Date: Wed, 24 Oct 2007 16:06:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Natures Trail 34

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" 34
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"So, what's your opinion on how this is going to go?"
Barry asks Owen Bergne.

Outside Denis' hospital room, the two dads and their
attorney start to wander towards the elevator.
Reaching it, they stop in their tracks, Owen breathing
out his breath, as he makes comment, "My honest
opinion is your son is a victim, not the accuser.
However, when there are no witnesses, it's one
person's word against the other. A tough case to
prove, when the words `sexual assault' are involved."

"How are we going to prove Denis' innocence?" Steve
asked.

"Well, the reason for Denis' statement. I'll take my
notes back to the office and hopefully draw up a case
of defense."

Barry didn't want to be repetitive, especially where
dismal facts were concerned, but the question gnawed
at him. "You mentioned yesterday that this offense
could mean jail time for Denis. How long are we
talking here?"

Instead of answering, Owen cued up the elevator, with
a push of a button, replying, "That I can't even begin
to guess. I really need to go over the notes I've
made."

Knowing Owen put up a stall, Barry hoped Steve didn't
catch on. His thoughts envisioned a hefty sentence.
Into the elevator, the attorney led the two, the door
closing. So engrossed in their three-way conversation,
they didn't pick up on Jose Vega, in a corner of the
elevator lobby, halting his duty of filling pitchers
of water from a central container. For the benefit of
eavesdropping, the seventeen year old put a hold on
his job, having listened intently to their
conversation. From the way the lawyer spoke, Jose
figured Denis was in deep shit.

"Forget that for now," Came the stern voice, as the
door to room 412 closed. Harry directed Jose, "the kid
in 412 heaved his guts out. Go in and change the
bedsheets. And oh, the urinal needs dumping too."

No `please', nor any other pleasantry in his voice,
only the blunt order reached Jose's ears. In the first
week after being hired Jose learned it was Harry's
nature to behave like a little `Hitler', his opinion
after a brief run-in with the head nurse, over mopping
up a spilled urinal. However, in particular, this
recent request seemed to irk Jose even more, coupled
with the facts surrounding Denis' deposition, which he
should not have been listening to. When Jose walked
into 412, he was startled by the new `child' patient.

Looking to the second bed in the room, Jose spotted
the new patient, in his hospital garment, asking,
"Where's the kid?"

"Kid? What kid?"

"Never mind," Jose said, walking over to the bed.
Picking up one of the sheets, his nose and eyes sensed
the mishap.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the jon in time,"
came the apology from the twenty year old, lying in
the second bed.

"I don't recall seeing you here before," Jose said, in
procrastination, walking away from the soiled bed, to
the other side of the small room.

"Clif Luq," the stranger uttered, a hand extended.

"You're French?" Jose asked, his hand clasping Clif's.

"I was born in France. My family came here when I was
nine years old. People say I still have an accent."

"If it bothers you," Jose cordially said, "it isn't
that bad. You speak english really well."

"Thank you for saying so."

Both froze in place, staring at each other.

"I better get on changing the bed, before Harry comes
back."

"Is he your boss?" Clif inquires.

"Harry is the head nurse and yes, unfortunately, I
have to answer to him."

Clif, seeing no love lost between the workers,
comments, "Not a very nice man."

"I know," Jose replies, "but I'm stuck working with
him, so I make the best of it."

"Why don't you get a job in town?"

"Oh well... this isn't a real job for me... it's
volunteer work. I'm only seventeen. I can't get a real
job until I'm eighteen."

>From his lying down position, Clif gives himself a
boost, sitting up, dangling his legs over the edge of
the bed. "I thought you might be in college. I thought
you are maybe eighteen or nineteen."

As Jose wads up the sheets and places a new one on the
bed, he explains, "Lots of people think I'm older than
I look. I suppose it's because I act like it. Probably
it's because I had to do a lot of growing up real
quick."

Clif smiled, listening intently to Jose's story.

"You see, I haven't had the normal life a teenager
has. My mom died of cancer and my dad works two jobs.
I don't see much of him. For most of my teen life I've
had to take care of myself."

