Date: Sun, 29 Jul 2007 17:00:32 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Natures Trail 14

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.

%

"Nature's Trail" 14
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Okay, how do we do this?" Mark asked Coach McMillan
about shaving Tony's chest.

"Like coach said, it's just like shaving your face,"
Tony replied.

"If you say so," Denis says, holding the can of
shaving cream of a bag of plastic razors, following
Tony into the shower area of the lockerroom.

Tony stands at the towel table, a long, metal slab
that looks like it was stolen from a hospital setting.
Clearing it off, he says, "Okay. Now for the hard
part."

Denis was already feeling pangs in his swimsuit,
utilizing Tony's words, to apply to his own condition
forming in his crotch. What made matters worse, Tony
put his thumbs under the elastic of his swimsuit and
started peeling them down.

"Whoa! Wait!"

"What?" Tony questioned Denis, stopping the descent.

"Why do you have to take off your swimsuit, Tony?"

"Makes it easier to shower off, or else the shaving
cream gets on my suit."

"Oh," is all Denis said, his eyes watching Tony peel.

"Y'know, you should take your suit off too."

"Me? Why?" Denis

"It's the way it's done."

Standing there, Denis didn't get what Tony was talking
about. Tony could see that.

"Whenever we have a shaving party, all us guys strip."

"Shaving party?" Denis questions.

"Sure. At the beginning of the season. We all come
back from summer break and need a shave."

"What about the new guys?"

"Yeah, I have to admit they feel a little weird about
it, but they get used to it. After all, it's one of
the clauses in the contract we make with coach, at the
beginning."

"And the new guys know this before they join the
team?"

"Nah. Some of the idiots don't bother reading it
through before they sign. They follow the other guys
who are signing it in front of them, thinking if it
wasn't kosher, they wouldn't be signing it. Good thing
you and your brother know, before signing your
agreement next fall."

"Yeah. Thanks, but it doesn't bother me. I don't
really have any hair on my body."

Tony begs to differ, looking at Denis' slight treasure
trail. Stripping off his suit, he says, "I bet that
grows in before the fall!"

"What?"

"Your treasure trail."

Looking down, Denis' fingertip grazes over the thin,
blond line, as if stroking the back of a caterpillar.
"How can this little bit matter? It's not going to
like slow me down or anything."

"Hey, I don't make the rules, Denis. When Coach
Hollister says to shave from shoulder to the beltline,
we don't argue."  Looking down, skimming over his bod,
a hand feeling up his own chest and stomach, Tony
says, "looks like I need a full body shave."

Denis gulps, peering at Tony's lower half, eight inch
cock, surrounded by dark fuzz. "Not down there?" Denis
says, reluctantly.

"My swimsuit rides low. Some of it," Tony says.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"To the shower. The hot water softens up my skin. Want
to come?"

"Nah. I'll wait here for you."

Choosing the closet jet atteched to the wall, Tony
messes with the controls, evening out the hot and
cold. From a soap dish, he takes a bar of soap and
lathers up his whole bod. From a distance, Denis
enjoys the view of Tony's ass, covered in suds. Then
as the water rains down on Tony's head, it streams
down his wide back, washing it all away, his skin
still remains slick and shiny. Breaking off the stare,
the water suddenly gets shut off.

"All ready," Tony says, his bod dripping wet, as he
walks over to the waiting table,  hopping up on it.
After sitting, he lays down. "Oh man... it's
cold-cold-cold!"

Before Denis even thinks about getting started, he
looks down, making sure his bod, from navel down, is
hidden under the rim of the table.

"Hey, you didn't take off `your' swimsuit, Denis!"

"I'll take my chances of getting shaving cream on it.
Now what do I do?"

Tony instructs him, "Spray a gob out on your hand,
then pat it onto my chest."

Doing as instructed, Denis depressed the tab, causing
more than enough cream to billow out onto his palm.

"Too much, I think."

"Nah. Just keep spreading it around."

Inverting his hand, the eighteen year old slobbered up
Tony's chest, starting from right under his chin. In
no time, his pecs were white-covered.

