Date: Sat, 3 Nov 2007 16:32:58 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Natures Trail 35

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" 35
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Sorry, you can't go in there," the police officer on
duty said to Jose.

"It's my job. I have to freshen up the pitcher of
water," the five foot, ten inch tall seventeen year
old said, staring up at the tall officer. Then as if
on the same level as the six foot tall policeman, he
extends his hand, introducing himself, "I'm Jose Vega.
I haven't seen you around here before."

"Patrick Dennison. Sorry, but I usually sit on the
desk. This is the first time I've been out of the
station since joining up," Patrick said, shaking
Jose's hand.

"You must know my `big brother'."

"Your brother is on the force?"

"Darryl Tudyk. He's not my real brother, but he seems
like it."

"Right. Darryl. He started right after me. Riley
Sanchez's partner," Patrick spit out the facts.

"That's him." On a mission of his own, Jose waved
anymore chat, saying, "I have to freshen up the water
before the patients get dehydrated?"

"Oh sure. Here, let me hold the door for you."

Jose smiled, as he entered, knowing the door didn't
have any spring action, abling it to hold open on it's
own.

"Don't be too long," Patrick says.

"I'll be awhile. I have to check the garbage, make
sure the bed is fresh, empty the piss out of the
urinal..."

"Oh boy... I don't envy your job, for a minute!"
Patrick replied, chuckling.

The seventeen year old joined in, saying, "A man's
gotta do what a man's gotta do!"

However, as soon as he got in the door, he dropped the
act, left his cart in front of the door and proceeded
to hover over Denis' bed.

"Yo, Denis. You awake?" With both hands on the
eighteen year old's shoulders, he shook him almost in
a violent manner. "Denis! Wake up!"

"What?" Denis says, groggily coming to life.

"Wake up. I gotta ask you something," Jose replies,
standing over the bed, waiting.

"My head feels...wasted," Denis tells him, a hand
feeling up his face as if washing water over it.

"It's whatever they gave you last night to sleep.
Listen. I haven't much time. Tell me something about
what happened with Harry."

"If I can..."

"Did you do anything sexual with him?"

Suddenly a look of hurt filled Denis' face, in a pouty
manner he replied, "I didn't do anything. I don't know
where he gets off saying I did."

"That's all I wanted to know."

"You do believe me, don't you Jose?" Denis pleads,
putting his hand on the latino's forearm.

"I sure do, but I had to ask it to make sure."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you right now. But I know things are
going to work out in your favor. I know they will.
Trust me."

"Trust you?" Denis asks. "But..."

"All I can say is trust me, Denis. You do trust me, as
your friend, don't you?"

"Yeah. Sure I do, Jose, but..."

"Then that's all I'm asking you to do."

"Okay," Denis said, giving up his quest.

In a flash, Jose didn't leave himself open, rushing
around to check the garbage can, exchange a half empty
pitcher of water for a full one, dumped away the
little piss accumulated in the urinal and tucked in a
loose flap of the bedsheet. His head thrown around on
the pillow, Denis watched Jose follow through on his
tasks.

"I'll see you later maybe. Believe me. Things are
going to work out for the good," Jose says, pulling
the door open.

On the outside, Patrick again followed through with
the open door gesture.

%

"How did it go?" Mark asks his father, as he walks in
the door, Steve trailing.

A hand to his son's shoulder, Barry stretches the
truth, saying, "Things are going to work out."

Steve comforts Mark with, "We just have to give it
time and keep Denis in our prayers."

"So, what are you up to since you've been home?"

"I worked on a little homework. It's tough to
concentrate, with all that's happened," Mark replies.

"I know it is, son, but we all have to pull together.
We don't want to get Aidan and Philip feeling bad, do
we?"

"No."

"What's for lunch?" Steve asks.

"You missed it an hour ago. I think Max put some
sandwich fixings away in the fridge for you," Mark
says. "Look, I'm going back to my room and see if I
can finish up on some homework."

Steve suggests, "I think Berk is working on the
mustang this afternoon. Why don't you take a walk over
to Bernice's and see how far he's gotten?"

"Yeah. Okay. Cool. Maybe I will."

As Mark walks out, Steve and Barry raid the
refridgerator.

Setting packages of cold cuts on the table, Steve
remarks, "He's taking it pretty bad."

"We all are," Barry says. Turning around, on his way
back to the fridge, Barry spots Steve, standing at the
sink, hands bracing him up against the counter, head
bowed. Walking over, he places his hands around
Steve's middle, grabbing him up in a hug, his head
over Steve's shoulder. "Things are going to work out,
Steve," he says, kissing him on the neck.