"So, you're all alone, basically." Clif states.

"My friend Darryl helps me out a lot. He's a real
sweetheart," Jose says, burying the tail end of the
sheet under the mattress.

"Sweetheart?" Clif says, having caught the remark,
assuming, "He is your boyfriend?"

Glancing over to the other bed, to Clif sitting on the
side of the bed, Jose smiles as he says, "It doesn't
bother me if people know I'm gay."

It was the right answer, the one Clif sought after,
his curious mind probing.

Jose kept going, telling him, "Darryl isn't my
boyfriend. He's a twenty-four year old police officer.
He's helped me out a lot since cancer took my mom away
from me. I've always thought if I had a brother, he
would be just like Darryl. Here," Jose deviates, "you
can get back in this bed."

Hopping off the opposite bed, Clif lands on his feet,
standing erect.

"Wow! How tall are you?" Jose asks, as Clif dominates
over his five feet, ten inches of height.

"Six feet, one inch." Again, locking glances, Clif
informs Jose, "And I don't have a boyfriend either!"

"You didn't have to tell me that."

"You already know? You have this gaydar?" Clif asks,
grinning.

"No. Actually I didn't know. If you didn't volunteer
the information, I would have never known."

"Oh," Clif says, turning red.

To iron matters out, Jose says, "But I'm glad you
shared it with me."

"If I was a younger man, I would like to date with
you."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty," Clif replies.

"Oh, so you're in college?" Jose suggests.

"I go to Degaugue's Cooking School."

"So, you're going to be a chef?"

"I get a call yesterday... for a job," Clif informs
the seventeen year old, as he transfer from one bed to
the other, pulling the sheet up to his pecs.

"Where?"

"Birdy's. They have an interest in serving French
cuisine."

Clif's bright smile, the blond head of hair, brown
eyes, caught Jose up into the conversation, along with
the light chat. He wondered what Clif looked like
underneath the hospital gown, with the inner parts of
his blond chest hair, sticking out of the arms and
neck portions of the garment.

"Did you get to the urinal yet?"

The nice atmosphere faded quickly, when Harry barged
into the room.

"I was just getting ready to dump it," Jose replied,
reaching to the bedside table, picking up the
container, standard hospital gear for pissing easily
without having to leave the bed.

While dumping it away in the toliet, Jose listened to
the conversation, Harry as happy as a lark chatting
away with Clif, the head nurse offering most anything
which would make royalty feel comfortable. Reporting
back to the room, Harry fired his venomous mouth at
Jose, as if the seventeen year old was a threat,
making sure he washed the pissing container out
thoroughly. To please Harry, Jose took it back into
the jon and rinsed it several times. As with minutes
ago, he heard the pleasantries return to the room
outside the jon door. His mind wandered back to the
elevator conversation. Recalling Denis' incident with
the flowers Darryl left him. He wondered what would
happen if someone had sent Clif a bouquet. Returning
to the room, Harry, being his nasty self, ordered Jose
to return to his pitcher-filling details while the
head nurse stayed to chat. As Jose left 412, he drew a
comparative in his mind, the same handsome, blond
features of Clif Luq, versus his good friend, Darryl
Tudyk.

%

For the whole hour the seven neighborhood kids spent
together, at James Kitchener's house, drinking down
two pitchers full of lemonade, Alonzo's mind stayed
affixed on what Frank Kitchner had revealed to him
earlier. With the firsthand knowledge he drew a new
comparison, telling how distant the married couple
behaved, like friends, not lovers. It brought back
memories of how he was almost duped into a life of
being married to a woman. Forgetting about her,
Alonzo's eyes latched onto his son, Diego, the
offspring of the couple and how fortunate he is to
have been able to bring up the boy. Suddenly, Diego
turned from the commotion of the squirts talking,
catching his father staring at him.

"Want some lemonade daddy?" Diego asked his father,
turning out his chair from the table.

Alonzo grinned from ear to ear, hearing his growing
son call him by the name he thought was outgrown.
"Sure I would," Alonzo replied, taking the glass and
guzzling it down. As if it came from a hand of gold,
he replied, "Best lemonade I've ever tasted!"

