Date: Fri, 19 Oct 2007 13:48:29 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Natures Trail 33

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" 33
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

A couple of the swim jocks paced the floor, the
remainder sitting on benches in the open area of the
lockerroom, elbows planted on their knees and heads
propped up on their palms. They kept their vigilance,
looking at the clock every ten minutes or so. They
should have been headed back to their respective dorms
a half hour ago, instead of sitting there, whittling
away the time.

"Tony's been talking to coach for almost forty
minutes," Matt says, looking towards the wooden door
with the cloudy plate glass window, nervously
smoothing his palm over his chest with an unconscious
thought, his hand picking up his pec stubble..

"Maybe it's a good sign," Jason puts in.

"How so?" Troy asks.

"If Coach Hollister disagreed with anything Tony told
him, he would be yelling at him, probably."

Hearing the click of the doorknob, made all of them
jump, guys reacting by hopping to their feet. Through
a sliver of the doorway Tony slides himself through,
closing the door behind him.

"What did he say?" Adam beats them all to it.

"Well, he's not really angry at us, as annoyed. Coach
said," he mimics, "'never in all the years I've
coaching the swim team, have I come across such a
bunch of hooligans'."

"He called us hooligans?" Troy asks.

"Yup. His exact word for us. Coach said he has never
received the disrespectfulness from any member of the
swim team until the other day. He said he really felt
more stunned than anything, by our behavior."

Looking around the room, while he paused, Tony could
see the heads hanging lowly, his fellow swimjocks
feeling lower than an inch of shoeleather.

"But he did concede on one point." Every face looked
to Tony. "He apologized to me for not feeling more
sensitive about Denis. He said it was wrong for
singling out Denis, just because he's not
matriculated."

Then, a click was heard. This time they knew it was
the door, behind Tony and it had to be Coach
Hollister. As he appeared, with his trusty notebook,
they expected him to embellish on Tony's words of
remorse.

"Well? What the fuck are you all standing around here
for? We've got a competition coming up! Hit the
bleechers!"

It's what they missed, the stern voice of Coach
Hollister, giving them their directive. Hustling, the
swimmers made for the door.  Adam was ready to voice
all of their opinions regarding the time, telling him
swim practice ended a half hour ago.

"Wait a fuckin' minute there... lineup for
inspection!"

Most stopped in their tracks, backtracking into the
lockerrom and lining up as if in the army.

First in line, Tony, coach suggests, "Hitting the keg
again, Gagliardi?"

Tony smiled when he felt coach slap his stomach. "Now
and then, coach. Nothing too obsessive."

"Your on the wagon until after competition," he
grunted.

Next in line was Matt Drijver, whom cried out,
"Owwwwwch! Oh shit, coach!"

Taking Matt's right nip in his hand, the thirty-four
year old coach gave it a hefty pull, disreguarding the
soreness it caused it's victim, saying, "What's all
this fuckin' hair?"

Releasing Matt's nip, Matt rubbed his hand over it
looking at the inflammation. As coach went on down the
line Tony whispered to Matt, "I told you so!"

To his remark, Matt says, "So, you going to do me
later?" He meant the shaving. Tony had other thoughts!

%

"I'm sure my fee will not amount to this much," Owen
Bergne reported to the round table of Denis'
supporters. "I'll gladly return the difference." He
folded the five thousand dollar check up and placed it
in his shirt pocket, as if an ordinary grocery list.

"We're mighty grateful to you," Barry looks across the
table to Julian, "and your brother for coming forth to
help us out. Tell you the truth we're very worried
about Denis."

"And you have good reason. I don't want to alarm you
unnecessarily, but a charge of sexual assault, if
proven guilty, could mean prison time."

"Oh shit no!" Steve said, Barry turning to him,
putting his arm over his shoulder, rubbing his
partner's back.

"If you ask me, it's a bunch of hogwash!" Bernice
said, showing her anger. "I've known Denis Clark since
he was a baby. He doesn't have a mean bone in his
whole body!"

Like Barry, Alberto cradled his wife in his arm,
trying to calm her, saying, "C'mon now, dear. Getting
upset over this is not going to help anyone."

"Sorry," Julian tells Darryl, placing a hand on his
shoulder. "You're too good a guy for all this to be
happening to you."

"Forget about me," Darryl reacts, "it's Denis I'm
concerned about."

Barry glanced in Darryl's direction. It had been a
matter of a couple of days, since Denis first met
Darryl, yet the police officer was pouring out his
heart, in regard for his family member. Saying to all
of them, but locking eyes with Darryl, Barry said,
"With the fragile state Denis is in, we all have to be
strong for him."

"I'm sorry I had to bring it up, but I felt you should
know what you're up against," Owen tried to console
them all.

"Thank you," Barry relayed back to the attorney.

%

Spread out on the coffee table, the monopoly game sat,
but Aidan and Philip weren't in the mood to play. The
Tv was on, but muted.

"I wonder what Denis did?" Aidan asked across the
table, as he knelt on the floor. Seeing the progress
in their first five turns had taken a half hour, he
got up, walked around the table and plopped himself
down next to his brother.

