Date: Fri, 25 Mar 2016 15:53:55 +0000
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 05

% This work of fiction is set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to
real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in
nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons of habitats,
governmental or non-governmental areas, farmhouses, nor barns.


% If sexual scenes involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then
why are you here? Seriously, if dude-to-dude sex stuff makes you wanna barf
or is gonna screw up your mind, you should not read this story.


% States and countries have various rules regarding reading or viewing
`adult material'. It is up to you, the reader, to research this subject,
abiding by their own laws and conscience. The pages of this story contain
`adult material', intended for an `adult audience.' Bypass this warning at
your own risk!


% Sexual safety matters. Guys, this is fiction. In real life, use
protection and I don't mean going out and hiring a security guard...unless
he gives your nuts and bolt a jolt.



Hey dudes, if you have enjoyed reading NiFTy stories as much as I have over
the years, consider adding some $upport for `internet $pace' or else I will
have to start cutting handsome, hairy or steamy characters out of my
stories. Do you dare imagine a story without any tops?

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html




%


"JoLLy RaNCHeRs" 05

WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


^   0   ^


%


Rusty awoke the next morning with the sound of chatter. Immediately he
realizes he's faced down. Upon going to sleep, it was another
position. Waking up he expected to reach over and touch Ricky, instead of
it hanging over the edge of the sofa. He winced, rolling onto his side,
then back. Sleeping with an arm overhead, it seemed like the muscles were
welded in place.


"Sleep well?"


He did, but that was beside the point, Rusty asking, "Is this where I
crashed?"


"Yeah. Sorry."


"About what?" Rusty readily takes the cup of java, sipping it like it was
the last cup of coffee left in the world. "Strong! That's good."


"I...um...had to slip a little something into your glass of water, because
you had reverted to cursing yourself out...again."


"I was that bad, huh?" The sipping stops. "Here, hold this," he told Ricky
to take his cup, while sitting up. Almost there, "I guess it takes a while,
huh?"


"Of course," Ricky replies.


"You like using that word, don't you?"


"What word?" Ricky wondered, knew.


"`Of course'."


"I count two words."


"Big deal," Rusty thinks not. "Uh, can I have my shot of adrenaline back?"


Ricky hands the cup back. Standing, the belt around his robe comes loose,
but he catches it in time and in his typical sense of humor, "Almost
flashed myself at you!"


Rusty was catching on, "But, if I gave you permission, it wouldn't be
against the law?"


A hand reaches up, towards one of the ends of the belt around Ricky's
waist.


Stepping back, "I've got bacon and eggs on. Go watch them while I get
showered?"


Rusty had no choice, smelling the fried bacon, Ricky jogging up the
stairs. He hadn't seen Ricky, other from the waist up, but out of
curiosity, thought how his lower anatomy, hanging free, must be bouncing up
those stairs!


No sooner had he gotten to the kitchen, Tommy is right behind him, "Hey,
smells good."


"Thanks," Rusty says, parting attention towards Tommy's hot bod, "I've been
fixing breakfast since the sun came up."


Liar!


"Cool. Thanks, Rusty," Tommy leans a bicep over the back of Rusty's
shoulders, wrist lazily leaning on the other.


"No problem," he flashed a grin, hoping someone would thank him in front of
Ricky!


"Adam still sleeping?"


It was the kind of question which suddenly made Tommy feel guilty, "Uh,
Adam, he said you and him, you didn't have something going?"


Already having learned from Ricky a thing or two, "Of course not. Why would
I care, when I've got your handsome step-bro in my bed!"


That shocked the hell out of Tommy, especially when just the other day,
Ricky had sworn to the half the clan, he wasn't interested in settling down
just yet.


"So, how did this happen, you and Ricky shackin' up?"


"It's complicated," Rusty says and wanting to make a clean break, before he
had to fill in the blanks, says, "Hey, you mind watching the eggs? I
haven't showered since yesterday."


Tommy had thought so, but didn't say anything, the smell of a ripe man
different than that of opening an orange, but achieving the same pleasant
effect. Also, if the pieces fell into place, he wouldn't mind having Rusty
as a step-bro!


By the time Rusty got to the top step, his shirt was off, tossing it on top
of a stack of boxes. He was working on his belt buckle when he entered the
steamy bath. In no time he felt steam between his legs. Stepping over to
the double doors, steamed up, he peered in. What he was trying to gauge, is
where Ricky stood and what direction he faced.


`Sweet,' Rusty whispers to himself, finding Ricky facing the faucets, away
from his view.


The view got sweeter, Rusty opening the door, stepping in.


Ricky had just doused the top of his head with water and looked up at the
shower head, which totally blinded sight, blotting out sound.


Seeing a wooden scrub brush, Rusty picked it up and touched Ricky's right
shoulder, gently.


"Oh shit!" he jumps forward.