"Good," Tony told him, "except brush some away, with
your finger, from my nips."

"Your nips?"

"Yeah, you don't want to go over them with the razor."

"I can see where they are."

"Just the same, Denis, I'd feel more comfortable if
they were in plain sight."

"Okay. No sweat."

Other than Mark's nips, Denis had never touched
another man's pecs, let alone the peaks of white
adorning Tony's chest. With an index finger, he zeroed
in on the right pec, easily scooping up some residue
from the right nip. Out of the corner of his eye, he
thought he saw Tony's cock twitch. With haste he did
the other side.

"Felt kinda good."

"What?" Denis asked.

"Um, I got sensitive nips. That's all," Tony shrugged
off.

What Denis perceived as no big deal, shaving Tony, now
he thought twice about doing it. Now all he wanted to
do is break open the pack of razors and get the job
accomplished.

"I have to level with you Tony. I'm nervous."

"Of what? Those cheap razors wouldn't hurt a flea.
They aren't really sharp enough to nick a guy. You
know Juan Ibarra?"

"Yeah, I remember him? A senior, right?"

"Yeah. He's got a lot of hair on his chest and this
hot.. I mean a thick trail down his stomach."

"But he's smooth," Denis had observed.

"Yeah, because he keeps up to date on his shaving, but
during the off season he's a real `bear'!"

As Tony chatted about this and that, Denis glided the
razor over his chest. The work went along with ease
and soon he had finished with the chest.

"You might as well do my stomach and here, too," Tony
pointed out the distance between his navel and pubes.

"Um, Coach McMillan said just your chest."

"Yeah, but if I walk out there and he compares my
chest to my stomach, he'll notice."

Speaking of noticing, Denis was surprised Tony hadn't
said anything about his cock, even though bent over,
his stalk was hard.

"What the hell," Denis said, forming a puff of shaving
cream on his palm, then distributing it evenly over
Tony's stomach.

"Don't forget my innie!"

With two fingers, he lathered up Tony's treasure
trail.

"And a little of my pubes."

"Little? Like how much?"

"It's hard to tell. I'd say half way to my cock."

Carefully, Denis spread foam along a straight line,
estimating where the top of Tony's swimsuit came to.
Doing his stomach was no problem, but Tony was real
picky about the treasure trail. "Make sure you get all
of it. Seems like it starts in my navel and just flows
out."

"Yeah. Whatever," Denis said, as he first scraped the
little bit of hair from below his navel, them tried to
stick one end of the razor inside his navel, shaving
it even if he couldn't make out any hair. Then the
time came for his pubes.

"Don't you think you could do this part yourself,
Tony?"

"I dunno, Denis. One time I tried shaving my own
pubes. It's a struggle. You don't really mind, do
you?"

Shoving his hips against the table, Denis' navel was
against the edge, making sure his priority was to hide
what was underneath the steel table.

"Whatever," Denis said, tackling the fine coating of
pubic hair. Twice, he counted, he accidentally brushed
by Tony's cock, but Tony said nothing. Finally, Denis
said, "There. Done."

"Great!" Tony replied. "But don't go anywhere. After I
shower, there might be a touch up.

Sitting up on the side of the table, Tony leapt off,
pushing the table behind him. Turning around, he
asked, "You okay, Denis?"

"I'm fine," he replied in a solemn tone.

As Denis blushed, his blond features seemed lighter
than his skin, as Tony beheld the tented swimsuit.

"That?" Tony said of Denis' covered erection. "Don't
worry about it. All the guys get an erection when
we're shaving."

"Really?" Denis replied.

"Sure. Most of the guys wind up jacking off. Happens.
Well, I'll shower off and be right back."

Tony reported back to the same shower. It's then Denis
noticed bits of shaving cream on his torso, plus quite
a bit clinging under each arm. First, he tried wiping
it away with his hand, which only made it spread
around more. Spying a towel, he grabbed it and wiped.
Still, his skin felt uncomfortable. He thought,
whatever's left will come off in the pool.

"Ready for inspection!"

Giving Tony the once-over-quickly, Denis says, "You
look good."

