Date: Mon, 14 Jan 2008 21:19:07 -0800 (PST)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Adventures In Nature 10

The story below is a work of fiction, 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, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental
areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene
involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then
you should not read this story. Additionally, if you
are under 18 years of age, in most state and
countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by
law. Check with your local laws regarding such. %
Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction.
In real life, use protection.

%

"Adventures In Nature" 10
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Want to see what we've got, Jose?"

A tender moment was just being born, when Mark and
Jose heard the sound of Phillip's voice, over the back
of the sofa, one of two pieces of furniture facing
each other, in front of the fireplace.

His hand slipping quickly out of Mark's jeans, as Jose
replies, "Sure. What do you have there?"

Busily, Mark buttoned and zipped up, replacing his tee
shirt over the works. Doing some quick work himself,
Jose forced his cock down the leg of his jeans, in the
nick of time, removing his hand.

"What are you guys doing? Studying?" Aidan asks.

"Right," Mark replied, "I've got a lot of math to
catch up on."

By the time Mark fudged his answer, Philip had
unfolded a piece of paper, laying it out over texts,
notebooks, Jose's laptop and other paraphenalia,
scattered over the coffee table.

"Guess what it is?" Philip asks, excitedly.

Peering at the little white box, near the right
corner, Jose says, "'Jayab Hijazi'. I know his
office-- over on Hardscrabble Road. Did Mr. Hijazi
design this?"

"Yup and guess what?" Aidan asks.

"What?" Jose responds

Mark sitting there, taking it all in, wished the
squirts would hurry it up, so he and Jose could get
back to their `studying'.

"He's got a son, Bobby..."

Philip, cutting in, asks, "And guess what?"

"What?" Jose answers.

"Bobby is our age and when he gets here, our dads are
going to have a barbecue and invite Bobby and his dad
over!"

Mark finally chokes up a question, "If Bobby is not
`here', then just where is he?"

"India, I think?" Philip guesses, having forgotten
where they were told.

"Not India, doofus," Aidan corrects him, "It's some
Arabian country."

"Oh," Philip replies.

After a short lull, Mark asks, "What about his mom?"

"I dunno," Philip says, "we only know it's him and his
dad."

It didn't phase Mark, whether he knew or not. With his
hand under the opened text book, on his lap, he cared
only about something being done with what raged under
the text!

%

"Busy day, babe?" Steve asks, his lover entering the
house, just after four-thirty.

"You can say that again!" Barry replies, doing
something he rarely does, walking in the front door,
dropping his body in a soft chair, attache case
hitting the floor, still clasped in his hand.

To the rescue, Steve closes the front door, then
sneaks up behind Barry, placing both hands on
shoulders, deeply massaging them.

"Oooooh that feels good... Thanks."

"No problem," Steve says, hands slipping deeper into
Barry's chest area. "So, you're kind of late," he
probed for reasons.

Before giving excuse, he states, "That Marsha Burke is
a saint!"

"Oh?" Steve questions, quitting his massage routine,
walks over to the bar, grabs a bottle and glass.

"The office got stormed by a barrage of parents this
afternoon, wondering why their `Johnny' or `Susy',
wasn't chosen for the main roles in Rectangulaire's
Madrigal production this year." Handing Barry the
filled beverage glass, ice jiggling around inside.
"Thanks, babe."

Not asking, Steve retrieved his afternoon kiss before
the glass met Barry's lips.

"So, let me guess. You stood there while Marsha
handled the situation?"

Breaking his serious manner, Barry smiled, saying,
"How did you guess?"

"So, what did you do about it?"

"Actually," Barry said, interrupted by a sip and gulp,
"she came up with a very good plan."

"Why am I not surprised?" Steve asks, folding his arms
across his chest, as his ass sits perched on the sofa
arm.

"She very calmly explained, since the Madrigal dinner
ran for two evenings, possibly the director might see
fit to alternate the parts of the king and queen, and
other more important roles, per night, thereby
involving more students in the lead parts. What do you
think?"

"Good move, but will Zubin go for it?" Steve brought
up the high school English teacher and director.