This could go either way for Rusty. Serious would be nice, but there was
always the scapegoat of a little prank.


"Oh my god...what're you doing here?"


Seeing Ricky clutching his family jewelry, "My, aren't you a handful?"


Getting even tactic, Ricky says to Rusty, freeing up the trio, "At least
I'm not a sissy about being around another man?"


Rusty had to look. He wasn't conscious of it, clutching his soft-self,
"force of habit," he allows his balls to fall free.


He really didn't know what that meant, hoping Ricky didn't ask!


Then, without words, only gazes, each gravitated together with baby steps.


Within kissing distance, Rusty says, "At least you don't have to retrieve
our hats out of the bush, eh?"


Whether he was nervous, or just that a thought popped into his head, it
blew the moment for both.


"I knew it! You were checking out my ass, weren't you?"


"If I didn't, you would have disappointed, eh Ricky?"


"Rats!"


Rusty comes closer.


Ricky tries backing up, but it would mean the tub fixture pressing against
his ass, "I want to let you know right now, I'm not relationship material?"


"Who's talkin' about a relationship? I'm just here to finish off the other
half of our one-night-stand from last night!"


"Oh, really?" it didn't sound like that to Ricky.


Though, right now, Ricky started melting faster than the wicked witch of
the west. Knees buckling, that fine looking teen bod was erasing all memory
of rules of attraction for himself. He would have liked to have supped,
when face in Rusty's business, but stopped himself short, "Uh, maybe this
is a bad idea."


"Of course," Rusty says, backing off.


Ricky smirks, looking up Rusty's muscled bod.


"But I gotcha though. You can't deny you almost were ready to open up and
slip my shaft down your throat?"


Rather than admit it, Ricky shrugs it off, "maybe next time!"


At the least, they knew where each other stood. Though, Ricky did convince
Rusty, they could still feel sexually active and not cross any boundaries,
giving each other a hand job.


It did end with Ricky initiating some sweet kissing and holding each other
up for support.


Slowly, whereas a scene usually ends steamy, other than evaporating hot
water, they did scrub each other's back, Rusty daring to make sure Ricky's
crack was left squeaky clean!


Reporting for breakfast, Ricky announces, "Oh no. You left Tommy in
charge?"


"Thanks, Ricky," Tommy replies, holding up his fuck-finger.


Plate containing a few strips of bacon and half a mountain of eggs, Rusty
says, "oh look. Tommy left me some breakfast!"


He didn't want to deprive the growing lad, Ricky saying, "Go ahead. I'm not
really hungry for eggs!"


Tommy, turning around, divvying up the breakfast between himself and Rusty,
reports, "Marco Veneziano called. He's on his way over to talk to Rusty
about, `you know what.'"


"Am I missing something?" Rusty asks.


"Dammit," Ricky says.


By cursing, it put Ricky in the limelight, "I didn't want to confront this
with you upset."


"I'm not upset," Rusty replies, asking the others, "Kira, do I look upset?"


One of the others living there, Manu, says, "You don't look upset," flashes
Rusty a smile.


"He doesn't look upset," Kira says, like revenge against Ricky, which he
deserved from time to time!


"Thank you trusted citizens," Ricky replies, watching Tommy shoveling the
last of the breakfast onto Rusty's plate, adding the last 2 strips of
bacon.


Adam was as much in the dark as Rusty, "Well, you going to tell us?"


"It concerns Rusty, not you nimrod!" Tommy taps Adam on the top of the
head.


Going off on Ricky's addressing, Adam says, "But since I'm a trusted
citizen, don't you think I have a right to know?"


Tired of the banter, Rusty says, "I don't care if Adam knows. Will you say
what's on your mind, Ricky?"


Really, Ricky shamed himself, thinking he should have done more in the
shower, maybe give in and establish a relationship, but he had talked
himself out of that after two failures already. Not which he didn't think
he could make a go out of it with Rusty. With an insatiable desire, he
needed someone interested in an open relationship. Even though he was
repulsed by some of the things Marco did, they still had a good thing
going.


However, he waited too long and soon Marco rapped on the door and let
himself in.


Kira complains, "Don't you have manners, Marco? You're supposed to wait for
someone to come let you in?"


"Don't worry," Marco retorts, "if I caught you without clothes on, it
wouldn't faze me, gurl!"


He laughs, along with the others, because they would feel the same way.

t

Kira smirks, thinking of a way to get even. That's how the
Valdez-Pau'au-West clan was, though getting even was never anything
harmful, but rather doing something wild and weird when the person least
expected it!


Walking over to the kitchen table, which was really the dining room table
too, he snatches the fork right out of Ricky's hands, "Oh good. You made me
breakfast."


Ricky, after bartering 2 strips of bacon and a few tablespoons of eggs off
Manu, tells Marco, "You're such a pig!"


