick his closely-cropped beard.


Right now, though, Shane wanted to just kick back and relax. Driving down
the mountain, if he should happen to see some lonesome hitchhiker, well
that would surely change his mind!


Though, instead of the way he was going, the ant-sized dude was walking up
the hill.


The closer he got, the more Shane thought about the face, being someone he
knew. Almost even with the adjacent side of the road, he knew that face.


Rolling down his window, Shane uses the phrase which didn't need to go too
much further than the asking, "hey, Wyatt, what's up?"


Wyatt looks both ways, jogs across, "I was headed up to the ranch to see
about a job. Marco? He still there?"


"Nope," Shane replies with bluntness.


With Wyatt leaning on the sill of his open window, he could see down the
driver's shirt, which set off vibes, which clued him into possibly Shane
winding up his day, due to the sloppy look.


"I figure, with the hardware still under investigation," Wyatt tones it
down, not which he thought anyone was in the near vicinity, "you know, all
the wood and everything else went `missing?', that Jon and me, we'll be out
of a job, for certain."


A piece the puzzle was missing, Shane wanting to know, "where is Jon?" He
wasn't mentioning it to Wyatt, how he would much rather have a younger
blond to `mess with', rather than an older man of mid-30's!


"Y'see," Wyatt weaves a tale, "since no one told us not to, we took the
keys to Jake's `house-in-the-hills' and..."


Shane butts in, "I had no idea Jake was doing that well?"


"Of course, with all the `cheap' labor, what do you think?" Wyatt replies.


Marco have been trying to fit the pieces together, ever since unraveling
things, after Jake kicked the bucket. From people Marco knows, things like,
the insurance adjusters coming out next week, or the fact Jon and Wyatt
worked like slaves, to pay off bogus gambling debts, a picture of what was
a picture perfect world, slowly began to go sour.


Based on this and other details, Shane pops the locks, "what I think is,
maybe we should go see what Jon is up to. Get in."


Having for a long time, take orders from Jake, a sum of money held over his
head, Wyatt was used to hustling to get the job done. Right now, his jump
entailed running around the car and hopping in the passenger seat.


Shane, gearing the car, says, "y'know, there's no reason to worry about a
job, especially since a few hours ago, Marco appointed me human resources
manager?"


"Great!" Wyatt's whole outlook picks up, "then you're in charge of hiring?"


"I am," Shane starts formulating a plan, now that the wheels of his brain
are turning, fueled by his balls churning.


"That's great. When can I get an interview?"


"Well," Shane replies, having missed out on a hot fuck this afternoon, with
Marco hovering over Wyatt's ass, "we could start the process right now?"


"Now? Like, right this minute?"


"Sure. Would even make good conversation, on our way to check out what
Jon's doing."


"That's great," the 34-year old lumberyard `slave' says. "What do you want
to know?"


Instead of heading down the hill, Shane makes a u-turn, heading back up the
mountain, towards Deer Run, the luxury neighborhood casually called, `the
hills'.


All the way, Shane's car taking the road `up' , Wyatt gabbed on and on
about his credentials, including the unfortunate thing about his employer's
`slave ring,' buying drinks for guys who couldn't pay him back, indenturing
them, like what happened to himself and Jon.


Right inside the door of his apartment, Shane slips off his dress
jacket. The attitude changes rapidly, "do me a favor and hang this in the
closet, Wyatt?"


The accountant stands there, jacket ready to slip off the end of his
finger.


"Sure," Wyatt was helpful, opening the closet, right inside the front door.


"No, Wyatt, I meant the closet in my bedroom?"


"Oh," Wyatt stops, closes the door. "Which direction is it in?"


"C'mon, I'll show you."


They did stop off at the kitchen, Shane grabbing a bottle of champagne out
of the special, temperature-controlled refrigerator. He didn't need the
glasses, keeping at least one pair in the glass cabinet in his bedroom.


"Wow, this is some place you have here, Shane," the 34-year old former
lumberyard worker remarks, glancing over the quite spacious, square,
multi-leveled living room.


"This way to the bedroom?" Shane leads the way.


Following, with Shane's jacket over his arm, when they enter the bedroom,
Wyatt says, "and the closet is?"


"Over there," Shane directs.


"Whoa...I could get lost in here," Wyatt walks into the closet, looking for
hanger.


Shane didn't mind, it gave him time to remove his necktie, unbutton his
shirt.


Finding his way out of the closet, Wyatt is startled, Shane standing right
there, "oh," his eyes drop, then rise up the accountant's abs, chest, then
looking him in the eyes, "you didn't wait for me?"


"Right," Shane smiles an evil grin, "because I wanted to `do' you!"


"Really?"


Whereas things started out, as experienced with his former `employer',
forced way of living, instead of a free-thinking man, Wyatt is stunned by
Shane's hands on the zipper at the top of his sleeveless jacket.


Slowly zipping it, Shane finally breaks silence, "you see," he unzips,
noticing no shirt underneath, a slice of Wyatt's hairy front, "I really
felt sorry, I did, seeing you had no choice, while my employer had you over
the desk, pummeling you?"


It was a lot to digest for Wyatt. He wasn't an idiot, but all this time,
having an opinion of Shane, a tough man, much like Marco, "you want to run
that by me again, Shane?"


He also thought it `cute', Wyatt calling him by his first name, which Shane
thought it likely, Jake making himself far superior above a lowly person
whom owed him money, indentured for life, "sure, no problem, `Wyatt'!"


Wyatt couldn't believe it, Shane removing his jacket. Allowing it to fall
over his shoulders, he thought he should be doing what the accountant was
doing to him, kissing him under the chin, tongue licking down his man-fur,
then...


"Oh my stars!"


Now that was a bit wild, Wyatt thinking of himself as the one who should be
bending over at the waist. Though, being a hefty 6'1, Shane was a short,
5'10, which meant it was easier for the account to reach certain parts of
the bod, than the taller man.


"Like that, do you Wyatt?" Shane says, after his tongue has tasted one side
of Wyatt's thickly-furred chest.


Having been indentured for a few years, this was a revival of sorts. Before
falling under the power of his former `partner', Jake Beam, Wyatt remembers
a time before, when he was a free-thinker, not tethered to anyones ball and
chain.


"It's..." lack of something more elaborate and eloquent, "very good."


"I see," Shane stands up straight.


Thinking an inadequate response, after Shane has worked his lapping skills,
causing a reaction, Wyatt repairs opinion, "on the other hand, it was
pretty awesome!"


Yet, Shane has reservations, of Wyatt telling the truth, "how about a late
afternoon swim?"




Now that was a little bit wild, something Wyatt has never been asked
before, as a request, "uh, what was that?"


"You heard right. Come take my shirt off, please?"


This time, his request was accompanied by a tight-lipped smile, Shane
purposely making it sound that way.


