Date: Sat, 8 Oct 2016 15:28:09 +0000
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 23

% This work of fiction is set in the format of real-world
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"JoLLy RaNCHeRs" 23

WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


^   0   ^


%


As it goes, Coach Vincent never had to bow down before his former football
team member, Jeremy Carmack.


Jeremy set out to conquer the world of `bdsm', having wound up at Marco's
home residence, which also contained a basement dungeon.


Rusty, he wasn't `like father, like son,' could care less about roughing
guys up for the sake of keeping shafts hard and flowing. There were other
means to arrive at the same conclusion!


Heading back to the ranch, even though Rusty's dad said he would meet him
at Shane's pool party, it didn't phase either of the new lovers. If
anything, Rusty had it on his mind to get to know Michael more, without all
the other drama.


Time alone for the pair was satisfying enough, finding out last night,
finding out how compatible; perfect fit, without getting into labels,
matching up as top and bottom.


Back at the ranch, Rusty had plans of his own, only to be thwarted by
Michael, spotting kids and adults around a campfire, "hey, anyone up for a
ghost story?"


Rusty stood there, on the footsteps of the burning embers, Michael rushing
over and finding a spot between two kids.


How could he be angry? Again, Michael was showing his boy scout leadership
skills, diving in. Thinking plenty of time to know Michael more, he chose
his own spot around the ring of fire. At the least, Rusty would be picking
up on some good ghost stories!


He thought it a good idea to `meet and greet', choosing 2 of Michael's
`Seattle pride' buddies, whom Rusty had already scoped out. Having observed
the 2 tight-knit individuals, in his mind, thinking they were partnered up,
Rusty squats to the left of the couple, "think I can squeeze in here,
guys?"



Much to Rusty's surprise, they didn't mind split their pairing, "not a
problem. I'm Jed," Jed, the older of the two, defined by salt and pepper
hair, moves his butt to the left.


If Rusty had remained on course, he would've plopped right down on Jed's
lap, but caught himself just in time.


Scooting to the right, Rusty divides the two, "are you sure?"


"Sure we're sure," he introduces, "I'm Ned."


"Ned and Jed?" Rusty questions, sitting on the log, between, "I'm bet
there's a story there?"


Truly, Rusty got the impression, after finding out Ned, 40-years old, Jed,
44, were a couple, but did not mind sharing with a young lad!


He sort of paid attention to how Ned and Jed met, but it also gave Rusty a
chance to gaze around the circumference, getting to know those, who knew
Michael, a little better.


Like crafty storytellers, Jed, the elder-er, was more serious in his
approach. Ned-the-younger, would inject little innuendos, with sexual
connotation, like using the word `worm', or `snake'. After all, there were
young boys present, which gave them the heads up to mind their manners.


When Ned's `nads got a little jumpy, Jed would reach over in front of
Rusty, slap him on the thigh, reprimand, "hey, wanna watch how you word
that, Ned?"


Rusty could only smile at Ned's antics, "oops," holding a hand over his
mouth, cupping the seedy words inside!


Thinking Ned kinda cute, Rusty stood up for him, "I'm sure, with Michael
keeping the kids busy with his ghost story, they didn't pay any mind."


"Well," Jed continues with the ridicule, "since we all hold Michael in deep
respect, we `all' `should be' paying attention, `Ned?'"


"Oh sure," Ned replies, shutting up!


Rusty was glad and sad.


Sad, because Ned's rendition of his and Jed's love story held many sexual
tidbits, enough to make his loins swell without touching.


Glad that Jed told his partner to shush, because he loved to see Michael
interact with the kids. He kept them on the edge, but at the end of his
story, drew it to a humorous close. The kids' moms approved of this
greatly, being they would only come back the next morning and blame Michael
for causing nightmares!


Ready to herd the kids back to sleeping quarters, their children ruled,
begging them to allow Michael to tell them one more story. The beggars got
their way!


It also gave Rusty the chance to circle the campfire, checking out those he
knew and had yet to meet.


He knew right off, Coury and Bart, because even though they were supposed
to pair off as `counselor' and `offender', in the corrections program, they
more were passed off as `father' and `son'. Although, Rusty had it in mind,
Coury sure had worked wonders in turning Bart's attitude around!


Brett hung with some of other other dudes, Dave...and some other guys,
Rusty either knew faces and couldn't put names to them, or they were brand
new recruits. It didn't matter. He made it his job, since he had the power
to do so, to followup on Michael, make the rounds and discover who was who.


When he made his way around to Kira, she suddenly stepped out of character,
offering a friendly wave and over-bubbly, `hiya!' Rusty stepped out and
offered back, `hey, there,' adding a thumb's up. Kira got the message, with
Katrina on her arm.


He was surprised, at the end of `the victory garden girls,' there sat
Ricky's sister, Missy West. Next to her was this dude, whom Rusty had never
met, but assumed he was with Missy, his arm over her shoulders. With every
scary line of Michael's story, Missy would grab him around the middle, for
`protection' from the evil which dwell all around!


Throughout the evening, Rusty learned, from Maury, the two boys next to him
were Danny and Davy. They had an older sister, Angelique, who right now was
watching the baby, Martin. He was too little to appreciate ghost stories.


Davy rolled his eyes, explaining to Rusty, Angelique didn't mind if she
missed the campfire, wanting to do her nails!


The victory garden crew stay around, until the flame began to die, along
with the kids' energy. Rusty thought it was his fault, the kids tired of
him burning the marshmallows!


Sooner than later, the kids did conk out, mothers and others helping take
them back to the barn area.


With that half of the circle empty, some dudes happened by, "you should
have been there, Mikey," one of them braces a hand on Michael's shoulder,
helping himself to sit on the log.


"Where?" Michael asks, nodding to his other friends from Seattle, as they
sit here and there, filling in the large open gap in the circle.


Enough of a hint should have been, shirtless and in speedos!


"Marco's accountant's mansion, up in what they call, `the hills.' Man, what
a set up," he says, cracking open a beer, passing the 5-pack down the line.


After Michael gets a nudge, in the ribs, "oh, Brad, this is my boyfriend,
Rusty."


Brad, leaning in front of Michael, couldn't help but nudge him in the pecs,
"hey, how's it going?" he reaches over.


Sometimes, going to the gym, building up one's bod, can get a person in
trouble, which has Michael losing his footing and falling backwards.


It left Brad and Rusty in a long-arm handshake, Brad saying, "that's
Michael, always hamming it up!"


One of his other buds, stands, peers over the top of the flames, "need a
hand there, Mikey?"


The kids weren't there, so Michael could joke, "depends on where you're
gonna put it, Tad!"


Unlatching Brad's hand, Rusty says, "What was that Michael?"


Then Michael became the bad guy, his `good friends, buddies,' accusing him
of cheating on his boyfriend!


By the end of the night, rather early morning, friends learn what they
thought was cheap gossip, Michael hooking up with the boss' son and got it
through their heads, Rusty was also a person to look up to, not to cross,
on account of Marco being related! Though, unlike the father, the son was
more easy going. They could joke and not worry that their joking was being
taken in the wrong context.


Not many stayed long, leaving in trickles, until all that was left is
Rusty, Michael, Coury and Bart.


Since tomorrow was Saturday, Coury calls over the dying fire, "by the way,
Bart and me are heading out to do some canoeing, if you two are
interested?"


Rusty was having a good time, and at the mention of a fishing trip, it
jogged his memory. This was supposed to be a `father and son' weekend,
fishing, eating out, talking over stuff. His dad had cancelled out, but
Rusty wasn't too stricken with grief, having Michael around!


"Sure. You bringing the worms?" Michael laughs.


It threw Rusty for a loop, though he didn't really care that it wasn't his
decision, nor that Michael asking if it were okay.


Bart and Coury point the finger at each other, both saying, "he is!"


Smiling, Bart says, "I guess we both are."


Which Coury follows up with, "which we better get hunting, because the best
time to harvest worms, is by the moonlight!"


"Really?" Michael replies, "I never heard of that."


Bart stands next to Coury, "he knows a lot of stuff ya never heard of!"


"Like what?" Rusty stands with Michael.


Stand? Reaching for Michael's arm, it was more like hoisting a sail!


Was it flirting, or sincere, Bart saying, "Michael seems like a pretty
smart guy. Why not ask him?"