Tommy knew something, which Ricky knew, but Adam didn't. Manu, he was in a
world of his own, clearing the table. Kira, she helped Manu clear.


"Hmm," Marco stands, walking over to where Rusty sat at the table, "You're
looking in good spirits!"


"Ricky said you had something to tell me."


Marco gives Ricky an evil, dastardly death stare, "You didn't mention
anything to him?"


Ricky says, "The proper time never came."


Knowing Marco was attorney, representative of the ranch resort, "Is this
about my father or the ranch?"


Over one big hurdle, Rusty felt sturdy enough, that he could take on
another.


"Um, neither," Marco gulps and then remains silent, looking to Ricky.


Ricky took it more like a cue, than a memo reminder, saying to the rest of
the crowd, "Uh, why don't we go upstairs and seal boxes?"


Tommy protests, "But I didn't finish my bacon?"


Picking it up between thumb and finger, Ricky uses it as a lure, "Come,
Tommy," he mimics the Pied Piper of Hamlin.


Smarter, Adam brought along the whole plate, which through the sent off for
following Ricky.


Kira just rolls her eyes, imitating her brother, "Imbecile," first in
English, then in Spanish, with a few added explicatives!


They were all that way with their native. tongues, either translating from
Spanish, Pidgin or Fijian, but mostly they used the universal, English.


Sinking into a kitchen chair, Rusty asks, "So, what's so important, you had
to banish everyone from the room?"


Marco could argue, it not being his idea, but frankly thought it best,
"Because, what I'm going to tell you is not meant for everyone's ears."


Neither were the emotions which would follow.


Again, thinking about his father, the ranch, Rusty says, "If you're worried
about whether I'm going to get emotional, don't. My father, Tim," he made
it a point they weren't close as a father and son should be, "we weren't
like that."


Down to earth, earnest, with an intensity which reflected upon his own
nervous attire, Marco sits his butt down, on a chair and turning it so his
arms rested across the back, "What I'm going to say might make you feel
emotional. I think Ricky already told you the real reason your father sent
you off to boarding school?"


"The chemo," Rusty acknowledges, "but I'm cool with that. I might have done
it myself if I had a son and was going through the same thing."


"So, you agree it was the wisest thing to do, even though he felt like he
lied to you?"


"Lie?" Rusty made a `maybe' face, "I wouldn't call it lying. More he never
really gave me a reason. Just did it, without saying much of anything. I
even asked and he said it was for my own good. Was it? I'm thinking
probably it was, so I'm not angry at him anymore. Fortunately, I had the
time to tell him so. I think in his last moments Tim was a happy man."


Strangely, it seemed to make it a little more comfortable for Marco to
spring his secret on Rusty. However, much as he was truthful and honest
with his clients, most of the time, he opens up, "I'm glad you reconciled."


Choosing what's know, rather than detailing secrets, "Of course, everything
in his will goes to you, which I think you already have an idea?"


"I didn't want to make it sound like I was greedy or money-hungry, not
mentioning it to anyone. Only, Ricky had sort of implicated the same."


That wasn't what Marco had on his mind, but he turned coward, not divulging
his real train of thought.


Still steering Rusty in the opposite direction, "Well, I don't want you to
get too upset over this, but the ranch is almost bankrupt."


With saying so, Marco reaches an arm over, placing it on Rusty's shoulder,
for moral support.


He did feel the hand, but Rusty more looked down, picking at a fingernail
with his thumb, "Oh. Then I suppose this is my last meal."


"On the bright side," he disengages, stands, like delivering a presidential
acceptance speech, "if Ricky hadn't mentioned to you..."


Looking up, Rusty asks, "Is this what he was supposed to tell me? That I'm
broke?"


Lost for words for a few seconds, Marco knew it wasn't, but trusting Ricky,
"Um, yeah, uh, what I was going to say, you don't have to worry about where
money coming in or going out, or where your next meal is coming from. The
big news," other than his cowardly reason for vacating the room, "is
Ricky's mother, Mama Rosa?"


Having met the jolly woman, it put a small smile on Rusty's face, thinking
how not only her, but her clan, except Gonzo, were a happy bunch, "what
about her?"


"It's not publicly known by many, but Mama, having reaped the rewards of
being married three times, not to mention the great business the restaurant
does, is sitting on a pile of money."


Rusty smiles, thinking of Rosa, a beefy sort of woman, sitting on a heap of
mountain of cold cash, "Really?"


"Months ago, she, Ricky and I approached your father and we struck up a
deal..."


With thoughts of the ranch sold out from under his feet, which didn't phase
Rusty too much, he did have one concern, "Is Hoot at least still mine?"


"It was a `buy-out', not a `buy-up'!"


"Oh," Rusty says, like he understood. "So, what does that mean?"


