Date: Tue, 25 Jul 2006 16:11:25 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Nature Country 20

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is
entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to
accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or
governmental areas, in 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. This is
fiction. Use protection in real life. `Got condom?'

"Nature Country" 20
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

Possibly a bit paranoid, as Barry entered WR High
School, he gazed at every other student, with the
possibility of expecting to see drugs, nonchalantly
pass from hand to hand. But that wasn't the case. In
fact, it had been a routine Monday morning, drowsy
teenagers wishing him a good morning, a few vibrant
ones asking how his weekend fared.

"Good morning, Mr. Barr."

"Good morning, Agnes."

"I have the department heads lined up for a meeting at
2:45. I'm sorry it couldn't be this morning, but I
couldn't reach many over the weekend, so made a
corporate decision."

"That's fine, Agnes."

"Something bothering you, Mr. Barr?"

"Um, no," Barry thought, then blamed his disposition
on, "it's this drug thing."

"Of course. Especially when it involves someone close
to your heart, dear."

"Yes, thank you."

Barry took it as Agnes' way of showing concern for his
family.

"I hope you don't mind that I've contacted someone I
know, a member of the drug squad at WRPD. They're
sending him over for the meeting this afternoon."

"Good idea. Thank you, Agnes. You're indispensible!"

With a courteous smile and thank you, she rounded the
office `bar', still noting the tense disposition.

%

"Rats!"

"Rodents?" Berk asked.

His eyes searched the kitchen floor, swinging the
tablecover out of the way. Resting with one hand on
the table, he scouted underneath.

"Um, no," Max informed him, a slight giggle paving the
way for a grin.

After quickly explaining the absence of the Clark-Barr
family members, Max let on about the `mousy'
expression, upon missing out on the need to make
breakfast for the clan.

"At least they thought of me."

"Thought of you?"

Max laughed, saying, "The dirty dishes?"

"They should clean up after themselves, no?"

As Max lifted the cereal bowls from the long table, he
replied, "You kidding? If they didn't leave a mess for
me I'd think they didn't love me anymore!"

Berk as well, helped pick up cereal boxes and other
breakfast paraphenalia. As he watched Max move into
the kitchen, chiming away about his kitchen chores, he
thought about the word `love' and what it meant to
him, at this moment. However, Max beat him to the
punch. Setting the dishes in the sink, he quickly
turned about. Berk couldn't fight the feeling, with
his hands full, nor wanted to, as Max, chest to chest,
dove into his lips, arms around his waist. After a
long-lasting kiss, Max backed off, leaving Berk
holding a soiled bowl in each hand.

Seeing the look on the Turk's face, unsure of what he
meant, he apologized, "Maybe I shouldn't have done
that?"

Neither of the two had a chance to discuss the matter.
Berk leaned forward, his arms reaching around Max, to
set the bowls and utensils on the counter. Once his
hands became free of their objects, they became a part
of Max's anatomy, plastered to his back. Again they
hooked up their lips.

"That felt sooo... sooo very nice," Max said, with a
sigh.

"I have to agree. In fact... Max, you talked about
love."

"Love?"

Max questioned the use of the endearing term, trying
to recollect when.

"When you say that if the Clark-Barr children did not
leave a mess, it mean they do not love you anymore."

"Well," Max tries to reason, as his hands are still
planted on Berk's beltline, "it's a figure of speech,
like the `rats'."

"I don't get it. Rats? Dirty dishes? You think they
don't love you if you don't become their slave?"

"No, no, no..." Max grins, giggling. "Slavery's dead,
Berk."

"Not in my country."

"You're kidding?"

"No, but freedom is becoming better."

"That's good."

Max didn't harp on the slavery issue. But it seemed
Berk wanted to pursue it, as Max turned to the sink.

"You want to know how I know about slavery?"

His back to Berk, and with one hand on the faucet, the
other holding a dish under the spigot, Max's tongue
stayed in his cheek long enough for him to form an
inquisitive thought.

"Wait a minute."

He loosened his grip on the faucet, shutting off the
hot water and set the cereal bowl in the sink.