Well, it must have been what was on Rusty's mind, Coury giving Bart a swat
in the fanny!


"Hmm," Michael scratches his head, lifting his cowboy hat up an inch,
"allow corporal punishment in the offender's program, do they?"


He didn't get an answer, two figures stepping up to the campfire.


"Oh good! The lake, it was like freezing!"


Rusty recognizes the mountain biker, but with no bike and not much else
besides man-flesh, "midnight swim, Josh?"


He could have kept it under wraps, but with Rusty's eyes already checking
him out, "did you know, it's the first place to go numb?"


First Rusty bit a lip. He probably figured, even though a full moon and
dying embers of a campfire, the darkness would surely hide his prying eyes,
"go numb?" he play stoopid.


Smirking, tough for anyone to tell, except Josh, "never mind. It's
complicated!"


However, Eric, being a pro-mountain biker, having won awards, metals,
trophies, is more open, "what Josh means, first it's the balls that go numb
and then the next part to go is..."


An arm, corralled around Eric, Josh says, "uh, I think they get there
picture, sweetheart!"


"Sweethearts is it?" Rusty questions.


Eric, more brazen about what he says, "yeah and one thing I find about
Josh, he's such a modest guy!"


"Hmm," Rusty, well-knowing what that means, "you don't say?"


Michael had been chatting up Coury and Bart and because the two older men
could boast about their tight chests, abs and compare gym notes, it made
Bart wander.


He wanted to be modest himself, but being the sausage was already in the
frying pan, Bart straightens Rusty out real quick, "I think they're
probably more than sweethearts," and more forward than most guys, "like, I
wonder who fucks who?"


Rusty, not which he was Bart's keeper, excuses himself, "I think I'll go
see what Michael is up to."


Josh, he didn't mind it at all, turning the conversation over to Eric and
Bart. The lake, it was kind of cold. He needed something to warm his loins
up!


After Eric frankly talks up what a nice `suck' Josh is and other matters of
the tongue, Bart remarks, "so, you like it all. Ever get into
gut-punching?"


That stirred Josh, but not in the way he would have liked it to go, "like,
where did that come from?"


"Chill," Eric tells Josh, "like, I haven't a problem with it?"


Suddenly, `sweethearts' started to have a souring taste, Josh saying, "oh
really? I suppose you've had experience, Eric?"


Then, it was Eric sucking on a sourball, "it's like...complicated?"


For the life of him, what he and Eric had started building up, around
spirit of mountain biking, Josh wasn't about to allow something
`complicated' change that, "maybe we should go talk this out," he looks
around, at present company, "before it `gets in our way?'"


Eric took the alternative, dragged away by Josh's hand, but longed to stay
and talk with Bart.


Bart lifting both hands, says, "was it something I said?"


"We'll see you guys tomorrow," Coury says, walking over to Bart, to collect
him.


"Fishing, you mean?" Michael wondered if they were still on.


"Depends on how `tonight' goes," Coury offers a smile.


Without consulting Michael, Rusty takes on the chore, "uh, you can forget
about the worms. We'll dig some up."


With Coury and Bart walking away, Michael gasps, "are you crazy?"


"No. Why? All we have to do is get some flashlights and shovel, find a good
place to dig and I bet we'll find plenty of worms. What's so hard about
that?"


Holding a pec, like saluting, Michael whines, "I hate picking up worms,"
then a hand grasping a hip, "and by the way, you're baiting my hook
tomorrow!"


About to laugh at his boyfriend, Rusty says, "how about we have a
tradeoff?"


"How would that go?"


"I bait your hook tomorrow and you bait mine tonight!"


Michael settled for that. He also talked Rusty into getting up early
tomorrow and looking for worms!


%


Next morning, Cleg Ranch Resort was very quiet. The only place where
chatter could be found, was the kitchen.


Dave Barklee had his first, full-fledged, rude awakening, Antonio the mean
sergeant whom commanded his `kitchen slaves', to roll out of the
bed. Literally, when Dave ignored a slap to the butt-cheek, telling him he
was suing and to get away, Antonio tilted the cot!


It didn't stop Antonio, he had warned Dave they had to be up at 4am, in
order to serve breakfast at 6. The hours were flexed on Sunday, but the 6
other days of the week, the same ole-same-ole applied. The previous day's
warning was enough for Antonio to go on, tipping the bed from slight, to
`hazardous'.


Funny thing, the tents didn't have built in flooring. Night before, Dave
chose to sleep in the raw. He was kind of running on empty from playing
around all day with 2 different guys, so his machinery was out of
production by the time he got some shuteye. Regardless, even though Dave
didn't have much ammunition to shoot off, he went to bed naked. It felt
good, especially when there wasn't any air conditioning, except open tent
windows.


When his cot tipped, Dave hugs his pillow for dear life. It didn't save him
from rolling over and over, out of bed and right out, under the side of the
tent!


There Dave lay, in the dirt, faced down, his nuts and bolt ground into the
dirt, like ground-round!


It was embarrassing enough, not which Dave could not be guilty of
exhibiting his `trio' in the woods or at the swimming hole. Difference
here, it wasn't his choice to be buttnaked outside.


Then, worst case scenario, Michael's Seattle bunch were heading down to the
river for a wakeup swim!


"Thank you, Jesus!" Tad prayed, hands together and looking up at the sky,
which didn't hold the sun yet.


Still, Dave's ass was visible!


One of the others, oldest of the Seattle pride crowd, 53-year old Bobby
Deal, bends over and addresses Dave, "need a hand there, lad?"


Tad was ready give Bobby more than a hand, looking at that butt. Only thing
which turned him off, he was into younger, though not as young as Dave,
whom at 18-years old, he's probably seen more action than Tad!


Tight bunch from Seattle, they knew, when it looked as if a connection was
made, they went on the saying, `first-come, first-served.'


Moving on, they left Bobby there to help the lad to his feet. The only
thing which remained, was Dave interested?


Finally, Antonio, who knew the new law, governing running around the ranch
without threads, managed to pull on his pants and appears at the side of
the tent, "sorry, Dave. I didn't mean for it to go this far. Are you okay?"


Sure Dave was okay, but wasn't saying it, nor acting the part of being fit
as a fiddle. Though he did manage to screech, "you're a moron, Tony!"


Doing a push up, Dave springs up and walks away.


It left Antonio on the right, Bobby on the left, without the victim in the
middle!


"I don't think we've met?" Bobby offers his hand, standing.


>From squatting, Antonio takes a hand for the launching, "don't think
so. I'm Antonio."


"Bobby Deal. I'm unofficially the head honcho who keeps my guys in order."


"Your guys?"


Bobby fills him in, "we're kind of known as the rowdy guys from the Seattle
Gay Pride Center. We were friends, who met there for fun and games, but
after seeing the notice, we all decided it would be great to make a
change."


Antonio thought Bobby's eyes to be a little shifty. Though, could he blame
him, standing there without a shirt, flaunting his Italian-haired chest?


Derailing Bobby's eyes, he asks, "So, do you like the change?"


Walking inside the tent, Bobby follows, "A few moments ago, I thought it
well worth it."


"And now?" Antonio takes to covering up some of that fur with a towel over
his shoulder.


"Even more so!"


Coupled with the smile, Antonio was ready to award Bobby with the right set
of words, which provokes, "well, I know there's no construction work on the
weekends, but some of us have the kind of job which is almost 24/7. How
about some breakfast before `breakfast'?"


Bobby had hoped he would be invited, though it didn't necessarily need to
be the kitchen, "my mouth `is' kind of dry for a glass of juice."


Antonio knew what Bobby was saying, "how about orange juice to start?"


Maybe Dave thought it a helluva nerve to get dumped out of bed, but Antonio
wasn't regretting anything!


%


A few tents over, for the past few minutes, since being the first to wake,
Rusty lay his chin on Michael's stomach and gazed upwards. His head would
bob up and down, with the movement of Michael's lungs breathing in,
exhaling. They hadn't gotten to sleep until about 2am, and with 2 hours
sleep, Rusty figured he would let his boyfriend to sleep-in.


Though, there came a time when Rusty realizes something, that he's not
going to fall asleep again. If he was awake, then Michael needed to be
awake. For the past several minutes, it had been temptation gnawing at his
hands, to reach out his spider like fingers, reach up and tweak Michael's
nips. Finally he could not contain himself!