Unlike his sissy-scared act of telling Rusty the real reason for his visit,
not which he wasn't going to delve into conditions of the will, "Thanks to
the kindness of Ricky and his family, Mama has paid off all debt..."


"Like, how much was that?"


"$400,000," Marco replies, cool, calm, like, no different any of his other
wealthy clients.


"What? Like, how did that happen?" Rusty is shocked.


In his ballpark, $10,000 was a heap of loot!


"The ranch was keeping its head above water, but when the medical bills
started rolling in, that's what killed the bank account."


Knowing about `medical', having friends who went through the same, Rusty
deduces, "I suppose when you're sick and see your number almost up, you
don't worry about things like that."


Then, it put a sort of downspin into things, Rusty thinking about what Tim
thought was going to happen to him, with no money lying around?


"On the contrary, that's why the ranch business is at the stature it is
today. It was a smart thing placing the deed in Mama's name. Of course this
was `under the table'. What needs to be done now is to reverse half of that
and place what's rightfully yours, in your name. You do understand the
ranch is now divided, half and half, between you and Mama Rosa?"


It was a lot to take in, but Marco had made it pretty simple, "Uh,
yeah. Sounds great," tough to digest it all, "I think?"


Snidely, like he had pulled the wool over someone's eyes, Marco smiles,
saying, "The deed to the ranch ain't in the will."


"No," Rusty show he understood, "it's in Mama Rosa's name and then you're
going to," he gestures with both hands, "divide it back in half. No sweat."


Though he wasn't thinking about himself, Rusty does think about how his
father and his father's father before him, going back generations, how they
all helped to build the ranch, "Thanks for working to keep it in the
family, Marco."


Rusty did the unthinkable, reaching a hand out, for a man-shake. In
retrospect he was thinking Marco not really such a bad guy at all and that
maybe in his own mind he was giving him a bad rap.


Feeling guilt, Marco took the hand, staring Rusty in the eyes, "Looks like
that boarding school turned you into a real man!"


Shrugging shoulders, Rusty adds a little humor, "but can you stop, before
you stop the circulation in my hand?"


Rusty knew Marco thought he hated him. Finding the man not a mean ogre,
Rusty breaks down, gives him a hug, "Thanks again for everything."


Marco was glad the hug was brief, because he wasn't feeling too good about
himself just about now.


"Hey, you two wanna get a room?" they hear, Ricky's voice breaking up the
innocent show of friendly affection.


Throwing it off, Rusty asks, "Adam and Tommy still taping boxes?"


Descending the steps, Ricky says, "Probably Adam's eating Tommy's bacon!"


Now here was the thing, Marco was supposed to fill Rusty in on the secret
he's been holding for umpteen years.


Ricky, he had no way of knowing it did not occur. Instead, Ricky opens his
big mouth, "So, how's it feel to be a daddy, Marco?"


Wrong signal, Rusty asks, "You're going to be a father, Marco? Like, who's
the daddy?"


Trying everything short, of jumping on Ricky's foot, Marco says, "Ricky,
you're such a clown!"


Something seemed off to Rusty, especially Marco. For the first time he
showed sweat and not from some steamy sweat chamber at the gym, "What's
going on?"


It's then Ricky realizes, perhaps things didn't go terribly right, as Marco
planned, "Oops!"


A hand over his mouth, like a little kid caught in a tattle-tale, Ricky
stands there, as Rusty comes after him, "I thought there was something out
of place about you two?"


Instead of condemning, Rusty says, "So, what're you adopting, a girl or a
boy?"


Marco and Ricky knew, the longer you allow something to go unsaid, it was
possible, coming from a third party, things could get more twisted up than
balls in traction, "You better tell him," he tells Marco.


Physically taking him by the shoulders, Ricky sets him in place, facing
Rusty.


Knowing this, Marco suddenly mans-up. Placing a hand on Rusty's shoulder,
"It's not anyone's fault but mine. I should've manned up to this years ago,
when you were still in your early teen years."


The jolly mood Rusty was in suddenly started to lose some of its luster,
"I'm 19, an adult now," he thought about everything said so far regarding
the ranch, Mama Rosa and more, "when are you going to start treating me
like one!"


He giggled, but deep down inside, Rusty had a sense of the willies, like
standing on the sidewalk, above a 10-story building, the line holding a
pallet of bricks ready to drop down on top of him.


Both older, `adult' men were trying to swallow their guilt, Ricky saying,
"You better tell him, Marco. It's now or...maybe never?"


Swallowing, Rusty was ready for the news, even if it meant that, because he
was dirt rich now, Hoot would have to be sold off.


"Go ahead," much as Rusty didn't want to hear it, about Hoot, "you can tell
me."


Last glance to Ricky, Marco says, "I...I'm sorry I waited so long to tell
you this..."


"Will you just get to it, Marco?" Ricky badgered.


