Date: Mon, 28 Aug 2006 18:27:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: "Nature Country" 22

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, nor governmental areas,
which the story is stages. 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.

"Nature Country" 22
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

Max, minding his own business, glided down Van Dusen
Blvd. He turned his green, vintage, Kawasaki KT-250
onto Bridges Lane, heading the luxury expanse of
neighborhood homes.

"Oh shit!" he called out

Red police lights reflected in his side mirrors. With
both feet on the ground, he propped his helmet visor
up and looked over his shoulder. Stepping out of the
car, his regulation uniform, cool shades blocking his
eyes, Officer Riley Sanchez, often referred to as `The
Terminator', by the local school kids, approached Max,
standing with his bike in his crotch.

"Don't split your pants!"

Easing up right away, Max could tell that he wasn't in
hot water. In fact, he could see right through the
officer's sunglasses, figuratively speaking, knowing
his bulge was in full view, propped up by the seat pad
of his Kawasaki.

"Um yeah, okay," is all Max offered.

"Got a message for your boyfriend."

"Yeah?"

Riley, stood there, at 6'2, decked out in his black
policeman's outfit, not intentionally paving the way
to intimidate. His stature made it seem that way. Of
course, it helped that everybody knew for a fact that
he doesn't put up with anybody's shit. Max waited for
an explanation, a little jittery. Of course, that
wasn't Riley's intention.

"Tell him to call me at the station."

"Why can't you tell me?" Max stood adamant.

Gripping onto the handles, helped keep his cool. For
Riley, he rolled his tongue around in mouth, wondering
what to make of this `kid', whom dared to question
him. Then again, he knew that Berk and he were beyond
the stages of `liking', more into `loving' each other.


"Huh... you know what?" Before Max could answer, Riley
states, "You got a lot of moxie, kid."

"I'm not afraid of you!"

Max found himself gripping the handles of the Kawasaki
tighter. Good thing they had been constructed of heavy
metal.

"I can see that. Nice bike you got here. Where'd you
get it?"

"Belonged to my uncle."

"Hmm... mind if I take it for a spin?"

"I guess not."

Riley waited.

Max waited, neither making a move.

"Oh! You mean now?"

All Riley did is lift his arm, signal with his
fingertips `come on', like inviting someone to a
fight.

"I thought you weren't allowed to do personal business
on duty?"

Number two score for Max. It's been known that, a town
over, Riley nearly stuffed a man's head in a toilet at
a gay bar, for acting like a wise ass. Good thing Max
didn't hear that tale. Wouldn't matter anyway. He was
standing by his guns.

"Just get off the bike?"

"No. Besides, I've gotta get home and make dinner."

"Hmm," Is all the tall, cool officer sounded off.

Nobody could have been more surprised than Max, as
Riley moved closely, pulling on his leather gloves,
tightening them over his fists, breathing heavy. He
stuck his face in Max's face.

"You're tough, you know that?"

Before Max could rattle off any verbal reply, Riley
stuck his hand behind the twenty year old's neck and
reeled him in for a kiss. Max never squeezed the
handlebars of his uncle's vintage KT-250 so hard. But
that wasn't all that was getting hard... or harder? As
the officer stepped out of the line of duty, holding
their faces together, his hand slipped down the front,
cupping his hand around what lay on the seat of the
motorbike. Releasing his hand, he broke off with his
lips at the same time.

"Pass that along too, to your boyfriend."

Max just watched, as Officer Sanchez turned and walked
back to the cruiser. Max could probably have him
brought up on charges, but the kind of charge he got,
didn't incite him to do formal kind. `Wow!' is all he
said, as he watched the WRPD patrol car make a U, then
peel off up Bridges Lane, from whence it came. He
finally released one hand, to feel up the same thing
Riley did; his pent up erection. His pants drew the
outline of his bulging balls, with a pronounced snake
in his pants, exhibiting his 8c shaft.  `Shit!' he
exclaimed, `I gotta get home and take care of this!'
At the same time, he wondered why Riley wanted with
Berk to phone him at the station.