"Okay," Shane didn't see any harm, rather maybe feeling his balls tell him
it was all right to do!


Facing Shane, Wyatt says, "you wanna turn around?"


"No?" Shane says a daring smile caressing his lips!


"Oh," Wyatt shows a perplexed look on his face. Then, following his
intuition, "Shane, are you trying to come onto me?"


"What took you so long to find out?"


Outside the boundaries of Post & Beam Lumberyard, Shane began to picture a
different `Wyatt'. Too, without his hairy ass about to be pummeled by
Marco's invading dick, he hoped to pave the way to a more relaxed
relationship.


"Find out? Find out what?"


Truthfully, out of all the dudes Jake made him have sex with, there were a
select few Wyatt would have loved to develop into more than a `hit and run'
type of relationship. Though, now he was being confronted with being on the
other end of the stick!


"I think you can already guess, Wyatt?"


Wyatt's lips, crashing against Shane's, gave the former lumberyard-slave
more an idea than word could ever say!



%


Ten minutes after Michael set himself upon the kitchen staff, jotting down
some vital information on his `Jimmy Olsen' pad, he sensed he was `in the
way.'


Antonio's delivery of herbs and spices had shown up at the front gate,
needing to `sample the goods.'


Dave at the sink, dropped what he was doing, when Antonio summoned him
over, "you know Michael, right?"


"I might've seen him around," Dave says, though he very well knows to check
out a hot man, upon first seeing him. Shaking Michael's hand, he peers down
at the checklist of employees, "oh yeah, that's me, chief dishwasher...soon
everyone will be calling me `Dave-the-slave'!"


Dave Barklee was being funny, though Antonio was taking it semi-personally,
"oh really, Dave? Wait till I tell you about your other duties!"


Michael almost felt sorry for Dave, but knew by the tone of Antonio's
voice, it was a joke, "so-o-o, I guess that's all the info I need, " he
closes the pocket-sized pad in hand, clicking his pen and pocketing it.


It was like that type of situation, when dead silence prevails and the
third person in the room gets the idea he's in the way, which is why
Michael leaves, saying, "okay, well I guess I'll see you guys around dinner
time...uh, make sure my plate is squeaky clean, Dave?!"


Laughing at his own joke, Michael lifts the tent flap and is on his way. Of
course, with his duty done, to collect information, regarding names and
where at the ranch the person has fit in, Michael did make a note,
dishwashing fitting Dave. Stopping and thinking about it, mulling it over
while rubbing his chin he forgot to shave this morning, Michael did get the
impression Dave and Antonio worked well together. Second thought, he knew
it a bad deal, two people in the same area, getting overly friendly, but
there were always those whom could connect on a personal level and still
keep separate the working relationship.


Wondering if there was something more up than business, Michael reaches in
both pockets, pulling out pad and pen. In a click he's crossing out,
jotting down, the 2 compatible with the work they are doing.


"What a cute little note pad!"


"Oh, it's you!" Michael turns around.


"Only me?" Rusty says. "Really, Michael?"


>From standing there, Michael walks over to his lover, while folding up
business and pocketing it.


Redeeming himself, he says, "how has `your' day been going?"


"Probably not as much as you..so, how much data have you collected?"


For Michael, data was tallied by individual, again retrieving the info from
his pocket, "let's see, I've been around to," starting from the top of the
first page, "Chad, Thomas, Robert, or Rob," he giggles, "he's not picky on
who you want to call him, Adam, Duke, George, Haydn, Dennis, Dave
an-n-nd...oh, and Antonio, but he had to run off, so I didn't get much on
him. Then he came back, but then he got involved in cooking and had to rush
off again, something about spices."


Then, looking at Michael's pad, Rusty gages, "sure looks like you know what
you're doing?"


"So," Michael says, like weaving his lover around his little pinky, "does
this mean I pass your job requirements?"


"I dunno yet. Have to see what your strong points are in bed tonight!"


Each night since meeting, which has been about a week, their time together
has progressed, until they lay between the sheets, experiencing more than
kissing and cuddling.


Michael dares to say, "maybe tonight will the big one?"


In a cheerful mood, Rusty says, "depends on how big you make it!"


They were laughing and joking, but if it went on too long, both knew they
would not be able to wait until tonight!


Despite the fact the pair were feeling a little horny, Rusty stood by his
guns, "too bad we had to go and agree with dad, at the meeting."


"Oh, you mean the fine print, or clause, `thou shall not make whoopee,
while on the clock?'"


It made Rusty laugh, from just the tone of voice, and the way Michael could
say something funny, wearing a straight face, "something like that."


"Well," Michael leans his shoulder against a tent pole, crosses his legs
almost at the ankle, "he didn't say anything about talking about it?"


"Um, I'd hate to be the one to explain to Antonio, how the kitchen tent
fell down, Michael?"


"Oh right," Michael saw it, how his shoulder weight, pitted against the
long ten stake, attached to canvas sheeting, could bring the whole place to
ruin.


However, Rusty's mind wasn't on that, "what do you think of Shane? I
thought he looked sharp?"


"Shane looked all right," Michael flips to the `D' pages, thumbing down the
side, picks up on `Dean'.


"Well, what did you think?"


"Honestly?" Michael goes bonkers, "what could really sway my opinion, is to
see him naked!"


"Be careful what you wish for there, Michael!"


"Oh?" Michael changes from laughter to sincerity, "is there something you
know, that I don't know?"


"Dad...he just mentioned, if you and I weren't doing anything, there's a
social get together at Shane's house, later on? Um, he also said, there
happens to be a pool in the back yard!"


"Hmm," Michael taps his lips with a finger, "I wonder if Shane will be
swimming?"


"One thing, I'm sure Shane wouldn't be in his spiffy business meeting
suit?"


Unknown to Michael, or anyone, at their poolside meeting, Rusty had Shane
undressed, beyond the speedo. He just pictured the 34-year old as `packing'
big bulging balls, all supporting that hunk of a bearded-man. First chance
he got to take a whiz, Rusty would find out if anything leaked out!


If either them remained on topic, off the business slate, they would need
to get lost in the forest. But not right after Rusty's dad stressed the
need for everyone to be on the same page, like from the Wall Street
Journal, not JustUsBoys, they reverted to the roles they play, on ranch
business!


"Who's next on the list?"


"Um," Michael quickly flips through his pad, "um, victory garden and
henhouse."


"Henhouse? Since when are there hens on the ranch? This is supposed to be a
horse ranch!"


Michael takes the fifth, "I dunno. I only follow what they give me to work
on."


"Oh," Rusty hadn't a clue what to follow up with!


Rightfully, it was Rusty whom handed Michael the layout for his job
prospectus, checking up on who's who and where they were employed on the
farm.