"Shut up," Rusty turned on Ricky, "give the man time to think."


However, he didn't need time to think. On the way over in his other car,
not the Corvette, Marco was rehearsing his lines. Right now, they were not
coming through for him. At least not the delicate, well thought out way,
"I'm... your father."


It went like a scene right out of Star Wars, "No. You're not my
father. Tim...my father's dead."


Knowing this could happen, rejection, Ricky circled around, behind
Rusty. Placing hands on Rusty's shoulders, "I'm sorry it had to be like
this. We..."


"Don't touch me," Rusty breaks hold of Ricky's light touch.


Truly, Rusty was a man. Instead of picking up something and throwing it at
Ricky, or Marco, or punching someone out with his bare hands, he storms out
of the apartment, saying, "You're both fucking cowards!"


"Maybe I should go after him?" Marco puts to Ricky.


"Are you kidding? You're probably the last person he wants to see right now
and I'm not so popular myself right now!"


While upstairs, Ricky was bustin' to tell what was happening
downstairs. With Adam and Tommy `taping boxes' and Manu doing the same, the
only available ear was Kira.


Coming down the stairs, the 29-year old sibling was ready to help pick up
the pieces, "Looks like that went well?!" Kira smirks.


It had been prearranged, if Marco's announcement had gone awry and Rusty
went berserk, things could fall on Ricky's shoulders.


Kira had play mother to more of the kids than anyone else in the
family. She was all prepared, except for bashing in a box with her bare
hand and pulling out a bottle of whiskey, "Don't wait up for us!"


Stealing Marco's keys off the table, she wasn't at all apologetic or
cordial in asking to borrow the car.


Outside, she saw Rusty, kicking a white bumper, used to park tire wheels
against. Used to yelling 3 football fields, she yells, "Hey! Rusty! Come
take a ride with me!"


He stopped wearing the toe of his sneaker down, but Rusty apparently
mistrusted everyone right now.


Walking over, she says, "Don't run away. I want to talk to you."


Seeing Kira as a neutral component in all this, Rusty, hands in pockets,
looks down, saying, "What?"


Smartly, she wanted to make sure first, that Rusty was going to be
receptive. Unscrewing the cap of Jack Daniels, "Here, take a swig of this."


"I don't drink."


"Me neither," she says, taking the bottle back and lifting it to her lips
twice. "Here, you're turn."


Whereas she took baby steps, Rusty took one full gulp.


Kira had to hit him on the back several times to keep Rusty from coughing
his head off!


"Next time take a slower sip," she says, taking Rusty by the hand and
luring him over to Marco's car.


Staying put, which made her hand slip out of hers, Rusty says, "I'm not
going anywhere with that man!"


"I don't blame you one bit, Rusty. He's a..."


Then Rusty couldn't make out the Spanish, but knew it was something very
unkind. Walking around to the other side, he got in.


Kira met him, slipping in the driver's seat. Much shorter than Marco, she
had to adjust the seat. In her haste, Kira had to rid herself of the
bottle, tossing it into Rusty's crotch, "Here. Hold this for me."


When he didn't feel much, Kira judging, between grief, surprise news and
Rusty not able to hold a chug of liquor, she knew he needed some time to
unwind, chill out.


%


Inside the apartment, Ricky and Marco were a mess.


Even Manu came downstairs and felt unwelcome, making an about face and
deciding he better reinforce the boxes he already did up with tape!


"This wouldn't have happened, if you had told him what we rehearsed,
Ricky!"


They sat there, across from each other, a coffee table separating
them. Ricky took the liberty of going in Kira's box and removing a bottle.


Before he could loosen the cap, Marco tore it out of his hands, twisted it
off and guzzled.


"Rude," Ricky calls it, before addressing the subject at hand, "regardless,
Marco, it wasn't my fault you suddenly had the urge to become `bi' and get
it on with his mother!"


Stealing the bottle back, Marco doesn't allow it, hand tightly wrapped
around, "Get your own. It's not like I'm the only cheater that ever walked
the face of the earth, for your information?" he acted as snotty. "So,
don't get all up in my face, because you were so jealous at the time?"


"Me? Jealous?" Ricky questioned.


He had reached in Kira's box. Two strikes,

the liquor stock being depleted. Ricky, tired of shouting over the table,
picks himself up, walks around the table and crashes his butt down next to
Marco.


Fatigued from the daily chores of the day, whatever, Ricky unwound,
speakkng much softer, "Why don't we not point the finger, but think of a
way of helping you out of this mess you got yourself into?"


Caught up in thought, Jack Daniels weakening his brain, Marco didn't even
catch the `slap on the bumb', "You're the brains when it comes to stuff
like this," he slaps a hand down on Ricky's thigh.


Tit-for-tat, Ricky weaves a hand up Marco's thigh, sliding over, up his
leg, "How's this for starters."