%

"What are you squirts up to?"

it's then that Chad realized, gazing at Philip and
Aidan, the nickname didn't have the appeal it did
almost two years ago. Even over the past year, it
seemed the two sky rocketed from little kids, to near
teenaged status. Gone, was the familiar welcome, the
two rushing over, Philip jumping into his bro's arms.
Still he felt welcomed, with their high-fives, a
little lower.

"Where's my hug?" Matty still provoked.

"If I gotta," Philip said.

"You don't gotta nothing," Chad stated.

Which meant `ya gotta'! So, Philip elected himself to
be first, put his arms around Matty's torso and hug
him. Aidan followed, but with a lot less duration.

Philip then ventured to ask, "Is that think all loaded
up?"

"What thing?" Matty asks.

He looks down himself, as if he spilled gravy. Chad
giggled.

Getting it, Matty remarks, "None of your business!"

The two scattered, as Matty faked clobbering them.
Next on the scene, the dads came in from the other
room.

"So, how's business?"

"Great," Matty replied.

"Yeah, except we lost our deli guy today."

"Andy can handle it for awhile," Matty replied.

"And the bake shop, too?"

"What about that new fellow?"

"Christian?" Chad clued them into.

"That his name?" Barry asked his son.

At the mention of the newest manager's name, Matty
gulped, sinking back in his memories of this
afternoon.

Steve asks him, more or less making a statement, "It's
not that hot in here, is it Matty?"

"No. I think I'm coming down with something."

The fib caused Chad some concern, coming over to him
and placing his hand on his forehead.

"You don't feel hot, Matty."

No, maybe not now. But this afternoon it could have
been at least nine hundred degrees, in the employee's
men's jon at Barr's and Bridges.

"I'll be okay."

"So what's the occasion of your visit?" Steve asks.

Chad replies, "Ump, because you dads are always saying
you don't see us enough?"

They cackled.

"We don't," Barry replied.

The dads invited them into the dining room.

"Oh, you're still eating?"

"We're almost done," Denies says, guzzling down his
beverage.

"How's football going, Mark?" Matty asks.

"Soccer. And it's okay," Mark smiles.

After the four older boys vacate the room, Matty
humors them, "That Mark is getting so fox looking!"

"Takes after me," Chad jokes.

Like the Clark children, they all know the Barr boys
are adopted as well.

"Yeah right, Chad."

"Hey, Max!" Matty greets him, walking in to collect
the dishes.

He gets an immediate bodyhug from the two.

"Um, where's that hunky boyfriend of yours?" Chad
asks.

"He had to go down to the station."

"Leaving town?"

Matty reminds his lover, "Not the train station. He's
a cop. Remember doofus?"

"Oh yeah. I knew that!"

All this time, Steve and Barry sit at the table,
taking it all in, as if a three ring circus, getting
their comic relief.

"You guys want some red bean ice cream?"

Max got `the look' from both.

"At Degaugues, that was our focus today... part of the
Asian menu," Max explained.

"Um," Matty responded, "do we gotta eat it with
chopsticks?"

Chad sucker-punched him in the arm, saying, "Yeah and
after it melts you get to suck it up!"

Smiling, Chad knew what `that' meant, without
explanation. For whatever reason, it did cause a
tingling sensation in his crotch.

"So, have you boys," Barry referred to the
twenty-something year old men, "planned out your party
for Miguel and Juan?"

"I think we have everything set," Chad replied,
throwing his leg over the oak bench.

Matty went to the end and slid in.

"Oh, by the way, Terrence Beethoven called."

"Here?" Matty asks.

"Yes."

"For us?"

"He said he couldn't find your number."

"That boy needs a secretary bad!" Chad informs them.

"Yeah, well. He said he needs you to call him back,
regarding the youth group overnight."

"Probably another meaningless meeting."

Steve picks up on Chad's disregard.

"Is everything set?"

"Well, no," Chad replied to Steve.

"Then I think you need at least one more. When is it
again?"

Matty answers, "Three weeks from this weekend."