"You're not going to lay it on me that..." he
hesitated, until his patience wore out, "that you're a
slave, Berk?"

His face portrayed the cutest smile, which gave away
his guilt.

"Wait!" Max suddenly blurted out. "Those lines on your
back. I... I thought they might be from the creases in
the sofa..."

Max began guessing, using all the clues he had
sighted.

"Nooo, they can't be? Scars from...."

"A bad slave," Berk finished his sentence, nodding his
head up and down.

Then Berk got pelted with a different form of
questioning.

"When? You're an American citizen. How could?"

With his questions, Max also surrounded the
twenty-five year old with his sympathies, gathering
him up, wet hands and all, hugging him tightly.

"Ooooh I'm so so sorry, Berk."

Realizing he might be pressing his hands too tightly
against Berk's shoulder blades, Max broke away.

"Oh geez... I'm not hurting you, am I?"

Smiling, Berk giggled, "No, but my shirt is quite
wet." Then he explained, "The whippings I took are not
fresh. They happen when I am a teenager."

"Teenager?"

Curiosity got this cat.

"Wait a minute. Have a seat."

Max set about preparing some coffee.

"No. You sit. I make," Berk told Max, after he had
brought out the can of coffee.

After the directive, Max pursues the slavery issue
with, "Are you sure you weren't the master?"

%

That morning, the strangest thing happened. Philip and
Aidan had missed the bus. First time since the Barrs
moved into the neighborhood. So, they bummed a ride
with Callan and Alonzo. Diego could take the bus, but
the school had been on the way to the hospital and
high school, where Alonzo taught eleventh grade lit.

"Need a lift, boys?" Came the offer, as Callan rolled
down his window.

Indeed, seeing their buds, Diego and Seth in the back,
they hopped right in.

"How come you're walking to school this morning?"
Callan inquired.

"Our dads didn't wake us up again," Aidan replied.

"Again?" Alonzo asked, taking the right turn onto Van
Dusen Blvd.

"Right," Philip explains, "Dad-Steve says it takes
longer for us little guys to wake up, so they start
and end with us."

"Start and end?" Seth asks.

"Yup. They wake us up and then go wake up Tom and
Eric, then Denis and Mark."

Aidan adds to Philip's theory, "Then they come back to
us and wake us up again."

"Same, everyday?"

"Yup," Aidan and Philip say at the same time, to
answer Seth.

"How come you didn't get woked up then?"

"I dunno," Philip says, shrugging his shoulders.

Aidan reports, "Dad Barry came in once, but didn't
come back. Next thing we know, my dad," he turns to
Seth and tells him, "dad-Steve, he's my real dad, he
comes and wakes us up telling us we'd better hustle!"

Seth didn't have it explained to him last night, so
played `catch up'.

"So the dad called Steve is your real dad and,"
addressing Philip, "the one called Barry is your dad?"

"Yup," they both said.

"Hey," Diego adds to the subject, "My real daddy is
Alonzo and none of our dads is your dad, Seth."

Even the dads picked up on the major `boo-boo' that
Diego presented for the group to ponder. For the first
time, they captured Seth in a not so cheery mood.

Alonzo and Callan turned to each other, saying to each
other softly, "Uh-oh!"

Not sure of the manner in which to handle this, Alonzo
pulled off to the shoulder of the road. He put the
stick in park. He joined Callan with turning around in
his seat, seeing the four squirts lined up across the
back, arms and thighs all smooshed together. Seth sat
between Diego and Philip.

"Hey, why are you crying, Seth?" Philip asks.

"Daddy, did I make...Seth..."

Diego then started to get misty.

Leave it to the kids to soothe away the pain. The two
dads in the front didn't know what to do or say, other
than reach to the back and apply a cushioning hand to
a shoulder. It's Philip that made the first gesture
that began calming the rough seas. He reached right
over, behind Seth's neck and over to Diego, his arm
bring the two to him. His other arm went around the
front, in an effort to cuddle them.

"Don't worry guys. My dad... dad-Barry isn't really my
real dad anyway!"