Almost simultaneously, Berk walks in the room, asking,
"How's the game going, you two?"

With Max out for the evening, to a special cooking
class, he gave instuctions for Berk to keep his eye on
the kids, til their fathers got home.

Both shrugged their shoulders, their attitudes
downcast. In view of the Tv, Berk comments, "Star
Wars?"

"Yeah," Philip replies. "We're not really watching
it."

Aidan picks up the universal remote, hits `off' for
the DVD player, then another `off' for the Tv.

"Something on your minds?" Max had also warned Berk
the two might not be their jolly selves, due to the
events surrounding Denis.

"No, sit here," Philip tells Berk, motioning for Aidan
to move over, carving a place out between them.

"So, why are you two not smiling?"

"Berk, why is Denis in jail?"

The tanned Turk responds, "What makes you think he's
in jail?"

"Max said Denis got arrested," Aidan replies.

"Well yes, but he is too sick to be in jail, so they
are keeping him in the hospital. There is a policeman
at the door."

"Why?" Philip asks. "Do they think he might run away?"

"The officer is stationed there for his protection,
also."

"To protect Denis?" Aidan, to his left, looks to Berk
for an explanation.

On his right Philip comments, "I don't get it."

"First off, a crime makes a good story for a news
reporter. The policeman will keep the media from
bothering Denis. Also, they don't want anyone else to
disturb him."

"What did Denis do wrong?" Aidan inquires.

Berk pondered over the question for a moment. He
decided to keep it simple, not mentioning the full
extent of the crime, which would result in a sticky
explanation. Instead he told them, "He was involved in
a fight."

"At the hospital?" Philip followed up with.

"Yes. It seems some punches were thrown and it landed
Denis into some big trouble."

"Holy cow! Denis didn't get hurt did he?"

"I think he is okay. When your dads come home they can
tell you."

Looking straight ahead, he decided the monopoly game
would make a good diversion. "I never have played this
game!"

It worked, both boys declaring the fact of never
hearing of a person that hasn't, once in their
lifetime played the popular game.

"Didn't you play games when you were a kid?" Philip
asked.

"No. I fix things instead."

"What can a kid fix?" Aidan asks.

"Well, when I was a little boy growing up in Turkey we
did not have toys like you have here. My favorite was
a wooden truck I receive for my birthday. My father
made it out of scraps of wood and pieces of metal.
When it broke, I find pieces to repair it. Soon I find
out I like to repair things. I make a little money
repairing things for people."

"Maybe you can fix Phil's model," Aidan says.

"What is wrong with it?" Berk inquires.

"I accidentally glued his head on backwards," Philip
confesses on his own.

"The head won't come off?"

"Nope. It's glued on for good!" Philip replies.

"Maybe I take a look at it?"

"Yeah. Cool!" Aidan replies, jumping out of the couch,
like readying to skydive.

Berk followed the twelve and thirteen year olds to
their room.

%

"I don't get it."

"What don't you get, Conn?"

Sitting there in their room, Jim sat backwards on a
wooden chair, twirling a basketball on the point of
his finger. Connor sat on the queen-sized bed, his
back cushioned by a pillow, his text book open, lying
against his abs to save the page. Jim had a feeling of
what this was about, but wanted his lover to vent his
feelings.

"You got calls from the Army & Navy `and' Birdy's,
offering you a job."

After mentioning it, Jim let the basketball tumble off
his finger, onto the floor. Unstraddling the chair,
like getting off a horse, he walked the few paces to
the bed, saying, "Move over."

"Owch!" Connor said, as he closed his book, pinching
his stomach between the pages..

"Doofus," Jim jokingly scolded, but then as Connor
stretched to the table depositing the book, Jim leaned
over and kissed his stomach just above his navel.

"Did you do that to make it feel better?"

"Does it?" Jim replied.

It forced Connor to offer a brief smile. As he lay
back down, Jim stretched his arm out behind his
lover's head, capturing him in a hug.

"Now what is all this about?" Jim asks.

"I was wondering what's wrong with me."

Rolling his eyes, Jim turns to his side, cuddling
Connor, placing his hand on his lover's stomach.
Looking up into his eyes, he says, "The only thing
wrong with you is you're too damn cute!"

"Do you think it's true that blonds are dumb?"

"Now what kind of a statement is that? You average
into the top ten of the senior class. Doesn't that
prove something? Man, I wish I had the brains you
have."

"Then what's wrong with me, Jim?"

"Nothing's wrong with you. I'm sure Seb and Christian
aren't in cahoots with each other. They didn't like
get on the phone with each other and talk over whom
they planned on hiring. It's just a coincidence."

"I guess," Connor replied.

But Jim was convinced. "You aren't jealous of me, are
you?"

"Of course not."

"Prolly when I turn one of them down, they'll pick up
your application and give you a call," Jim tried to
cheer his lover up.

"Which one are you going to take?"

"Neither right now. I think we should follow Maury's
lead and check out the country club," Jim says,
looking to Connor's face for a change in mood.

"I don't think I should bother."