"No.. no, please. Look closer, Denis. If coach finds
one little blade of hair on my bod, we'll only have to
come back."

"What the hell," he said. "Come out to the light."

"Here, I'll lay down again."

When Tony lay down on the table, he parked his hands
behind his head, flaunting his dark, hairy pits. What
Denis didn't know is, while Tony was in the shower, he
had stroked his cock, making it hard-to-the-max. No
wonder it pointed to the ceiling!

%

"Right on time!"

Christian, hustling from the car to the cafe, dodged
in the front door, to what he perceived as five
minutes late. "Really?" he asked.

"Yup, but wouldn't matter anyway. C'mon, I want to
show you the new diningroom."

"They're finished?"

"Almost."

"But what about the coffee? Eggs? Toast?"

"We're staying closed today."

"Closed? But don't you need the business, Michael?"

"People have been staying away." Then Michael laughed,
explaining a complaint from a longtime friend that,
yesterday, his coffee tasted like it had sawdust in
it!

Cowered in the pocket of his arm, Michael led
Christian into the other portion of the cafe, asking,
"Well, what do you think?"

"I think the workmen must've worked their tails off to
get all this done in just two weeks!"

Stepping away from Michael, he felt up the shine of
the new tables, pulling a new chair out from
underneath, trying it out. "When did you get these?
They weren't here yesterday."

"Last night. After you left. A truck delivered them.
Kevin and I spent a good part of the night arranging
the room."

"What did you do with the old tables and chairs?"

"Donated them to the college. Seems like the student
lounge needed an upgrade and our tables looked better
than theirs. It'll make a nice tax writeoff!"

Gazing around, looking upwards, downwards, everything
looked brand-spanking new. Suddenly the little
jingling bell on the door, to alert them someone was
entering the cafe, sounded.

"That must be him!" Michael said, racing out of the
refurbished diningroom.

"Him? Who?" Christian asked, slowly getting up from
his seat. Before he could get to the door, two figures
stood in the archway dividing the two rooms. He knew
Michael's silhouette by heart, but the other guy who
stood with him, he didn't recognize.

"This here is our new chef, Adrian Perreault. Adrian,
meet our restaurant manager, Christian Houtenjik."

"Nice to meet you, Adrian," Christian offered, along
with his hand.

Seeming to remain in Adrian's hand longer than
necessary, Christian coughed, "Ahem," then looked down
at where they made contact.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Adrian said.

In a way, Christian wasn't at all perturbed. In
reality, he was probably checking out Adrian, as much
as Adrian was checking him out.

"You are Dutch?" Adrian asked, with a little French
accent.

"My parents are from Holland. I was born here in the
United States, but they moved back there," Christian
divulged a bit of his personal history.

"I see. Well, it is good to know you," Adrian said.

Then, standing there, the conversation died, each of
them looking at the other, smiling. Michael had
strayed back into the cafe, hearing the phone ring.

"Um, you look a lot younger than what I figured you
would be," Christian ventured to say.

"Michael told you my age?"

"Um, no, but I thought from your experience, master
chef at a fancy LA restaurant, I figured maybe you
would be older."

"I am twenty-six. And you?"

"Twenty-three," Christian responded, with a smile.

"So, you are still in college?"

"Um, no. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you it
sometime," Christian replied.

"I think maybe I would be interested in hearing it."

"Sure," rubbing his palms together, he said. Then,
even though Adrian was a total stranger, Christian
says, "Um, my boyfriend and I will have to have you
over for dinner sometime."

"Boyfriend? You are coupled?"

"I guess you might say that."

"But also," Adrian asks, being cautious, "you are out?
You are not afraid people are listening to you?"

"Are you talking about being gay and out?"

"I suppose that is what I am saying," Adrian
confessed.

"Are you gay?" Christian asks.

Checking behind himself, he returns his attention to
Christian.

With his own opinion taken for granted, Christian
assumes, "You're not out, are you Adrian?"

Nervously looking back into the cafe, Adrian replies,
"It will be our secret?"