Giggling, Barry replies, "Well, as Marsha put it,
indirectly, the monies received for costumes, scripts,
advertising and other paraphenalia which goes into
presenting the dinners, comes from the parents, whom
patronize most of the fundraisers, so guess what?"

"An offer he can't turn down, huh? I mean, when you
think about it, so does his stipend, for running the
after school drama club," Steve adds.

"Considering all the grieving parents, there's a
couple other ideas Marsha came up with."

"Oh?" Steve stands, readjusting the waist of his gym
shorts.

Looking straight ahead, at the midsection of his red,
C9 shorts, Barry keeps his stare up, as he informs his
other half, "Adding a third performance and moving the
whole production to the college."

"Well," Steve answers, aware his eyes aren't always
making a connection with his lover, "it would sure
make parking easier, if you recall the nightmare we
had last year, at the conclusion of the dinner."

"Oh, but if you remember, there was one factor, which
inflated the amount of people who attended?"

Excitedly, Steve asks, "Is he coming again this year?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble sweetheart, but Richie has
informed us his uncle will be on tour, promoting his
`Hits of the 90's' CD, on tour."

"Are you kidding? Barry Manilow singing the hits of
the 90's?"

"Why? Don't you think he can cut it, Steve?"

"I suppose," Steve says, adding, "Well maybe, but I
think he should make the cut off, with the new
millenium."

"Yeah," Barry agrees, "I couldn't see Barry singing
`Hips Don't Lie'!"

"Like my hips don't lie?" Steve asks, hands on his own
hips, pulling the fabric of his jock shorts taut,
creating tension in the middle.

"What are you ever talking about, Steve?" Barry asks,
on the sly.

"Ready to find out?"

"Wish I could, but I have some phone calls to do
before dinner, plus check up on the kiddies?"

"Oh yeah, wait til you get hit with the developments
of Philip and Aidan's school project. It's really
developing into something!"

"Really? Want to give me a clue?" Barry asks, chugging
the rest of his drink.

"First thing, Jayab Hajazi has volunteered to draw up
the design."

"Hmm, their project is really starting to turn into
quite a `to do' with the community," Barry tells.
"You've talked to him? Just when did he say Bobby is
arriving?"

"On my way out this afternoon, I ran into Malcolm
Cahill..."

"What's he doing up at the high school?"

"The nurses office ran out of gauze strips, so the low
man on the totem pole was elected to do a pickup and
delivery," Steve replies, cheerfully. "And guess
what?"

"You gave him a blow job?"

Jokingly, Steve replies, whimsically saying, "I don't
think his partner would like that very much. How would
you feel, Beary?"

"I get your point Steve. So, what's the scoop?"

"Well, the couple are trying to adopt a little boy
from Jamaica," Steve says, with a smile.

"Isn't that where Malcolm is from, or is he from..."

"No. You've got it right. He's from Jamaica and oh,
another bit of information. Jeffrey is from the Virgin
Islands."

Smiling, Barry says, "It's amazing what you learn in
school!"

"Dad-Barry, you're home!" Aidan says, he and Philip
yell out, pounding their feet, as they rush into the
livingroom, toting a large piece of oaktag, unfurled,
flying like a flag.

"Guess what?" Philip yells out, in excitement.

"I can't begin to guess," Barry says, giving Steve a
glance.

%

"I gotta go take a leak," Darryl says, not much more
cheerful than this morning.

"Just a minute," Julian replied.

However, with a great heave, Darryl almost pulls
Julian's arm out of his socket. "I gotta pee bad!"

Up until now, Julian has been patient with Darryl,
giving in. But now his action was totally uncalled
for, the heavy black and blue bruises on his left
wrist. Cursing him already, Julian lashed out at
Darryl. Holding his glass up to pour some milk,
Darryl's actions made it wind up in his lap, the
carton pouring into his pubes. Never mind the fact he
cursed out loud, at the impact of having his arm
battered once more.

"Shit! Look what you fuckin' went and did!"

"Well, if you had listened to me...." Darryl said,
marching off to the jon, pulling Julian along.

"Now wait a minute here!" Julian shouted, pulling on
the cuffs, linking them both.