"Listen. I could say your attitude sucks, but I don't
blame you for being down. I really don't know why I
got picked over you. I mean you're cute, always dress
night and you've got a great way of expressing
yourself."

"Really?"

"Sure you do. Who did all the talking when we went to
fill out the applications?"

Connor admits, "I suppose I did."

"And I'm sure when Michael Byrd came in while we were
filling out our applications, he had to be impressed
with you. You and he were really talking it up there."

"Then how come he didn't call to talk to me?"

Out of ideas, Jim said, "I don't know," then proceeded
to lean over Connor's pec, licking his tongue of his
teen-lover's right nip. It didn't phase him. "Man,
you're really feeling bad. When you don't respond to
one of your hot spots you get me worried Conn."

"Sorry. I guess I'm not in the mood."

In sympathy, Jim decides to get Connor in the mood.
Rolling up to his knees he straddles one leg. With
both hands he starts unbuckling his lover's belt.

"What are you doing?" Connor asks, putting a hand on
Jim's, stopping his actions.

"You're making me take drastic measures!"

With a smirk, Connor lets his hand fall to his
stomach, as Jim continues his assault to ward off the
blues. "Oh man, you know what I crave?" Jim asks.

"What?"

"Finish stripping down. I'll be right back!"

Not sure of Jim's intentions, except for to get him
naked, Connor, knowing what sexual pleasures they can
give each other pushes his jeans down, then strips out
of his briefs. Freshening his pubes up from their
confinement he pulls up on his cock and balls, letting
them flop down. In walks Jim, a towel in his hand with
one hand behind his back.

"What do you have?"

"Here. Lay the towel out on the bed and lay on it face
down."

"Why?" Connor questions him.

"It's a surprise."

"What if I peek?"

"I've got a remedy for that too."

Out of his jeans pocket, Jim produces black mask.

"Steal that from Maury's toy inventory?"

"He gave it to me last time we played around, just in
case we ever decided to play without him," Jim says,
smiling.

"What else did he give you?"

Seeing Connor slowly recovering from his distressful
mood, he decided to pull all the stops out. "I'm game
if you are?"

"Bring it on," Connor replies, obviously forgetting
his employment woes.

Nodding, Jim says, "In the draw of the night table."

"So you have it all ready to spring on me huh?" Connor
says, turning over on his stomach, a hand reaching to
open the draw. "And what is it I'm looking for?"

"Four. Leather. Little rings on each of them?" While
Connor busied himself with finding four leather cuffs,
Jim had set his `surprise' down on the floor, at the
foot of the bed. He went to the closet, reached up to
the top and returned bedside, with a sportsbag.

"Did I get it right?" Connor asks, holding one leather
cuff, the other three lying on his chest and stomach."

Just like when they played with Maury, Connor being
their little boytoy, Jim noticed the provocation,
Connor's cock swelling up.

Before Jim could answer, Connor eyes up the black
sportsbag, asking, "More of Maury's tools of the
trade?"

"Yup. Everything I need to turn you into my slaveboy!"

"Cool!" Connor replies, a hand going to his own pubes.

Swatting his hand away, Jim jokes, "I can see we're
really going to need these restraints!"

Still with his jeans on, Jim climbs on to the bed,
straddling Connor. Picking up a leather cuff, he wraps
it around one wrist, feeding the little leather piece
through the buckle, them intently staring at each
other. "Yeah, gonna make you my slaveboy tonight!" Jim
says, coining a phrase he's heard Maury say.

"What are you gonna do?" Connor says, playing the
game.

"You'll see," Jim replies, affixing the second cuff on
Connor's left wrist. "Turn over, boy," Jim orders his
blond slave, pushing up from the bed to allow him to
rotate under his arched hamstrings .

Hastily, Connor flips over onto his stomach, saying,
"I hope this isn't going to hurt too much."

With a big grin on his face, Jim keeps the truth from
his lover, saying, "Got a big can of Crisco and a nice
fat buttplug to work up to!"

"No way!" Connor exclaims, pushing his chest up from
the bed, looking over his shoulder. "You're kidding,
Jim?"

Pressing his knee against Connor's back, his eighteen
year old lover falls back down onto his chest, as Jim
jokes, "About what? The Crisco or the buttplug?"

"My ass!" Connor replies, as Jim takes his right cuff
and feeds the rope through the small ring. Kidding
around, Connor tries moving his hand around, making it
tough for Jim to tied the other end around the railing
at the top of the bed.

Jim straddles his lover, his hard cock, stuffed in his
jeans, putting pressure against Connor's back.
Remembering another `Maury-phrase', Jim states,
"Resistance doesn't go unpunished!"

"You're not gonna....."

Giggling, Jim says, as he ties off the second cuff to
the top of the bed, "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy
the strap on your ass, as you ground your cock into
the bed?"

"Okay, I liked it, but it also hurt like hell!" Connor
replied, but didn't contest the thoughts of having it
done again.