Wanting things to be copacetic between himself and Rusty, now that his
father is gone and wanting the situation to turn around, "stop that," Marco
pushes Ricky's hand away.


"You yourself, has said we do our best figuring `under pressure'?"


Ricky was in very casually dress, having showered, thrown on only boxers
and a tee. Marco, in a suit, had stepped in from a late afternoon client,
decked out in dress shirt, jacket and tie. Tie was loosened, shirt
unbuttoned enough so a person could detect the rug on his chest.


"Well," Marco conceded, "this is hardly the place?"


"Plenty of rooms upstairs?" Ricky is highly suggestive.


Like, they weren't driven?


Being led away, Marco says, "This isn't like we're putting Rusty on the
back burner?"


Halfway up the stairs, Ricky turns his head, "I know."


He knew things, plus time, had a way of working it out. Sometimes, `right
now', a man driven by more than supernatural forces, business needed to be
pushed aside for pleasure.


Entering Ricky's inner sanctum, pad larger than the other bedrooms of the
lux apartment, Marco turns to close the door, gently.


Before the could turn around, Ricky is at his back, reaching over his
shoulder, latching onto his dress jacket.


It's not that this hadn't occurred before, Ricky doing a slow strip, of the
other guy, working the shoulder muscles when the jacket slacks down to the
elbows. With sweet kisses on the neck, "man, are you tight."


Many a time, it wasn't a quick, mad dash to get between the sheets, but
sweet, subtle, quiet repose, "Mm-m," Marco begins to weaken, with the
shoulder massage.


With whiskey in his stomach, it wasn't his belly which felt filled, Marco
reaching down for his own crotch.


Depending on the person, the time, how things got revved up, would dictate
who would lead and follow. For Marco and Ricky, they weren't into labels,
just allowing the moment to unfold.


Long ago, college friends, Ricky in a 4-year program, Marco picking up some
extra credits, both discovered what every man in heat goes through. Do it
first and then recollect later. This pushed aside the need for a man to
claim the top or bottom position, and whether to fuck or not to fuck.


Now, Marco 40-years old, Ricky pushing his way to 30, the years softened
opinion. Whereas Marco always had guys kneel for him in the throes of sex,
there was one exception to his rule, Ricky.


Back in the day, Ricky often recalls, how their first sexual romp almost
ended in a wrestling match!


Right now though, Marco wasn't putting up a fight. Like in total surrender
to his opponent, he was totally caving in, dropping the expensive suit
jacket to the floor, caring less about wrinkles. He didn't care Ricky had
popped a few buttons off his $175 white dress shirt, in haste to get it off
in a hurry.


"Oh yeah, baby," he cooed, Ricky having turned him around, totally, Marco
without a will to perform on his own.


Though, whereas Marco thought Ricky ready to take him to bed, is stumped
when pushed to his knees, Ricky's hand on top of his head as a catalyst.


Compliant as a slave boy, Marco drops down.


Without losing any time, the beauty of wearing boxer shorts, it was simple
for Ricky to drop the loose-fitting garment.


This particular time, circumstances surrounding `outing' his fatherhood to
Rusty, Marco hadn't much self-worth, so being Ricky's little cock-slave, he
felt more like a masochist than his usual demeanor.


As it could go, the two could break out into some unwritten script, Ricky
providing the inspiration this time, "Yeah, take that, you worthless piece
of shit!"


Half-sloshed, Marco pulls off Ricky's joystick, "I should be punished."


Ricky knew, he was the only one who get away with stunts like this, "Would
I have it any other way, boy?"


Fake laugh, because in reality, Ricky share the grief Marco had been going
through. Yet, roleplaying wasn't real life. It could rather be enjoyable, a
wrench retrieved from under the hood of an engine which won't turn over.


A slurpy pull off, Marco replies, "No," looks up, "sir."


Key in the door, Ricky catching Marco in a rare moment, it's not which he
thinks of taking advantage, but rather `giving the customer what is wanted'
or, in this case, needed, "Get those clothes off and on the bed...like,
pronto!"


It was an easy strip, shirt off, boxers at his ankles already, for Ricky,
finding a place to get comfortable on the bed. The other 98% of the time,
he was more apt to climb on a man, on the bed. Going for licking up the
inner thigh, under the balls, tongue up the underside of the shaft, and
then allowing the tip to paint a new stripe down his own 6-pack, while
closing in for some pec-action or kissing, Ricky lies back, Marco knowing
the routine.


Nothing was taken from hint, nor cue, Ricky lying there, allowing Marco's
tongue to work its way in whatever manner, self-driven..


Not the only one who works out, Ricky watches Marco, a little tipsy, work
his way up between his legs. The `closer and closer' view has Ricky's mouth
watering, balls pulsing.


"Yeah, bring them melons to daddy!"