This became a revelation to Aidan.

"He isn't?"

"Nope," Philip told the world. "I'm adopted."

Aidan confessed, "Me too, Phil. My real dad didn't
want me."

"Really Ai? Me neither," Philip stressed.

"Wow! I can't believe we're like the same and now
we're childhood sweethearts," Aidan said.

By now, Philip's grip on his buds had diminished.

"Then that makes you guys like me!"

Even though it didn't make it right, it made Seth feel
a lot less worse off. For Diego, it presented some new
facts.

Seth let out, "Hey, that makes you the special one,
Diego!"

The hurt begin to lift on all sides. Alonzo rolled his
eyes at his twenty-four year old partner.

"Leave it to the kids!" He said, as he revved up the
engine.

Callan smiled, tapping Alonzo on the thigh with his
hand.

"Hey, not while I'm driving," Alonzo smirked back at
his grinning lover.

Sarcastically, he added, "Yeah. Not in front of the
young adults in the back, eh?"

After dropping the kids at school, Alonzo let Callan
off at the hospital.

"Remember that if you're feeling dizzy, take it easy.
You're not supposed to be back to work yet."

"What am I supposed to do? Sit home all day and play
with my cock?"

"Fuck that," Alonzo joked, "not without me there!"

"Besides," Callan told him, "if I know Dr. Scalia,
she'll have me grounded. I'll be wasting away at a
desk job someplace."

Alonzo giggles, saying, "Or collecting nickels and
dimes in the cafeteria?"

"Get outta here before I take my cock out here and
start playing with your ass!"

Callan watched, as Alonzo sped away.

"What the hell you doing here?"

All Callan could do is stand there and take it. He
knew the possibility existed that he would have his
first run in with Dr. Maria Scalia. To him, her
attitude seemed more like that of an Irish washer
woman, a thug attitude, throwing her weight around and
plastering the walls of the hospital with her
boisterous voice.

"Um, I couldn't stay home."

"Didn't I tell you," she slammed her hand down on a
guerny, in the hallway, "that you're not to show your
face around here for two weeks?"

"I know, but..."

"Don't you fuckin' but me, Callan O'Meara.. now you
just turn right around and walk out that door."

The few staff that had gathered `round sighed out loud
when Callan re-voiced his opinion.

"No."

Eyes grew like saucers.

"No, huh?"

They couldn't believe that Dr. Scalia was backing
down.

"No. You see, the house is empty and it gets kind of
boring watching General Hospital."

The staff cracked up, laughing there asses off.

In general, Dr. Scalia shouted out loud, "Don't you
boys and girls have something to do? Like get the hell
outta here and start earning your pay that you half
goof off working for anyways?"

Knowing the fifty-one year old doctor, her ways of
making something sound official, yet `nice', they went
about their business.

With a tinge of Irish brough, Callan states, "Someday
you're going to get your ass sued off, Maria."

"Eh, I'll be retired by then."

The two now settled down to chatting socially, walking
the hallway. At the cafeteria entrance, they migrated
in, approaching the windows to the eating world.
Callan picked up a cardboard cup and filled it nearly
to the brim with coffee.

"Must be soon, the way you talked down that bunch just
now!"

"Actually," she stopped to tell the young man to take
some of the scrambled eggs back, "I've been thinking
about it."

"Retiring?"

"Think about it... I've got myself a good woman.
You've got yourself a good man."

"Well, I hope you haven't been holding back on my
account?"

Unknown to most of the people, in the immediate world
of West Richlan, it had been Dr. Maria Scalia, acting
as the driving force for rescuing Callan and his twin
sister Catherine, from the clutches of Northern
Ireland. She had been on vacation, in the right place,
at the right time. Desolate, they had been on the
verge of stealing, to eat. Fortunately, she
apprehended the two, teens at the time, before the
shop owner caught them. Actually, he had suspicions
they had stolen the bread, but Maria came to their
rescue, squawking on and on in a piercing tone of
voice that they helped her, advised her on what to
pick out. She lied of course, telling the owner she
thought Callan and Catherine had been shop employees
at the bake shop-cafe.
He believed her and she provided the twins with a free
lunch, which became more like a seven course dinner,
being they had been so famished. The only crime that
she found is them being down on their luck and not
having a place to turn to. Months earlier, their
parents had died, leaving them penniless. Setting them
up in a hotel room, she extended her vacation leave,
taking months of personal time, to help them get
visas. If not for Dr. Maria Scalia, Callan and
Catherine O'Meara might be in prison or dead.

