Date: Wed, 22 Oct 2008 19:02:55 -0700 (PDT) From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com> Subject: INCENTIVES 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. % INCENTIVES 01 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % Assistant coach of the swim team, Petr Ludovic steps up to Keiron Halpenny's locker, slamming the door shut, which commands attention to all of the other swim jocks changing from street clothes to speedos. "Halpenny, don't you understand English?" Petr points to a line not filled in on Keiron's application. "I don't quite understand what this means?" Keiron answers with a mix of Gaelic. "Plain and clear as it reads, Halpenny. Do good and you have nothing to worry about. Fuckup though and you're on coach's shit list. Think of it as incentive to do better." >From across the boxed-in square of lockers, a narrow entry for in and out of the special enclave set aside for the elite swim team, David Chevers sort of raises his hand as if in kindergarten, meekly saying, "Um, I don't believe I signed the `Corporal Punishment' clause either on account of I'm not sure what it entails." "Like I said," Petr says nastily towards David, "Do what you're fuckin' supposed to do and you won't have any problems." More the dominant portrait, Petr liked throwing his weight around. And he had plenty of it, standing there like the others, suited up, measuring up to some of the six foot or over guys, lightly haired pecs looking like he's handled more than his share of dumbbells, abs showing he must be doing five hundred crunches daily, pronounced, deep navel as a result of almost zero percent body fat. At twenty-five years old he not commanded, but demanded respect. Taking David's papers from the clipboard Petr tosses them to him, the three pages landing in three different places on the floor. "Here and they better be filled out properly or you better find another sport!" David scurried to pick them up. Before Petr began to address the other swimmers, on their first day of practice, he took a second to think what fun it would be to have a one-on-one session with David in the wrestling room. "Okay. All you fuckers out in the pool. Twenty-five laps!" Miguel whispers to Sandro as they crowd through the small exit portal, "He's joking, right?" "Problem Alvarenga?" "None what so ever. It'll be a cinch!" Sandro replies. However, little did they know Petr was keeping score in his big `little black book'. He charted it out with each name on his computer, printed it out and then fit it snuggly into an 8x11.5 notebook. His microsoft spreadsheet looked like this: ALVARENGA, SANDRO sophomore - followed by three empty boxes - a space - another three boxes - space - final `long' box for `notes', the same format followed for the rest of the list of swimmers DONATELLO BOMBATTI - freshman, KARL BRISSON II - freshman, MATHIEU CANTELOUBE - junior, DIRK CONCANNON - sophomore, TOM COPPINGER, JR - freshman, DAVID CHEVERS - freshman, KEIRON HALPENNY - freshman, KEVIN KESTLER - freshman, MIGUEL LOBEIRA - freshman, ADAM MILLS - freshman, SCOTT MINOR - freshman, MARCO PINARELLO - senior, JAKE RANISTRO - freshman The only contrasting fact than all the other names, Miguel already had the first little box checked and in the comments box: class clown. Petr detoured to Coach Balzo's office. "So how's our platoon measuring up?" A grin filled Petr's face right away. Balzo smiled as well asking, "So, who's your target this year?" "Chevers, a freshman. It's gonna be so fuckin' fun running him into the ground before we ditch him. Man, I don't know how you managed to pick such a wimp," Petr replied. "You know I analyse my choices by several means, Petr?" "Sure I do," he replied, picking a leg up, putting it over the back of a chair, setting his foot on the seat as he leaned against the file cabinet. "Tight pecs, sixpack, full crotch, which brings me to a question?" "Shoot," Coach Balzo responds as he lay back in his leather bound swivel chair. "How in the hell did Kestler ever make it out of over a hundred applicants?" Petr was talking about Kevin Kestler, nineteen year old freshman, unlike the others, loose pecs with a covering of dark hair, outstretched trail down his middle. Not tight like the others some visceral fat could be seen in place of crunch-worked abs, hair swirling around his navel, lower gut extending a bit over his swim apparel. Beefy but not in the class of obese. "Kind of took a liking to him. Maybe it was the beard," Coach replied. "He looks ridiculous in a speedo!" Balzo giggled saying, "Yeah. But it embarrassed the hell out of him, huh?" "I don't think it phased him a fuckin' bit." Moving forwards in his chair, he said, "No kiddin'?" After showing some disappointment, he sat back. "Well it's not like we don't have a lot of time to work out that little problem." "Oh, I took inventory. Looks like we have, 1, 2, 3, counting Kestler up for a body shave. I'm questioning whether Tom Coppinger has enough chest hair to worry about." "I want them all smooth," Balzo remarks, but then in a shifty manner, "Except Kestler. You leave that bear to me!" "Oh, almost forgot. You're going to love this." Coach Balzo breaks out of the afterglow of his dreamlike state of picturing Kevin Kestler on his knees. "What?" "Marco. You think he would know by now. Shows up with hair on his chest?" "Damn it, Petr. Didn't you tell the ones returning the same rules applied as last year?" "I did, but there stood Marco in the locker room, hairy chest and looking me right in the face. Maybe I should give him a demerit?" "No! We can't take that chance. He's like our ace swimmer. That is until we see what we have going for us this year. Hmm," Balzo rubs his stubbled chin. "Y'know what works for the others doesn't for Marco." "Haven't we had that very problem for the past three years, Virgil?" "My exact thinking. The boy's got a big head and I don't mean between his legs!" The two laughed. It was meant to be a joke, the two damn well knowing Marco's speedo was so stuffed they wondered why nothing ever fell out. "Sooo, what I'm thinking is, this being his fourth and final year... Petr, we've got to watch the others like a hawk. Find out if there are any freshman who show promise, show they're up to par with Marco's performance." Rubbing his hands together, Petr says, "So this mean he gets treated like the rest?" "Not yet. But I think we're up for a little humiliation?" Petr