"Not much time," Steve tells them.

"Terence might be disorganized, but he's pretty much
an in-control guy."

Even Barry didn't like the sound of that.

"Still," He thew his two cents in, "I think you ought
to make sure. You don't want the kids being
disappointed, when something goes wrong or you forget
something."

Steve kicks in, "Like marshmallows?"

They giggle, but Chad resigns, "Okay. We'll take your
word for it. Mind if I use the phone?"

The look on his dad's face tells him he shouldn't have
bothered asking. Chad swings his leg back, over the
bench and heads for the kitchen. He almost runs into
Max, bringing out a tray of purplish ice cream.

`Sickening', Chad thinks, as he passes by, but tells
Max, "Looks delicious!"

After setting the fours bowls on the table, one minus
the person sitting there, Matty lifts the spoon and
picks at it.

"What are these red things?"

"Red beans. Why do you think they call it red bean ice
cream?"

"But it's purple!"

Steve and Barry giggle at Matty's face, as they take
spoonfuls, making light of it, as it disappears from
their bowls.

"Really Matty, you're behaving worse than the kids,"
Steve tells him.

"You mean to tell me, Philip and Aidan didn't give you
a tough time? They readily dug in and made `all
gone'?"

So, Max didn't lie, telling him all of the boys, Mark,
Denis, Tom, Eric and the two `squirts', did have a
problem with the color, plus the fact of vegetables
embedded in the frozen desert. However, rising above
the `kid stage', Matty lifted a spoonful to his lips.
Turning it into a joke, he placed his other hand on
his wrist, one hand trying to force the other from
taking it in.

"Heeeaaaaay! This is really good!"

Just then, Chad reenters.

"Chad, you've gotta taste this!"

Steve and Barry dropped their spoons in their bowls.
Matty didn't get it right away, until the two dads had
stopped eating.

"Whatsamatter?" He asks Chad.

As day from night, Matty's cheerful demeanor, sunk in
titanic proportions.

"What's wrong Chad?"

"I tried to argue the point, but Terence said he
couldn't help it."

"Couldn't help what?"

"They had to move the youth group overnight `up a
week', that's what!"

"So?"

Chad had to spell it out to him.

"Up a week, like to the weekend we're planning
Miguel's and Juan's anniversary party?"

"Shit no!" Then realizing he cursed in front of the
dads, tried, "Oops. Sorry dad!"

Barry was as good as Matty's father-in-law, even
though the two hadn't rightfully exchanged vows yet.

Chad quickly said, "I think we should go."

"But you haven't eaten your ice cream."

"Matty, we've got everything planned. The food, the
guest list, etcetera."

"So? Can't Terrence get two other counselors to go?"

Barry and Steve, along with Max, watched the two, as
if a ping pong game, batting questions and answers
back and forth.

"Two others? More than that."

"How do you figure?"

"Think Matty. Who all did we invite?"

As Matty spelled out the guest list, Chad sorted out
which guys would be tied up in the youth group
overnight.

"Oh wow!" Matty realizes the implications. "We've
gotta talk. Um, bye. Thanks for the ice cream."

Hopping up from the table, Matty lifts his bowl,
scooping every last bit of red bean ice cream out,
licking the spoon off, like one of the kids would do.

"Good stuff. Thanks Max."

Chad wound up pulling on the back of Matty's shirt,
stretching it out of shape, hiking it up his bod,
showing off his hairy navel.

"Sorry we gotta run," were Matty's last parting words.

%

With nothing much special to do, Christian walked the
streets of West Richlan. Passing by Johanson's, the
towns only sports shop, he caught a glimpse of a group
of college jocks, hanging out around one of the racks.
His loins stirring, made for the excuse to shop for a
new tank top, or briefs, whichever proved to be the
best vantage point for the best view. Walking in, Mr.
Johanson greeted him cordially, showing him where all
the exercise wear, for guys of the 20-something year
age bracket. Picking up the first article, an XXL tank
top, he eyed it up and down, holding it sometimes so
that he could spy on the five college studs. He also
partook of their conversation.