Marco, he did wonder, how Rusty, a 19-year old `kid,' just getting his nose
wet in the business world, could keep up. Having gone over Michael's
itinary, Marco had to admit, Michael having put 2 years into military
college, at 20-years old, felt more mature than some other guys his
age. Marco knew military school could do that to a teen, by the time
graduation rolled around. Even though labeled a `kook' of sorts, Marco knew
Michael was more on the ball with his studies, top of his class, managing
to graduate a year early.


Indeed, Michael felt confidence, with or without Marco's knowledge, saying
to his lover, "ready for the henhouse experience?"


"Why not?" Rusty replies, the two walking off, arm over arm.


More like buds and not lovers, business slipped through the loopholes of
his mind, Rusty overcome by the muskiness of Michael's armpit, plus the
sensation of his big pec rubbing against the side of his meager chest
muscle. With intent, to keep Michael from noticing, Rusty dives a hand into
pants pocket, to rearrange things!


No sooner had they set on the path, it led the pair to an opening in the
forest, "well, here we are!"


"Wow!" Rusty is overwhelmed, "When did this all happen?"


He did connect with Hoot, seeing the barn flanked by chicken wire and tall,
narrow structures. On the far right side of the barn was a smaller
building, more tin than wooden. Around the outside of the area was more
fencing.


"Amazing, isn't it?" Michael calls attention to what was and what is.


"It sure is," Rusty says, though his mind was on the dude, having bent over
to assemble a piece of fencing.


Standing, the cowboy's shirt, which had been pulled from his pants, rode
back down over his asscrack!


When he stood, took off his cowboy hat, the dude pulls a light blue bandana
from his right, rear pocket and proceeds to wipe the sweat off his brow.


It was food for conversation, Rusty saying, "I think that means something,
but it slips my mind right now?"


Michael was a good student at the military college, which is why he knew
every gesture on the Hanky Code Chart, handy when it came to visiting a
`straight' bar, wanting some gay action!


Light blue, that means a guy is a good cocksucker. Dark pink, on the right
ass-pocket, a dude wants.."


"His nips worked over!"


Rusty raised his right brow, a smirk on his face, his father walking in,
for him, an opportune moment to use the vocabulary he's been building for
years.


"Of course you had to show up at the perfect moment, `dad'?"


Not at all mad at his father, Rusty fills his boyfriend in, "y'see,
Michael, dad's on the up and up with this stuff, because he's been
`involved' in it for years."


In public, nor private, Marco did not mind it a bit, if any guy brought up
his special hobby, "that's right," he gravitates towards Michael, "and let
me guess what your specialty is, since you've mentioned, `dark pink'?"


If this were the appropriate place, Marco might have reached out and
touched, mercilessly twisting and tweaking Michael's perky, protruding
nips. Not only was this not the place, being Rusty's father, well things
were going good for him and not even the best fishing trip in the world
could undo what he wanted to do to Michael now!


Michael keep silent right now, not knowing what the father and son
knew. Certainly, if Marco knew what the colors they talked about, entailed,
well he would certainly push for son-in-law status.


As for Rusty, he play it cool, though knowing how sensitive Michael's nips
were, that at a touch, it could mess with his cock, turning it into a
massive erection, "and you're here, because why, dad?"


"Oh! Right," Marco sobers up, "I just sent you an email of a list of new
hires," he grabs one more peek at the perky nubs, "which I'm sure will keep
you busy, making the rounds."


Then Marco issued a short `bye' and hightailed it outta there. If he
remained any longer, his fingers might certainly forget their place!


"Well?" Rusty says to Michael.


"What?" Then thinking he was on the same page, Michael questions, "oh, so
what do you want to know more about, the blue or the pink?"


"Um, what I was thinking is," Rusty speaks in a joking manner, "are you
going to look at your emails?"


Right now, Michael's tablet focused a spreadsheet of employees, where they
were employed and other details, like if they were allergic to
anything. However, instead of looking at his electronic notes, he chose the
old-fashioned paper and clipboard system.


"Um, maybe later. I think we've got enough to work with?"


Though, Michael couldn't get past Marco's visit, as they checked out the
henhouse. He even whipped up a quick fantasy; while doing chin-ups. In the
down position, he had Marco holding each of his nips between fingers and
thumbs. When his chin moved up, oh man could his balls tingle, churn, nips
stretched downwards, the pull making him feel like he was in heaven.


"Did you get that, Michael?"


Suddenly, forced out of his reverie, Michael replies, "get what?"


Knowing what held Michael's attention, Rusty forgave him, but would needle
him later on the issue, "Kira says Katrina grew up on a farm, knows hens
and eggs, it her job to.."


"Who's Katrina?"


Rusty could not deny Michael's pecs and the spots which dotted each, very
alluring. However, this was business and instead of repeating himself,
"after you open the email and transfer Katrina's information to your
spreadsheet, then you'll find out who she is. In the meantime, Michael,
could you please pay attention?"


He could have been a big boss, like his father, but everything about
Michael, Rusty thought was cute.


"Gee, I'll certainly try?"


Therefore, how could Rusty possibly have stayed angry at his boyfriend, for
any misdemeanor?


Any other time in his life, Rusty was just another flower on the wall. At
times like, walking into the dining room, with Michael, he sure wasn't the
one with the bulked out, muscled pecs. Yet, being close to the one that
was, made him feel special.


Around the corner, from where Kira was working on the fence, Rusty
approaches the worker pointed out to him, "you must be Katrina?"


Like Michael can be, again he avoids shaking Katrina's hand, but not for a
bad reason. In a high-pitched voice he exclaims, "oh my, will you look at
this...it's a baby!"


Out in the yard, near the hen houses, a playpen was set up, tent poles at
each corner and tarp placed overhead. Inside, a 3-month old baby boy
crawled around, until Michael scooped him up in his arms.


"Isn't he adorable?" Michael brings him over to where Rusty and Katrina
were conversing.


"Michael, you're supposed to ask, before picking up a baby?"


Katrina was understanding, "it's okay. If you trust him, then I do too."


"What's his name?"


"Martin," Katrina replies.


Then, Rusty became the `third-party', standing there as Michael found out
all about Martin.


Growing up on a farm, not far from Owl Creek, Katrina had a future ahead of
her, working in the family business. Graduating from high school, she had
high hopes of going to college, achieving a degree which would give her a
career of writing. Someday maybe she would write a book.


Her best friend, Adam was her former `lover', that is to say, a very
understanding guy, who knew she is a lesbian, but play the part of a
boyfriend, to throw everyone off the track, including her parents. Neither
friend were sure whether they were gay or bi.


It all worked out, until near graduation, Katrina finding out there were no
funds to send her to college. Things became more complicated, when her
`boyfriend' went off to college, leaving her. Though it wasn't a bad thing,
because she got to see Adam whenever he was home for the holidays, and
summer.


Meantime, not only was she working at the family farm, but Katrina decided
she liked it, being many instances she could very well work into a story
about her life. In particular, she was put in charge of the hen houses. For
the first time in her life, she was responsible for something.