"Geez... you musta been real thirsty, dad!"

"How about we think about hitting the road, son?"

>From across the room, Diego yells, "Hey Seth, dad
wants us to go!"

With dwelling on his biological son, Alonzo again
rejoices with the perfect match for a brother for
Diego, overwhelmingly happy he and Callan decided to
adopt the eleven year old. James wanted to take a ride
with his father, when Frank offered to drive Jeremy
and Caleb home, dropping Alonzo, Diego and Seth off at
their house. They all piled into the Kitchner SUV.

%

Reporting to Barrs & Bridges for the late shift, Kev
passes by the customer service desk. He and John
hastily exchange a smile. With all intentions of
telling John he needed to desperately talk with him,
Kev has no alternative but to wait til later. As if on
the verge of telling his eighteen year old lover good
news, Kev still retains an excited edge, having to get
his confession off his chest.

"Did you forget we're going to the club tonight?" Tom
asks his brother.

Kev answers, "Matter of fact, I did."

"So, you didn't bring a change of clothes?"

"My mind wasn't on it," Kev said glumly.

"What's the matter? You seem not to be with it today?"
Tom asks, probing.

"It's nothing. It'll pass. Just something I've got to
work out on my own."

It became obvious to Tom his bro didn't want to share
his woes, so he says, "After you punch in, there's a
load of charcoal on the dock."

"Sure. No problem," Kev replied, the twenty year old
walking towards the time clock.

Watching his brother pace down the hallway, from his
office, Tom knew something weighed heavy on Kev's
shoulders. Since spring they've gotten in three loads
of charcoal. Each time, Kev has complained about
unloading it, getting hot, sweaty and gritty from the
duty of transferring pallets from the truck to the
stockroom, then having to restack it on the
salesfloor. He waited, arms folded across his pecs,
for Kev to punch in then travel the same hallway back,
enroute to the loading dock.

"What?" Kev said sarcastically, when he saw Tom
standing in his way.

"In here and now!" Tom ordered, as `the father',
nodding his head towards his inner office.

"But the charcoal?" Kev badgered.

"I have the new guy on it," Tom reports.

"What new guy?"

"John's replacement. But forget that for now."

With shoulders slumping, Kev led his brother into his
office. He knew what this was all about.

"Have a seat," Tom told his bro.

"I'm punched in. I should be working."

"I'll deduct it from your pay," Tom replies, with no
intentions of following up. After Kev parks his ass in
the wooden chair, "Now, what's on your mind?"

"My own business."

Sitting up in his swivel chair, Tom says, "Don't get
cute with me, Kev. Ever hear the phrase, `don't bite
the hand that feeds you'?"

"So you're putting me through college. I don't have to
go to college. I could quit you know?"

"And do what? Go back to the drugs? The drinking? I
pulled you up out of the hole once. I don't intend on
bailng you out of jail every other weekend."

Stting there, his chin to his chest, Kev suffered a
flashback, seeing his life out of control, his brother
coming to the rescue, like a white knight in shining
armor. Tom reclined in his swivel chair, his hands
behind his head, the perspiration spots showing on the
white dress shirt of his pits.

"Well? What's it gonna be?"

"I'm thinking," Kev replies, before he opens up and
says, "I cheated on John."

"Oh," was all Tom said, sitting there, waiting. "Do
you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah, but with John. Not you!"

"Oh. I see."

After picking at his fingernail, Kevn realizes how
blunt he was with Tom. Even though he considers the
topic to be personal, between John and himself, he
also reflects on how Tom transported him out of the
gutter, flowing with drugs, beer and sex, and on to a
more quality to life.

"I slept with my roommate last night," Kev finally
volunteers.

"Kirk? I thought he was straight?"

"It wasn't the first time I slept with him. He came
into my bed in the beginning of the semester," Kev
rambled on.

"So, you knew he was gay last fall?"

"You don't understand. When I say Kirk came into my
bed last fall, it was only a curious thing. He
wondered what it would be like to sleep next to
another guy. He still considered himself a straight
man, but..."

"You had reason to believe he wasn't?"