Reeling Darryl in, like casting a line out into a lake
and retrieving it, Julian holds Darryl steadfast in
his tracks.

"Ouch! You almost fuckin' ripped the hand off my arm!"

"Oh? And what the fuck do you think you call ripping
me away from the table. Hell, just because you didn't
want your Oreo's and milk, doesn't mean somebody
doesn't!"

With a long sigh from Darryl, Julian hears the words
he thought would never come, "You're right."

"Wait. Say that again?" He couldn't believe he heard
correctly, sticking his finger in his ear as if
unblocking it.

"You're right about everything," Darryl started in.
"Nobody's going to call us. We can't leave unless it's
at night, then we'll freeze our asses off, plus....
well, I'm sure neither of us want to be caught
streaking in the neighborhood. Look, I gotta pee bad.
Can we talk about this later?"

When Julian relieved himself, it was no problem,
holding his cock and letting it squirt out, but with
Darryl, he couldn't seem to get the hang of being
tethered together.

"Um, need help?"

Riddled with frustration, anxiety and helplessness,
Darryl gave in, as Julian looped his left arm over
Darryl's head, standing behind him, abling him to hold
Darryl's piss-filled rod with both hands.

"I thought you had to piss so bad?"

"Well, there's a big difference with you holding it,
than me."

"Relax and concentrate," Julian left him the piece of
advice.

Doing the best he could, soon a couple of drops
dripped from the small mushroom, bit by bit turning
into a stream. "Ahhhhhh," Darryl sighed.

However, Julian was feeling quite a different
sensation, with his 9c lying vertical against Darryl's
ass crevice.

%

"What's the matter sadsack?" Jack Collier called out
to Denis, as he lay listless in the bed, again trying
to see if any patterns repeated itself, in the ceiling
tiles overhead.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Denis replied, squinting
his eyes, as he stare upwards.

Strolling over to Denis' side, he stood by the bed and
looked up.

"I know I've been in this room dozens of times. Am I
missing something?" Jack quizzed the eighteen year
old.

Then, out of the blue, a subject entirely different
than the nooks and crannies of the ceiling tiles,
Denis asks, "Luke..." then breaking his concentration,
springing upwards, his attitude perking up,  "does he
have a boyfriend, if you know?"

Regaining his posture, Jack replies, "I think he's
dating a guy, why?"

The heightened upper feeling faded from Denis'
outlook, causing him to sink his head back into the
pillow and carry on his survey.

"Here, I brought you some `literature' to look at,"
Jack says, dropping a heap of magazines in his lap.

Looking down, over his chest, Denis, seeing the duo on
top, automatically sits up, unaided by his hands,
fingers clutching at the `Hard' magazine, eyes alight,
with viewing the two naked twinks on the cover.

"Are these real guys?" Denis questions, immediately
diving into the periodical.

After a short giggle, Jack replies, "Do they look
real?"

Once inside, beyond the cover, Denis completely loses
track of Jack's comment, even though he had his hand
on the control, elevating the teen into reading
position.

"I'll be back in a few," Jack says, closing the door
behind him, confident Denis will be entertained for
some time to come!

After flipping through the sparsely worded magazine,
Denis let the magazine fall into his lap. It's then he
realized he had something to lean against. However, it
didn't distract him from another target he eyed up.
"Shit, is this guy gorgeous!"

"Who's gorgeous?"

"Oh. Hi Tony," Denis said, a bit drawn out, enough to
try to tidy up on the pile of magazines.

"Whatcha got here?" Tony Gagliardi asks, a hand
fanning out the periodicals, between Denis' legs.
"Hmm," he ponders over the same cover-stud Denis
remarked about. "It's so obvious the guys on `roids
and... his skin's so shiny, they probably dipped him
in baby oil. If you look close enough, you can tell
he's been toned with makeup. Now you tell me...
compared to myself, what's so special about this guy?"

"For one thing," Denis says, "Is the shirt."

Taking another look, in case he missed it, Tony
replies, "He's in the buff." Thinking about the
comparison, Tony drops the magazine in between Denis'
kneecaps, his left hand extended over his shoulder,
the other meeting halfway, as he strips his tank top
off over his head. "Solid," Tony says, making like
he's punching himself in the stomach.