"I'd like to think that, but it keeps churning over
and over in my head what Owen said about `doing jail
time'. I can't get used to the fact of Denis being in
prison. He's only an eighteen year old, starting out
in the world. How can something like this happen?"

"You and I both know Denis would not resort to any
such charges of sexually harrassing another man.
According to his brother, Owen Bergne is a top notch
lawyer. He's going to get Denis off, I know he will."

"I wish I had as much faith as you," Steve retorts.

"You've got me, don't you?"

At first turning his head, Steve twirls around in
Barry's arms, facing his lover. Hugging Barry tightly,
Steve confesses, "I don't know what I would do if you
weren't in my life."

%

"How's it going Christian?"

"Not bad," he replies to Michael, making a few last
check offs on his list. "The only two remaining
applicants I haven't contacted yet are the
moonlighting fireman and..." he flicks through to the
second application, "Evan Keratis."

"The older guy."

"Which one?"

"Evan," Michael guesses.

"No. Evan is the high school senior. The fireman,
Thomas Tallon, is the thirty-seven year old."

"Oh. I thought it was the other way around," Michael
says, adding, "it might be nice having an older waiter
around. Especially a firefighter," he grins, wiggling
his eyebrows.

A grin on his face, Christian says, "What? Got a
fetish for guys in uniform, Michael?"

"Yeah. right."

"I was only joking."

"I know you were, however...."

Christian's attention perks up, waiting.

Taking a seat, flipping it around, Michael sits in it
backwards. "I think all of us have our little
`perks'!"

Sitting there, Christian just smiles.

"I'll tell, if you tell?" Michael says to him.

"I'll tell if, if we only tell each other?" Christian
replies.

"Well of course," Michael replies.

"You go first."

Michael begins, "Actually, it's a new thing with me.
When Tony and his crew were here, it kind of made my
crotch twitch, when I spotted one of the workmen's
belts laying around. They were on lunch, so I picked
it up and strew it around my waist. Felt kind of hot
buckling the leather around my waist, with the hammer
hanging from it, places for screwdrivers and other
stuff all around my torso."

"Nothing wrong with that. If you were a carpenter, it
would be normal, I suppose," Christian says.

"True, but then again, that's what makes it a
`fetish', thinking about something when it's not part
of what a person perceives as `normal'."

"So, like a guy who's into leather, he goes out and
buys leather stuff, you thought about buying a
workmen's belt?"

Michael sat there, a grin on his face.

"C'mon now, Michael. You don't get to hear my fetish
until you tell all!"

Indeed, Michael couldn't wait to hear about
Christian's abnormal self, so he poured out the
fantasy he had in his mind, telling, "I thought about
maybe surprising Kevin some night."

"Oh? How?"

"Stripping down and putting on a carpenter's belt,
except maybe instead of a hammer other carpenter's
tools, I'd have a dildo, a tube of KY, some other
kinky stuff."

"Awesome!" Christian exclaimed.

"Yeah, I thought it was kind of cool. I figured I'd
spring it on him this weekend. I already made a trip
to the hardware store. I haven't picked up a workmen's
belt yet, but I've got my eye on one," Michael told
him.

"What about the dildo?"

"Oh, I've had it stashed away in the closet for ages,
along with some other `goodies'!" Michael replies,
wiggling his eyebrows.

"Sounds cool," Christian told him.

"So? What kind of weirdness turns you on?"

"Nothing as exotic as your fetish."

"Watersports?" Michael guesses.

Christian confesses, "I did some surfing when I
visited my cousin in Cali, but I wouldn't call it a
fetish."

Michael couldn't contain his laughter.

"What's so funny?" Christian stated, straight-faced,
except a little turn-up of a smile.

"Nothing," Michael replies, calming himself, "So,
what's your fetish?"

"I like it when Justin mashes my nips with his
fingers."

"Must be torture!" Michael replies, trying to build it
up more than it is.

Catching on, Christian says, "I suppose it's no big
deal, huh?"

"Who am I to say? If it turns you on, then I guess
it's deemed a `fetish', but..."

"What?" Christian asks, when Michael drops out.

"Be right back! Don't go away!"

Christian's attention follows the clunking on the
stairs upon hearing Michael run up them. While away he
moves back a little from the table peering at his hand
surrounding the outline of a barrel in his crotch. "Oh
shit!" He says to himself seeing a small wet spot on
his light green khakis. Knowing if he leaves his hand
between his thighs the circle of wetness will expand,
he holds his hands as if praying, hands jetisonning to
the table, when he hears Michael's feet on the stairs.


"Here we go... now `this' will officially make it a
`fetish'!"