It did feel ever-so-strange to touch bare nips, so he went at it gently. In
doing so, he got Michael to talk in his sleep!


"Mm-mm," was the only reaction, until he got an "o-oh," out of Michael.


Keeping on, Rusty finally gets some coherent speech out of his boyfriend,
"get ready...you're about to get poked in the bellybutton!"


The giggle was a dead give away, Michael awake and faking it.


Two gentle sets of digits, fingers and thumbs, became lethal weapons,
"ow-w-oh-oh-oh," Michael opens his eyes and feels the sting issued upon his
nips!


"That's what you get, faker!"


In his own little innocent way, Michael says, "can we fake it again?"


Lying there, Rusty had reminisced over their early morning escapade in bed,
whereas he tried 3 different positions to shoot his load. First it was
Michael, on hands and knees, working his shaft like a popsicle.


Rusty had thought he was ready to come, but Michael wanted it up the ass.


Not having a lot of fucking experience, Rusty asked which way Michael
preferred.


It became a drama of sorts, Rusty not sure, Michael arguing. If they didn't
hurry and figure it out, the moment would be lost.


Rusty could not deny, his slick stick quickly drying out.


That was okay, for when Rusty did decide he wanted Michael on his back,
before doing so, he got a second, highly erotic blow job.


With his dipstick oiled up, Rusty parted the way and gave Michael a ride,
which would make him not forget anytime soon, the pushing which led to
shoving!


"I think we're both kind of a stinkin' mess?"


Michael couldn't agree more, Rusty pulling out, whipping the condom off,
tossing it to an unknown location and then soiling up his pubes and
bellyhole swath with his sweet cream. In the process, Michael let loose,
which he felt embarrassed that some of it shot up Rusty's chest!


"Uh, sorry `bout my `fountain', shooting up, you know?"


Smooth, Rusty didn't have all those fibers to coagulate the runny goo.


Different when a dude has all those chest fibers to catch remnants of a
blast off, drying where the spunk has landed.


With no hair to block streams of running goo, Rusty reports, hand feeling
up his own chest, rounding a pec, "feels almost like nothing."


For Michael, he kept his muscular physique shaved, which is most likely why
guys so admired the bulbous pecs. Though, there was enough of a swatch of
belly hair, bellyhole swath to catch the goo.


"I know, the honey has kind of dried up!"


Michael's hand found what his lover found on his own chest, scabs of dried
cum, but it had a different feel when running digits through the hairy
part.


"Maybe we should go scour it off?"


Liking Rusty's idea, Michael goes to get up, get out of bed.


"On second thought..."


"Mm-mm," Michael loved the idea, of when he began crawling over Rusty, a
foot on the floor, he was pulled back into bed, "only too bad your spike is
so flabby!"


His butt landed right on the place where, if he was sitting like a king on
his throne, and Rusty had a hard erection, it could've given Michael his
jollies all over again.


"Just lay here with me a while longer?"


"Are you sure the worms can wait?"


They were supposed to head out to the lake and fish this morning, but
sleep-deprived, a result of wearing themselves thin with all that heated
sex, they chose to `doze-in'.


%


It seemed to be the case all over the ranch. Whereas those who had big
plans yesterday, for Saturday morning, best laid plans evaporated, with
previous night activity.


It were only those who had the will and stamina to rise up out of bed and
follow through on early morning plans, stood at the lake, casting reels.


Coury knew, way back when he was first appointed leader of the offenders
program, a loosely constructed `second arm' of the law, he was supposed to
emulate the position of `prison magistrate.' However, without jail cell
bars, nor anything which resembled that type of environment, it was easy to
get sidetracked.


Lost in the wilderness of Cleg Ranch Resort, with his ward, Bart Bilborski,
it was simple to deviate from protocol. When Justin showed up, he thought
he would be playing father to his biological son, but Coury found Justin
wanting his freedom to roam. Maybe both had visions of what life should be
like, but it's not like they were continents away, rather a mile, maybe the
most.


"Well, you gonna show me how to do this, `dad'?" the 20-year old asks.


Even though Bart joked, Coury was used to it now and actually didn't mind
the idea of the cute namesake.


`Though', still new to both, Coury always reminded, "remember not to call
me that around others?"


Bart giggled, replying, "right, `dad'," said like an annoyed teenager.


"Well, I'm just reminding you," Coury steps up, behind Bart, reaching
around him to take the reel and rod in hand, "because we're not supposed to
be on such friendly terms?"


He already knew that, Bart thinking over last night. One thing about having
an `adopted dad,' there were no legal pretensions involved. The fake son
and dad relationship allowed them to get close, without having to worry
about closeness. Keeping aspects out of sync with the real reason they are
at the ranch resort, that took practice.


Last night, Bart undressed, climbed onto the cot, stretched out like
advertising himself in his birthday suit, while Coury checked and rechecked
the flimsy tent `door', making sure the thin ties were tied off. He even
put something in front of the opening, in case someone were to get passed
the security measures in place.


Turning around, Coury, still in his army fatigues, remarks, "oh my, aren't
we a fast worker?"


Previously, they slept in briefs, Coury keeping his white tank top
on. Bart, he donned briefs, but went shirtless.


Like last night and the night before, they slept in separate cots. Though,
even though Coury slept on his side, ass faced towards Bart, he could
`feel' eyes on him.


It's why he turned back over, "hey, can't sleep yet, how about you?"


Bart had trouble sleeping the past 2 nights. On the third day, he felt more
comfortable with his `warden,' what with the horseplay in the lake,
swimming naked, feeling his balls on the back of Coury's neck when playing
chicken-fights with the others.


Dwelling on the thoughts of horsing around at the lake, "yeah, me
neither. I think it's because of the `rope burn' on the undersides of my
balls, from rubbing against your neck!"


Coury sympathized, "Hmm, feel kinda bad for you and all. Wish I had some
ointment to rub into them, but I don't think they have an infirmary set up
yet, or I'd go get you some!"


First time Bart and Bret had sex, they didn't use any kind of store-bought,
fancy lube. Bret had been the one to clue Bart into using `spit' to lube up
a cock...


"I was thinking more like...spit?"


The smile on Bart's face made Coury sit up, on the edge of his cot, "that
sounds like an invitation?"


Bart, whom had been on his side, facing Coury, rolls onto his back, saying,
"well, what're ya sitting there for? Time's a-wastin'!"


Last night wasn't a one-sided deal. After Bart got his balls cuddled by
Coury's mouth, tongue losing control, running up and down the sides of
Bart's hard shaft...


"Y'know," Coury says, "my balls feels a little chafed too?"


Lying there, hands behind his head, flirting with his dark-haired pits,
Bart says, "well, you have your choice of seats?"


Hand around Bart's hard shaft, Coury kept rubbing the lad's joystick,
keeping it stiff. He knew the implications, trading off sitting
lower. Placing feet on the floor, straddling both cot and bod, he awkwardly
walks the length of Bart's abs, "since the night is young!"


It's not like, when more than mates with Bret, the two didn't trade off
favors. Though, Bret's cock was the only cock Bart ever sucked, "I hope I
can do you justice?"


On the other hand, Coury being 42-years old, he's had many encounters with
men, on different tips of the scale. He's been both sucker and fucker, even
game to kinky stuff, like cuffs or rope. Though, in that case, there's only
one man he trusted to tie him down and Marco, he was a fair kind of guy
when it came to that freaky stuff!


"Yeah..sure," Bart sounded unconvincing.


Smirk on his face, Coury could feel the signature of reluctance, "if you're
not okay with it..."


Bart had been staring at what Coury was struttin', placed on the palm of
his hand, reacts, "well, you're not as big as...um.."


"Bret?" Coury guesses.


"Yeah," Bart felt he had nothing to hide, "you got it." Then, sending a
message, "Bret's the only cock I ever sucked, you know?"


By his way of saying it, Coury was under the impression Bart didn't really
want to...


"Well, I could just `slide on down,' if that's what you want?"


Lost for words, all Bart could think of, "it would sure feel good...maybe?"