Then one spring, her aunt, uncle and their children came to visit. Maude
could hardly be considered a `child', at 19, yet her siblings were in their
early teens. Regardless, Katrina and her older cousin got to know each
other very well. More so, when alone in the barn!


Though, as life has a habit of doing, when falling in love, it can be left
as a temporary situation, as when Maud's family left after two weeks.


With that though, it was not too much of a let down for Katrina, Adam
coming home on spring break.


Well, it had always been her mother's vision, Katrina and Adam tying the
knot, so she paid much attention to her daughter and her `suitor'.


Second evening Adam hit town, Katrina's mother came out to the barn, about
a half hour after her and Adam. Listening in, rather than hearing rumors of
a marriage proposal, she literally fell on her ass, hearing about Adam at
college and meeting up with some `boy'! Shocked beyond belief, she was on
her feet, ready to run back to the house, when Katrina started telling Adam
about her cousin's visit!


A double whammy, Katrina's mother picked herself up, after falling on her
bum a second time and ran to the house. A few minutes later, Katrina's
father was en route to the barn.


Not only was Adam verbally assaulted, by every gay-unfriendly word in the
book, but Katrina as well. Little did she know, her mother was on the phone
to sister, while her father was cursing them out. Regardless, Katrina was
kicked out of the family at that very moment, by her enraged father.


It's a shame, because Katrina really loved her mom and dad, figuring it was
same, the other way around. Although, did not have the confidence to come
out to them. Anyway, it was reported to Katrina's mother, things which were
not totally truthful, that Katrina had come onto her cousin.


Things turning from bad to worse, Katrina thought it a good idea to
leave. For certain, being home and not at college, it was a one-way ticket
to being a farmer's wife. She had no intentions of marrying a `man' and the
idea of having a `wife', well that would not go over big. Though, with
circumstances the way they are now, it was either hit the road, or stay
around and subject herself to one of those `de-gaying' programs at the
family church.


At 20-years old, she was on the road, traveling around. First stop was
visiting Adam at college. She loved the atmosphere, but right now, it was
not feasible for her to choose it. Adam was sweet, sneaking her into a
friend's dormitory room, until she got caught!


Though, Katrina picked up another chapter for her book, the security guard
being so sweet, taking her home, instead of reporting the incident to the
campus security office.


Little did she know, until learning one of life's lessons, things do not
appear what they seem...sometimes people are not all they appear to
be. That night, the guard's husband tried raping her. Eventually, Katrina
put all her hen-fighting skills to use, scratching her way out of what
could have been a harrowing situation. Learning the security guard who
rescued her, had all intentions of allowing it to happen, Katrina was sure
she dislocated the husband's jaw, before leaving the house. She didn't even
know she had the power to `punch', until the man was laid out on the bed!


Then, over two years of wandering the Pacific Northwest, Katrina kept a
journal, assuring herself that one day she would fit all the words together
and tell about where her journeys have taken her. For certain, being found
by Kira, outside the town liquor store, would not be the last chapter!


Dropping the last detail of her hitching the northwest, Michael responds,
"oh, so Adam's the father? Like, how did that happen?"


Rusty loved standing there, listening to Katrina's story and watching how
Michael held the baby, moved him around when he almost started to cry and
then quieted him by tossing him in the air. He was a natural!


Katrina went on to tell how she found Adam, taking a chance that he would
be in the next graduation class at college. On the other hand, when she
appeared at the college, she made sure a certain security guard was not in
her path. Reluctantly, she did speak with one of the lacrosse coaches and
they hit it off. Katrina found out, her `loser security guard' had been
found out, when the husband's doctor wondered how he suffered so many
scratches on his faced a fractured jaw. One thing led to the next, husband
and wife blaming each other, until the whole scam came out.


"Wow!" Michael exclaims. "So, you're a hero!"


Katrina didn't think she was, "I'm no hero. Unfortunately I was in the
wrong place at the wrong time. But sometimes we think something is so bad,
when it turns out we become the victim for something good coming out of
something bad. Are you confused?"


Rusty gags, "Michael's always confused, but I get it!"


Michael smiles, saying to Rusty, "Oh, you'll get it all right. Later!"


>From her own story, Katrina turns the tables, "so, are you two friends?
Boyfriends? More?"


"More," Michael boldly states, having calmed Adam's baby down, lulling him
in the cradle of his soft pecs.


Responding to Katrina, Rusty was quick, saying it's too early to tell
anything. Simply stated, with nothing else to tell, Rusty turns back to the
unanswered question, "so, how did Adam become the father?"


How strange things are today, but more accepting than decades ago, Katrina
explaining how Adam wanting to leave his dear friend with something to
remember him by. Having fallen deeply in love himself, Adam and his future
husband, Javier, were headed out to LA after graduation. They had even
offered to Katrina, for her to come with them.


"Call me stupid, old-fashioned, but being my own woman, I wanted to stay
around here and prove to my family I can be who I am and still the same
person, loving, kind, all that stuff. Adam and me, we might have been a
little drunk in thinking about having a baby between us, but after Martin
was born, I thought it would soften my parents' hearts, walking in with
their little grandson."


Of the few times Michael can be serious, this is one of them, "don't bet on
it!"


"Michael," Rusty says, like he's ready to condemn his lover's thoughts,
"Martin's asleep. Why don't you go put him down?"


While Michael dropped Martin into the playpen, Rusty says, "You have to
work that out for yourself, but far as I'm concerned, you can stay here at
the ranch for as long as you need to."


Not something Katrina planned, "thanks, but I think Kira has taken care of
that!"


Rusty was glad Kira had paved the way for him, not having to explain
anything more.


Michael, coming back from the playpen, says, "y'know, forget about what I
said, about not betting on it. On second thought," he returns to his jovial
self, "even though they might still be non-accepting, you can at least show
them what they are going to be missing!"


Taking Michael by the arm, "and if you're ever in need of a babysitter,"
Rusty points a finger to the top of his lover's head!


Rusty had decided the barn was not a suitable place to stay any longer,
especially after Kira asked who's bed it was in the barn loft.


"What about Hoot?" Michael asks.


"Evan, he texts me every day, sometimes twice a day and tells me how they
are getting along so well."


"Hmm," Michael ponders, "I wonder who's on top?"


"Ewe!" Rusty slaps Michael in the ass, hard.


"Owch! That hurt so damn good!"


"You're a sick man, Michael!"


"I know!"


>From the grotesque, to what they have together, Rusty had to mention them
having a baby someday. It was the first time Michael boasted about his big
pectorals, "yeah, I could hold a coupla-of'em right here," he cups hands
over his own chest.


"Hmm, maybe you can breast feed them too!"


"You're gross, bro!"


"Only me?" Rusty replies!


Calling it a day, Rusty decides he and Michael are going to skip the rest
of the list until tomorrow.