"What the hell?" Christian says, holding up the chain
with clamps attached to each end.

Laughing, Michael tells him, "Two clamps... two
nips... get the `connection'?"

"Put these on my nips? But that's gonna hurt like
hell!"

"Not if you," Michael snatches the silvery nipclamps
from Christians hand, "tighten these little screws.
See? They force the edge of the clamps gripping your
nips far apart. Then," he puts his index finger in the
`bite', "you unscrew them, your nips taking as much
pinch as you can of them. Simple, eh?"

"Still looks painful," Christian says, taking the
chain back from Michael. Placing one end over his own
finger, he screams out, "Owwwwwwwwch! Put these on my
nips? You've got to be insane, Michael!"

"Sure it's going to hurt now, but when you're in bed
with Justin, wrapped up in the mood of the moment, the
fluids running, adrenaline rushing to your head,
testosterone boiling in your balls, your shaft leaking
oil, believe me. It's going to be the hottest thing as
those two clamps are grabbing your nipmeat!"

With the clamps in each hand, Christian opens and
closes the rubber-coated jaws, as if they were eating
something. After flexing the springs of the nipclamps,
Christian asks, "You've used these on Kevin?"

Smiling an evil grin, Michael says, "Not yet!"

"Then how do you know how to use them? How do you know
how another guy feels with them on? Have they been
used on you?"

Michael sat back in his chair, forgetting the back was
to his chest, almost slipping his ass off onto the
floor, as he suddenly became serious.

%

Sitting in the hospital cafeteria Jose slowly took
sips from his cup of hot chocolate, looking at his
watch. Seeing the digital quartz read out of 3:54, he
gazed up at the cafe clock to confirm it was six
minutes before four o'clock. Placing his hand behind
his neck he wiped away the sweat buildup. Being
observant, the seventeen year old knew almost to the
second when shifts changed, when doctors arrived and
left, when fellow employees came on board and checked
out for the night. At 3:55, he did his time check of
watch vs. wall clock. Underneath his blue hospital
shirt he could feel the sweat forming on his teen bod,
a hand to his stomach producing wetness through the
fabric. He attributed it to two things; the heat from
his drink and nerves. Yet his mind seemed as cool as a
cucumber as he thought about what he was compelled to
do. At 3:56 he downed the last of his hot drink.
Getting up to toss it in the garbage, his light blue
pants stuck to the chair. So wrapped up in his
thoughts he didn't bother to look around, freeing
himself of the wedgie plaguing his asscrack. Walking
slowly to the waste receptacle he glanced up at the
wall, clocking in at three fifty-seven. In one minute
he would head to the elevator, taking it up to the
fourth floor. Grabbing a napkin, wiping his mouth, he
turned his wrist to find it was 3:58. Taking a bunch
of napkins he wiped off his forehead, nose, cheeks and
around his neck, depositing the wad in the trash. He
hastened his pace when the wall clock hit three
fifty-nine. At 4:00, Jose stepped out of the elevator
on the fourth floor.

%

Max could have cursed out the kids, when they
splattered pool water onto his cookbook, but instead
used his tee shirt as a blotter.

"C'mon Max. Come in and play with us!" Philip badgered
him.

Letting his book close, the twenty-two year old chef
and student, let it hang, clinging to his stomach,
horizontal to the thin, dark trail.

Aidan yelled, "Yeah, c'mon Max... we're lonely!"

Laughing, he got up, placing his book on the side
table. With Tom and Eric getting firsthand mechanics
knowledge over at Bernice's and the rest of the squirt
ratpack home with their families, he indeed catered to
the two boys' whims of wanting him in the pool.

"Yaaaaay!" The two screamed out as Max took a running
leap, making a `Michael Phelps-perfect dive', into the
pool with hardly a splash.

Both boys were amazed at talents other than cooking up
some good meals for them. They pleaded with him, "Oh
pleeeeez!" to do a retake. They also set to laughing
out loud when Max pulled himself up out of the pool,
his swim suit hiking down, revealing his hairy ass
crevice!

"He's hairier there than dad's armpit!"

"Which dad?" Aidan asks Philip.

"'My' dad," Philip says, opposed to Aidan's `real'
dad, Steve.

"I thought so," Aidan replies. "If it was `my' dad,
Max's ass would have to be blond."

"Yeah, dah," Philip replies, "and if it was blond
hair, we probably wouldn't be able to see it."

"I wonder if all guys get hair on their asses?" Aidan
brings up.

"I dunno," Philip replies.