Not akin to labels, Coury knew what felt great for himself. Though, the
scale uneven, he didn't mind it if a guy wanted to suck him and he
reciprocate. But, if a guy wanted his ass filled, Coury would fulfill the
feeling. Heated sex did that to a guy. However, his real forte was making a
dude feel great by how his tongue could manipulate..."Oh, I aim to please!"


Bart has already had a taste of how Coury's lips and tongue could firm him
up in no time, so he was thinking, "it's okay if I fuck you?"


Coury, slipping down Bart's abs, his ass rams into something hard, "this
give you a hint?"


It made Bart smile, without delivery of vocal interpretation.


"Only," Coury rises up, feet on the floor, cock and balls dangling down, "I
don't know how it's going to work, with spreading your legs?"


Moving legs out wide, Bart's legs fell over the edge. Though, balls falling
into the trough of the cot, "I guess it's a no go, if you feel a hankerin'
to tonguing my ass...um, you like to do that too?"


It made Coury's mouth water, "you're kiddin' me? Man, I like it all and
trust me, I do a thorough job!"


Doing some tent adjustments, they folded the cots up.


"I think I'm losing it," Bart says, firming his own cock.


"Don't worry about that," Coury replies, bending over to grab a blanket,
laying it out, "I'll have you rock hard again in not time a-tall!"


Probably, their `nads making them hustle, they had the tent set up for sex,
real quick.


Looking down upon Bart, it suddenly occurs to Coury, how lust has gotten
the better of him, "on second thought..."


Bracing both hands, just below Bart's knees, reality strikes. If he bends
over, gobbling up the 20-year old's shaft, it suddenly went against
everything which cut out the mold for the job he was supposed to be doing.


"What's up?" Bart rocks forward, onto both elbows.


"Call it guilt," Coury sits back on his knees, dumbfounded.


Like they were reading on the same wifi channel, Bart says, "oh..right, you
mean this thing between us, me an offender and you my, um...jail-keeper?"


Suddenly, the atmosphere changed, from would-be lovers, to roles of
societal justice.


"Yeah, that's about the gist of it."


However, they had come this far, not to do something, Bart saying, "how's
`bout we keep it simple, then?"


Simple meant, tumbling out of bed, lying on a blanket, spread out on the
floor and making a little love, hands grasping each other up and shooting
like mad all over the place.


"That was good," Bart says, even though his sentence lacked enthusiasm.


"Yeah," Coury felt likewise, "it was."


It was good, hands starting out smooth, picking up momentum and then, like
it was a contest, jerking each other off, seeing who could make the other
come first.


"Though," Bart hands Coury the `benefit of the doubt', "you `are' really
good at making a guy shoot a big wad?"


Coury's soupy hand, resting on his own chest, proved that, "yeah, but
you're not so bad yourself!"


Agreeing somewhat, Bart says, lifting a finger out of the cesspool of his
bellyhole, "I guess?"


A versatile kind of guy, as it fit the occasion, Coury takes Bart's hand by
the wrist, lifting the lad's fingertips to his lips, "mm-mmm," he jokes, "I
must have the recipe!"


Rolling his eyes, Bart says, "you should taste it from the pot!"


Perhaps Coury wasn't ready to go all the way, but halfway, taking it like a
strong request, it made both of their nights, beginning with cleaning
Bart's cock off and then making him come again!



Fishing this morning, was not at all like fishing under the sheets last
night!


Word had already gotten around, no more nude swimming, nor any form of
nudity in public. It only took one reason, kids staying at the
ranch-resort. Too, by order of `Marco', they were interested in turning the
ranch into a full time, workable resort, so precedence needed to be set.


Though, if wasn't forbidden to wear swimsuits. Bart, he didn't have one in
his bag, so Coury said it would be permissible to wear boxer shorts. Not
willing to be even caught dead in boxers, Bart suggested briefs. It was a
no go with Coury, because he knew, a guy like Bart, with a big bulge, it
was too `showy'.


It did feel kind of `weird', wearing boxer shorts, an over abundance of
roominess, but Bart went with it.


Too, being out in the open, fresh air, was a totally different experience
than breathing in the stale environment of after-sex.


"Hey."


"What?" Coury questions, ready to help Bart with his first cast of the
reel.


"I think I feel something `hard' on my ass!"


"You're supposed to be paying attention to casting!"


"I know, but I feel what I feel!"


Coury just rolled his eyes, Bart turning a cheek to show his reaction.


"You're supposed to be using your brain, not your...you know what?"


Sure, his mind was supposed to on fishing, but Bart couldn't help sharing,
"I was a virgin, until Bret took my cherry, but there hasn't ever been any
other man to go there."


"How interesting," Coury replies, "but let's keep our minds on fishing, why
don't we?"


Though, Coury did have a problem focusing, with the tip of his cock rubbing
against Bart's backside. Time and time again, it would prove to him he
could a totally versatile type of guy.


"Hey, how's the fishing, dad?"


It was Coury's `other' son, the real one, flesh and blood, "good," he steps
back from Bart. In case his son spotted some `bulge', "and your friend?"


Spoken like a true dad, questioning the guy on his son's arm!


"Oh! Dad, this is Jeremy. We ran into each other in the woods."


Coury could tell there was more to it, when Jeremy says, "yeah literally."
He then walks over to Justin's dad, "good to meet you, Sir."


Friend or more than friend, Coury could judge right away, Jeremy checking
him out, "nice to meet you too."


A conversation ensued, built around the fishing tackle and rod Jeremy was
carrying.


Both in shorts, Justin wore a shirt, Jeremy a muscle tank, but both
stripping them off immediately, Coury observing.


"Wow! You see that?" Bart says of the first nibble on his line.


Coury was too busy looking the other way, but covered for himself, "did he
take the bait?"


"Nah," Bart replies, "I think he got away."


"Keep trying." Though, Coury thought he better keep his eyes on business in
front of him and not off to the side!


Seems that not everyone chose to sleep in, Rusty and Michael finally making
it down to the lake, carrying a can of worms.


Strange enough, Rusty was bummed out of his gourd, his `father' showing up,
"dad, what're you doing here?"


Marco blames it on the guy with him, "Chris said I gotta try these new
lures they got in."


Justin smiles, peering over at Chris Dallo. He knows about the `back room'
at The Trading Post, his balls churning at the thought of the special
merchandise. It wasn't really the time to speak of such things, but if
opportunity presented itself, he might put a word in with Chris, in
private, inviting himself for a tour!


One thing he did notice, Marco greeting his dad with a tight hug. He knew
the two were former `Army' and their past criss-crossed, but realizes the
bond it seems to affect both.


"A lure, Marco, when we went to the trouble of digging up these fine worms?
Really?"


"Oh?" Chris Dallo questions, "and what's the problem with my lures?"


"Well," Coury thinks fast, "for one thing, they're not organic!"


Chris, his opinion of Coury was a fine, muscular specimen and at the
mention of putting down the lures sold at his store, he had visions of the
42-year old, strung up, hanging from the rafters. Though, as a friend of
Marco, he would resort to using a feather on the sides of those muscular
abs, rather than rough toys!


Bart, who was wearing plain old sneakers, no socks, slips on a rock,
plunging into the deep, which broke off conversation, Coury diving in after
him.


Well, it wasn't really a dive, too shallow, but Coury thought a perfect
diversion, from the weird merchandise sold at the Trading Post. Coury had
the impression, Chris much too good looking to be enemies!


"Michael," Marco stood next to him, "we need to talk."


"Sorry. We're out for some fun. Can't we talk business on Monday?"


Standing there, hands on hips, jaw dropped open, Marco was stunned by
Michael's audacity, carrying on with his fishing, being ignored. Yet, he
quickly recovered, after seeing how well he was getting along with Rusty.


Having witnessed it, Chris mentions, in Marco's ear, "we should invite
Michael to a dungeon party, eh?"


"Off limits," is all Marco had to mention, Chris backing down.


On one side of Coury stood Bart, Justin on the other, so he got all the
dirt on how he and Jeremy met.


Literally, they clashed in the woods, Jeremy on a run, crashing into
Justin, who had stepped out onto the path after taking a leak.


Justin, bold and brazen, when it came to be, Jeremy lying on top of him,
didn't hesitate to exercise his feelings, each grabbing the other up in a
hug.


Of course he apologized, but it being too late for that stuff, Jeremy
lowered his face over Justin.