"I wonder if the hotel in town has any vacancies?" Rusty tries getting
information on his cell.


Trying to talk, his phone crackles and then hangs up.


"Find something?" Michael asks.


"Nope. Somehow reception here sucks!"


Michael jumps in with, "Hm, just like me!"


"Well, you won't be doing any of that if we don't find a bed for tonight!"


Snapping his finger, Michael says, "well, with all those rooms up on Deer
Run, your father is certain to have one with your name on it?"


"Right. I can't believe, all the time I've been back, he hasn't invited me
to his house!"


"What about me?" Michael's bottom lip puckers over the upper, pouting.


"For future reference, when I say `me,' I mean `us.'"


"Right," Michael taps his tablet, "maybe I should message myself that!"


Rusty steals Michael's tablet, "you're driving."


"Where are we going?" Michael walks around the ranch truck.


"My dad's place. Where else are we going to get free room and board for the
night?"


On the way over to Rusty's dad's house, up in `the Hills', slang for Deer
Run, Michael excitedly says, "just think, all the friends I made at the gay
pride center are where they are now, because of me!"


Missing the real reason, Michael happy to lend a hand to those who have
lost jobs, quit jobs for a country environment, wanting to forget
relationships which didn't work out, Rusty reads it wrong, "so much for
having a big head!"


Michael wasn't thinking of himself, like getting 10 pats on the back, but
now his mind wandered, "yeah, I know!"


Paying attention to the road, Michael smiled even more than gloating about
how his buds left Seattle and all their troubles behind.


"Oh really?" Rusty had to lean forward, look at Michael's lap, wondering if
more than the head on his shoulders were inflated.


Catching on, Michael peers down where Rusty's eyes wander, then up at the
road, back and forth...


"Just checkin'," Rusty says.


It's apparently, both missing the point each was making, but left things as
it was. It didn't matter anyhoo, Rusty liking Michael now, regardless of
how he was set in his ways. Although, if he turned out to be an ax
murderer, then that would change things!


"Next right?"


"Which means..."


"I know," Michael replies, slowing down.


"Thank you," Rusty says.


Both exchanged looks, which signaled in each, they had the same thing on
their minds.


"Oh," Michael says in a disappointed way, putting the brake on and turning
ignition off.


"Whats-a-matter?"


"I left my toothbrush and jammies back at the barn!"


Rusty smirks, saying, "I'm sure we can find a toothbrush and like, who
needs pajamas? I mean, you get in them Michael, only to get out of them, so
what gives with that?"


"That's one way of looking at it!"


He so much liked Michael's laughter. Whenever Rusty heard it, it tickled
him to laugh along. Even if something really wasn't a laugh-and-a-half,
that quirky way of chuckling made him feel tickled!


As they approach the front door, on a long and winding flagstaff walkway,
Michael says, "you do the talking."


"Thanks," Rusty replied, hiking up 3 steps hurriedly, his finger going
right to the doorbell.


"Well, he's `your' father!"


It made Rusty smile, thinking, anything Michael wanted, all he had to do is
go through him, like he was some ambassador.


However, it wasn't his father who answered the door, but this big, hairy
guy, wearing a tight leather vest, chaps and a cap, which he thought looked
like a policeman, "uh, is Marco around?"


"You're here for the party?"


Michael, he was in heaven, peering over Rusty's shoulder. A step down, his
eyes lined right up with the leatherman's crotch. He didn't know much about
leather, how big a dude had to be to burst through the tight fabric, but if
the force was needed, this guy was `huge'!


"Party?" Rusty replies.


Then, without the screen door even opening, the inside wooden door got
slammed in their faces!


"What the fuck?" Rusty says.


Stepping down the last step of the stoop, Michael twists his arms inside
out, cracking his knuckles, saying, "step aside and allow me?"


Michael knew how to deal with tough guys. From attending military high
school and then some, he knows how it goes..'stand up in the beginning and
show them who's who, or endure the rest of the school year, groveling at
their feet!'


Rusty says, "It would be no sweat to call dad on his cell? I mean, it's
probably what we should do, instead of causing a scene, Michael?"


"What? And pass up an opportunity to allow some ape to walk all over us?"


For certain, even though the doorway were a step up from them, the
leather-clad guy did look as big as an ape, maybe bigger. Though Michael,
he knew what the inside of a gym looked like and unlike some, actually did
workout while there, instead of admiring chiseled looks in the mirror.


"If you say so Michael, but like ya said, he did look kind of...big?"


"No sweat," Michael giggles with that adorable laughter.


"Oh, it's you. I thought I told you to..."


Michael seemed to have a plan in place. Since the dude didn't make an
effort to click at the lock on the screen door, his fist went through it!


"Oh.My.God.Michael?"


Truthfully, Michael was aiming his fist towards the big bulge. However,
what he wasn't counting on, even though the weak screen gave way under
pressure, it did slow the momentum of the punch.


This time, Rusty's exclamation was not of conquering the impossible, but of
worry, "oh-my-god-michael!"


All Rusty could think of doing, when Michael was apparently being pulled
`through' the screen door, is grab his belt and pull backwards.


One thing none of them realized, Marco had pulled up in the driveway, was
out of his car and on the tip of his tongue, "what the fuck is
going...oh-h-h-h-shit!"


Bearing the brunt of the blow, Marco falls backwards onto the slated
path. On top of him, Rusty tumbles back, Michael on top of him. With
reluctance to allow an intruder get away, the leather dude falls right out,
through the screen door and onto Michael, chest to chest.


Another thing which startled the leather-dude, had gone over Michael's head
a little. He lay there, almost nose to nose to the `party-master'!


It made him gasp in utter fear for his life, "oh shit, Marco!"


"I'll say. What the fuck is this about, Clay?"


Marco hadn't realized, until Rusty spoke up, in squeaky tones, "uh, can
someone get off so I can breathe?"


Michael, he didn't seem to mind, his nose buried in between the chinks of
the leatherman's harness, breathing through `hair'!


Suddenly, seeing rusty-colored, ginger hair, hearing the voice, Marco
gathers, "Clay, wanna move your fat ass?"


Clay got off alright, but not knowing who the intruders were, grabbed
Michael up but the middle of his shirt, tearing it some, barking, "you're
toast!"


`No I'm not,' he mused to himself, thinking, wait till the mean ogre finds
out who he's talkin' to..though, one upside to the downside, Michael could
still feel the sensation of those bulging leather pants, crushing his own
pleasure center. He also sensed, like himself, the guy worked out, tough
pec-meat lying on tough pecs!


Rusty thought, after Michael was pulled off him, just turned over in the
grass, faced down, heaving air in faster than bagpipes playing!


"Son! Are you alright?"


"Son?" Clay gasps, more fearful than before.