Shrugging her shoulders, she replied to Callan, "Only
until you met up with a man I approved of."

Callan smiled, looking across the table.

"And do you approve of him, `mother'?"

"Oh let's not go through this again... bring on the
violins!"

Right there in the hospital cafeteria, Dr. Scalia
begins a concert on her imaginary stringed instrument.

"Alright, alright. So when?"

"I dunno. Maybe after Barbara and I get married."

Getting edgy, Callan asks, "So when is the wedding?"

"What're you trying to do? Get rid of me?"

Callan sighed, "Is that what you think?"

She smiled.

"No. I just thought I'd wait until I see `my son'
graduate from med school."

Callan smiled, then lost his sweet humor.

"What's the matter?"

"Maria. I've decided that I don't think I want to go
to med school."

The horror on her face looked like King Kong with the
empire state building up his ass!

"You're what?"

Callan looked around, as every bit of noise stopped,
the clanging of pots, rattling of dishes, conversation
came to a halt, as Dr. Maria Scalia voiced her opinion
out loud. She didn't think anything of it, but Callan
began to grow sweaty under the collar. In fact, as he
faked a toothy smile, he stuck his index finger in his
collar, to let the steam escape.

"Well, I was thinking of not becoming a `doctor'
doctor, but maybe going to dental college."

"Why the hell didn't you say that instead of putting
an old woman through all this misery?"

Dr. Scalia's soothing dictated the behaviour or the
whole atmosphere. As she began to rest easy, the
people around began to migrate back to their routine.

"Dentist, you say?"

"Yes. I've been thinking about it and find a strong
interest in it. Oh course only male patients."

"Fuck that shit!" Dr. Scalia said, then forked some
eggs into her mouth.

Callan took it like anyone who knew how rough she
could come across, but really mean it in a loving,
humorous manner.

"I knew you would like the idea, but actually..."

Maria gave Callan, `the look', as her churning mouth
came to a standstill.

"I only said dentist, because it's a `people' doctor
and..."

She held up her hand, as if the Supremes singing `Stop
In The Name of Love'.

"Wait a minute right there, Callan." After a swig of
her coffee, the good doctor clears her throat, "Quit
this shit and tell me like it is!"

Looking to the right and left or Maria's shoulder,
Callan knew he had to get the cards out on the table.

"Would it make a difference if my patients are dogs
and cats?"

"A vet?"

"Uh-huh," the blond medic replied, with a forced grin.

"I suppose you could have picked being a foot doctor."

"What's wrong with podiatry?"

"I could never get used to handling somebody's smelly
feet."

Aparently there had been an eavesdropper on their
conversation, as snickers flanked a couple tables. Too
bad for the orderly to her right.

"Why don't you fuckin' go empty a bedpan, Jimmy!"

"Sorry `bout that," Jimmy tried to repair his
misdemeanor.

"You'll be sorry when I do my rounds!"

"Um," the young man fidgeted, "I guess I better get to
that bedpan."

Of course, his friends all knew the jest involved, but
didn't dare crack a giggle off.

"So, what about a vetenarian practice?"

It took two sips of coffee, sloshed around in her
mouth to give Callan her blessings.

"I suppose I should be giving Bernice Bridges a call."

"Huh? What for?"

"Your office, of course. What do you think?"

"Maria, I haven't even started on..."

"No sense wasting time. Nope, gotta get your practice
in the the best location. Hmm, matter of fact..."

Callan watched, as she sipped her coffee, then wiped
her lips with a napkin as if she wasn't thinking about
it, sitting back, in deep reverie.