"Told you Mike, it's too faggoty!"

One of the others stated, "Maybe we should get it for
our two gay bro's."

However, also in Christian's direct line of sight, he
picked up on the guy at the cash station, tall, dark
brown hair and glasses, also within eyeshot. Suddenly
he got rocked out of his reverie, by Mike, football
physique and all.

"Hey, you going to buy that guy?"

Realizing he had been holding it, his arm feeling the
pangs of his muscles, from his arm stretched upwards,
he brought it down to waist level.

"No?" he gulped, replying to Mike.

After hearing some of their conversations, then being
approached by the 6'3" tall jock, he wondered if he
was to be pounded through the floor.

"Cool!" After snatching it out of Christian's hand, he
completely ignores Christian, stating to his frats,
"This is more `our' color guys."

With the tank flashing orange and white, in Mike's
hand, he holds it up over his own pecs. Unknown to any
of them, the cashier Christian's eyes scanned, walks
over.

"Excuse me, but wasn't `he'," pointing to Christian,
"interested in that item first?"

On the verge of saying `no', Christian fumbled for the
words, however already Mike was questioning the
clerk's audacity.

"Hey, ain't you the faggot punk that lives in Hilton
Hall?"

Out of nowhere, Mr. Johanson shows up.

"Are you boys finished shopping?"

Taller than any of them, the store owner stands at
6'5, himself a specimen of a football linebacker.

"You got anymore of these?" Mike asks.

He answers, "Yeah. How you set on the color pink?"

"Pink?" Mike asks, obviously annoyed by Johanson's
deliberate fabrication. "We ain't no..."

Standing almost on top of Mike's toes, Johanson
displayed his intense dislike for where Mike was
headed with his comments.

"Yeah?"

His eyes stare up from Mr. Johanson's adam's apple.

"We'll come back another time," he gave the excuse,
leaving the orange tank top.

"Y'know I could've stood up for myself, Uncle Sy."

"I know." Then smiling, he said to his nephew, "See to
our customer, Justin?"

Christian smiled, when Justin turned to face him.
Picking up the orange tank top, Justin came around the
rack.

"Frankly, in my opinion, you would be swimming in it,
sir."

Feeling funny that this guy, obviously not much than
himself, referred to him as `sir', Christian felt he
had to set him straight.

"Christian."

Lowering the top of the hanger from Christian's
shoulders, the hook of the hanger from lip level,
Justin replies, a simple, "Come again?"

To Christian, it sounded like hillbilly talk, but he
didn't dwell on what could be mistaken for
embarrassment. Plus, he didn't want to make it seem
like his real intentions, entering the sporting goods
store, to look upon the college jocks.

"I really did have intentions of buying something."

"This tank is way too big. What size shirt do you
take?"

"Tee shirt or dress shirt?"

The twenty-four year old was wearing both.

"Either. It doesn't vary too much."

"Medium?"

"Do you like a loose fit around here?"

Pulling on his own shirt Justin tugged at the lower,
sides of his light blue dress shirt.

"Loose is okay," Christian reported, also taking in
the taut stomach.

In reality, he never owned any exercise apparel, since
he wasn't into working out, but it wasn't himself that
interested him at the moment.

"Um, I hope you don't mind me asking this... but do
you work out?"

It became a dead giveaway, obvious to Justin, that
Christian was checking him out.

"Not at a gym. I've read up on it and do my own sort
of working out. Why do you ask?"

Thinking about what Chad said the other day to him,
about being more assertive, Justin had thought about
it a lot between then and now. He figured he better
get started on it, especially when he had some
thoughts about the possibility of this guy being gay.

"No reason."

Yet, Christian, whom still stood with his waist sort
of wedged in between the round rack, facing it at
least, gulped when he felt his cock hit one of the
garments, poking right through his pants.

"If you want, I could show you sometime!"

Next think Justin was thinking to himself is how lame
could he be, to ask a total stranger, even though he
was very hot looking, talked with an extraordinary
sexy voice, how could he like come out and `ask' him
something like that.