"I bet that's not the only thing that's solid!"

Turning around, Tony comes face to face with... "Oh hi
Jack. Like I was just showing Denis something here."

"Oh really? Um, weren't you supposed to come by my
place last week and show me `something', Tony?"

"I was thinking about it," Tony replied, knowing fully
well the `game' Jack wanted to play. "School, you
know? It's real important to me. With being on the
swim team, it's kind of tough to juggle around the
time."

Even though Jack had the hots for Tony, he led his
fabricated tale go.

"So," Denis breaks in, "do you two having something
going?"

Both guys could take this two ways. Jack was quick to
respond, "Um, yeah. We were going to watch some hot,
um...."

"Porn," Tony thought up, helping Jack out.

"Um, couldn't you have thought of something `cleaner',
Tony?"

"What's wrong with watching porn? Maybe when I get out
of here, we can all watch it together." Before saying
this, another thought ran rampant through Denis'
mind-- Luke. If Tony and Jack had something going,
then maybe this meant Jack and Luke were `friends' and
nothing else, assuming Jack pertained to himself, when
he answered the question about Luke having a
boyfriend.

Jack agreed, giving in to Tony's explanation, however
there was another bit of information he sought after.
"So, Tony... that your coverboy look or what?" Other
than the oddity of having a swimjock barechested in
the room, Jack dwelled on the upper half of Tony's
bod, those succulent nips on his built pecs.

Giggling, Tony went for his tank top, saying, "I was
pointing out to Denis how fake these coverboys are
made up."

"Well, Tony," Jack says, snatching the tank away, even
though Tony had fed his arms into it, "anytime you
want to add some realism to the cover, I know the
editor."

Flipping through another magazine, Denis kept tabs on
the two, as Tony replies, "Might just be a good way to
pick up a few bucks for college."

Returning the balled up Champion top, Jack presses it
against Tony's chest, letting it fall into his hands,
as he comments, "Anytime, Tony. Just give me the word
and I'll make the call."

Hearing the door open, Jack turns around, seeing Luke
standing there.

"My shift," Luke says, with a little smile on his
lips.

Already sensing Denis' attachment to the twenty-seven
year old counselor, Jack says, "In fact, no time like
the present, huh?"

Dragging Tony out of the room, clutching his tank in
the middle of his chest, Tony shouts, "Um, see ya
later Denis!"

"So, how's my favorite patient today?"

"Great!" Denis replies, perking up when he hears the
favorable greeting, zoning in on the `my favorite'.

"I see you are occupying your time with some reading?"
Luke asks, looking down at the bed, five or six hot
coverboys between Denis' legs. Picking up one, of a
hunk working out, muscled from head to toe, Luke
comments, "I wonder if you can see the strings,"
analysing the cover up close.

"Strings?" Denis says, not realizing he ripped the
magazine out of Luke's hands. "I don't see any."

Grinning, Luke informed him, "No probably not. The way
this muscle-hunk looks, he must really be lifting the
barbell. So, how is your day going, Denis?" Luke asks,
clicking the top of a ball point pen, as he opens a
file folder and sits.

Lying back, as the bed sits in an upright position,
the blond teen puts his hands behind his head,
reflecting on, "It's been kind of boring, since I woke
up this morning."

"Any thoughts of hurting yourself?"

"Do you mean like stabbing myself?" Denis inquires.

Luke writes something down, even though he replies,
"Not exactly, but do you have ideations regarding
such?"

"Um... whatever," Denis replies, shrugging his
shoulders.

Smiling, Luke rephrases his question, "Do you have any
mental images of doing something like that to
yourself?"

"Stabbing myself? Hell no! Why would I want to do
something like that. Stabbing myself could hurt!"

"You bet," Luke replies, writing more down. "So, you
look like you are in a happy mood. Can you tell me
what you're feeling now?"

Denis gulped down the spit in his mouth, working on
conjuring up a fib, to offset what he was feeling
between his legs.

%

Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
collection, without prior consent from the author.