Marco didn't hear, pulling Rusty at the shoulder, turning him over. Then,
he gets the picture, "Clay?" he also notices Michael's wadded up shirt,
"don't stand there like a shithead, call 911, dammit!"


Michael was let down easy, ironing out the wrinkles in his shirt. He
couldn't deny it felt good to plane over his pecs!


He would have loved to have stood there and toyed with Clay's emotions, but
someone more than pranking was at hand, "Rusty!"


"I'm okay Michael."


It was sort of a wakeup call for Marco. He had just gotten his son back in
his life, then, Rusty had to go and find a boyfriend, occupying all his
time. Mixed thoughts had crowded his mind, finding Michael to be an okay
guy.


Though, sitting there, indian-style on the slate walkway, seeing Michael
taking over the cuddling, he thinks, `could be lots worse.' He was even
more startled, when Michael lifts his son off the grass, with brute force
picking him up, holding him with an arm under his knees, the other at
Rusty's back.


"Inside," Marco stands.


Of course, holding the door open for Michael to carry Rusty inside, he
wondered, "what the fuck happened here?"


Someone was in trouble for busting a hole in the screen door!


Whether Michael heard what Marco was saying, or not, what was more on his
mind was his teen lover, "things are going to be alright, babe."


Anyone else, Marco would have them leave their shoes at the door...the
right occasion, they would be required to leave clothes as well!


However, he didn't bat an eye, Michael walking in, grimy boots, coupled
with water residue, the front grass having been watered. If anyone studied
the situation, it would be easy for a tracker to follow Michael throughout
the home.


Michael didn't ask, just took it upon himself to lay Rusty on the leather
sofa. He did take note, the decor kind of `gothic'.


Shortly thereafter, the front door opens, without a knock or a bell.


"Where is he?"


Marco knew that voice, an outstanding member of the community, and a hot
man, "right in here, Luke!"


Behind him was the Sheriff, Bill Duffy. Rightfully, Marco thought the
46-year old sexy as hell. Still retaining his dirty blond hair, goatee and
working out regularly, Marco thought it a shame he was a bottom. Even
though tough as nails on the job, Bill loved Marco's party, though because
of his ranking in the community, could only attend very small parties, with
those who could keep secret, `what goes on at the party, stays at the
party'.


Regardless, Bill says, "too bad, I hear ya got a nice group assembling
tonight."


Saying it like a joke, but it not being so, Marco replies, "you want to
pick your mind out of the trash, Bill?"


"Right," Bill says, an apology tacked on.


The four of them hung around the sofa, until the medical tech, Luke
scattered them away, saying to one of them, "no, you stay."


"Me?" Michael replies, a hand to his chest for verification, that Luke
meant him!


"Got a name?" Luke asks, while lifting Rusty's shirt.


"Michael. Me and Rusty are boyfriends."


Rusty, he was still a little in silent shock, of getting clobbered by 2
muscle-bound missiles, "you don't remember me, do you?"


Luke smiles, saying, "I was hoping it would be for more than setting the
junior high school boy's bathroom on fire?"


"You're an arsonist?" Michael exclaims.


"It was just a can," Rusty says.


"Right," Luke doesn't refute, "but when the sprinkling system is on the
same circuit as the principal's office, I rather think the punishment was a
bit on the light side?"


"You were arrested?"


"No Michael. Worse. One month of detention...my head hurts," Rusty
complains.


"Lucky for you, nothing was out on my desk, of importance!"


"It was your own fault."


Stopping with the treatment, listening to Rusty's chest, Luke says, "how is
it `my' fault?"


Revealing something, no one in his life ever knowing about it, Rusty says,
"because you and the teachers knew students were getting bullied and you
did nothing about it!"


"Is this true, Luke?" Marco jumps in.


"Of course not. I mean.." he knew stuff goes on like that, Luke saying,
"you never complained about being bullied."


"No dah," Rusty shares common knowledge, "you don't rat on a bully, because
they will just get even after you do!"


Clay comes in, a big, gruff, bearded dude, saying, "there's dirt all over
the carpet, Marco. You want me to go downstairs and find a `boy' to clean
it up?"


Right now, Clay was not exactly in Marco's good graces, "Clean it up
yourself, Clay!"


"Me?" Clay replies, like it's unheard of..


Then, looking over the back of the sofa, where Rusty is laid out, Marco
peers directly at Michael. He conjures up a scenario faster than a movie
producer, "on second hand, after you clean up the mess you made, Clay,
you'll be waiting on my son and his boyfriend all night."


"What-tha-fuh-uh?"


"You got a problem with that, Clay?"


"Uh," he hesitated, with real thought of wanting to put Michael in his
place, "no...uh, sir."


Michael walks over, saying, "you don't have to that Marco. All I care about
is Rusty making a full recovery."


"Fine," Marco says. "You're off the hook, Clay, but that doesn't pay the
debt you owe my son."


"And me," Michael tacks on his signature smile!


"Yes, sir," Clay leaves, goes to the hallway and gets to work on cleaning
up the footprints left on the mahogany flooring.


Then, before Michael goes back to Rusty's side, he's flabbergasted by Marco
saying, "you're a good man," gets the paternal pat on the back!


Strangely though, after Luke gives the remedy for Rusty's ailment, plenty
of rest, attention is drawn to Michael.


Sheriff Duffy had started on writing down a full account of what happened.


Luke, after working over Rusty, says to Michael, "if you want to remove
your shirt, I'll take a look at you?"


Michael jokes, "C'mon, doc," even though Luke is not, "that's the oldest
trick in the book!"


It made Luke blush, Marco stepping in, "since you've given your diagnosis,
Luke, that Rusty should get rest, if you're off duty soon, why don't you
double back to my place?"


"My shift ends at midnight, but I guess the party will just be getting
started?"



Rusty sits up, "oh-oh-oh, my head," he lies back down.


Marco to his rescue, "or maybe you should hang around for awhile, Luke?"


"Sure," Luke says on the up and up, "and then I won't need to double back
later!"


His boyfriend laid out with a headaches, Michael says, "Um, back at the
ranch, the girls have taken over the barn, which leaves no place for us
boys, so we thought you might have an extra room?"


Another kick back, of rather kick out, "Clay?"


"Yeah, Marco, I mean, `sir'," Clay looked, not at `the master of the
house', but rather Michael.


"Clean out the room I assigned you. You can sleep in your car or go home."


To go home? Clay traveled 40 miles to get here. Marco knew that. He knew
his special activity, being a high school football coach, keeping his
extracurricular activities under the wire, by distance.


"But the room's got double beds. We can share?" Clay protests.


Seeing Clay in the light, instead of a dark doorway, Michael suddenly felt
sorry for him, "he can stay in the extra bed. I mean, it's like, Rusty
isn't feeling well, so we're not going to be doing any... heavy duty stuff
tonight?"


Luke was following everything, until his cell rings. "Uh, much as I'd like
to save on the gas, got another call."