On the other hand, Christian's thinking, `Oh shit! He
saw my big cock!'

"You feeling alright, um...."

"Christian."

"I'm Justin."

"I know. I saw your badge."

Justin didn't realize it, raising he eyebrows. `Wow!'
he thought. `This guy really `is' checking me out!'

Christian, realizing he might have too frank, thinking
Justin might think that he was checking him out, tried
fidgeting with some thoughts, anything that would
change the subject.

"Um.. ah, like... I'm feeling okay. Fine. Why'd you
ask?"

Now, on the other hand, Justin figured he shouldn't
have said anything. However, now it was out in the
open, he had to respond. `Quick' he said to himself,
pressuring himself, `think up something - anything!'

"It's hot in here. You're sweating."

Right away, like deja vu, Christian drew a picture of
earlier, he and Matty's conversation with Jack Warner.
`Oh shit!' he threw himself into a panic. Here he is
with this hot looking stud and right away he thinks he
smells like a pig!

"I don't smell do I?"

`Oh shit, what a stupid thing to ask', Christian
followed up his question to Justin, with a question to
himself.

Holding the orange tank top over his crotch, Justin
thought was a smart thing. He only hoped he wasn't too
obvious. Another thought-provoking idea crossed his
mind. He wished he was close enough to Christian to
honestly answer the question, take in the blond's
scent. For a moment there, he began to wish he could
have his nose right next to his bare skin!

"Smell? Um, no. I mean, hee hee..." even though he
didn't smell any body odor, Justin pinned Christian's
guilt on himself, reporting, "if anybody stinks, it's
me. I'm sweating like a hog!"

It sounded funny to Christian. He smiled. He doesn't
know why.

"You? No. I mean, I've been working all day, running
around at the store. If anybody smells, it's..."

"What store do you work at?"

"Barr's and Bridges."

"For Chad?"

"You know Chad?"

"My best bud at college."

"That's right. He goes to WRCC. You go there too?"

"Sure. He's in one of my business management classes.
Do you go there?"

"Thanks for the compliment, but I've been in and out
of college already."

Justin could sense Christian a little older, but only
by a year or so. Maybe twenty-two.

"I'm pushing twenty-five," Christian states, answer an
inquiring mind.

"Oh."

Then nonchalantly, not thinking, Christian asks, "Why?
I'm too old..."

Eyes popping, almost out of his socket, Christian
slaps his hand over his own mouth, realizing he almost
said `it'.

Smiling, his dark brown glasses propped up on the
bridge of his nose, Justin goes for broke. He drop the
orange tank top from in front of his lap.

"Um, I'm not real particular, when it comes to hot
guys!"

He never felt more sweaty in his entire life. And, it
surely wasn't hot in his uncle's store, plus he knew
he didn't have to pee. His tented pants only meant one
thing.

A big grin covering his face, Christian steps out from
the circular clothes rack, saying, "You're not the
only one!"

Seems like Justin's big gamble paid off. He was proud
of himself, at the same time delighted that Christian
got the same vibrations.

"Um, what is it you said about older guys, Christian?"

"Nothing. I mean I guess you aren't too particular,
eh?"

Both guys looked down at each other's crotch, walking
towards each other. As if a positive and negative
magnet, being attracted to each other, their tents got
closer and closer. In the background, distant counter,
Justin's Uncle Sy laughed his ass off, containing his
laughter for his own enjoyment.

Trying to find some words, like he had to explain,
Christian says, "I... I was hiding it in the rack."

Holding up the XL, orange tank, Justin tells him, "I
hid mine behind this... um, could you tell?"

His gaze returning to Justin's package, he states, "Oh
no... had no idea, but I'm.. never mind."

"Glad I am?"

For a shy guy, nerd, scared to say anything gay to
anybody, except his good friend, Chad Barr, Justin was
unloading some hot insinuations, which seemed to bring
out some years of pent up emotions. On the other hand,
Christian began feeling a helluva lot more
comfortable, on the subject of `coming out',
especially it being a public place. Cautious though,
he looked around.