Getting up from the bed, to remove his own clothes,
Jim admired his handiwork, seeing Connor's sexy back,
muscles in his traps and lats moving about, as Connor
squirmed about, for effect, as their game progressed.
Playing right along, Jim said, "Like I could care that
your ass is on fire?" As he stripped off his jeans,
thumbing the waist of his lowrise briefs, unwrapping
his dark-haired pubes, his hard cock gaining freedom
from it's cloth prison, he spied the brown, curvy,
plastic bottle sitting on the floor, which made him
grin with evil delight. Before he carried out his
plans for his slaveboy, Jim fastened cuffs to both
ankles, spreading Connor's left leg out to the edge of
the bed. With a short length of rope, he tied it to
the leg of the bed. Taking his other leg, Jim pulled
hard.

"Oh shit! You're gonna split me in half, like some
turkey's wishbone!" Connor complained.

"You mean wish-boner!" Jim replies, laughing, as he
reaches under Connor's pubes, stretching his hard cock
out from under him, his balls mashed up against his
bod. Since Jim had already decided their bondage game
wasn't going to have the sadistic impact Maury would
have pulled off, he relaxed his dominant nature,
putting to his lips the precum exiting his lover's
cock when he stroked the barrel. When they outted to
each other, years ago, as young teens, Jim had his
first taste of cum when they `69-ed'. In the following
years, Connor surrendered to the bottom role, as Jim
seemed more fitting for man-on-top. It's rare he
tasted nutjuice, but when he did, he decided he liked
the taste. Now, with his slaveboy all trussed up in an
`x' fashion, it was time to `torment' him. He decided
to try something he's seen Maury playout with one of
his college frats, positioned as Connor. Taking a
small leather strap from the sportsbag, he lay down
next to Connor, his left cheek using his bicep for a
pillow. "Too bad you were such a bad little slaveboy!"

"What're you gonna do?" Connor asked, before Jim
brought the strap down across his ass cheeks.
"Akkkkkkkk!" Connor cried out, followed by, "Oh shit!"
His hands coil around the ropes, to cradle his pain.

Immediately, like Maury had done, Jim set the strap on
Connor's back, using the same hand to force Connor's
head in his direction, kissing his lover on the lips.
"Like my kiss?" Jim offered, as a prelude to more of
`the game'.

"You know I do."

"How much?" Jim provoked, a grin creasing his lips, as
his hand picked up the strap.

With eyes targeting each other, Connor replies, "Do
it."

Not as fierce as the first time, Jim slaps the strap
across Connor's ass, immediately dropping the strap on
his shoulder blades, the hand moving Connor's lips
into position. The cat-and-mouse game plays out til
Connor has ten varying degrees of red stripes across
his ass. Connor knows this phase of their play is
ended when Jim takes himself and the strap away.

"Oh man is your ass red!"

"Tell me about it!" Connor says, still feeling the
fire and the sting.

"Time to move on."

"You're not really going to use the large buttplug are
you?"

"We're beyond the small and the medium, Conn,
remember?"

"But Jim, that was like four months ago. Prolly my
asshole has gotten smaller again," Connor protests.

"Then we'll just have to open it up again!"

"Ughhhh," Connor moans, stuffing his face into the
bed. Then giving in, which also signals the go ahead,
he tells Jim, "Just make sure you grease me up real
good?"

"Oh, I will," Jim replies, reaching for the brown
plastic bottle sitting on the floor at the foot of the
bed.

Pulling at the cap, which allows the contents to
dribble out, Jim holds the bottle right over Connor's
asscrack, letting it flow down his crevice like lava
down a narrow canyon. At the touch of it to his ass,
Jim giggles, sensing his lover's glutes contract.

>From his perspective, Connor tries looking over his
shoulder, feeling Jim rub the `Crisco' into his crack.

"Won't be long now," he prompted Connor, as Maury
would do his victim. "Soon I'll be stuffing that ass
of yours."

Turning back, Jim hears more groans of not wanting,
yet no protests to stop the action. Continuing, he
rubs the liquid in, lining the crevice. "Ready?"

"No," Connor says, the appropriate answer.

"I am!"

Arms stretched out, the rope taut, stretching his
upper bod, Connor readies himself for the big
buttplug.

>From Jim's view, after setting the bottle down, he
eyes up his teen-lover's ass. Spreading the cheeks
wide, he can view the coated ass opening.

"What are you doing?" Connor asks, but can't see over
his shoulder.

Having every right to ask, he can't see, only feel it,
as Jim lays down on his chest, hands still spreading
asscheeks. "Getting ready to open you up, boy!" Said
fiercely, as a tough master would dictate. His hard
cock already grinding into the bed, Jim leans his head
forwards, saying, "Here goes!" Even though Jim has
never done this before, only heard of it being done,
his excitement in faking out Connor presses him
onwards. Without hesitation he lowers his head, tongue
stuck out, zeroing in on the ass depression.

"Oh shit!" Connor calls out. Instead of pain, he feels
a soft stab into his asshole. Realizing it's not the
buttplug, he says, "No. You can't be! That's for me to
do!"

Stopping his ass-tonguing, Jim says, "Don't forget...
the master makes the rules and can break them!"

%

"Dad, before we go I really need to see Denis."