Kev went on, "I kind of had the feeling, but wasn't
sure. But after last night I'm totally convinced, as
well as Kirk. I sucked him off. I got off to another
guy. Man, I feel so stoopid."

"What do you think John is going to say when you tell
him?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Kev says, "John's a sensitive
guy. I suspect he'll walk out on me."

"Do you want me to talk with him?"

"Nah. I've gotta do this myself," Kev replies.
Shifting the subject, he asks, "So, who's the new
stockboy?"

Clearing his throat, Tom replies, "More stock-'man'.
Ethan Keratis. Twenty-eight years old. An Iraq vet
with no skills."

"I thought being in the service, you pick up skills.
At least find an interest in one."

"Apparently not the case with Ethan. Right now he said
his interest is in whatever he can find to do that
will bring in a buck," Tom says.

"I never worked with an older stockboy before."

Lightening up, Tom reports, "You never `worked' until
I gave you a job here!"

Kev smiles, answering, "True."

"C'mon. I'll introduce you."

Reporting to the stockroom, the bay doors are still
open to the outside loading dock. Standing in the
doorway, a tall figure takes up the middle portion, a
bare back, glistening with sweat, the sun's ray making
his bod shimmer.

"Oh shit!" Kev says of the six foot two physique,
delts and lats moving along with every other fiber of
Ethan's back, as he pumps up the powerjack to bring
the stacked up charcoal in through the door.

"Damn!" Tom says, eyes affixed on the barebacked
worker, as the two brothers stand there, stunned out
of their gourds.

Turning, with one hand on the jack handle, Ethan gives
a slight heave, wheeling the heavy pallet in through
the door, as he turns to face the inner sanctum of the
stockroom. With his free hand, he waves to them,
smiling.

"I think I'm getting a hardon," Kev says.

"I think we better excuse ourselves to the little boys
room!"

After delivering the pallet to an empty spot, Ethan
reports over to where the Letterli brothers are
waiting. Wiping his right hand on his pants the pallet
jock offers it to Kev, with a smile, saying, "You must
be Kev!"

In the short distance it took Ethan to cross the
stockroom floor, Kev had his fill of checking out the
front of the new stockman's bod, the dark brown hair
covering his chest, two brown nips hiding in the fur,
the stripe down Ethan's stomach, swirling around his
navel, all highlighted by the hard-worked-up sweat.

"Um.. Nice to meet you too," Kev says, looking at
Ethan's great looking facial features, now that's he's
had his fill of the rest of the uncovered bod.

Tom butts in, "Is that the last of the pallets,
Ethan?"

"I have one more to pull. The pallet broke so I have
to transfer it to another. Want to give me a hand?"
Ethan asks Kev.

Before even answering, Kev's hands are busied, at the
buttons of his shirt.

"Oh, okay," Ethan says, nodding towards Kev. "I wasn't
sure if it was kosher for me to work without my shirt
on?"

Tom replies, "Back here it's okay, but when you hit
the salesfloor, it's reguired to have shirts on."

"No problem," Ethan replies.

Tom leaves the two to their work ahead of them.

"Workout?" Kev asks, as they enter the backend of the
trailer, to address the broken pallet of charcoal.

With a bag of charcoal in his hands, lifting it as if
it weighed a half pound, readying to hand it to Kev,
Ethan smiles, replying, "I think you're hot looking,
too!"

Kev breaks out in laughter, telling him, "Man am I
embarrassed!"

"No," Ethan replies, "embarrassment is like when I
hand you this bag of charcoal and you spot the bulge
in my pants!"

"For real?" Kev says, eyes shooting down to Ethan's
lower half, as he reaches for the bag of charcoal in
his hands.

More flaunting it than trying to hide it, Ethan
giggles, as he places his hands on his hips.

"What do you think?" Ethan asks, as Kev holds the bag
of charcoal on his shoulder, his left arm showing his
hairy pit.

"Totally massive!" Kev replies, glancing from crotch
to the bright smile on Ethan's face.

Reaching down his pants, Ethan fixes himself,
readjusting his crotch so that his beltline pins his
cock in place, diminishing the tenting action.