"Another one of your wild brainstorms ready to break
forth?"

"Hush!" She reprimanded him. "Okay, this is what I
want you to do. Go over to WRCC this morning."

"But I..."

"Shut up and listen. Your ass isn't needed around here
anyway."

"It's so nice to feel wanted."

Overriding Callan's feelings, which had been humorous.
Not taken seriously, she continued on her train of
thought.

"I want you to go to the medical wing and look up a
Dr. Ron DiPiero."

Leaning back, she interrupted the two gentlemen, in
white, as they chatted.

"Hey, Lenny you got a pen?"

Cheerfully he forked over a silver one. The kind you
get on a special occasion as a token reward.

"You lose it and I break your face," Lenny told her in
jest.

Maria tells him, "You and what army?"

Of course, folks in the immediate area, got a chuckle
out of it.

"So, you go see..."

As she wrote down the name of the thirty-three year
old collegiate professor, she talked out the info.

She ended with, "If he gives you any grief, tell him
you'll sic Dr. Passat on him."

"Dr. Passat?" Callan questioned.

"Yes, my nephew Maury. That'll make him tote the
line."

This part of the conversation was news to him, that
left Callan in a fog. Sure, he knew that Maria had a
nephew named Maury, but not much about their personal
relationship. He knew Maury to be a college professor,
but not much other than that.

"Care to share what that means, Maria?"

It then dawns on Maria that Callan has never been
properly introduced to her kin.

"Hmm... I think it might be a good idea if your family
met Maury. After all... well never mind that's not
important."

Callan smiled, not out of humor. He was gathering up
his evil digs once more.

"Now you know Maria that I'm going to bug the hell out
of you until you give in?"

Rolling her eyes, she began to confess.

"Nothing much to tell. When I was in Ireland, trying
to get you two hooligans shipped out, I needed a
liason in the states to handle the financial end."

"Maury?"

"Exactly. Only..."

"What?"

"Well, he told me to promise never to tell, so you
fuckin' better never let on that I told you. He wanted
to kick in a few bucks."

"So how much did he contribute?"

She held her tongue in her mouth.

"I swear, Callan, if you.."

"How much?"

"All of it."

"The whole half million?"

"Dammit, Callan. Do you have to tell the whole world?"

This time, it's Callan whom had stopped traffic.

"Oh my. This is overwhelming. He didn't even know me,
Maria," Callan bowed his head.

As if praying, he held Maria's hands in his.

"If you don't stop holding my wrists so tight, they
are going to have to resuscitate me!"

"Maria, I had no idea."

"And you better act dumb when you meet him. Look, I've
got to go. Get your ass up and over to WRCC. I don't
want to see your face back here today."

"Yes, mother dear," Callan replied.  Joking, he asked,
"Hey, maw?"

"What sonnyboy?"

"I don't have a car."

"She tossed her keys on the table."

>From behind her she heard, "Um, Maria? The pen?"

Trying to psych out the doctor, she said, "I was gonna
keep it.." she tosses it against his chest, "but I
don't go for no dime store cheap stuff!"

"Fuck you, too," He replied.

They smiled at each other.

%

"Bummer! I've gotta get moving!"

When Max looked up at the clock above the sink, it
said that he had fifteen minutes to get to Degaugue's
Cooking School, where his cooking class awaited him.

"You don't know this chef. One minute late and he
makes the offender clean up everybody's mess and I
tell you that it's no picnic! I've got to shower,
shave and oh, drop you off. Where do you live?"

"I get find my own way home," Berk replied.

"Nonsense. I'm not going to let you walk from the
middle of nowhere to your place."

"Really. It is not a problem. I could use the
exercise."

However, the fifteen minutes it took Max to shower,
shave and dress, Berk was nowhere to be found upon
returning to the kitchen. Another thing phased Max.
The kitchen was as clean as a whistle. He looked in
the dishwasher. It resembled the inside of a whale's
skeleton.

"What tha?" He said to himself.