With Mark's belongings stashed in a clear bag, Steve
stands there, looking to Barry for the final say.

"They've given him a sedative. He's most likely
asleep, son," Barry tells him.

"Doesn't matter. I still need to see him... tell him
something."

Seeing the longing in Mark's eyes, his father couldn't
bear the thought of saying `no'. "Tell you what. Mike
Green is guarding the door. If he'll let you in, you
can see him."

Thinking it a fair-square deal, Mark walked out of his
room, Steve in front, Barry following the two. Zooming
up two flights in the elevator, they made their exit
to the right, Steve allowing Barry to lead.

"Hello Mark. How are you feeling this evening?"
Officer Mike Green asks.

"Better, thanks." Then, before the dads could
intervene, Mark pleads, "Mike, I've really gotta see
Denis. It's so important... please, let me in?"

Placing a hand on Mark's shoulder, Mike explains,
"Y'know it's a real shame. You would think the police
department would have backup for me. They think I have
an iron bladder!"

Mark wasn't getting the full gist of it, so Mike sped
up his explanation. The dads were way ahead of him
though and smiled at his gesture.

"It usually takes me about five minutes to take a
leak."

Without any other explanation, Mike hurries off down
the hall, ducking into the jon.

"It's your call, son," Barry says, going for the
doorknob, holding the door open for him.

Moving past his father, Mark enters Denis' room.

"Aren't you going in with him?" Steve asks Barry.

"Nah. Probably what he wants to say is meant to be
private anyway."

As Mark enters the dimly lit room, his eyes never
leave Denis' face, as he comes into a closer focus.
"Denis, can you hear me?" Of course he couldn't,
unless Mark's voice pierced his dreamcenter. "I wanted
to tell you I love you... I always will...even if you
do have a boyfriend and.." shrugging his shoulders, "I
might have one someday..." he fixed the blond hair,
tumbling from Denis' forehead, arranging it in the
messy look he liked, trying his best to spike it with
his fingertips. "I'm going to be here for you to help
you through all this... "

Sneaking the door open, Barry says, "Mike's on his way
back, son."

Mark responds, "Okay." In closing, Mark says, "I gotta
go now, but I want you to never forget I love you,
Denis." He turned Denis' head and put his lips on his
face, kissing his brother, even though no response
came back to him.

%

"Are you going to be alright tonight?"

Darryl leaned against his car in the darkened parking
lot, fidgeted with his keys, his eyes fixed on them as
he contemplated the events of his day.

"Earth to Darryl.... do you read me?" Julian says,
waving his hand in front of Darryl's face.

"Oh yeah. Sorry."

"No problem. Remember, I've been there?"

Looking up at the twenty-five year old teacher, Darryl
recalls the times they sat or lay side by side,
talking for hours, over the events life had dealt
then, good and bad.

"Yeah. I know you've had your troubles."

"And if it wasn't for you, Darryl, y'know I would have
gone crazy?"

"If you say so."

"Once a humble guy... always a humble guy," Julian
says, wanting to take Darryl in his arms and hug the
daylights out of him, but resorted to a pat on the
shoulder.

Then, looking up, Darryl asks, "Julian, come home with
me tonight?"

"What! But I thought?"

"I know. Don't think you're getting mixed signals
here. I do really like Denis. If I go back to that
lonely house, without somebody to talk to, it's going
to drive me out of my gourd."

"No strings attached," Julian brings up, knowing it's
probably on Darryl's mind as well, all things
considering.

"Before we became involved, we used to lay in bed with
our clothes on. Remember?"

"I get the message, Darryl. You don't have to spell it
out to me."

"Thanks, Julian. Thanks for being a good friend to
me."

Even though Julian knew the route to Darryl's cottage,
he followed behind, knowing the turns before they
happened, in the road. After Darryl pulled his Sierra
4x4 into the drive, as he's done over and over, in the
past, Julian made a left, following.

"Be right there," Darryl says, walking to the end of
the drive, scooping the pile of mail from the box,
walking the curvy flagstone walk. He's surprised when
the door opens for him, admitting him into his own
small home.

"I still have my key. You want it back?" Julian tells
him, holding a wad of keys up.

"Nah. It doesn't matter," Darryl replies, in a somber
mood.

Having been there a dozen times, feeling right at
home, Julian asks, "Drink to settle your nerves?"

"Yeah. Would be good," Darryl replies, dropping the
mail on a little table, in the foyer. Still in his
police uniform, he unbuttons the shirt down to his
navel, dragging it out of his beltline, then finishing
off the buttons, as his daily habit, letting his shirt
flop open. Entering the house, he finds himself in his
livingroom. He flops himself down on the sofa, blowing
his breath out. Stretching, Darryl places his hands at
the back of his head, which widens the gap of his
shirt, exposing his smooth chest, the thin, blond
trail through the wrinkles in his stomach.

"Here we go," Julian says, standing over Darryl with
two cocktail glasses. "I made you a double... thought
you needed it."

"Yeah. Thanks," Darryl replies, as Julian places the
glass in his hand. He takes a hefty swig.

