Date: Mon, 20 Aug 2007 10:10:23 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Natures Trail 21

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" 21
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

Sticking his head in the door, Harry says, "Your time
is up, Jose. The supervisor wants to see you."

Hopping off the bed, Jose tells Denis, "It's been
awesome meeting you."

"Same here," Denis replied. "Maybe we can talk again
sometime."

As Jose left, Harry entered, saying, "Did you get a
lot off your chest?"

"We talked about what happened, but lots of other
stuff too. Jose's a cool guy."

>From their chat, Denis found out Jose is seventeen, a
Junior in high school and has had a problem with
adjusting to being gay. It was almost a sure bet their
paths would cross again.

"Sorry, but I won't be able to follow through on my
promise," Harry said to Denis, as he rolled the food
away from in front of Denis.

"Promise?"

"To see your brother. Sorry, but he's still off
limits."

"Even to family?"

"Your father was just here. They let him in for a
minute, but Mark is still out. Your father said he
will be by in awhile to check on you."

"That's okay. Harry, you've been really nice to me.
Thanks."

"You're welcome. You're a nice guy..."

Just then, Barry walks in.

Harry makes his way out, saying, "I hope things work
out for you, Denis."

"Thanks."

"How are you feeling son?"

"Whatever they gave me helped me to calm down. I'm
feeling better, dad, but I wish I could see Mark."

"He's still sleeping."

"Is he going to be alright? What do they say about
him?"

"Well first, he has a nasty cut on the back of his
head. He needed several stitches. And oh, your shirt
helped. Good call there."

"Thanks. I wish I could have helped more."

"The other thing is, the doctor showed me the results
of the x-rays. Mark had a very mild concussion."

"He's going to be alright, isn't he?" Denis pursued,
the intensity of his words showing his concern.

"Other than waking up with a headache like a hangover,
he's going to be fine, plus he'll have to limit his
activity, sitting around and being lazy for awhile."

His dad's smile eased his mind, falling back on the
bed, his head hitting the pillow, exhaling deeply.
Not as distraught as yesterday, Denis said, "I'm so
glad he's going to be alright. I don't think I could
have forgiven myself if anything bad happened to him."

Sitting on the side of the bed where Jose's small tush
was outlined by the sheet, Barry asks, "Maybe you can
tell me what brought about this whole incident and how
Mark wound up with an injury?"

Then Denis, concerned, asks, "Riley Sanchez mentioned
telling what I knew to a detective. Am I under arrest
or something?"

"Under arrest? First I've heard of it. Why don't you
just start at the beginning and we'll see where all of
this leads. Okay son?"

"Okay."

For the next half hour, Denis tells all, backing up
his story further than when he filled in Jose on all
the details. His attitude bottomed out when he
confessed to his dad he failed his math test, how he
expected his father to be disappointed in him when he
never turned in the paper he wrote to Mr. Hanson. Then
he went on to say how he was so wrapped up in his own
problems, he drew off of Mark's affection, except when
Matt showed up, seeing things in the wrong way, then
him going off the deep end, running away from
everything. When Denis told about standing on the edge
of the cliff, looking down into the gully, his father
became quite worried. As Barry listened, Gary Roberts,
psychiatrist on staff at the hospital, was brought to
mind.

After Denis explained about Mark saving him from the
crumbling ledge, Barry leaned over, put his hand on
Denis' shoulder, saying tenderly, "Son, I think you
need some help."

"I... I'm sorry dad. It seemed like everything was
going bad... things crowding me..."

Bending over, Barry's palms slipped behind Denis'
back, drawing his son into his embrace.

"Don't worry. There are some wonderful, understanding
professionals here at the hospital that can help you."

Denis began to cry.

"Knock-knock!" A voice as well, as a rap on the wooden
door, announced intruders.

Leading the pack of swimjocks, Tony Gagliardi tenderly
said, "Alright if we come in and visit?"

Barry was ready to say no, but then when he saw the
college jackets, reflecting the swim team's
identification, he left it up to Denis, asking,
"Okay?"

Nodding `yes', Denis assured him, "I'll be alright."

Entering, Tony flashed a gold and red box in front of
him, saying, "We brought you some candy."

"Gimme that," Adam said, tearing into it.

Barry, standing in the wings, his back to the wall,
smiled at their antics, thinking it was good of the
hospital to let the whole team in at once. Soon, each
member had a chocolate in their mouth.