By the time the two got to their feet, they were in love!


"By the way, son, where is it you wound up working?"


With a show of how pleased Justin was, `ugh,' "housekeeping."


Coury continues the fatherly checkout, "doing laundry?"


"Everything but. More like going around to the tents, picking up dirty
clothes, half-filled condoms..."


He knew a little about Justin, like how he lives for suckjobs, "I hope you
don't vacuum them out?"


"Ewe, dad!"


Jeremy jumps into the conversation, "Really?"


Justin covers, "dad, he's got this warped sense of humor. You'll get used
to him!"


"Thanks for straightening it out with your," Coury wasn't sure how far they
got it on, "friend, Justin."


Knowing what his father wanted to say, "you can say it... we're boyfriends,
dad."


"I see," Coury eyes Jeremy up and down. It then clicks in his brain, "by
the way, what happened with Eric?"


"Eric?" Jeremy questions.


"Thanks, dad," Justin says, but is not thrown out of whack. All it took was
a simple explanation, "no big deal. We thought we had common interests, but
nada!"


Suddenly Jeremy was more interested in conversation, than fishing.


Bart caught on, "you want to check out my fishing, Coury? Like, that's why
we're here?"


Justin had a million questions himself, like his dad not mentioning a word
about Bart being his `prisoner', but rather acting more like a chummy
friend. Already he wondered about the two, when they came out of the lake,
their boxers wet, showing everything.


Coury, going back to his business, Justin and Jeremy did the same.


Though, Coury did shame Marco again, the attorney making it known, the
reason he liked using a lure, because he didn't want to bait the hook with
a worm.


Suddenly Marco didn't seem so tough. However, this was a Saturday, not a
business day and being so, took the edge off of his outlook.


Truly, it was not only Marco squeamish about baiting a hook, Michael
screaming like a girl, saying, "I think I'm gonna faint!"


"Make sure it's over the water Michael," Rusty says, "so I don't have to
pick up the pieces!"


"I thought you would have some sympathy for me?"


"Okay," Rusty laments, "I'll bait the hook, but if you catch a fish, you're
filleting it yourself!"


Going to it, Michael kept hoping he wouldn't catch any fish!


Soon the whole side of the lake was manned by fishermen.


Chris, though he would drum up some business, taking some rods and gear
along, going back to his truck, he kept his eyes peeled, feeling out guys,
in case there was one or two to `lure' back to his store.


True to the saying, `love conquers all,' Justin and Jeremy re-cemented what
they had started and were back on the lover's track. Though, Jeremy had the
inclination to get to know his future `father-in-law', gravitated back
towards Bart and Coury.


On the other hand, Justin, being a friendly, caring guy, decided he would
help Chris bait his hook. He had seen the Trading Post owner walk back to
the road for more gear, which at this point Chris offered as promotional
items, without a price tag.


Parked at the front gate to the ranch resort, Justin couldn't wait to pop
the question. First checking, to make sure they were alone, "I understand
your store carries more than sports and fishing equipment?" he leaned on
the side of the truck bed.


"We do have a nice line of western gear. You should come in and try on a
cowboy hat," Chris worked at taking rods out, handing them to Justin.


"Sure," Justin replies, disappointed Chris didn't mention something more
appealing, like buttplugs, or nip-clamps. Point blank he asks, "what else
do you carry of interest?"


With Justin being persistent, fishing for more, Chris says, "depends on
your interest?"


"Up for almost anything, I suppose."


"My kind of man, Chris says, handing Justin the last reel and closing the
tailgate.


By the time he and Chris walked back to the lake, Justin had popped a
boner, hearing Chris talk about total surrender, ropes, whips, other toys
and being forced to take his cock all the way down the throat.


Justin was all for it...all of it, even when Chris mentioned his 9-inch
soft shaft!


Now all Justin had to worry about, if Jeremy was for or against...


Right now though, Chris wasn't about to rush off, not without the `big
sale' of the week. He was glad to have Justin along, not for revving up his
libido, which was beside the point, but then Chris didn't need to haul all
that gear back to the lake by himself. Foxy, Chris only included the bare
minimum of accessories. If it panned out, the lake a lucrative sport, the
Trading Post could be swamped with business.


When they got there, Rusty was flanked on both sides by Michael's
friends. Mostly, they wanted to know answers to questions which people
gossiped about.


Early on into the conversation, Michael stood up for their privacy rights,
"unless it's a question about what's up next for the ranch, it ain't a
question to be asked, guys!"


So, they stuck to what was next, regarding the ranch.


Rusty didn't know much other than what he was told, which wasn't much,
other than what he's seen, mainly around the victory garden and `tent
city.' He knew his dad was there to fish, but Rusty wasn't getting much
attention, being Wyatt and Jon had showed up. So, butting in on Marco's
business, or pleasure, with the two, Rusty grabs `dad' by the arm and drags
him over to the `Seattle' gang...


"Here's the person with the know-it-all."


Not which he wasn't drawn to the hunks, Marco complains, "but I'm here to
spend some quality time with you?"


"Michael and me aren't going anywhere, `dad'!"


It still felt funny, especially around other people, Rusty calling Marco,
`dad.' It made him kind of laugh, like it was a forever joke.


However, Marco would give that idea up for a good cause, seeing a Tom of
Finland tattoo on one of the hunk's lower back, almost tucked under his
pants.


Though, it was a good match up, Marco hiring guys by just their picture and
itinerary, with a solid reference. Mainly, this group of hunks had been a
recommendation from Michael. First, Marco didn't think much of Michael,
until he found out he was worth $75,000,000, his father's auto store
empire, in business for years and years, worth much, much more.


Jeremy did connect with Justin, but he wasn't into following the kinky
conversation with Chris, so excluded himself by slowly walking away. When
it came to love making, he wasn't into the role-play stuff, but more a slow
romantic, gently working his way into a lover's life. Jeremy tried to be
open-minded, but all that bdsm-stuff just didn't sit right with him.


Stepping to the other side of Michael, Jeremy asks, "hey, can I fit in here
between you two?"


Josh, whom coincidentally lost Eric for the same reason Jeremy wanted to
escape, was glad to oblige, "sure. Plenty of room." A cheerful kind of guy,
"welcome to the only place the fish are biting!"


"Really?" Jeremy says. "I think you're the only one catching fish today."


"That's because I'm not into chitchatting, minding my own business."


"Oh. Then maybe I should find somewhere else to fish. After all, got the
whole lake, eh?"


Flash decision, Josh didn't want the shirtless, muscle-man to leave, "I
think what I said. It came out wrong. Give me another chance and I'll tell
the others you caught all my fish?"


"How many would that be?"


Josh picks up the little ice chest he was placing them in, "I see one, two,
three, four," he looks up, the top of his head connecting with Jeremy,
"four. That's it."


Playing, Jeremy says, "well I expected more, but I guess I'll stay here and
fish!"


"Good," Josh replies, but it wasn't only the trade off, the admiring of
Jeremy, shirtless.


Not much chest hair, it was the stripe, from midway, down and over the
bellyhole, cutting right through a valley of packs of abs. Jeremy, always
liked a man who took care of himself, one of the things he admired in one
whom could prove out to be worth being with.


To match up, immediately he says, "hold my rod for a sec?"


Taking it, Jeremy watches, Josh stripping off his Specialized tee shirt,
which got him to thinking, "you own a bike?"


"Had a mountain bike. You?"


"Used to have one, but it got stolen. Was an awesome set of wheels. Used it
for the last triathlon I did, but after the event it was gone."


"You're into some serious stuff?"


"I like to keep myself fit," Jeremy replies.


"I can see that," of which Josh then felt he was checking Jeremy out too
much, "I mean, not which I was...checking you out?"


Slowly, what he had with Justin began to wear off, Jeremy caught up with
Josh.


Only fair, Jeremy confesses, "it's okay. I don't know if you felt it, but
when you were taking your shirt off, my eyes were all over you?"


Josh then says in a joking manner, "I take it all back. I'm glad I was
checking you out and I'm not sorry for it!"


Most guys gave up, after not catching any fish, though the conversation was
good.


It was still an hour away from brunch, which was a last minute decision,
Antonio wanting to get in on the fishing. It was easier to incorporate both
meals.