wondered what his mentor suggested until Coach Balzo reached into the bottom draw of his desk, pulling out first a small round tub, then a shaving brush, followed by a bag of throwaway razors. "You're going to shave Marco?" "Why no. Why should I get my hands dirty? After Marco finishes shaving... who are the new freshman?" "Ummmm," Petr looks at the names he's checked off, "Scott Minor, Donatello Bombatti annnnd Tom Coppinger, `Jr', that is." "Yes, well after Marco finishes shaving those three I'm certain he'll begin losing some respect of his fellow swimmers. Then, we'll even up the score a little by having those same three shave Marco!" "Brilliant!" Petr continued. They were interrupted, "Coach! You've got to come quick!" The two coaches exchanged glances seeing Kevin Kestler's wet down body hair. "What's up?" Coach Balzo asked Kevin. "We fished him out of the pool, but..." "Who?" Balzo wanted to know. Petr had an inkling it could be his `wimp', David Chevers. "He's a new guy like me," Kevin filled them while catching his breath. "I don't know his name. Another guy brought the other guy out of the water and..." Thinking a drowning had been in progress the two coaches rushed to poolside. "What's happened here?" Balzo calls out, pushing, making his own pathway through the circle. Marco, more the spokesman for the group, replies, "Nothing major." Karl Brisson sits up, still coughing out water as he states, "I'm alright." He holds his stomach. "Must've been something I ate for breakfast." "Is that so," Coach Balzo replies. It left things wide open for, "Well then let this be a lesson for all of you. No eating before swim practice." Half looked startled, the rest unbelieving. Marco was unphased. "You can't mean that," Miguel, who was shaping up to be the team clown, frowned. "One thing you've got to learn here and that's to pay attention." Mouthing the words, Coach Balzo made it clear, "Read my lips, `no breakfast before swim practice'!" As he did, Petr took the notebook from under his arm and jotted down some notes by Miguel's name. "So. Who's our hero here? Marco I suspect?" However it was not only Coach Balzo who was shocked out of his gourd when hands made David Chevers step forward. It left Petr's mouth hanging open though nobody paid attention, all eyes on Coach and David. "The guy deserves a metal!" Tom Coppinger shouted out. Marco, as well as returning vets, Mathieu Cantaloube and Sandro Alvarenga knew the rules. Easy. While Coach is speaking everyone, except Petr, was to hold their tongue. Right now David wasn't the center of attraction as Balzo stepped over in front of Tom. "Is that so?" Then, looking to the space between Tom's pecs, he makes comment as he touches the dogtags, "Seems a good idea. Take'm off," he says, dropping the square metal with the rounded edges. "Take them off? My dogtags?" Tom questioned Balzo's authority. "These are like my dad's. He gave up his life so `you' could be free." "And you'll give them up to Chevers if you want to stay on this team!" Some reward for a hero, another man's pride. Tom Coppinger, Jr, named after his father had spent most of his life mourning the loss of his dad, so he had to think this over deeply. One of the things his mom always impressed on him it wasn't material things that mattered in life, but freedom and what it took to get it. She tried putting it best she could, surrendering the metal she had held onto for years, giving them to Tom before he left for college. Tom took the metal piece standing for bravery in his hand. He looked at it, then at Balzo. "What the hell," he said as he walked over to David, taking the leather lace over his head. "Here," he said to David. Of course David didn't really want to take it, but Coach saw this another opportunity as humiliation for the tough guy. "Place it over his head. Yeah, we'll make this `real' formal." Petr could feel a tingling in his loins, hoping it wouldn't show. Taking the wad out of his hand, Tom looked into David's eyes as he placed it over the freshman's head, saying, "Take good care of it." "I will," David promised. "Isn't that sweet," Coach Balzo said, "Back into the pool you lily-liver sap-suckers! Ten laps!" He watched as the first eight dove in the pool. Before the second set took the dive, he yells out, "Except you Chevers." As Balzo and Ludovic walked away, David Chevers just assumed he was being left out of the exercise. Taking their time back to the office, Petr tried talking Virgil into allowing him to `reward' David. When Coach Balzo took a glance back, a last check on arms plowing through the water, he nudged Petr in the ribs. "Take a look at your `wimp'!" David got bored doing nothing, except for maybe catching a little skin watching Tom Coppinger pushing the water aside. He fingered the metal dog tags. Then, standing under the chin up bar he jumped up, grabbed his hands around them and immediately started to pump his bod up and down in rapid succession. "Will you look at that fucker go!" Petr exclaimed. "Yeah," Virgil replied. "Better watch out," he says before slapping Petr hard on the ass, "he'll be pumping something else!" "Don't even kid about it," Petr replied. However instead of evacuating the pool area he stood there watching David hammer out the pullups. Petr started his count in the middle of the arm pulls, but lost track after eighteen. Then breaking his gaze his ears suddenly tuned in to the splashing of water."Okay..." he shouted. "That's enough of a workout for today. Hit the showers!" It took awhile for the guys to stop, some floating on their backs, others standing in the low tide, panting, some hiking themselves up to the edge. At the end of the queue passing by Petr, David brought up the rear. "Hey," Petr called attention to the eighteen year old, grabbing his arm. Giving him a nasty look, David warns, "Not only do I know how to swim and do pullups but I'm a black belt in karate!" He pulled his arm away. Petr gave him a dirty look as well, but his face lightened up when his crotch pulsed. Before heading to the lockerroom he watched as the insides of David's speedo tumbled back and forth. He found his hand down, massaging his crotch. "Oh shit!" He exclaimed, looking around to make sure no one was looking. % Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee Check out another new TCMcP story: /nifty/gay/adult-youth/olufsen-and-sons This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.