"You keep on like that and you won't be needing my
company!"

Instead, Darryl pats the cushion next to him, saying,
"Sit."

Still in his teaching getup, Julian sits, placing his
drink on the coffee table. Immediately, he loosens his
tie, pulling it apart. Removing it from the collar, he
folds it in half, places it on the table and unbuttons
three buttons of his shirt simultaneously, revealing a
partial glimpse of his dark brown, furry chest.

"So, how are you doing? Okay?" Julian asks.

"No. I'm not doing okay," Darryl replies. Placing his
drink on the table, he voluntarily turns to Julian,
scooping the twenty-five year old up in his arms.

"But...." Julian protests, not for himself, but in
lieu of all Darryl's told about his budding
relationship with Denis.

"Just hold me, Julian?"

At first, his hands out to the sides of Darryl's ribs,
Julian thinks things over in a matter of seconds, then
follows through, clutching Darryl's bod. The longer he
held Darryl the more amorous he became, his lips at
Darryl's neck, giving him small, soft kisses. Peeling
back the shirt from his left shoulder, Julian traveled
the length of Darryl's shoulder, til he realized what
he was doing. He broke off their hugging.

"I'm so sorry Darryl," Julian said, with eyes pleading
forgiveness.

"It's not your fault," Darryl says, leaning back in
his portion of the sofa. "Has there been anybody in
your life since... you know?"

Holding his drink, almost in his crotch, Julian's head
hangs low, his chin almost embedded in his furry
chest, as he nods his head. "I thought I had something
going.... this guy from the bar, but he turned out to
be a one-night-stand."

"It's my fault you are unhappy and I'm sorry, Julian."

"You can't blame yourself, Darryl. You had your
reasons for breaking off. I was being too pushy. All I
wanted was sex, sex, sex." Julian downed the rest of
his drink. "Maybe it's a bad thing, me being here."

Catching Julian, hand flat on his thigh, Darryl kept
him from standing up. "Don't go. I... I need you here
tonight, Julian."

Knowing tomorrow morning he would be hurt, Julian
lived for the night. Accepting Darryl's strong-willed
invitation, he leaned in, dividing the shirt draping
over Darryl's shoulders, peeling it back, turning the
cuffs inside out, as he removed it. As they used to
do, Darryl placed his hands behind his neck as Julian
licked his pit of blond fur. From his arm pocket,
Julian migrated to his dime-sized nip, teasing it with
his lips and teeth. Soon he felt a pair of hands at
his midsection. Not giving a damn, he allowed Darryl
to rip open his dress shirt, tugging it behind his
back and off his shoulders.

Surprised, but also reved up, Julian is taken aback,
when Darryl presents, "You know where the bedroom is.
Let me grab a bottle."

%

Next morning, the Clark-Barr residence was all a
hustle with foot traffic.

"Y'know, Max, it's not so bad taking Scruffy out,"
Aidan says.

"Easy for you to say," Philip follows up with. "You
don't have to pick up the poop!"

"Aren't you boys sharing your responsibilities?" Max
asks, as he turns the sausages.

"Y'see," Aidan lays out their plan, "we decided I'll
walk Scruffy and Phil picks up after him for two
weeks. Then we switch."

Philip, still unsettled by the plan, reveals, "It's
only the second week. Ai isn't the poop picker-upper
until next weekend!"

"I really think you should alternate days, but it's
your business how you choose to do it," Max suggests.

Before the discussion could continue, the two
youngsters get all cheery when Mark walks in the
kitchen.

"Hey, look!"

"When did you come home?"

"Last night," Mark reports, "after you two were
asleep."

Not as giddy as the two squirts, Mark parks himself in
his usual seat. Max reminds the boys they better put a
hustle on walking Scruffy, as the `nature walk' will
be starting soon.

As Philip and Aidan put Scruffy on a leash, letting
the back door bang shut, Max turns his attention to
Mark.

"So, how does it feel to be home, Mark?"

"Good I guess, but it's kind of lonely in our room."

"Missing Denis, are you?"

"In ways you'll never know," Mark replies, placing his
arms on the table, his forehead to his forearms.

Turning the gas off, placing the pan on a cold burner,
Max came over to the table, sat down on the bench next
to Mark, put his arm on the teen's back and rubbed it.

"I don't know if the others noticed, but I've been
keeping my eye on you and Denis. If I'm not mistaken,
you two have had more than a friendly, brotherly
relationship going on?"

Instantly, Mark picks his head up, looking to Max,
saying, "You know?"

"I've watched it grow and blossom," he replied, his
hand still lightly massaging.

"But how did you..."

"I'm a gay man, in a gay relationship. I love Berk.
You and Denis weren't behaving much different than two
ordinary lovers. Besides, I've found a lot of cum on
the sheets from your room, where only one bed has been
slept in?"

"Oh," Mark said of the dead giveaway.

"Let me say something. You're home and like I sensed
something between you and Denis, if you don't at least
act cheerful, your little brothers are going to start
to suspect something."

"They know."

This threw Max back to base one. "They know? How?"