Down to Michael, Rusty, Marco, Josh, Jeremy and the last two fishermen to
show up, Wyatt and Jon, it seemed the fish had rapidly caught on and swam
to the other side of the lake.


Marco hung around, wanting to bring up business with Michael, but became
more buddies, out of sharing the same `grief' over putting a worm on a
hook!


While the two waded out a little deeper, Rusty kept on shore, buddying up
with Josh and Jeremy.


The five had been there a while, when they hear, "excuse me, I was told I
could Marco Veneziano down at the lake?"


Marco was more interested in what Michael's nips `liked,' than paying
attention to a future employee.


More alert, Rusty goes over his dad's head, "if you're looking for a job,
I'm the one to see!"


Already, his looks were a magnet for the dude wearing a suit and tie, over
a white shirt, "oh good," he extends a hand, "I'm Dr. Richard Rivers, but
you can call me Dack, for short."


"Doctor?"


Josh and Jeremy, they had their own conversation going, but were curious,
so drifted over.


"Veterinary science," Dack replies.


"I don't know if you're on the list, but certainly we can use an animal
doctor at the ranch."


It didn't take long before Marco notices something going on behind his
back, telling Michael, not to stop fishing on his account!


Wading laboriously through the water, he comes upon them, "I can take care
of this."


However, he was too late and Rusty, not meaning to be discourteous, "I got
it dad. I've already hired him."


"Huh?" It bent Marco out of shape a little. "He just got here."


"I know," Rusty says, holding up a soggy piece of paper, "but Dack's resume
looks impressive?"


Marco takes the papers from Rusty, flips through the soggy pages, "Looks
impressive."


Perhaps just as anxious, Josh comes forward from the lake, but instead of
Marco, he lays a hand on Rusty's shoulder, "so, he's hired?"


"Apparently so," is all Marco has to say about it. He believed in checking
out references, but being this was his son's first `hire', pats Rusty on
the back, "good job, son," he could only hope.


"Thanks dad."


Finding out Dack is hired, Jeremy says, "great, welcome to the ranch, but
if you don't mind me saying so, you're way overdressed for this place!"


Marco had left with the paperwork, shouting to Michael, a new email would
be coming his way.


"Oh great," Michael turns and walks towards them, "more work piling up on
me by the minute!"


Rusty couldn't say Josh and Jeremy were rude, for picking on Dack's
wardrobe, but silently admitted, he `was' overdressed.


Michael, whom stood with Rusty, says, "I'll give him 5 minutes and he'll be
out of those clothes!"


"Huh?" Rusty replies to his sweetheart.


"Josh and Jeremy. Been keeping an eye on those 2 sweet-talkers."


"What do you mean, Michael?"


"See for yourself!"


Rusty did, turning his attention around to the trio, Jeremy taking Dack's
jacket off and hanging it over a branch.


"Heads up," Josh says, having untied the necktie, tossing it over to the
`tree-hanger'.


Rusty was cautious, about the guys stripping Dack, "um, guys, do we even
know..."


Indeed, by Michael's words, Josh and Jeremy were sweet-talkers, finding out
what was not on Dack's itinerary, gay, unattached and expert fisherman!


It seems, fishing had petered out, Michael and Rusty sitting shore-side, on
a log, watching the three playing in the lake.


"I can't believe how they all took to each other," Michael says.


"Jealous of the bearcub, Mikey?"


"Shut up with that stuff!"


It only made Rusty hug Michael's arm more intensely, "sorry," he tweaks
Michael's nip, "I didn't know you were so sensitive, when wet!"


"Keep it up and you'll have me giving more than a vocal response and I'll
definitely get `wetter!'"


Lately, a bell has been added to the universal noises of the woodlands,
when it sounds.


"Fire?" Dack guesses.


"Lunch," Michael clues everyone in.


They all hustle, picking up gear, shirts and share in stealing Dack's hung
up clothing. Only because he didn't have the proper clothing, was Dack
allowed to go in the water, in his undies.


"Excuse me," he says, taking them off, "can't wear these under my
pants...it'll look like I peed on myself!"


None of them minded, watching Dack having the dickens of a time getting wet
briefs down his legs and off. He did joke around, turning his bum to
everyone, "nothing like a little privacy!"


They found him to be pleasant, witty and a barrel of laughs, which Rusty
says to Michael, "I doubt we'll find that on his resume!"


One-track mind, Michael says, "nor `size'?"


"Maybe you should talk to dad, have it a requirement, eh Mikey?"


Whenever Rusty joked with Michael, it was a friendly `Mikey'. Other times,
plain ole `Michael.'


Regardless, in all, the two always had a blast!


 %


Saturday brunch came off without a hitch.


Michael seemed down, yet only complained. Last night, he had gone through
emails and plotted a course for Monday, walking around and getting to know
newly added employees. Now, on the screen were new names and faces.


Rusty volunteered to man the `bread line.'


Michael sat there, tapping the cover of his laptop. He opened it. He closed
it. In thinking, he looked around the room, making eye contact with some of
his Seattle buds. Some just smiled, others puckering their lips, sending a
kiss along. One of them, nodded his head, singling out Rusty, then turns to
Michael and gives him the `thumbs-up'!


`Thanks', Michael smiles back.


Back to work, which, without Rusty by his side, life was getting boring by
the minute. Each email he opened, contained one new addition to the ranch.


Next one, "now this is weird."


It made Michael snap out of his lazy-ass seating. On screen were two
guys. They were posing with horses, spitting image of dudes, from a dude
ranch.


Happens, a person looking for a position, knowing it was a ranch locale,
would find a horse, dress up like a cowboy and try to sell himself as such,
just to cinch the job. It would be the applicant's loss, coming for an
interview, put on a horse and not knowing how to even get the animal going!


It made Michael smile, thinking an applicant really cute, but saying `go,'
wasn't going to make a horse budge. Though, 9 times out of 10, an applicant
was good at `something,' and there were plenty of jobs at the developing
ranch to suit even a person who hadn't any experience at anything.


Though, the pair of dudes Michael looked directly at, from the picture he
needed to memorize the names; Gerard and Adam Savage.


Supposing the names were put in order to match up the two, Gerard had to be
the one pictured with the horse, petting the side of the equine's
head. Adam, he stood there, saddle on the shoulder, either readying to
place it on the horse's back, or taking it off...or, it could have been a
doctored up, photoshopped replica. Though, Michael didn't really think it
the case. It looked too authentic...or was it, the dudes really hot?


For practice, Marco didn't tell Michael which applicant was hired, or
not. Before he filed an application away, or added it to the `dead' file,
he had to inform Marco whom he would hire.


Right off, the two bro's, `Adam and Gerard Savage,' were a shoo-in and it
wasn't because they were drop-dead gorgeous and with their horses, bare
chested!


"Dammit!"


"Having a bad hair day, Mike?"


Depending on what friend it was, from Seattle, he could be known as
`Mikey,' `Mike', or `Michael'. One of his friends even tried pinning,
`Mick' on him, but it soon wore off. Somehow, Michael didn't look like a
Mick. In most people's minds, a true `Mick' resembled Mick Jagger and
Michael, it was far-fetched to ever match him up to Jagger. Even the timbre
of his singing voice was a total washout.


"How's it going, Dr. Mansfield?" Michael turns his laptop to the side.


They all called Travis Mansfield by his professor `name', an early retiree
from Washington State College


"Nothing. I see new guys walk in here everyday. Just wondering who's next
to be hired?"


There were many cute guys at the Seattle Gay Pride Center. Handsome was
defined as good-looking, but cute not necessarily meant facial features,
but the way a guy presented himself.


Even though Professor Mansfield was the most down-to-earth guy a student
could know, he always walked around, talking in this vernacular of a
pompous, nose-in-the-air person. Some misinterpreted this, but if they were
around Michael or any of his friends, they set that person straight!


Another detail about the Prof, he was 60-years old and when he got wind of
some of his students, heading out to a dude ranch for the summer, he
dropped everything on his schedule, pulled up stakes and took on an early
retirement. Unlike the others from the pride center, he wasn't looking for
employment, but rather `enjoyment'!


His students, they thought it cool that Prof. Mansfield was along with them
on the road trip. Of the whole lot of them, their Prof had more items
brought along, than all put together, including a favorite lounge chair
Travis always took to the beach. It was just the right height to scope out
guys from behind the deep-shade sunglasses.