Jason said, plopping the box down on Denis' bare
stomach, "We saved the cherry for you!"

Brightening up somewhat, Denis replied, "Thanks guys,"
trying to blot out his conversation he had with his
dad.

"We all really miss you and Mark at practice," Tony
tells him.

Lying, Nils says, "Coach Hollister says he's awfully
sad you're not there and hopes you and Mark will get
better real quick!"

On a sad note, Denis says, "Mark won't be able to swim
for awhile. Prolly for the rest of the school year."

"What happened?" Tony asked, sitting where Denis' dad
took up space, but taking more liberty to place his
hand on Denis' thigh, resting under the sheet.

Denis gave the short version of the incident, saying,
Mark tripped and hit his head on a stone. He gave out
the information his dad gave him, telling them he
required stitches and had a slight concussion.

"Oh man. Our hearts go out to him," Tony tenderly
conveyed.

"Thanks," Denis responded.

Then, noticing Denis' dad in the foreground, Tony
shouts to him, "Hey, Mr. Clark, you know Denis did a
really awesome job shaving me," Tony picked up his
shirt tail, exposing his pecs and abs, flaunting the
smooth skin.

"Quit showing off your abs, Tony!" one of the guys
accused him.

Stepping up to Barry, he was all game, taking his hand
and rubbing it over the middle of Tony's chest,
letting his hand slide down his stomach.

"Hmm, quite smooth, I would say," Barry complimented
his son, connecting eyes over Tony's shoulder,
smiling.

"Denis did a good job on you, Tony. When he comes
back, I'm having him shave me, too," Jason said,
picking up his tee shirt too, adding, "I think I need
it."

Then it became a body-check, all the guys pulling
shirts up, some anchoring them behind their necks.
Finally, Tony lay the law down, shouting, "Okay guys.
You want to cool it? Mr. Clark is gonna think we're a
bunch of perverts!"

Barry wasn't objecting. He about had his fill of
eye-candy for the day!

%

"Am I under arrest or something?"

"I read you your rights didn't I?" Riley answered
Juan, as he sped away from WRCC.

"Don't I get a phone call?" He asked, through the
metal grid, sitting in the back, hands cuffed behind
him.

"After you get processed."

Solemnly Juan says, "Doesn't matter anyway I guess.
Forget it. I don't have anybody to call."

Stopping for a light, Riley turns to the rear of the
patrol car, takes off his sunglasses and asks, "Why
not?"

"Because I just don't have anybody, okay?"

"No family?"

"I'm alone. Okay? So don't start feeling sorry for me.
The light's green."

Turning towards the dash, Riley replaced his
sunglasses on the bridge of his nose and got underway.

%

At two-forty-five, John Torkelson breezed in through
the front door of Barr's & Bridges, his green smock in
hand. Saying `hi' to every other employee, he found
his way to the time clock, searched out his card and
slid it through the computerized entry port. Feeding
his hands into the sleeves of the store uniform, he
reported to the stockroom.

"Hey! Long time, no see!" Kev belted out.

"I woke up with you this morning, remember, dah?" John
says.

"This morning was a long time ago," Kev said, looking
around before he gave John a warm hug.

"So what are we doing here?"

"Same old-same old, however I got a favor to ask you."

"Sure. What is it?" John asks Kev.

"Tom hasn't been having any successes with appointing
employees to the customer service desk. He claims
they're all `idiots'!"

John smiles, as Kev giggles.

"So let me guess. You want me to try it out? See if I
fit in with `the idiots'?" John says, lightheartedly.

"I think if Tom thought of you first off, he didn't
classify you with that status. Besides, don't you
think he has changed towards you? Did he get on your
case for anything yesterday?"

"Somewhat."

"When?" Kev asks indignantly.

"He said I was too skinny."

Kev stands there, hands on his hips, giving John a
smirk.

"He asked me if I was getting enough to eat," John
adds.

"There! Doesn't it show you he's trying to be nice?"

"But he doesn't have to try to be nice to me. Just not
be so mean."

"See this can here, John?"

"Um, Bush's baked beans?"

"If you're not headed up to customer service in two
seconds, I'm throwing it at you!"

"Okay.. okay, but before I go I want to tell you one
thing."

"What's that?"

A pathetic look on John's face, he fesses up, "I'm
going to miss working back here with you."