"They came to wake us up one time, instead of our
dads. They walked in on us while I lay there, Denis
kissing me."

"What did they say?" Max asks.

"Nothing, except a bunch of `holy cows'. Denis didn't
give them much time before he started hurling sneakers
at them, calling them `perverts' or something like
that. Now they know and there's nothing we can do
about it."

"Well, I suppose you could do some explaining to them,
saying you were trying it out... as two novices in an
experiment."

"But it wasn't like that Max. I can't lie. Denis and I
were really going at it and it's not the first time.
And  it's not like two kids trying something out. We
went all the way. I fucked my own brother!"

Breaking down in tears, Mark's head fell into the
circle of his arms, braced on the table ledge.

"What's wrong?" Barry asks, entering the kitchen.

"My fault, I'm afraid," Max confesses. "I thought I
was helping, when I should have been minding my own
business!"

"It's not your fault!" Mark calls out, his hand
dropping to Max's, as they sit there together. "None
of this woulda happened if I didn't press Denis into
liking me."

"Whoa now, son," Barry says, sitting down on the half
foot of bench.

Max gets up, going back to the stove.

"What happened between you and your brother could have
happened to any pair of brothers."

"But dad, we had a full blown love affair going.
Then," Mark raises his head, "we find out it's the
wrong thing to do."

"I was under the impression you and Denis had sorted
this out somewhat."

"We talked about it... decided we shouldn't have the
same relationship as two lovers... but up on that
ridge, when Denis..." Mark realizes the exact truth of
Denis' intentions, "Denis was about to jump. I
couldn't let him do it. It was in... Pastor Jack would
say `the hands of God'... whether we both went over
into the gully or fell backwards."

"So, God had you both live.. to go on. There's no
reason why you two shouldn't go on. I'm not saying as
lovers, but as close friends. Can't you think of it in
this way, son?"

"If I may interject something here?" Max asks, holding
up the turner, using it as a baton.

Barry looks up to him, as does Mark.

"I think it may be a wise decision to separate the
boys. Let each have their own room."

"Where?" Barry quizzes him. "We're overloaded as it
is."

"Berk and I can see about finding an apartment," Max
concludes.

"On who's salary?" Barry questions.

"That should be of our concern and not yours."

Edgy, a slight dab of anger, Barry tells him, "Well
I'm making it my business and you're staying, so just
mind your own business and get the breakfast on the
table!"

Taking one grain of advice from Max, Mark tried acting
more upbeat when the back door banged,  Aidan and
Philip entering, with Scruffy.

%

"Would you believe the baker from next door came over,
asking if he could borrow a cup of sugar?"

"Let me guess. Tall, dark, handsome and Greek?"
Michael questioned Adrian Perrault, the new chef.

"That's him," Adrian agreed.

"Did he do anything else besides borrow the cup of
sugar?"

"He didn't take it. I think he was just trying to
check out the place."

Going on what Kevin told him, Michael figured Nicholas
Achille was checking out more than the wallpaper!

"He didn't happen to ask you to show him the supply
closet did he?"

"No," Adrian replied, in his French accent, nodding.

"Hmm... I wonder..."

"About?"

"Never you mind. Like you said. He was just trying to
check out the place," Michael assured him.

Then their talk turned to `kitchen conversation'.

%

His eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the light
filtering in through the miniblind, Kev doing a slight
pushup. Looking down, he realized he was utilizing
Kirk's bod as a mattress. "Oh shit!" he remarked.
Then, looking down between the two, his cock and balls
hung down, ordering up another response as Kev found
himself to be fully unclothed. Fully kneeling, he
straddled Kirk's right leg, his hairy balls barely
making contact with Kirk's thigh.

"Oh man... what did I do?"

"Are you awake?" Kirk asked, stirring, arms stretching
above his head.

"I wish I weren't!"

"Whatever," Kirk responded. "It felt real good last
night. Thanks for breaking me in, Kev."

Recollecting his thoughts, Kev tried recalling `any'
details other than innocently kissing.

"We didn't... go... "

"All the way?" Kirk replied. "No, Kev. Remember I told
you I'm saving myself up for a special guy, like you
and John?"

"John," Kev said, as if just remembering he was in
love with him. "Oh man... I'm such a jerk!"

Falling, back against the wall, both legs
crisscrossing Kirk's, Kev realises his infidelity.

"You can blame it all on me, Kev. I'm the one who
talked you into it."

"John's not going to buy that. I don't even think I
buy it myself!"

"What do you mean?" Kirk says, scooting his legs out
from underneath Kev, getting himself up, backing
against the wall next to his roommate, bending his
knees, circling his arms around them, squishing his
cock and balls up into his hairy package.

"I should have never had slept with you. It was wrong.
I should have found you a guy on the net."

"Really?"

Thinking back, Kev cited it as a bad idea. "No, I
should have pounded on Dalbec's door, dragged him down
here and shoved his face in between your legs!"

Kirk couldn't help but sprout a smile.

"You think it's funny? John's gonna be furious at me."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Of course I'm going to tell him. I can't keep a
secret from him. It'll haunt the hell outta me!"

