Date: Thu, 22 May 2008 14:24:20 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: ROAD TRIP   helping hand

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, nor governmental areas,
which the story is stages. If a sexual scene involving
male-to-male relationships offences 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. This is fiction. Use protection, in real
life.

ROAD TRIP   helping hand
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

With primetime traffic against him, Robbie waited it
out, a line of cars and vans lighting up the side of
the mountain like a Christmas tree. Running through
his mind, he quickly skipped over the lesser
interesting parts of his day, smiling when he came to
the part about Barry defending his integrity, with
Travis. With one hand on the wheel, the other played
with his crotch, thinking about Travis, fantasy play
on his mind, the possibilites.  By the time he got to
Applegate, a look to his digital clock on the dash
told him in five minutes Coach Torricelli would be
blowing his whistle, calling it quits for this
afternoon's practice.

"At least I tried," Robbie said to Anthony, passing by
the flood of swimmers, wet tracks leading to the
lockerroom.

"Yeah. Thanks. Nice try," Anthony replied, not
forgetting to ask, "How is your friend?"

"Sleeping when I left," he answered, adding, "I don't
know what Dr. Kiinski said to him, but it calmed him
right down. Slowly he drifted off."

"Hmm, maybe it's more than a few kind words then?"

"He's straight. Barry mentioned it to me."

"Oh," Anthony said, adding, "I guess my gaydar was
picking up the wrong signals!"

Totally surprised, Anthony listens to logic, as Robbie
says, "Sometimes when a guy comes along who is as hot
looking as Dr. Kiinski, we all tend to hope so much
he's gay, we believe it!"

Entering the lockerroom, Anthony agrees, "True...
true... true." Then, in a totally different
inflection, his voice dropping several decibels, "What
the fuck? Why don't you guys act your age and not your
IQ's? You know there's nobody to pick up after you, so
you're on your own. I want this place smelling like
roses before any of you set foot out of this
lockerroom!"

Those whom were slinging the wet towels, whipping the
other's butts, backs, chests and abs, were just as
surprised by their coach's rhetoric as the next guy.
"Yes sir, coach!" bounced from jock to jock.

"A little hot under the collar, coach?" Robbie asked,
following him into the small rectangular office.

"It's been a day," he replied.

Testing the waters, Robbie, sitting in the `bad
chair', one usually used by an athlete only invited to
sit down when in trouble, asks, "So how long do you
think Edwin will be incapacitated?"

Breaking a pencil, Anthony, still in a bad mood, says,
"I just busted his chops for coercing a guy into
giving him a blowjob in the lockerroom and then he has
to go and fuck some guy in the track shed. Doesn't
that boy ever run out of testosterone?"

Not meant as a joke, but fact based on his own
experience, Robbie says, "If he's anything like me, as
soon as it's used up, it gets replenished quickerer
than..."

"I get the picture," Anthony replies with a smirk.
"It's not like I haven't been there."

"Really coach? I thought maybe you're still `there'?"

Even with his woes, Anthony still has an unforced
smile as he tells, "I'd say I'm still `there', but not
right at the moment." Hearing the noise die down to
nothing, Anthony gets up from his desk saying, "I
suppose I oughta get ready for the white glove test."

"Um, coach?"

"Yes?" he inquires, turning back inside.

"You forgot your white gloves!"

If the two didn't get along, didn't click, it might
not have been accepted as a joke, Anthony giving
Robbie the finger. However, Robbie replies, "Whever
you're ready. I could sure use some cock up my ass!"

"Hurting that bad with Barry laid up, huh?" Anthony
asks, shaking his head at the two wet towels sitting
on the cubby holes, a place to stash gym equipment too
small to take up space in the large closet.

"Slobs!" Robbie comments.

"I'll say," Anthony replies, standing at the entrance
to the showers, both hands planing over his face.
"Well I guess there's no use standing here complaining
about it. There's a job to be done and somebody's got
to do it."

Following Anthony to the jon, Robbie manhandles the
mop away from him, saying, "I have a few minutes."

"Right. Thanks," Anthony replies, surrending it.

While mopping the shower, he hears coach complain,
"Leave it up to these guys and they would drain the
oceans," talking about leaving the showers dripping.

"It's not worth it, coach," Robbie says out of the
blue. Anthony looking to him for an explanation,
Robbie further explains, "Like what happened to
Topher, it's not worth getting your balls all twisted
up."

"Who?"

Using his mop as a brace for his hands holding up his
chin, Robbie tells him, "Topher Cristan. The dude I
brought to the hospital today?"

"Oh yeah. How's he doing?"

A smile creasing his face, Robbie balanced his head on
the mop handle, silenting staring.

"What?" Anthony asked, picking up a wet towel off the
floor.