Any other man, it would be his ass being known as `melons', but with Ricky,
Marco's bulked out pectorals, each rounded as fat footballs, a perky nub
dotting each one, all covered with a mat of wooly fibers...


"Yeah, give it here," Ricky says, reaching up, hands behind Marco's back,
drawing the bulging chest to his lips.


"Oh-h-h-h!" Marco grimaces, sitting up, feeling and looking at his left
pec, "Take it easy, will ya?"


Roles suddenly and drastically reversed, Marco becomes the tough master,
Ricky the lowly suck-slave, "Sorry."


Whereas Ricky had a natural, built-in island-tan, Marco needed the sun to
work on his, so looking down on himself, "It's all red," he indirectly
describes Ricky biting too hard on his nip!


Not of Ricky's will, but Marco, "I thought you wanted to be punished?"


It sounded like a good excuse...would it float?


"Whatever," Marco just wants to get it on, before the moment is lost.


As it goes, it didn't take long before they worked their differences out.


Marco, Ricky's bitch, suddenly switched it up. With cocks doing battle
below, nips tweaked till red and raw, it was easy for Marco to sink into
the `top' role.


Ricky thought he had it made, basing the finish on what was started.


However, how a half hour of time can change things.


Being `right there', his 7-inch drill bit right at the base of Ricky's
balls, all it took was forcing legs apart, putting a kink in the knees.


Happening so fast, brainwaves working faster than a man can think, Marco
goes through the motion of what's practiced a minimum of 7 days a week,
lifting Ricky's legs up.


"What tha..." Ricky protests, though inner mind wanting to have his ass
pounded.


`Pounding' wasn't descriptive a word enough for what Marco was doing to
Ricky. Fast, deliberate, Marco was probably bruising his own pubes, with
force, after pulling out, driving it in, "Uhnh...uhnh..." the finale,
"uhnh-h-h-h-ahh-h-h-oh yeah!"


Ricky, like a good bottom-bitch could, sinks his bumb closer, matching the
rhythm of Marco's beats.


As normal goes, they would switch up, Ricky fucking the living daylights
out of Marco. However, both could sense that was enough, being the
circumstances earlier on.


Rolling over onto his side, Ricky did feel the need to `get off', "ready
for that punishment, boy!"


Marco, already dead to the world, frankly did not give two hoots, still had
the courtesy of allowing Ricky to use striped stomach for cum deposits, "do
it."


It was an afterglow moment, Marco hand-jobbing his own wilted shaft,
feeling like he might go at it again, watching Ricky pump his anatomy up,
into a moment of ecstasy.


Call it a fetish, Ricky loved hovering over a man, ass almost fed onto a
hard stick, while pumping his load all over his willing victim's stomach,
watching it flow into a sinkhole, whether shallow or deep. Part of the
whole thing was sinking a finger into the navel, feeling the white paste
ooze out. Cream of the crop was sucking fingers off~


Up to his own expectations, Ricky grunted and groaned, the white goo
shooting out like a cannon, allowing the mess to accumulate on Marco's
stomach stripe. Less and less spurting out, being his balls sat on Marco's
pubes, his declining 6c was perfect match for deluging the deep innie.


Feeling total abandonment, Marco mumbles, "Clean it out for me, baby?"


>From the first time Marco stay in Ricky's dorm room, this has been going
on. Ricky was reluctant to divulge his weird fetish, not wanting to scare
Marco away. However after doing it, Marco wasn't intimidated, telling him
to get down now and tongue his bellyhole until all the goo was gone!


He had really wanted to be like Marco, flat on his back, next to him, but
Ricky knew his obligations. He might even be the catalyst for another go
around!


"That's good," Marco says, patting the bed next to him.


"Yeah," Ricky had to agree, the moment going bust.


More comfortable, Marco sobers up, "Now, what was your idea for getting us
out of this mess?"


Knowing it was Marco's mess and not his, Ricky takes it literally, "Want me
to lick your stripe off too?"


>From the first time Ricky lay eyes on the hairy stripe, embedded in a
thick tummy-trail, Marco knew his infatuation stuck like glue, "No, idiot,
I meant the mess you got me into, not talking to Rusty?"


Good thing they were more than good friends, Ricky saying, "Right. That's
what I thought you meant!"


However, not either of them came up with anything suggesting brilliance,
instead dozing off to sleep.


%


Kira felt hurt, but was understanding, not being around Rusty for his whole
life, so did not go berserk on the 19-ear old when he wanted to be with his
horse and not her!


"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" she asks.


Rusty out of the car, standing there with the door open, half steady,
replies, "Uh...yeah... Hoot's always been there for me, you know?"


She knew Hoot meant all the world to Rusty, though she had hoped someday a
nice young man would take the horse's place, "If you say so. You sure?"


Rusty hung on long enough to say, "I'm sure," then closed the car door.