"You wouldn't be interested in... `taking care of it',
would you?"

Not at all shocked by Ethan's offer, Kev smiles,
saying, "Shit, you know, I'd really like to take on
the challenge of getting that sausage down my throat,
but... I've got a boyfriend and all and..." he thought
of being in enough trouble.

"No problem," Ethan says, still beaming, "I'll shoot
my load in the toliet later."

"What a waste!" Kev says, the bag of charcoal still
hovering over his shoulder.

"Quick!" Comes the single word out of Tom's mouth, as
Tom stands at the entrance to the truck.

"What?" Both stockguys say at once.

"Get your shirt on, Kev. John's on break!"

"But, the truck?"

"Ethan and I can handle it," Tom says, stealing the
bag from his brother's shoulder, catching it in both
arms, bending over.

"Whoa there, Tom," Ethan says, effortlessly lifting
the bag out of Tom's hands.

By the time Tom recovers, Kev and his shirt are no
where in sight. As Ethan hefts the bag of charcoal up
on his shoulder, it stretches his abs taut, the furry
line of pubes popping out of his pants, as they sag.
Ethan, looking at Tom, wonders what is keeping the
boss' attention keyed in on his waistline. Looking
down, Ethan exclaims, "Oh shit!"

Nodding his head back and forth, hands on hips, Tom
laughs out loud, commenting, "Long snake!"

"You too, huh?"

"What?" Tom asks, pretty much sure what Ethan's
inquiry involves.

"Um, never mind. I gotta get this pallet worked off."

Excusing himself, Ethan wiped his sweaty bod off on
Tom's arms, as he sideswiped him, carrying the bag to
the sturdy pallet on the loading dock. Returning, Tom
had a bag in his arms, ready to walk off the truck.

"I've got it," Ethan says, both hands around the back,
the back of his right hand pressed against Tom's
zipper. Feeling up the hard contents, Ethan wiggles
his eyebrows.

"You little devil!" Tom exclaims, releasing the bag of
charcoal. Returning for a third bag, Ethan says, "I've
got the rest of the pallet," meaning he can transfer
the load on his own.

"If you say so," Tom says, walking out of the trailer.

"But I could still use some supervising!"

Turning back, Tom parks his elbow on the pallet jack
handle, watching Ethan's muscles flex, as the
`stockboy' hauls ass.

%

"Hey," Kev says, placing his can of coke on the table.
"How's CS going?"

"Not bad. Like we both figured out though, it
restricts my freedom to roam," John replied.

"You could always go back," Kev said, leading the
conversation on, but anxious to switch subjects.

With a little smile on his face, John takes his napkin
to Kev's cheek, rubbing it.

"What?" Kev asks.

"You have dirt on your face." Then looking Kev's upper
half over, John reports, "Sweaty shirt?"

"Yeah," Kev says, pulling his shirt away from his
chest, "I was helping the new guy unload the charcoal
from the truck."

"Tom introduced Ethan to me when I arrived," John
tells. "Nice looking, huh?"

"With and without the shirt!" Kev replies.

"So, you guys were working without your shirts, huh?"

"It's sweltering inside that truck. You know how it is
working off a broken pallet. I was sweating bullets."

"I figured so. Either your shirt was off or you
mis-buttoned your shirt this morning!"

"Oh yeah?" Kev says, stretching his shirt outward,
trying to find the mismatched button. Finding it, he
unbuttoned, realigning button with buttonhole and
refastened his shirt in place.

"So, Tom said you wanted to talk to me about
something? Is it about tonight?" John asked,
excitement filling his mind, since this would be the
first time going to a gay nightclub.

>From the past few days, Kev kind of got the routine
down, John taking his break just before three o'clock.
Passing by the timeclock, he noticed it was a half
hour past the time he clocked in, one o'clock.

"Not exactly," Kev said, starting to sweat all over
again, even though the breakroom remained quite cool,
due to the overhead vents, piping in the AC. Taking a
swig of his coke, Kev started in, "more of a
confession."

"Confession? For what?"

Looking around the room, to his left, then right, Kev
was glad they dominated the breakroom space.