"Get outta here. You're going to miss slaving in the
hot sun, driving pallets off of trucks, your shirt
sticking to your skin, wet like it came out of the
washing machine, grit sticking to your bod? Believe
me. You ain't gonna miss it!"

"I suppose if I get lonely I could always page you up
front to bag."

"Yeah, thanks. Then people are going to be smelling
me, like a dead buffalo!"

"Well," John simply says, "I see you still have the
beans in your hand, so I better be going."

Setting the can down, John leaving the stockroom, Kev
suddenly felt lonely, like some of the life drained
from his bod. Leaning on the top of a pallet jack, he
thought, `Am I really this crazy over the guy?'

"Done unloading the truck?"

"Un, yeah. John showed up. Did you see him?" Kev asked
his brother.

"We must've passed, but in different aisles. So. Did
he go for it?"

"Tom, I don't mind doing anything for you, but I hope
you're going to treat John nice."

"I treat everybody nice... that does their job," Tom
tells him.

"There's another thing."

"I told you I'm giving him a raise."

"No, that's not what I'm saying. When we go to the
club on Saturday I think you should offer to pay for
everything."

"What? I'm giving you guys taxi service," Tom
complained. "What more do you want out of me?"

"No. You're inviting us as your guests. When you
invite somebody, you should feel obligated to pay for
them," Kev poured it on heavy.

Tom stood there, mulling it over, his tongue swishing
over his gums.

"Alright. Just this once, but the next time you want
taxi service, it's gonna cost you. Oh, by the way, you
ripped your shirt!"

"What tha?"

Looking down, something must've caught on the pocket
of his shirt, tearing it, creating a hole as big as  a
fist. It left the view wide open, abling anybody to
see his left pec.

"Forget it. I'm not wearing anymore of these shirts to
work. This is the third one," Kev complained.

"Calm yourself. I'm seeing about getting Barr's &
Bridges tee shirts for you stockboys."

"I hate that word."

"What word?"

"Stockboy."

"Well, like it for now," Tom says, "someday you'll be
a famous artist and you can write about it in your
memoirs!"

"Thanks loads," Kev says to his brother.

"Speaking of loads, you want to haul that pallet out
and get started on it?"

"Slavedriver!"

%

Bringing Juan into the WRPD, Riley took him behind the
scenes, parking him in a chair, in his office.
Riley sat in the swivel chair.

"Um, the cuffs hurt."

"Regulation," Riley answered him.

"You're a big guy," Juan says of his height and width,
"you'd have me grounded before I even reached the
door."

Swiveling around, Riley threw his pen down on the desk
and fished in his pocket for a key.

"There. Happy?"

"Not really. I wish I wasn't here."

"You wouldn't be if you didn't go around to jon
stalls, offering blow jobs to strangers."

"It was a mistake. First time I did it. I wanted to
try it."

Again tossing his pen on the desk, Riley turns his
chair around facing Juan, saying, "Why don't we just
cut the act and talk about this man to man?"

"You don't believe me?"

"First, tell me about your family."

"I don't have any," Juan says.

"What happened to them? Your mother? Father?"

"Killed in an auto crash when I was sixteen."

Riley would have felt remorse for Juan, only he didn't
believe him.

"Who took care of you?"

"I took care of myself."

"Where did you live?"

"New Mexico."

Riley sat there thinking a moment. This was going
nowhere fast.

"What made you travel to the Pacific Northwest to go
to college?"

"I was tired of the hot weather. I needed a change of
environment," Juan reported back.

"Where did you get the money for tuition?"

"My folks left me money."

"Any brothers or sister? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?"

"I told you. I'm alone."

Sitting there, Riley stared at him, noticing Juan's
left knee vibrating up and down, dictating his
nervousness. His right elbow on the arm of the chair,
he was biting his fingernail. For all it was worth,
Riley wasn't buying any of his story.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

Leaving, Riley went to the computer and did a quick
search, printing out some information. While the
printer spit the pages out, he sought out a phone,
looked in his black book and dialed a number,
overriding the WRCC main switchboard.

"Dave, Riley Sanchez.. I'm fine... Listen, I want you
to run a check for me. I need all the information you
can give me on a `Juan Ibarra'... no, I don't have a
student ID number.... I know you could get in trouble
for it, but you're not going to. Trust me. Fax it to
my office. You have the number, right? What?  Sure,
we'll get together soon and play... right.. bye."

Returning to his office, the chair was empty - no
Juan!

%

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