Taking his leave, Marco says, "thanks Luke. I owe ya one."


"Oh, really?" Luke eyes up Clay, in passing, saying, "I know how you could
really thank me?"


Marco knew, eyes passing between himself and Clay.


Bill, catching on, approaches the trio, "maybe I can keep him busy, while
Luke runs off on another..."


Poor Bill, gets interrupted...


"You coming, Bill?" Luke calls him.


"Another time, Bill," Marco laments. Not only being a hot bottom, Bill has
been a friend, hustling up to the house every time there's a problem, not
to mention, arranging Deputy Jack's schedule when there's a scheduling
conflict in the dungeon!


Bill turns up the heat though, "don't let this one get away with what he
did to your son."


Again, Luke's voice rings through the hallway, "Coming, Bill?"


"Don't worry, Bill," Marco stares Clay in the face, "I'll make sure he gets
what's coming to him," immediately delivering sentence, "you can stay in
the extra bed tonight, Clay."


"Thanks so much. I'd rather make the trip back in daylight, than..."


Marco cuts him off, "Michael?"


Sitting at Rusty's side, Michael looks up, "yeah?"


It's not how Marco perceived any of his guests ever addressing him, but
slowly, one person has been granted pause, "if it's okay with you, Clay
will be waiting on you hand and tongue for the evening?"


"What?" the 34-year old football coach was horrified!


Michael shrugs it off, "he can sleep in the extra bed, but I don't need him
to do anything else. I'll be taking care of Rusty."


`Definitely a good man!' Marco thought to himself, "have it your way."


Instead of walking upstairs, to shower and get ready for the party, Marco
thought of missing so much valuable time. He made sure he `thanked' Clay
for that! In the meantime, he descended the cellar stairs, getting all
psyched up for the evening of relaxation.


The more time he spent in Michael's presence, the more Clay lusted for
those hot, muscled pecs.


Too bad, it a grave mistake Clay left his post, attending to entering
guests. Sometimes traveling 40 or more miles out of one's way, just to find
privacy in wanting to do something which might be found unappealing to
other members of society...there were shortfalls.


"Hello? Anyone here?"


>From the foyer, they all heard this meek voice.


"Oh-my-god, I know that voice!" Clay looks at Michael.


"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Michael replies.


"Get rid of him!"


Then Michael goes through a 20-second dissertation, Clay briefly giving a
description of his job, as door-jockey.


"No sweat," Michael says, walking towards the door. He's called back,
turning his head, "what?"


"Your shirt. Take your shirt off."


Again, no sweat off his back, easiest way to strip his shirt in 5 seconds
or less, Michael pulls it from the back and over the top. With no place to
stash it in a hurry, Michael sticks it in his right, rear pocket, where
normally his dark pink bandana would go!


Not knowing protocol, or how to scare off wannabe intruders, Michael says,
"hey, what's up?"


The kid's eyes just about popped out, Michael knowing why!


"My friend told me there's a party going on?"


He looked really cute under the cowboy hat, Michael thinking up some
teases, "well, first, before you even came in the door, you should've taken
off your shirt?"


"Oh," the kid, looking to be no older than high school, gets fidgety, "I
can do that. Hold this," he hands Michael his hat.


Already knowing some of the aspects of standing at the door, from
experience, Michael says, "you know, if I don't like your face, I can throw
you out?"


Instead of intimidation, the kid says, "that's why I came here..." he pulls
the shirt completely off his head, shaking his brown mane out.


"It is, is it?"


"Yeah. You see, my friend told me there was this place, where a guy can act
out his fantasies," tacking on, because he thought Michael was an awesome
looking jock, "with guys like you?"


Meanwhile, out by Rusty's side, Clay had dove next to him, but on the
floor. Soon as he heard the voice, he knew it to be one of his footballers,
of the team he coached. Even though he knew Rusty to be asleep, Clay says,
"I knew I should've taken a train or a plane," meaning going farther away
to explore his fantasies!


"Guys like me, eh?" Michael was tickled to find out more, "so, if I were on
the list, paired up with you, what would you would like me to do to you?"


"Do to me?" the kid replies. "No, you've got it wrong. I was thinking of
being the guy that does stuff to another guy? By the way, what size are
you?"


Toying with the kid, "34, last time I bought a pair of jeans. How `bout
yourself?"


"No, no, no, I mean `size', in not pants or shirt size, but..."


Michael loved it, the dude grabbing his crotch-like-Jackson or Jagger, he
quickly debated it. "Oh, you mean `that' kind of size." Furthering his
prank, as it was turning into, Michael asks, "wanna see?"


Having taken his cowboy hat back, Michael thought the guy looked really
awesome. For certain, he had to be at least 17, which in his books was not
of legal age.


"Sure," the kid says.


"First, I have to see your ID."


>From behind the sofa, Clay was having 50 fits, whispering, "just get rid
of the kid!"


He realizes it for the first time, `the voice', it being that of Jeremy
Carmack!


Michael was impressed. Instead of saying he forgot his wallet, he whips it
out, opens it and slides out a pictured card.


Reading it, Michael thought it wise Clay was advised, saying loudly,
"Jeremy Carmack, birthdate, calculating he's 19, blah, blah, blah..." then
looking Jeremy straight in the eye, "awfully long way from home?"


"Uh, yeah, I hitched."


"And after the party, you're going to be hitching back?"


"I dunno. How late does the party last?"


Well, at least Michael kept his cock-size secret, "I dunno."


"Oh. I'm supposed to be calling you `boy', right?"


Michael was hardly a boy to a boy, but didn't feel like a sir, the dude
being a year younger, "why don't you just call me Michael?"


Feeling comfortable around Michael, Jeremy seeing a part of domination and
submissiveness kind of a cool thing, "uh, what happened to your front door,
Michael?"


It was complicated, Michael saying, "a dog. He gets crazy around
cats. Jumped right through the screen door, hightailing it right after
him!"


Jeremy seemed to shift gears frequently, probably because he was nervous as
all hell, "Michael, I know that not all guys who come to parties like this,
are gay. Are you gay?"


Because he was asking, Michael figured Jeremy `was', "as gay as you are!"


"That's cool, uh, would it be all right if...well, just for argument's
sake, if you were a `boy', and me the `master', that I can kiss you?"


Michael, he didn't know all of how the acting game went, roleplaying boy
and master, but liked how this kid thought, "why don't you come in and we
can talk about it," he closes the wood door with a clunk.


It's then, headed into the `leather' living room, Michael remembers, "or
not!"


It's then Rusty chooses to wake, pulling himself to sit up, "who's that,
Michael?"


"Jeremy," Michael replies, forgetting the surname on the ID.


"Oh, hi. I'm Rusty."


"Hi," Jeremy replies. With great wonder he asks, "are you a boy or a
master?"