"You already asked me that."

"When?"

"Before. When we came in here."

In excuse, Anthony replies, "Like I said... its been a
day."

"Well at least you have somebody to go home to,"
Robbie slighted himself, whereas he usually connected
with Barry, winding up in one of their rooms for the
night.

In a snap, Anthony replies, "Roberto's working a full
boat today. By the time he gets home he'll be so
tired... well there won't be any of `that stuff'."

Joking, Robbie asks, "Want a massage?"

"How do you mean that?" Anthony replies, a wicked
smirk on his face. Then, walking past one of the
showers, he bends over to pick up a towel. The sleeve
of his shirt catches on the cold water knob. Soon he's
rained upon, cold water cascading his whole self. "Oh
shit!" he yells, jumping out of harms way too late.

"Sorry coach. I couldn't help it," Robbie says in
between the laughing.

"Do you see me laughing?" Anthony replies.

Setting the mop against the wall, Robbie walks over to
him, his back to Anthony, bending over, pulling his
gymshorts and briefs down, exposing his two white
mounds.

"Sinclair, what the fuck you doing?"

"You've got a wet towel. Why don't you `punish' your
boy for laughing at you?"

"I'm not in the mood," Anthony replied.

Standing up, pulling his gymshorts most of the way up,
Robbie confronts him, "I've got nowhere to go. You've
got nobody to go home to. Hell, why don't we both
stick around for a little relaxation to take our minds
off of things?"

"You're nuts Sinclair," Anthony accused him of.

"Oh really?" he advanced til he was standing directly
in front of his coach. He wasn't sure, but took a
gamble, since Anthony didn't make a move to depart.
"You know you can't go home all wet," he said, looking
at Anthony as his hands began making light work of
unbuttoning Anthony's shirt.

"What are you doing...." Anthony stopped, looking down
at Robbie's hands at work, muttering a simple,
"Sinclair?"

Unbuttoning the last one before hiking Anthony's white
shirt out of his pants, Robbie goes out on a dare,
stating, "Only one more button before I peel your
shirt off, coach. Stop me if you dare!"

"No," Anthony said, his code of ethics flashing in his
mind like warning lights.

Holding the rest of Anthony's shirt up, one button
left to open up the rest of his shirt, enough of
Anthony's wet, dark brown chest hair shone, beckoning
Robbie onwards. Breaking free of Anthony's grip, he
reached inside the wet shirt, his fingers trying to
find two nips.

In protest, which lasted all of two seconds, Anthony
lost his grip on his own shirt, his hands falling to
Robbie's torso as his head cocked backwards, eyes
closing, totally enjoying his nips being manhandled.

"Feel good?" Robbie said, not that he had to. Breaking
his concentration, Robbie's chin dropped down as
Anthony's hands traveled up his tee shirt. "Yeah. Go
for it!" Still watching, Robbie was moaning as his
coach's hands pawed their way up his abs, thumbs
pressing into his tee shirt. "Ooooh fuck!" he
exclaimed, falling prey to the total pleasure.

However when Robbie stopped teasing Anthony's nips,
both hands going for the back of his tee shirt,
stripping it, Anthony broke out of the trance, hands
dropping to his sides, saying, "No. This is wrong. We
can't be doing this."

"I know," Robbie replied, still whipping his tee shirt
off over his head, shaking out his shaggy haircut.

Even though he's seen those pecs and abs dozens of
times, in the dimly lit shower room, Anthony's
tingling crotch began turning the tide, compromising
his stern set of values. "God, you're beautiful," he
couldn't believe he was saying, but didn't cast a
shadow of regret.

"Thanks," Robbie replied, hands once again inside
Anthony's shirt, except places on his shoulders,
Anthony's shirt, even though wet, riding up on his
arms.

Stepping closer, their bodies touching, dry to wet,
Anthony sighed, "Ooooooooh," as Robbie busied behind
his back, pulling the wet shirt, inside out, off of
his coach's wrists.

Allowing it to drop, Robbie replaced the fabric with
his hands, rubbing them over Anthony's shoulder
blades, down his back, hinting already by fitting one
inside the back of his pants. All this time, Anthony
let his hands sit on Robbie's torso, still not sure if
he should turn back before it was too late to do so.
Pushing away, deciding this wasn't right, it was too
late already as Robbie bent at the waist, his head
slacking to the side, his mouth finding wet pec hair,
his tongue finding Anthony's nip.

"Oh fuck!" Anthony called out, as lips cupped around
his nip and pulled outwards.

Robbie's hand already found out how much Anthony was
enjoying having his nips toyed with by lips and teeth.
After all it's not like he hasn't been there himself.
Only, using his mouth he felt wasn't as erotic as
having two clamps in their place. Tiring of not
receiving some of the action, Robbie stopped.