"Let me clue you in to a little secret, Adrian,"
Christian says, smiling, walking towards him, placing
a hand on his shoulder, "Michael?"

"Yes?"

"He's gay."

"Your partner?" Adrian replies, shocked.

"No," Christian giggles, setting the record straight,
"Michael's partner's name is Kevin. He's at work right
now. You'll meet him later, probably."

"Oh, so that is why you don't mind speaking about
yourself out loud?"

Christian fills him in, "Let me tell you something. I
don't go around broadcasting I'm gay, but you will
find our community very open to the LGBT community. We
don't go around pretending, plus this area seems to
have a fairly large gay population. Most of the gays I
know are out."

"Still, I would like to keep it secret?"

"Fine with me, Adrian. It's not for me to say. You
come out when you feel it's right for you."

"Thank you. I appreciate it, Christian."

"Well things have a way of working themselves out, I
suppose!" Eyes on Michael, walking into the new
diningroom, neither had the faintest idea of what he
was talking about.

"What was that, Michael?" Christian asked.

"That was Angela De Ferrari on the phone."

"Who?"

"The other chef I had hopes of hiring, form New York
City."

"Had?"

"Yeah, she backed out. Got hoodwinked by another
restaurant," Michael said, but didn't look shaken over
it.

"So what are we going to do, Michael? I thought you
were planning on a grand reopening next weekend?"

"Calm yourself," Michael said, putting up his hand
like a stop sign. "It so happend Angela's brother,
Mario, straight out of cooking school, is up for
employment, so I hired him."

"Hired him? Do you know anything about him?" Christian
asked.

"Not much. It'll be his first job at a restaurant, but
going on Angela's raves, I told her I'd be willing to
hire him on a trial basis."

"Whew! That's good."

Michael smiled, thinking of how Christian was sinking
into his position as manager, taking a vested interest
a different aspect of the restaurant business, other
than flipping burgers. It made him think he did right
in appointing him manager, overseeing things when he
couldn't be around.

"Oh, I wanted to tell you something...."

"Who me?" Christian and Adrian said at the same time.

"Both of ya's. I had human resources, at WRCC, put up
an advertisement on the bulletin board, regarding
employment."

"Very good move," Adrian said, adding, "When I was in
cooking school, I waited tables. It is also a good way
for college students to earn money. If they are a
caring waiter, they will earn good tips."

By explaining something, both Michael and Christian
started on their education, regarding Adrian's
background, beyond his professional experience. Paying
more attention to Adrian, Christian noticed how the
thin fabric of his white shirt showed he wasn't
wearing an undershirt. Right through it, he could pick
out the two dark spots of his pecs, a line down his
stomach, the pull of the fabric where his navel was
situated above his beltline. At the same moment, he
felt a twitch under his zipper.

%

"Aren't you boys interested in swimming?"

Looking up, the seven squirts looked at one of the
swimmers, hands on his hips, still dripping wet.

"Hi," Callan said, getting up, offering his hand, "I'm
Callan O'Meara."

"Nice to meet you. Matt Drijver here. Listen, I don't
have a class right now, if you want me to show the
guys some swimming tips?"

So, the kids followed the wet footprints over to the
shallow end of the pool, Callan bringing up the rear.
As Matt moved, Callan watched every muscle in his back
twitching to his walk. Suddenly stopping, turning
around, the leader, Aidan, plowed right into Matt's
stomach.

"Hey, are you alright there, buddy?" Matt asked him.

"Wow! How did you get such a hard stomach?" Aidan
asked him.

Matt started to talk about fitness, hitting the gym
most days of the week, lifting weights, crosstraining
with swimming and biking. One thing led to another and
soon each of the boys wanted to feel Matt's taut abs.
Making his abs more pronounced, Matt flexed with his
hands behind his head, doing a triceps stretch.

"Awesome!" Philip said. "Someday I want to have abs
like yours, Matt!"

He smiled, remembering being fourteen and saying the
same thing about a high school guy. Right away it
brought a name to the surface; Brad Donahue. For now,
he didn't have time to relive his thoughts, being torn
away from his reverie by the kids.