"Neither. I'm just me," Rusty replies, coupled with a little laughter.


On the floor next to Rusty, Clay huddles like in a bomb shelter.


Jeremy says, "I never thought it would be like this?"


"Us neither. We just came here for a room for the night," Rusty carries on,
hugging the back of the sofa while kneeling.


"Yeah," Michael contributes, "and we weren't even here for the kinky stuff,
but kind of got sucked in."


For certain, Michael took note, while Clay dilly-dallied around, instead of
manning the door, some pretty seedy characters began to filter in.


"Well, I'll feel kind of disappointed, having come all this way, only to go
home, without acting out a fantasy I've been having built up for the past
week."


That kind of whet Clay's lips. Though, a footballer from his own team
didn't jive with what was at stake.


Nervousness promotes a chuckle, Michael saying, "well, my boyfriend and I
have never had a three-way!"


"Forget it Michael!"


"You didn't even hear me out," Michael pleads.


"I know who your boyfriend is!" Rusty reminds him.


"Oh. Right. Well, scratch that idea."


Smart enough, Jeremy says, "you two are boyfriends, eh?"


Perhaps Marco was too busy for housecleaning, rather should have had the
rugs done more than a month apart...


"Ah-h-ah-ah-ah-h-h-choo!"


"Who was that?" Jeremy caught on to the three of them not the only one in
the room.


"Probably the wind," Michael says, "happens in these old houses."


At fault, or maybe uninformed, Rusty says, "it was Clay."


By now, Clay had wormed his way to the opposite end of the sofa, hunched
like a turtle.


The high school grad was too fox to outfox them, walking around the sofa to
find out where the sneeze came from, only to discover, "Coach Vincent?"


Rolling over onto his back, coach replies, "hi there, Jeremy."


With the charade up, Clay stands to confront Jeremy on adult level, "I bet
you're wondering why I'm dressed like this?"


He could have accused his football coach of this or that, rather more
curious than anything, "wow, is this real leather?"


Slipping back into role somewhat, Clay replies, "of course it's real
leather," he wipes Jeremy's hand away, "and don't go touching it, unless
you ask first!"


Michael, having sensed Jeremy was here, not as a `submissive'. According to
Marco, Clay owes him, so Michael takes advantage, "Oh, I thought it should
be more like, you, Clay, asking politely for Jeremy to touch it?"


"You're crazy," Clay replies.


They weren't in the gym, on the school field, nowhere on school property,
so why should Jeremy play `nice'? He rehearsed all day yesterday, with an
older friend he met outside the adult bookstore last week and knowing
exactly what he was going to say to the first `boy' he met, Jeremy
dictates, "get on my cock, boy!"


"What the fuck did you say to me, you little twit?"


For Michael and Rusty, this was better entertainment than Saturday Night
Live!


"Look, you can forget you're my football coach and pretend you're my boy."


"And why would I want to do that?" Clay asks, standing there, feet shoulder
width apart, arms folding over what looked like, meaty pecs.


Michael sticks his neck out, "uh, because the master tells you to?"


Rusty comments, "Michael, shut up!"


"Yeah, Michael," Clay takes hint, "shut the fuck up!"


But then, Jeremy puts Michael on the spot, "you gonna take that from this
boy?"


Michael puts his foot down, "Of course not. In fact, maybe I should go find
the person who's running the party and ask him if I should `shut the fuck
up'?"


Marco called the shots and Clay knew this. A few things could occur here;
Marco banning him from the parties, out of spite for knocking his son
around. On very few occasions, when there were more tops than bottoms,
which has not happened to Clay, there could be a slip in Marco's good
graces, winding up on his knees. He should have just called it a night and
left, but there was also Jeremy to contend with, if he should go running
blabber-mouthed all over school... Then, thinking mentally, `Facebook?',
Clay was terrified of the outcome!


"Okay, but..."


This is where Michael stepped in, throwing his weight around, with
moves-like-Marco, "Uh, there is one thing."


"What's that?" Jeremy asks, but curiosity was on Clay's face.


"The video."


"Video?" Jeremy questions.


Though, Clay and Jeremy both were looking around for the hidden cameras!


"You gotta sign a paper saying you're okay being filmed. We use this in
case you decide to talk about it outside of our trusted little circle,"
Michael made up as he went along, "which entails you doing something to
some other guy and in turn, you may be the one on the other end, taking it
from another guy. In the case you decide to be a blabbermouth, the video is
sent to your family."


Michael was putting it so well, Clay didn't feel a need to question the
validity of his well-crafted plan. At the same time, even though he's seen
Jeremy waisted in a towel, in the locker room, in this scenario, he sure
looked fitting enough to drop to his knees, so lies, "yeah, we all go
through it. It's not so bad. Besides, no one will see your face, while
you're sucking my cock?"


Like it's the most repulsive thing in the world, Jeremy says, "You on
drugs, coach? I'm not sucking your cock!"


Too bad Coach Vincent had to stand there, argue, when faced with Jeremy's
lightly haired chest, two perky nips, modest bellyhole and trail to the
treasure, "I see. Looks like we're at a stalemate."


Then, Jeremy let's everything slide right into Michael's hands, "you're in
charge, right?"


Michael knew he was `in charge', put on some attitude, "what of it?"


"Who's the top and who's the bottom?"


Not wanting to get snowed, regardless of what Marco has said, Clay says,
"that's not at all how it goes. A man comes here, knowing who he is, with
no room for question. Besides," his eyes flow over Jeremy's bod, "it's not
my place to fall on my knees and that's that!"


Going on Marco's approval, Michael makes a corporate decision, "who knows,
you might like it!"


Michael sure liked the sight of Jeremy's bulging briefs!


Rusty was both intrigued by all this, especially the command performance,
especially when Clay was the force behind his headache, "you tell him!" he
claps like mad.


Instead of badgering, which would fall into his role, Jeremy calmly says,
"oh come on, Coach Vincent, it's not like I'm going to tell anyone. I
graduated last month. Like, how am I gonna blab it all over the school,
when I'm not there?"


Clay's thought it logical, though another option remained, "and what's
going to stop you from sharing it on social media?" Face to face, the two
go at it, "it could mean my coaching job. What have you got to lose?"


"A football scholarship, but chances are, after this summer, coach, we'll
never see each other again."


"That's right," Clay says, thinking on equal terms right now, "you'll go
your way and I'll go... nowhere. You gotta promise you're not gonna come
back and haunt me?"


Smartly put, Jeremy says, "think about it, coach, if I start blogging about
you sucking me off, it's going to make me look just as bad as you?"


"He's got a point," Michael says.


But then Marco comes back, with more pressing matters, "Rusty?"


"Yeah, dad?"


"Did you forget about the pool party at Shane's, which is happening right
at this very moment?"


Still in his teen years, Jeremy changes his mind, "pool party? I love pool
parties!"


%


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.