Anthony exhaled, then took in some more air, catching
up with his feelings.

In the meantime, the eighteen year old swimmer turned,
placing his hands behind his head, elbows up.

More puzzled, Anthony asks, "What are you supposed to
be doing?"

Without turning around, Robbie commands, "Whip me."

"Whip you?"

"Yeah. Use the wet towel. C'mon coach," he stops,
turns his head, "Sir. Make me your slaveboy!"

Giving in a little, Anthony flings the towel throught
the air, making the land straight down Robbie's back.

Turning, Robbie critigues him, "Y'know my grandmother
could do better than that?"

Hands fidgeting with the wet towel, Anthony wises up,
"What can I say? We're too much the same when it comes
to playing around."

Then coming up with a surefire idea, Robbie's hand
grabs at the wet towel, saying, "My turn!"

"Your turn?" Anthony asks, perplexed.

"Sure. Why shouldn't we both get what we want?"

"First I better make sure the door is locked."

"I'll tend to that."

Both feet going, Robbie jogs out of the shower area.

Letting the towel fall down to the floor, Anthony asks
himself, "What am I getting myself into?"

"All is safe and secure, sir!"

"What tha?" Anthony questions Robbie, as he appears
butt-naked.

"I figured it would be a hotter scene if we were
both...."

"Listen, I'm going out on a limb as it is, Sinclair. I
don't think..."

As if a lover making a good thing better, Anthony's
head drops down, upon feeling a pair of hands play
with his belt buckle.

"What are you doing, Sinclair?"

Unbuckling his coach's belt, Robbie proceeds to pull
it through the loops, a smile followed by, "I don't
see you stopping me!"

The smile still lingering, Anthony stands there, hands
on hips, a look on his face questioning his surety.

"Excuse me," Robbie says, the front of Anthony's
soaked khakis parted in the front.

His hands still positioned on his torso, he does
nothing as Robbie slips the belt-looped waistline
down. With ulterior motives, Robbie places one of
Anthony's hands on his shoulder, making excuse,
"Balance yourself," while he removes each sneaker. By
now, if the khakis weren't all wet, they were now,
lying on the shower floor. "Time to catch up, huh
sir?" he still referred to Anthony as his master. One
knee planted on the tile, Robbie reached up for the
elastic of Anthony's waistband. "Hmm, Abercrombie. Not
bad for an old fart!"

With a wry smile, Anthony retorted, "Just think. In
nine years you'll be all caught up with me!"

It was the first time Robbie looked upon his coach's
endowment, as he peeled down the cock-fitting briefs.
"Looking forward to this as much as me, huh?"

Before Anthony could even think of a rebuttal, his
head dropped back as Robbie's mouth engulfed his 9.5c.


"Oooooooh!" His immediately reaction came, a warm
mouth surrounding his almost totally rigid shaft. A
few moments later he was thinking out loud, sending
the message, "This isn't part of the game!"

There was Robbie on his knees, kneeling, pouting
because Anthony backed off, leaving his mouth empty.
"What's the problem Anthony?" he slipped with the
respect.

Anthony noticed the slip, making a statement, "Because
Mr. Sinclair, cocksucking wasn't part of our....
our... whatever you call it!"

"Felt good didn't it?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay," Robbie says, getting up on his feet, "so
cocksucking and fucking are out?"

The look on Anthony's face already stated his
position. Reconsidering, he tells Robbie, "Maybe we
should just forget it. I'm not so sure about how this
is going. I mean look at priests."

"Priests?" Robbie questions, his face sowing the vague
aspect.

"Yeah. Doing little boys and then when they're all
grown up they suddenly remember getting sucked off
when they were nine. How do you think it will look for
me when you wake up someday and realize your swimming
coach and you had a ... an erotic time at doing
whatever we're doing?"

Throughout Anthony's little speech, Robbie drew closer
and closer. By the time Anthony reached his last word
he was staring pointblank into Robbie's eyes.

"So?"

"Coach," then in more intimate terms, "Anthony, if I
can call you that for a moment."

Anthony stood there.

"In ten, fifteen, thirty or fifty years I'm not going
to look back on this as some sexual escapade between a
coach and his student. I can't expect, with all the
athletes you instruct every week to take notice,
but... well this is how I feel about ever wanting to
say anything about what goes on behind closed doors."

Anthony stood there, trying to let it register as
Robbie's hand pressed against the back of his slick
head, his lips trying to make an impression. He didn't
have to think too hard, as Robbie told him, "Sorry if
I'm doing something wrong, but y'see, I look up to
you... admire you... think the world of you...
Anthony... You can count on me keeping any secrets
between us.