"Can you show us how we can get abs like yours, Matt?"
Seth asks.

"Like I said, it takes a lot of work, but sure. I can
show you guys some moves. Run back and get your towels
and bring them over here."

The seven charged around the corner of the pool,
whipped their beach towels off of the cement floor and
hustled back.

"You sure have them charged up," Callan told Matt.

"Oh yeah?" Then the nineteen year old asks, "How about
yourself?"

Callan looks in the direction Matt stares, not knowing
what to say, so he lies, telling him, "Um, I guess
I've got to go to the jon. Can you handle them for a
minute?"

"Sure. Go ahead." Then, as if reading Callan's mind,
"Have a good jerk off!"

Checking before he left the kids alone, Callan wanted
to make sure Matt's voice hadn't carried. In one
respect, yeah, Callan felt kind of horny, but in
another way, he was annoyed at Matt for being so vocal
about his tenting swimsuit, especially so near the
young guys. Entering one of the stalls, he wanted to
piss, but his cock wasn't getting that type of signal.
He knew Matt was right and the only way he could get
rid of his erection, was to fire it's load into the
toilet by stroking it. But he tried one last idea
before resorting to the pleasureable means. He tried
`willing it' down. "Be calm," he whispered to himself.
No matter how he tried switching his thoughts,
pictures of Matt kept creeping back in, the smooth
back, all it's muscles working in conjunction with
each other, the taut abs, tight pecs and an area the
squirts weren't thinking about, below the belt.
"Shit!" he exclaimed, in frustration. Knowing he had
to report back soon, Callan slid his swimsuit down,
forming his hand around his shaft. Leaning against the
side of the stall, he slid his hand up and down his
rod. Not all the way there, he suddenly stopped when
he heard a male voice, singing. With a look of
surprise on his face, he stood silent, listening. Soon
he heard water pounding the tiles, streams of water
soon forming, running under the wall separating him
from the guy showering. Strange thing, he thought he
knew the tune, but couldn't make out the words, since
the song was being sung in spanish. It was only a
temporary thought, as he stood there, still holding
his loaded pistol. The singing stopped.

A hand appeared, slowly opening the stall door, a guy
asking, "Need help with that.... oh sorry, mister. I
thought you were one of the guys!"

However, the dripping wet swim jock stood there, hand
still holding the spring-loaded door open, eyes keenly
focused on Callan's pubes.

"I'll just pull up my suit and..."

With hands on the sides of his swimsuit, Callan slowly
pulled it up. Only one thing, it wouldn't go over his
hard shaft. Another problem arose for him. The
frat-jock had stepped forward, grabbing at the middle
of his swimsuit, saying, "I'd really like to have
that!"

"What the fuck you talking about, buster?" Callan
said, out of surprise, a twang of anger in his voice.

Hand partially inside Callan's swimsuit, his knuckles
rubbed up against his hairy balls, the jock said,
"Y'know, I could tell coach you asked me in here?"

"Listen, kid. I don't know what you're trying to pull,
but if you don't get your fuckin' hand off me...."

"Coach!" the guy yelled out.

"What the fuck you doing?"

Shrugging, he said, "It's okay. I don't think he heard
me with the water running, but I could yell louder.
Just think of what it would look like. A college jock
and a grown man together in a lockerroom jon, standing
here, your cock as hard as a rock and me naked!"

"What are you trying to pull?"

"Nothing. All I want to do is suck you off mister. Now
how `bout it?"

Callan wasn't sure what to do. He had already stayed
way past his time, away from the pool, the kids. He
wondered how his word `would' stand up against the
kid. Already, Matt Drijver had snagged him, checking
him out, getting an erection over his frat bod. He
knew it would be wrong letting this guy suck him off,
but then again, what would be the outcome if the guy
made up lies to suit his own satisfaction. Then, his
mind began to quickly wander, thinking of the
repercussions, rippling throughout the community, of
Alonzo, the impact it would have on the kids. Most of
all he thought how careless, how stupid of him to
enter the stall and forget to lock the door!

%

Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
collection, without prior consent from the author.