It was interesting to him, how the Prof hesitated, after first thinking
about leaving behind a lucrative career, which also gave him prestige in
the field he worked for, since leaving college in his 20's. However, at the
end of class one day, after everyone had emptied out, he spotted one
lurker, sitting midway to the back of the lecture hall.


Right now, Michael sitting there at his dining table, he always opened up
to his science instructor, something gay, which swung his way, "so, find
any interesting people here at the ranch, Professor?"


Giving Michael a wry look, Travis helps himself to a bench, "a man my age,
among all these young guys...really, Michael?"


"Hey, if I wasn't committed to a relationship, I'd be all over you!"


At the beginning of Michael's first semester at Nisqually University, even
though he was a business major, he took on a science course. When asked
`why?', he said he liked manatees, dolphins and orcas, thought they were
real cute.


"All over me, is it?" the Prof questions, "Even though I stood there in
front of the whole class, I had this sensation of `eyes' on me. I knew it
was you!"


Whether he thought the professor was getting senile, or just something to
say, Michael has already heard the catchy phrase at least a few million
times. Though, he rather liked it, because he could always provide
followup, "you got that right, Professor!"


Neither one could remember who the first one was, to make the connection,
but Michael gave his prof the benefit of the doubt, saying he was the first
to invite him out for a cup of coffee.


Many a time Professor Mansfield had been approached by students, either an
invitation for a simple coffee and chat, or taking in the nightlife. He
always kept student interaction separate from the job, except if a student
needed extra time. He was careful though, making sure 2 students were
always in his office at the same time. He didn't want any hanky-panky going
on, wanting to live out his time, till retirement.


Strangely though, he did have that cup of coffee with Michael and like
right now, they talked more casual than the Prof would, on campus.


"Well, Michael, I hope you're enjoying your new boyfriend. Out of any of
the entourage from the gay pride center, you deserve the best."


"Hmm," Michael readied to spring a joke, "you're not saying that because I
lured you to the gay pride center?"


There, he hit the nail on the head, which over and over, Dr. Mansfield had
Michael to thank, "I owe you a lot, Michael."


"Eh, it was nothing. I always thought, helping a dude to come out, it's
more of a privilege, than expecting return of a favor."


He had also introduced Travis to the gay nightlife, which on that first
night, after both had more than the limit of beer, almost got it
on. Though, Michael doesn't regret working the buttons of his professor's
shirt, right there in the club and getting sweet on him, cheek-to-cheek.


"I know I've brought this up before, but the way I acted towards you at the
Nightlife Cafe, um, it didn't happen to get back to the university and
that's the reason you left and retired?"


Reaching across the table, Travis took one of Michael's hands in both of
his, tenderly saying, "like I said before, I'm my own person. If I even
cared that you were slowly caving into my charms, and if anyone saw it? I
wouldn't care if it got back to the university. I had already made up mind
to take early retirement."


Then, he sweetly took Michael's hand and kissed it, saying, "I truly am
grateful, Michael, for all you've done for me."


Standing, Michael says, "well, okay, but don't be a stranger."


Sassily, Prof Mansfield returns with, "how would your boyfriend feel about
that?"


Michael could get away with almost anything, saying, "get lost before I
have to call some rancheros over to subdue you!"


Eyes looking like they ready to pop out, Prof Mansfield smiles, "bring it
on!"


Then, it seemed like guys were on line, with the professor leaving, his
friend, Pierre Woolsley inviting himself to sit.




Michael had met Pierre one day, entering the front door of the pride
center. Being, during summer months, while not at school, he helped out
where needed. Handling applications for a charity-related event, he was
running late, promising to be there on time for the beginning of the event,
but there was traffic and the bus was late.


Pierre had showed up for the `walk-run' event in long-sleeved jogging shirt
and pants. He didn't reckon this would be one of the hottest days on
record, so decided he had enough time to run home and change into shorts.


Run he did, right into Michael's arms!


Though, with folders of the last of the applications in his hands, it was
some accident. Even though someone else, on a collision course, would most
likely bounce right off Michael's pecs, papers did not afford that type of
cushioning.


Intact, Michael stood there, staring at Pierre, lying on the floor, covered
in a mishmash of paperwork.


Pierre was only stunned a bit, physically. Mentally, when he looked up
Michael's bod, that's where the `hurt' occurred, eyes sore for wanting to
get a closeup view. Probably why Pierre snapped out of it and so readily
accepted Michael's hand, catalyst for lifting him off the ground.


It did phase Michael, staying up half the night to put the finishing
touches on his paperwork, detailing with a highlighter pen, signatures of
entrants whom read the medical and safety clauses, signing off on the line
provided.


Pierre was quite apologetic at the time, which reflected on how sweet a man
he could be. Michael also agreeing to meet him for coffee!


"Well," Michael wasn't the kind to lie to friends, even the tiniest of
fibs, "I have two I'm looking at right now, matter of fact!"


There was also something else Michael, chatting with Pierre over coffee and
pastries, has found out, his new friend at the time, was a lonely man. Most
of his life he's been a type of guy, serious and applying himself to
finding a career and being successful, leaving personal relationships to
later on in life. At age 31, Pierre had finally discovered, having a job at
Nisqually University, lecturing, working in the field of environmental
science, did not fulfill his needs and wants.


"Really? Um, would you have a problem with me taking a look?"


"Well," Michael weakened to Pierre's charm, "maybe I could let you take a
peek!"


Turning his laptop around to face Pierre, Pierre didn't waste any time,
inviting himself to sit down, "oh wow...stunning...just stunning, Mike!"


Michael teases, "which one?"


"Both!"


"You mean Gerard with his horse, or Adam and his saddle?"


"Hmm," Pierre thought on it, "tough decision. Are you sure they're
brothers?"


Michael, in his haste to read the facts, hadn't rightly answered that
question himself, "y'know, Pierre, I don't rightly know?"


Pierre, who could have a lot moxie at times, feels the freedom of finding
out, scrolling down, "it doesn't really make mention."


"I just assumed, since they both had the same surname?"


"Me too," Pierre replies, scanning the screen with eyes in scrutiny, "but
they could be cousins...or," he stutters, pauses, "most horrible scenario I
guess, would be a married couple?"


For Pierre's sake, Michael thought it could be something really awkward, to
lust after two young, shirtless men, only to have them really into each
other, "only one problem with your theory?"


"What?"


"Neither of them checked the `married' box?"


As if someone had just saved his life, Pierre sighs long, deeply exhaling a
wad of air, "whew," he wipes his brow, "I don't know how I missed that,
Mike. Usually I'm up on stuff like that."


"Up?"


Not which Michael was much of a participant, but he could get his jollies,
watching a bunch of guys jerk off, which on occasion, the guys, mostly
younger, would gawk at how Pierre's stalk towered above all the rest.


"Don't joke, Mike. This is serious stuff!"


"Right," Michael tried not to think of those 5 to 10 men, or more,
circle-jerks.


He also knew how inadequate Pierre thought of himself, when it came to
picking up a guy and keeping his attention.


Then, returning to a sweet, innocent tone, Pierre asks, "Are they hired
yet?"


"I just pulled up their applications, but I'll be sure to give you the
head's up, when and if they check out?"


"Cheating on me again, Mikey?" Rusty comes by with a plate in each hand.


Michael closes his laptop!


Pierre got the message. Time to make his move and it wasn't about asking
anything more, of the two bare chested men on screen. He made a quick
effort out of saying hello to Rusty, then left.


"I wasn't cheating on..."


"I know, but it's fun to make you think I mind!"


"You think I don't know that by now?"


Changing the subject, Rusty says, "by the way, your gang from the pride
center wanted to know if you're interested in some beach volleyball?"


"Sure would be nice if we had a beach!"


It was time for Rusty to surprise Michael. Unknown to his lover, he had
remarked the same to his boyfriend's mob, which he got in response, the
`beach', having one.


Lunch a thing of the past, it wasn't that Rusty wasn't proud of Michael,
for his diligence, in adding worthiness to his job, but it was Saturday and
with only 2 days of the week to chill out...


Leading Michael down the pathway, Rusty held his laptop, while Michael kept
both palms over the sockets of his eyes.


"No peeking, now?"