Scouting around, he discovered that every cereal bowl,
spoon and glass had been washed, dried and put away.
The long diningroom table had been swabbed down, the
floor swept immaculately clean. Jumping in his car, he
hoped to see him along the road, but Berk wasn't
anywhere to be seen.

He said to himself, hoping to find Berk, "There's only
one main road in... one out and that's Bridges Lane."

Max didn't discover him. However, turning out onto Van
Dusen, he spotted the familiar blob, far down the
road. Right now he didn't care if he had to work all
afternoon to clean up other students' mess. He wanted
to find Berk. Before he caught up with him, he saw
Berk run across the sparsely traveled road and into
the woods. He was sure Berk hadn't seen him. He parked
on the side of the road and hopped out. Through the
pines, he carefully tailed him. The Turk came to a
clearing, but Max hung back. It had been the leanto
the church used when the kids went on overnights.
Standing there, he watched Berk strip out of his
clothes. Max pulled his light jacket up around his
ears. In his tee shirt, jeans and jacket he felt a
slight chill. Yet, he peered over a fir branch, to
watch Berk strip down to nothing. Then picking up what
resembled a ragged towel, he saw Berk head down to
where he knew the brook ran by this region.

"Son of a gun!" Max said to himself.

For the longest time, he watched, waiting for Berk to
come back into sight. Sure enough, his eyes picked up
on the twenty-five year old Turk. Same as when they
arose this morning, he gazed at the dark, almost
black-haired chest, the lightly haired stomach with
the darker, defined trail running to his navel, then
thick haired pubes, supporting a long cock and two
nicely proportioned ballsacs. As if a ninety degree
summer day, Berk casually finished drying himself,
even hanging the `towel' up before thinking about what
to cover his body with. He wasn't sure of what to do,
but felt so much compassion that he couldn't stand
there and do nothing.

"So, this is the place you call home?"

"Yes."

Max was puzzled. Berk didn't act surprised, as he
smiled at him.

"Wait," Max guessed the facts, "you... you knew I was
standing there all the time, didn't you?"

"I am a policeman... a detective. I am supposed to
know things like that."

"Right," Max reported back to him. "So, this is why
you didn't want me to take you home?"

"It is not a bad place."

"What happens when the church has their outtings?"

"I take my things and go to the old ranger's station."

"Why don't you stay there? I mean, why haven't you
stayed there?"

"It's dangerous. I run into a bear one time. He win
and sleep in the bed."

"Hmm... How come you didn't tell me?"

"I have my pride."

"I thought you cops make decent pay?"

"I have not been a policeman very long. I put in
bank."

"I see. So, you can't even afford to put yourself up
at the cheap motel? It's only like fifteen bucks a
night. I used to... well..."

Max left off the part of his past, visiting the cheap
motel, after engaging a guy at gay.com.

"So, how much money do you have saved up?"

Knowing it none of his business, Max wasn't after
finding out if he had thousands or not. Smelling
something rotten, maybe connected with Berk's past
life, he had his reservations.

"I have some."

"More than last week's paycheck?"

Even though Berk had been taught that patience better
be a virtue, plus accepting humility, he let things
get the best of him. Max wasn't his master.

"I think that is my business, Max."

In an instant, Max backed down. But then he thought
about their conversation earlier, in the Clark-Barr
kitchen.

"Oh? Then what about all this `love' business?"

It threw Berk for a loop.

"Um, love?" Berk questioned as if hearing it for the
first time.

"Yes, love. I mean I thought... well you... I..."

The two stood there, Max and Berk distanced at about
two feet. Still dressed in nothing but the great
outdoors, he stood there until his body detected a
cool breeze too tough to shrug off.

"Oooooh," Berk finally alluded to, as shivers ran
through his body.

He thought it was the cold, but now wasn't too
convinced. His desires told him he wanted more than a
shirt and pair of pants surrounding his nakedness.
Sensing the cold, but not in a temperature setting,
Max walked closer. He was about to find out exactly
what Berk meant by the term `love'.

%

20 Continued....

Copyright 2006  T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold or made part of any
collection without prior written permission.