Though, he wasn't sure about putting one foot in front of the other. With
the car speeding away, causing a slight dust storm, making Rusty cough.


Entering the barn, he went to the cooler to get himself a water. Dimly lit
area of the barn, he didn't feel any water in the cooler. Deciding on not
trusting his instincts, he pulls on the chain above, the low watt bulb
lighting up his perimeter.


"Hmm," he thinks on it, the cooler, "definitely empty."


Hatched upward, he lets the lid drop, figuring one of the hands forgot to
fill it. He went thirsty.


Turning around, Rusty walks to Hoot's stall, which was comparable to the
others, spacious. Custom made that way, because after all, this was `Hoot's
pad!'


He was conked out, but hearing human footsteps, it riled Hoot up and awake.


"Oh, you didn't have to get up for me, buddy," Rusty combs Hoot's blanket.


Like always, Hoot was the catalyst for making a `moody Rusty' into a happy
camper!


Hearing something, Rusty asks, "Who's that?"


Walking around to the other side of Hoot, between the horse and the wall,
Rusty waits for a response.


When he doesn't hear anything, but was sure he did, Rusty says, "I got a
rifle. It's loaded and I'm not afraid to use it!"


Funny, how a couple of chugs of whiskey can go through a man's system, when
fright takes over.


"Don't shoot. I'm unarmed, sir."


Like it would go in a timeless movie, Rusty looks over Hoot's back, seeing
a head and shoulders, elbows bent, two hands in the air, "Oh good, because
I'm not...armed," he walks back around the horse.


"Oh," the dude says, hands towards the roof, "you're not a man."


"No, I'm not," Rusty says, meaning more the age of the dude which he stared
at.


"Uh, mind if I put my arms down?" the guy says. Wearing a backpack, it can
get taxing!


"For now," Rusty said, unsure about a stranger dropping in like this.


"Thanks," he puts both arms down, which made the backpack slip down to his
forearms, "oops!"


Still, Rusty stood on the inside of Hoot's stall, "I haven't seen you
around here before?"


Rusty could have pretty much guessed, this not one of the ranch hands, the
dude carrying a backpack over both shoulders, baseball cap and not the
`ranch look', way-after-5-shadow.


"I just got here," he says, "I mean...I heard they were hiring." Then, most
likely because he didn't know what else to say to the cute cowboy, "you
work here?"


Rusty felt at ease. If the guy was out to do anything, he wouldn't have
stayed like a statue, caught like he was robbing a bank, hands up in
surrender. He didn't notice any weapon of choice.


When the backpack comes to a halt at the wrists, seemingly out of nowhere,
a bottle of water falls to the ground!


"I wondered what happened to all the water in the cooler," Rusty bends
over, picking a couple up, handing them back.


"Sorry. I was going to replace it after my first paycheck. About that, you
think you can hook me up with the ranch owner, about getting a job here?"


Unscrewing the top of two others, Rusty takes a sip, then offers, "Here,
have some."


"Thanks. I'm not thirsty right now."


It had been obvious, the reserve of bottles saved for later.


Rusty smiles, "Thanks for offering me my own bottle of water."


He had hoped the dude would get the hint!


Both knew it was the middle of the night, so the guy says, "Do you think
the owner would mind if I slept in the barn tonight?"


If he didn't get it now, Rusty didn't know, "Sure, I don't mind."


"Great," he didn't get it, "then you'll square it with him in the morning?"


Rusty drops his head back, both as a tension reliever and tired of making
tracks around the bush, speculating, "I'm the owner, dummy!"


Finally, seeing `the owner' acting casual, he does too, "I suppose you
think I'm kinda slow?"


Yeah, it's what Rusty thought, but also cute, "Right, because you didn't
think of telling me your name?"


"My name?" A short silence, "Oh right! My name, it's Devyn, but people call
me Dusty...or Devyn, whatever you want to?"


>From their short chat, Rusty could tell he wasn't a menace to society,
"I'm Rusty."


"Oh then, you better call me Devyn, `cause Dusty and Rusty just sounds
kinda lame."


Rusty had to agree, "You got it." But Rusty got it too, maybe the dude
hitting on him. "Say, how about spending the night in the house?"


"That's cool with me, if it's cool with you?"


Rusty wasn't used to `cool', but back east everyone said it and it took
awhile before he thought everything was `cool', "Yeah, it's cool."


"Cool. Thanks."


Before they left the barn, Rusty introduced Devyn to Hoot. From this, Rusty
found him to be a kind individual. For one thing, all of this interaction
was taking his mind off other things.


%


Kira, not knowing hardly anything about Rusty, other than he liked `boys',
thought perhaps there could be a `bi' connection.


After discovering it not the case, she drove off to her friend, Jack's
house. She knew Jack were into boys or girls, or both at once!


%


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.