After another leap of faith, that he would make a
repeat performance, the pool water enveloping him with
a broad disturbance, Max again takes the plunge,
surfacing right in front of the boys. After clearing
the hair from his forehead, he asks, "That dive was a
little messy."

"No it wasn't," Philip says.

"No?" Max tells them, waiting for more comments.

Aidan says, "I betcha you coulda been in the
olympics!"

"Thanks for saying so. I learned how to dive being on
my high school swim team," he replied to the two.

"Can you teach us?" Aidan asks.

"I can show you some stuff. I'm no expert."

However, before Max can do some tutoring, Philip looks
to Aidan, then at Max asking, "Max, do all guys get
hair... um, back here?" he pats his bottom.

"Back here?" Max asks, feeling up his clothed ass.
Then, turning a little pink, he reaches to the hem of
his swimsuit, jerking it up, realizing the two must've
been watching when he exited the pool before.

Boldly, Aidan says, "He means your ass crack!"

It brings a toothy grin to Max, him forgetting about
the embarrassing moment. Rising up from kneeling on
the pool bottom, which brought him to the height of
the two squirts, Max stands in front of them,
resorting to, "How about some diving lessons?"

Looking to each other, Philip and Aidan answer,
"Okay."

As Max leads them to the ladder, he smiles, hearing
them say things like, "I guess it's a question we
should ask our dads."

%

Still in a sweat, Jose passed along the counter of the
nurse's station.

"You alright, Jose?" Nurse Brock asked.

"I'm fine, Ma'am," he returned, keeping up his vigil,
heading towards the door at the end of the hallway.
Then he thought up, "I have to get some toilet paper
out of the supply closet."

She replied, saying what Jose thought she would, "Just
knock on the door, honey. Harry's in there doing his
inventory."

Glancing at the clock above the nurse station counter,
he confirmed the time, looking to his watch, it
reading 4:02. If things worked according to plan, two
minutes ago Harry Morse would have unlocked the door
and walked into the supply closet to do his daily
inventory. A little nervous, Jose Vega walked the left
side of the hall, closing in on the grey, gun-metal
door. His last look at his Replica watch told Jose
Harry had entered the supply closet four minutes ago.
A minute later, his hand was on the knob, turning it
as he thought, `Here goes nothing!'

"What the hell are you doing here? You know the supply
closet is off limits!"

"I need some toliet paper for 412," Jose said to
Harry.

"It's over there," He pointed out the two wide-stacked
boxes at the end of the closet. "Get what you need and
get out of here. You could get me into trouble!"

Probably unknown to Harry, Jose has been allowed to
enter the supply closet at other periods during the
day, on Harry's day off. There's a reason he chose
`toilet paper'. Watching Harry, as he passed by, Jose
passed along, walking to the other side of the tall
industrial sized boxes, his head barely above the top.


"Aren't you done yet?" Harry badgered.

"Almost," Jose replies, banging on the side of the
carton, for effect.

"Listen," Harry breaks away from studying his
clipboard, "if you need help, you should ask for..."

Rounding the side of the cartons, Harry had the shock
of his life.

"Jose, what the hell are you doing?"

Standing there, the dark-haired seventeen year old
Latino was stripped naked from head to toe. "It's hot
in here," Jose responded, tossing a roll of toilet
paper up in the air, catching it with the same hand.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull, but you
better get your clothes on and get the hell out of
here before I call security!"

"Go ahead," Jose said, smiling.

With his mouth dropping open, Harry became even more
shocked, as Jose's hand was stroking his teen cock,
nestled in a bed of lightly-haired fuzz. If his mind
was on it he probably would have thought how well
endowed this seventeen year old is, but that wasn't
the case. Then, Harry did focus on the gist of Jose's
plan.

"So that's it... was your good buddy Denis in on this
too?"

"He doesn't know anything about it and why should he,
when you're about to make him forget all about his
troubles with the lawsuit you're going to drop?"

All Harry knew is he had to be the first one out of
the door before Jose had a chance to flee out into the
open without a stitch of clothes on. Almost too late
Jose realized Harry's plan to flee. Dropping the roll
of toilet paper the seventeen year old dove for the
head nurse's ankle, causing him to trip.

"Why you fuckin' little bastard!"

Getting up he backhanded Jose, catapulting him towards
the cartons of toilet paper, bouncing off. Sitting on
his ass, Jose wiped his mouth with his right hand,
blood smearing across the back of it. This surely
wasn't included as part of his plan. Jumping to his
feet Jose caught Harry's back to him, standing two
feet from the door, as the nurse reached down to pick
up his clipboard, probably thinking Jose was too
stunned to try anything else. But to insure his plan
worked, Jose had to forget about his aching face, the
blood pouring out of his split lip. He knew where the
tube of ointment was, so uncapped it, squeezing a fair
amount on his hand. Quickly, as he approached Harry,
he smeared it between his asscrack, sticking his
finger in his own asshole, squinting his eyes from the
pain. "Here," Jose said.