Knowing his buddies, Michael thought for sure he'd be walking into a
surprise of such magnitude, it would be enough of an eyeful to start some
pulsing on down below. It wouldn't be the first time any of his buddies
would think up some zany activity, the unsuspecting fellow walking in,
finding the lot of them stripped down naked.


He remembers a time, while they were shopping in Braddock's department
store in Seattle. They all claimed, what a break, shopping there on a day
when the store was hosting a fashion show, featuring the spring line of
Nouguet briefs. Standing around, before the models were to walk down a
makeshift runway, Michael's buds ridiculed professional models,
complimenting each other on how `they' could be just as worthy.


Michael stood alone, hardly ever involving himself in their pranks, like
that day, walking over to the briefs department, helping themselves to the
Nouguet rack, stripping down and gearing up. By the time the `real' fashion
show was to begin, Michael's mob had already pitched a hint of the new fall
fashions!


He thought for certain, his buff friends, in their skimpy briefs would have
been arrested, but the store manager and designer, Alex Nouguet himself,
asked them to join in.


Their prank wasn't a total pushover on the models, learning the briefs on
the rack were from last year!


Of course, Michael's friends cheerfully mocked him out, for not taking part
in the prank, which turned out to be copacetic! However, Michael didn't get
some kind of bang out of it, the designer asking him if he wanted to sit
with his `entourage'.


Turned out, Alex was a real down to earth guy. Michael thought it awesome
he had a `gay' partner and 3 boys. It put a hex on Michael, thinking
someday he might like to have the same set up, partner, kids...


"How much farther is it?" Michael whined, like a kid in a car on a long,
long trip.


"Hold your horses," Rusty replies, "and don't peek!"


"You don't trust me?" Michael replies, yet giggles.


Rusty would have trusted his boyfriend, if not for the giggles, a dead
giveaway that told him Michael indeed had probably peered through the chink
of two fingers. Another clue, was a log across the path. If there was no
peeking, surely Michael would have tripped over it!


"Okay. You can look now."


Opening his eyes, surely Michael thought he would be looking at his buddies
and others, stripped down and ready for a game of `naked'
volleyball. Instead, they were only shirtless, in speedos or
shorts. Regardless, it was cool, because some of the kids and their parents
were there, playing too!


"C'mon, Mikey," his good friend, Stony Wagner called out, "you're on the
`skins' team."


Michael gazes back and forth, "Huh?"


"Need some help?" Stony tugs at the tail of Michael's shirt.


"No, thanks," Michael replies, visually swatting Stony's menacing
fingertips away.


Another one of Stony's jokes backfires, but not without the 19-year old
getting his jollies, not to mention his arm grazing the bottom of Michael's
pec!


Only the kids' mothers had complete coverup, the male population stripped
from the waist, up, which made it tough to single out the team members,
everyone `skins'. Maury had already argued with his mom, wanting to be like
a `big' cowboy, but lost the battle over having already had enough sun for
the day.


In the meantime, Michael was taking mental inventory, regarding the
`skins.' Of course, if anyone pay attention, accusing him of `shopping', he
could fall back on his job. Certainly, everyone he met was not everyone
employed there and come Monday, if he didn't meet an unknown face today, he
would be around to connect names and faces at a later time.


Fellow standing to his right, for certain Michael had not met, "Hi, I'm
Michael."


"Clyde West." And, before Michael could ask, Clyde says, "are you new; I
haven't seen you around?"


Chuckling, Michael replies, "I suppose, if you're asking, I must be!"


A glance to Rusty, his boyfriend stare right at him. Michael then wondered,
was that an honest answer, or was he flirting!


He just smiled a nervous smile. Then, Michael new he was either forgiven,
or what he was thinking wasn't what he thought.


The game got going, but the action stopped quite a few times, in response
to kids missing the volleyball, one of the adult players pausing to
help. Other times, the ball flew out of the legal perimeters, without a
dude admitting he was checking out one of the `skins'!


They all laughed, when the ball came to Michael and because he was paying
more attention to Marco, pulling Rusty out of the game, the ball, point
blank, bounced off his chest!


It didn't bother Michael a bit, all those pushups and chest presses paying
off, but the others, seeing nothing up with the player, laughed their asses
off. Comments flew through the air, joking about Michael having a lot of
padding `there'.


Calling his own time out, hands making a T, right hand forming a little
circle, as a dude would around another guy's cock, Michael walked off the
court. Not giving explanation, he broke out in a gait, to catch up with
Rusty and his dad.


"Hey, what's up?"


"Michael?" Rusty turns. Startled, holding a hand to his heart, "you scared
the hell outta me!"


Saying he was sorry, they hug.


"You two wanna get a room?" Marco says, impatiently.


"Nope," Rusty breaks off their `friendly' hug, "we're good to go."


Breaking off the sweet embrace, they follow along with Marco, back to tent
city.


Upon their arrival, Michael quickens his pace, jogging towards a figure,
"Jackson, is that you?"


Rusty mutters to his dad, "why do I get the feeling Michael knows him?"


It's then his father enlightens Rusty, "Jackson Malone, one of his father's
company men, who's job it is, is to be placed in the field, to `spy on' his
investments, making sure everything is done accordingly, in his favor."


He wanted to ask, what the father had to do with Cleg Ranch, but Jackson,
under the wing of Michael's arm, turns to Rusty, a hand outstretched, "I'm
happy to make your acquaintance, Rusty."


At one time or another, Michael had already talked up his father's auto
parts distribution company, a number of store's making up the business, but
having never met anyone, "same here." Then, to keep the ball rolling, "so,
you know Michael's father?"


Jackson `wanted' to say he knew Michael longer, but this would lead into
other subjects. Being Michael clued him in, the `boyfriend' thing, he
didn't want to make meeting Rusty for the first time, difficult for anyone,
"I certainly do. In fact, that's why I'm here."


"That was my next question," Rusty interjects.


Marco felt obsolete, Michael saying, "to check up on me, or rather my trust
money, making sure it's well spent!"


"Trust money?" Rusty questions, returning to the guy left out of the loop.


"I didn't tell you about that?" Marco says to Rusty.


Knowing his father knew he hadn't heard a word, "it must've slipped your
mind," he cut his dad some slack.


"Yeah, that's it."


However, it comes out, Jackson had been sent there, to watch over Michael's
cool $75,000,000.00, "Rightfully, Michael is not to receive it until he's
21, but his father acts quickly when he sees there could be a big return on
his investment."


"I don't get it," Rusty replies.


Smiling, Jackson says, "well, tell me what you don't get and I can fill you
in?"


Other than what Jackson and he had going, back in Texas, Michael wanted to
certainly make sure, until he can explain in detail, the conversation
heading towards the business end of the spectrum, "and I'm sure I can add
to it?"


Marco saw this as a good time duck out. He also had `clients' waiting for
him back at the house. Not wanting all the fun to be had, he scurried out
of there, saying, "call me," Marco holds a hand, like, Carly Rae Jepson, if
you wanted to `call her maybe', "if there's any questions?"


In a heap, on the ground, were Jackson's belongings, heavy hiker's duffle,
which for the 6'5 man, it wasn't much of a heave to the shoulders, "let me
get that."


Rusty, feeling the weight from one strap, "yeah, I think that's a good
idea."


Michael had already chosen the business case.


Since Rusty was empty-handed, Jackson digs in his bag, "oh wait a minute. I
got something for you to carry."


>From right under the top flap, Jackson pulls out a handful of fur, saying,
"this is Wolfgang."


Knowing Jackson personally, Michael says, "what happened to..." suddenly
realizing the reason there was a puppy in hand, "your `other' dog?"


"Old age.Cancer.There wasn't anything the vet could do."


By this time, Jackson had placed Wolfgang into Rusty's care, "is he still a
puppy?"


"One month old, but by the time a husky grows to be an adult dog, Wolfgang
will be at least 5 times the size," Jackson tells him.


With Wolfgang in Rusty's cuddling arm, Jackson scratches his ear.


Head bent at the neck, Wolfgang suddenly lifts his snout, giving Rusty a
`kiss'!


"Better watch out, Michael," Rusty jokes, "I think Wolfgang is starting to
get designs on me!"


Good thing there was a dog to hold and pamper, giving Jackson and Michael a
breather, time to smile at each other.


%


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.