"I'm going to tell you straight, John. I'm not proud
of myself for doing this. I didn't even plan on it
happening. One thing led to another and..."

"For Pete's sake, will you get on with it? I'm sure
things can't be that bad."

Inside, Kev thought, `here goes'... "I cheated on
you... last night I slept with Kirk. More than
sleeping.. we had sex."

"Oh," John said, his brightly lit face drooping,
starting at the turn of his lips. Pushing away from
the table, where he sat, elbows resting on the ledge,
he crossed his arms over his abs, sitting back. "Well
that didn't last long, did it?"

With perplexity on his face, Kev asks, "What didn't?"

"Us?"

"Nooooo, no... wait. You don't get it. It wasn't
anything serious. You see, Kirk was curious and...."

"Like he was curious last fall?" John put it to him.

"More so. You see, he's finally made up his mind he's
gay."

"And, this little sexual get together was to provide
the proof?" John questioned, as if interrogating.

Indirectly answering his question, Kev says, "I never
really intended on going as far as we did. Our
intentions were to lay together... Kirk asking me
questions and me answering them... I swear John, I
never thought it would end up with me sucking him
off."

"So, you sucked him off? I suppose you swallowed his
load, too?"

"Well yeah. We got to talking about if a guy's cock
could really fit down a guy's throat and though I
couldn't really fit his monster shaft too far, without
gagging, he had my head in his hands and well... what
was I to do? There was nowhere else for his cum to
go!"

With a more stern manner, John inquires, "What else
did you two do? Kirk fuck you over, too?"

"No, I swear he didn't John. You gotta believe me,"
Kev pleaded, as if for his life.

"I do believe you," John says.

Kev felt a little relaxed, waiting for those three
little words, `I forgive you.'

"I am really glad you came to tell me this, Kev," John
tells him, putting his hands on his knees, pushing his
bod up from the chair, righting himself.

"Well," Kev says almost modestly, "I figured I should
do the right thing and fess up to it," following
John's lead, standing.

Scratching his head, John says, "But I can't
understand how you can put down Jason Dalbec, for
being the dorm `cumdump', when you yourself turn
around and do the same thing!"

"What?" Kev asked, with surprise, thinking he had this
`confession/forgiveness' thing in the bag.

"Thanks for being honest. I think I can do a lot
better."

Watching John's back, approaching the exit to the
breakroom, Kev says, "You... you can't do this to me."

"To you, Kev? Frankly, I think you've fucked yourself
over. Glad I didn't waste any of my sperm on you."

"What about tonight?" Kev tried for one last come
around.

Turning, a hand on the doorframe, John advises him,
"Don't OD on cum!"

His hand going to his midsection, Kev felt flushed, as
if somebody heaved their fist in his stomach, knocking
all the air out of his lungs. "Oh shit!" he said
outloud. For the first time in years, the nineteen
year old's eyes began to well up with tears. "I... I'm
a real asshole," Kev told himself, turning around,
facing the vending machine. At that moment, he caught
his reflection in the long glass, running the length
of the machine. "You're such a fucking asshole,
Kevin!" he shouted at his reflecting image.

Suddenly, a pair of hands fell on his shoulders. "I
take it things didn't go as well as you thought?"
Placing his chest to his brother's back, Tom's hands
fell to Kev's sides, his hands meeting in the middle,
to complete the hug. Tom looked to the side of his
brother's face when he felt tears on the backs of his
hands.

"I took it for granted John would understand. I
thought things were going well, until he... well, it
doesn't matter now."

Withdrawing one hand, breaking the prison chain around
Kev's bod, Tom stuck his hand in his pocket, bringing
out his handkerchief, saying, "Here."

Taking it, Kev wiped his eyes and nose, saying, "I
figured you would be giving me one of your little
speeches by now."

"You're not sixteen or seventeen, Kev. You're a grown
man. Yes, I had it in mind to say something to you,
after I saw John heading out of the breakroom with a
grim look on his face. However, along the road of
life, we learn our lessons... we win and lose."

"I guess this proves I'm a loser," Kev says, turning
around.

His brother drops his arms to his sides, replying,
"You're not a loser, bro. You just made a mistake."