Whirling around, Harry said, "I thought I put you
down... what tha?"

In Harry's hand, Jose placed the tube of ointment.
When the nurse took hold of it, the contents squeezed
out. Watching, Jose saw him try to work the ointment
off his hands, which caused it to spread even more
between his fingers and palms.

"It's not going to work," Jose said, a gleem in his
eye. "You know as well as I do, it takes soap and
water to get it off. By the time you even got to the
sink, I'd be crying rape!"

"You little bastard!"

This time, Jose was prepared. He dodged, instead of a
slap, Harry's oily fist. He wound up punching air. But
he knew it wouldn't be the final act of the now angry
hospital employee's lashing out. Reversing roles, he
knew he had to be the one to get to the door first.
With Harry at the back of the room, near the toilet
paper, Jose made the leap to get away.

"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" The seventeen year old screamed
out, as his hair was caught up in Harry's hand.

"Not so fast, bitch!"

Turning him around, Harry's fist plowed into Jose's
stomach, flooring him.

"Not fast enough, are we?" Harry said to Jose,
grabbing at the top of his head, lifting him up to his
feet.

Jose tried to pull Harry's arms away. Not in a panic,
but trying to keep his cool Jose felt pain, but his
wits stayed sharp. Using Harry's arms as a pivot in
the fulcrum, he swung a foot up, catching Harry right
between the legs. With a groan of pain, it was time
for Harry to kiss dirt. Releasing Jose he instead
clutched between his legs, cursing out the teen. With
haste, holding his sore stomach, Jose made for the
door, his peripheral vision picking up on if Harry was
following. However Jose knew his foot hit hard. Bare,
he could feel right through Harry's white pants,
almost as if his cock and balls were hanging out.

Opening the door, he put his acting skills to work,
yelling, "Help me somebody! Help me!" It didn't occur
to him he was exposing his teen manhood to the world
outside the closet. Right away, two male nurses,
talking with Nurse Brock turned from the nurses
station, heading in Jose's direction.

"Shit! What happened to you Jose?" One of them called
out.

"It's Harry! He's gone crazy! He tried to rape me!"

"Oh shit!" The other one called out. "I'm getting
security!"

At the nurse's station, Nurse Brock was way ahead of
them, calling out everybody but the National Guard! In
two minutes three security officers rushed up the
stairway, bolting out of the staircase. One of the
nurses, Jack, is already attending to the bloody lip.
Getting him up on a bed, left in the hallway, the
other nurse, Sam, tells Jose, "You're safe now. Just
lie still." Sam brought the sheet up over Jose's
privates, almost to his pecs.

Standing guard at the door, the three security force
members talked over the situation.

"Only one way in and one way out," One of them said.

"Correction," the blond states, "there's the window."

"You think...?"

However, after a couple of minutes, the door slowly
began to open. Out walked Harry, security being on
their guard.

"There he is," Harry says, "the little scoundrel.
Caught him trying to steal supplies from the closet!"

"Oh yeah?" The blond guard, Phelps, asks. "Looks like
we have ourselves a nude robber then!"

It's one thing Harry hadn't thought of, but it didn't
matter. Jose began immediately to put `plan B' into
effect.

"Keep him away from me! He beat me... he was going to
rape me..."

"That's bullshit!" Harry says, slowly losing his cool.

"Look," Jose says, shucking the sheet, turning over,
"I escaped with my life... he was ready to fuck me!"

John and Sam didn't know what to say, as they watched
Jose flip over, pull his ass crevice apart. Staring at
them, the greasy teen hole shimmered from the light
reflecting down from above.

Sam calls out, in the direction of the security
guards, "What's that shiny stuff on Harry's hands?"

Harry, by now played out, stares at his hands, holding
them out in front of him. Phelps reaches out, touching
one of them.

"I betcha," Phelps assumes, "this matches up with
what's on Jose's.. um bum?" he chose the `nice' word.

Waiting for the police to arrive, two of the security
guards cowered Harry over in the corner. Jose, they
wheeled into the nearest room, 412.

"What happened to you?"

"Want to stay clear, buddy?" Jack tells Clif Luq, one
of the patients on Jose's route.

"It's okay," Jose says.

So, as with Sam, Jack Collier and Greg Phelps, Clif
came to stand around the bed, harboring Jose.

%

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

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