For a long interval of time, Anthony stood there,
trying to fight, mind over crotch. Slowly one started
to give in to the other. "Is that all?"

"No," Robbie's hand touched Anthony between the legs,
"I love your tasty cock!"

He wasn't sure whether it was a put off or wanting
more time to think things over, but Anthony said, "I
think we should get things squared away first."

Seeing it as a go ahead, Robbie replied, "Don't you
worry about anything. I'll take care of cleaning this
mess up."

"My clothes. They're wet. They need to be thrown in
the dryer."

In a jiffy, Robbie had gathered up shirt, pants,
briefs and socks, tearing off toward the laundry room.


"And don't forget to take my wallet out of my pocket,"
he yelled.

Pacing the shower room, Anthony let the wet towel
trail along the floor. He came to rest against the
wall, looking at it as if searching his soul. Suddenly
he let out a tender sigh when a pair of hands circled
around from his back, pulverizing his nips. "Guess
who?"

"Well I sure hope it's not Dean Harriot!"

Robbie letting go, Anthony turning, Robbie confronted
him with, "By the way y'know him and Coach Dekker have
a fucking good time almost every afternoon?"

"And how did you find out?" Anthony questioned him.

"All the guys know it. It's tough to keep a secret."

"I know," Anthony replied.

Unfortunately for Robbie he said the wrong thing.

"C'mon, let's get this place cleaned up."

"No.. no Anthony c'mon. We had it all planned," Robbie
went after him as he picked up two more wet towels.
Pulling on Anthony's shoulders, he took a spin, almost
falling. The six foot-two teen caught him with little
effort, saying, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Anthony replied. "Was a close one."

Joined at the waist, leaning back, chests parting, it
wasn't too great enough a distance to ignore what
maybe one of them was thinking. Closing his eyes,
Robbie leaned in, linking up pecs. Anthony didn't
fight it as something more emotional came over
himself. The kiss lasted all of two seconds, but it
was all either of them needed to forget about the
immediate cleanup. Bending over, Robbie picked up a
towel, saying, "Your turn to whip me." He put the
towel in Anthony's hand. As Robbie bared his back to
Anthony, coupling his fingers behind his head, he
warned, "Remember, I'm doing you only as hard as you
do me!"

The next whip of the towel was only a little better
than Robbie's grandmother, but as each took a turn,
the erotic nature caused each to put more force behind
the power.

"Had enough?" Anthony asked.

"Two more," Robbie replied.

"Your back's a mess. I think you've had enough."

However Robbie cursed him out, demanding, "Fuckin' do
it!"

A ham at it by now, Anthony gave Robbie what he
wanted, cracking the wet towel over both shoulder
blades, producing yet another pink welt, it slowly
morphing into a reddish color.

Turning, his hand out to take the towel, Anthony
confessed, "I've had enough."

"One more for me," Robbie said, turning back around,
lifting elbows high as he cinched his hands behind his
head, last thing making sure his feet were at least as
wide apart as his shoulders.

"But I'm not taking another one," Anthony made clear.

"Doesn't matter. I need the pain. Just fuckin' do it."

Anyone else would think, `what a sick pup', but
Anthony well knew the feeling of pain mixing with
pleasure, the longing need to feel it delivered, cock
and balls reacting along with the psyche.

"And make it real hard," Robbie gave one last
instruction.

As Anthony twisted the towel up, he stared at the
place of impact, at least a place to aim.

"If it's not hard enough you have to do it again."

He had already figured out Robbie's logic. No matter
how hard he flung it against Robbie's back he knew it
wouldn't have the sting Robbie intended. So he gave
him what he wanted.

"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk....oohhhhhhh-fuck!"

Falling over, his hands grabbed hold of the edge of
the towel laundry bin.

Rushing over, Anthony asks, "You alright?"

Panting, Robbie says, "No. I'll never be alright after
tonight. Thanks... thanks so much Anthony. I... I
can't wait til the next time."

"Look, this is a one shot deal. I don't think..."

Turning around, looking up at Anthony, just as sweated
up as he was, Robbie says, "I figured so. It doesn't
hurt to try, does it?"

Even though both had received their fair share of the
whipping towel, Robbie one more to his credit, both
were in good humor as if they hadn't experienced the
pain reflected by the pink welts striping their backs.


"Before you go, how about we jack each other off?"

Robbie played coy, lying down on the floor, his ribs
against the floor.

"69?" Anthony questioned. "I don't think so."

"Can't kick a guy for not trying," Robbie replied.
However, instead of getting up, the teen swimmer
played a dirty trick on his coach. Latching onto his
torso with his hands, he quickly gulped down Anthony's
cock.

%

2B continued...

Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
collection without prior written permission, by the
author.