"A mistake that cost me big time."

"John meant that much to you, did he?" Tom asks,
staring into Kev's eyes.

"I thought he was a turning point for me. I really
thought I could stay interested in one guy."

"So," Tom asks, folding his arms across his chest,
"John was just an experiment for you?"

"No," Kev said brazenly. "I mean, how am I supposed to
know? I've never been in love before."

"Oh," Tom says, relaxing his guard, "I didn't know
John meant `that' much to you."

"What did you think? I felt something the first time I
saw him. I knew I had to have him," Kev said, as if
pleading, but then complains, "Then I had to go and
fuck everything up! I had to go and have sex with
Kirk, like some weak little faggot."

At that moment, regarding Kev's choice of words, two
employees walk into the breakroom.

"My office... pronto," Tom says. Leading the way, he
leaves, Kev trailing behind.

Walking past the stockroom entrance, Ethan pulls one
of the double doors inwards. Cloaked in his shirt, he
says to Tom, "I think I will take you up on the offer
of a shower, before we head out tonight, Tom."

A short distance from the stockroom, Tom switches on
the flourescent tubes, as they enter.

"You invited Ethan to go to the club tonight?"

"Um, yeah. Hope you don't mind?" Tom asks his brother.

"Why should I mind? I'm not going anyway. You can't go
by yourself," Kev says, plopping himself down in the
chair. "Would you believe John had the nerve to
compare me to Jason Dalbec?"

"Who's Jason Dalbec?" Tom asks, closing the door, then
dropping his ass in his swivel chair.

"The dorm cumdump, that's who. Rumor has it he's
sucked off half the dorm. Guys say he's gotta have his
`cum-fix' everyday," Kev explains the explicit
details.

"Rumors, eh?" Tom asks.

"I know a couple of guys who've said they've had
blowjobs from him," Kev states.

"Well," Tom shames him, "looks like you're following
in his footsteps!"

"I sucked off one guy, okay? I don't crave cum. I made
a mistake, okay?"

"Just checking. Making sure you're not backsliding to
your olden days."

"That's different," the nineteen year old boldy says,
"I was on drugs. I didn't know what I was doing. I was
messed up. I'm older now and know better."

"Do you now?"

"I told you, Tom. I made a mistake. I haven't sucked a
guy off since my last time in jail. When was that?"

"You were seventeen. I remember it well. Christmas Eve
and I had to come down and bail you out for the second
time that year. You didn't tell me you made it with a
guy in jail?"

"Slipped my mind I guess. Besides, I felt sorry for
him. Same age as me," Kev drew on his memories, "it
was Christmas Eve. He gave me some story about not
being with his family. I don't know if he was telling
the truth or not. My mind was reeling. All I saw was
his nine inch tool in his hands and fell to my
knees... I... I..." Then, shooting forward in time,
Kev says, "I can't believe I sucked Kirk off."

"Well," Tom decides to move on, "as I see it, if you
ever decide you want to have a relationship with a
guy, you're going to have to discipline yourself."

"I know," Kev admits. "I'm not sure how, but I've
gotta do something so that I don't cave in everytime a
guy offers me up their cock to suck."

"Tell me something."

"What?"

"After you went through drug rehab, you were able to
control yourself. From the eleventh grade til last
night, John the exception, you were able to have some
self control, Kev. What made you slip?"

Kev didn't know. Before he could even voice his
opinion, Ethan knocked on the door, sticking his head
in through the crack, saying, "We got a problem! A
truck just pulled up to the loading dock, full of
charcoal. Did you order more?"

"What the hell? I ordered one truck!" Tom exclaims,
bolting from his chair, pulling at this office door,
stretching it wide open, leaving Kev alone in his
office.

Still down on himself, Kev got to his feet and left
the room. Walking the hallway, he came to the double
doors, which led to the salesfloor. Walking the
immediate aisle, he came to the end. Peering around
the corner, over a stack of cereal boxes, he spied on
the customer service counter. He frowned on himself
when he saw John, all cheery, helping customers, even
laughing at something funny. Pacing the aisle, he
dragged his feet, walking back to the stockroom.


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