"Ah, I think your boss is getting suspicious."

"He's my uncle. He's okay with me being gay and I
think by now..."

Looking over at the counter, where Christian's gaze
just visited, Justin smiles, when his eyes connect
with his uncle.

"Still, you've got a job to do and..."

"I'm off in a half hour."

As if a ninja, suddenly Uncle is standing right there,
on the other side of the rack, where the frat jocks
had been standing.

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off, Justin?"

Both guys almost jumped out of their skin.

"Damn Uncle Sy!"

His uncle stood there, shaking, as he laughed and
laughed. It began to inter some giggles, in Christian.

"He does that to me every time. I think Uncle Sy is
Houdini-reincarnated or something!"

"Well?" Uncle Sy asks.

"With pay?"

"I pay for your damn tuition, what more do you want
from me?"

"Yeah. Okay. Never mind."

However, out of his pocket, Uncle Sy pulls a wad of
bills. Peeling off a fifty, he hands it to Justin.

"What's this?"

"I'm not going to be home for dinner tonight... got
some inventory to do."

"I can cook for myself."

"What? And poison your new friend, along with
yourself?"

"Thanks Uncle Sy."

All this time, Christian is taking in the tender
conversation between Justin and his uncle. Lurking in
his mind, are a thousand questions. He hadn't really
thought about it, but his uncle already had made up
his own mind that he was having dinner with Justin
tonight.

"Um, are you doing anything tonight, Christian?"

"Just going... home and..." stopping mid sentence,
Christian just thought of something. He his home was
his car. Sure, Michael Birdy offered him some space
til he found a place, but for right now, his back seat
was his living room.

"What?"

"I forgot to tell you, Chris," Justin shortened his
name, "Uncle Sy can foretell when a guy's got
something on his mind. You better tell him now or
he'll bugging you every chance he gets!"

However, Christian didn't want to give in. Not when it
was something this personal.

"Never mind. My problem."

That Ninja trick was working again. Before Christian
could think, Uncle Sy was breathing down his neck.
With a big grin on his face, Justin was chuckling.
Turning his head, Christian looked behind himself,
turning his body.

Standing there, his arms folded across his chest,
Uncle Sy asks, "Now what was it you neglected to
mention, young man?"

"You better tell him."

Changing his pose, placing one hand, up and under his
sports jacket, tucking his thumb in under his belt,
Christian rubbed his eyes, then stood there, not
wanting to submit to the uncle's interrogating look.

"Okay. So I don't rightfully have a place to go home
to. I've been living out of my car for the past couple
of weeks."

Staring, arms still folded across his chest, Uncle Sy
recites, as if reading cue cards, "Fifty bucks a week.
Justin's room. Take it or leave it!"

Behind Christian's back, Justin says, "Way to go Uncle
Sy!" As Christian turns and looks at him, he adjusts
his comments, "I mean, I have no problem with that."

"But...."

Christian is cut off. Surely he's thinking Uncle Sy is
more than a magician, a mind reader as well, when he
says, "Justin rooms at the college."

"Yeah," Justin offers himself, "I used to live with
Uncle Sy."

Then, Uncle Sy informs them, "You two get the hell
outta here, before I take back my fifty!"

"Wait! I didn't say whether I'll take the room."

Uncle Sy replies, in a more dominant manner, reaching
into his pocket, "Here. Leave the back door unlocked
for me. You can park your car in the driveway, but
pull it all the way up to the garage."

Not thinking fast enough, Christian caught the set of
two keys inside his jacket, against his stomach.

"Where'd he go?"

"Stockroom, probably," Justin reported. "The Ninja
thing again."

"I'm beginning to believe you."

"Hold on. Let me grab my jacket."

All the way back to the counter, dodging the maze of
racks of sports gear, Christian watched Justin weave
his body. Even though his erection had subsided, he
still felt tingly all over. It put a smile on his
face.

%

2B continued...

Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
collection without prior written permission, by the
author.

The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness!
TCMcP.....