Overcome with seriousness, Kirk says a simple,
"Sorry."

"Eh, it's not your fault. Now that I'm in a serious
relationship, I've gotta program my mind that the
one-night-stand days are over."

"I think I should apologize to John too. I like him. I
don't want to make an enemy out of him," Kirk says.
"When are you seeing him next?"

"He said something about a `walk'."

"A walk?"

"Yeah. It's been going on for awhile, where everybody
in the neighborhood comes out and they go walking down
the streets. He said you have to see it to get a clear
picture of it."

"When?"

"This morning." Then, faced down, reaching over Kirk's
legs, cock and balls dragged over his knees, Kev grabs
the clock, looking at it's face. "Shit! If we don't
hurry, we'll be late!"

"I gotta shower. You shot your cum all over me," Kirk
says, feeling a scaly residue on his stomach.

"Did I?"

"Man, don't you remember anything, Kev?"

"C'mon," Kev said, tossing a towel to Kirk. On the way
to the shower, hustling in the buff down the dorm
hall, he tried to remember last night. He did recall
sucking Kirk's shaft, but little else.

%

"How much more do we have to go guys?" Jeremy
complained.

With Barry and Steve at the hospital, looking in on
Denis, while Owen Bergne took down the teen's
statement, they left the kids in the company of Alonzo
and James Kitchner's dad, Frank.

"My place is about the halfway mark, to your place.
I'm sure Emily would not mind serving up some
lemonade. Give it some thought," Frank offers,
returning from the nature walk.  Alonzo and Frank led
the troop of seven kids, walking alongside the road,
in their sweaty tank tops.

"Okay, timeout guys!" Alonzo calls out, turning
around, as the seven stop short in their tracks. "Mr.
Kitchner has offered us to stop at his place for
lemonade. All in favor say..."

A regiment of `yays' went up before Alonzo could
finish his sentence.

"I'd take that as yes," Frank said, laughing.

With the offer on their minds, suddenly the group of
ten to twelve year olds changed their pace from
`dragging' to `brisk'. Perched atop twelve year old
James' shoulders, he carried ten year old Jeremy,
piggyback style. When the mode of speed changed, James
let go of Jeremy's thighs, a signal to him he was on
his own. Two houses away, the dads quickly became the
last two members of the `nature walk' brigade, the
squirts tearing away.

"Easy guys!" Alonzo called out.

Unheeding his warning, the kids sped up their pace,
running, til the dads saw them hang a left, turning
into the Kitchner driveway, from still a ways back.

"Funny how they suddenly became so energetic," Frank
said to Alonzo, as their walk took to the opposite, a
snail's pace.

"Adrenaline rush, I'd say," Alonzo chocks it up to.

"Whew!" Frank exclaims, whipping his tank top off,
over his head.

Glancing to the side, Alonzo takes in the full view of
the thirty-four year old's physique, but quickly
diverts his attention away, saying, "Sure is hot
today."

"Mind if I ask a question?" Frank stops at the end of
his own driveway.

"Go ahead."

"I don't want to offend you or anything. This is the
first time I've really talked with a gay man."

Smiling, Alonzo says, "Fire away," readying himself to
be hit with a question regarding the gay lifestyle.

"Do you think another man would find me attractive?"

It was a strange question indeed, especially coming
from a straight, married man. Standing there, hands on
his hips, Alonzo thought it over. He decided to keep
it general, replying, "You seem to take care of
yourself."

"No," Frank says, "that's not what I mean.
Hypothetically speaking, if you weren't already
committed to your partner, would you find yourself
attracted to me?"

Still not sure where Frank was headed with this,
Alonzo, rubbing the midsection of his tank top, to
soak up the sweat, tells him, "I suppose a man could
find you attractive. Me, in particular? You're just
not my type of guy, Frank."

"I see," Frank replies, on the downside, as he flips
his shirt up over his shoulder. "Well, I guess we
better get inside."

"No, wait a minute. I'm getting the feeling here that
you might be... well... Frank, are you trying to say
you're bisexual?"

"If I could be so lucky. No," Frank wipes the sweat
from the back of his neck, "for the last couple of
years I've been feeling strange about myself."

"Strange?"

"Yeah, like I'm always looking at guys. Like
yesterday, when I sat in traffic, there was
construction going on, at the side of the road. My
eyes became affixed on one of the police officers
directing traffic. Before the guy behind me leaned on
his horn, my mind was miles away, thinking about
undressing the cop with my eyes. What do you think of
that?"

"I'm not sure, Frank. I think what you need to do is
talk to a professional."

"Like a shrink?"

"I suppose. There are a couple of them at the
hospital. I could get their names and numbers from
Callan."

"I guess it would be my best bet. I'm starting to lose
concentration at work over this."

"What about the family?"

"Emily and I aren't really a `couple' anymore. We put
on a good act, for James' sake."

"Have you talked about divorce?"

Alonzo didn't need an answer from Frank, as his face
showed it. "As I said, we're only together for James'
sake."

"I'll have Callan get the information you need. Now I
think we'd better get up to the house."

"Thanks," Frank replied.

%

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