Date: Sat, 13 Oct 2007 12:12:21 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: ROAD TRIP pilot to copilot

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 pilot to copilot
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"I told you, Robbie. you made a wrong turn three miles
back!" Eighteen year old Sean Duffy, called out, as a
map stretched across his lap.

Grabbing the map out of Sean's hand, sitting in the
front passenger side, Mik says, as he reaches for the
paper, returning it, "Here. Try looking at it this
way?"

Of course Sean got all the usual banter, containing
`fool', `doofus' and other degrading criticism, over
holding the paper map upside down.

>From over his right shoulder, a meek voice, yet bold
in it's deliverance, "And don't talk to my boyfriend
like that ever again!"

Giggling broke out throughout the van, even Robbie
cracking a little smile, as Barry sat back, picture of
a serious nature on his face, aimed at Sean for
speaking to Robbie in `that' tone of voice.

"Thanks, babe," Robbie said, followed by, "come up
here and give me a little peck!"

It made Barry feel elated, squeezing across the two
swimmer jocks, almost laying across Mik Vysotsky's lap
to sneak to the front for a sweet little kiss.

"Thanks babe!" Robbie said, with a smile.

Then, looking to his right, Barry takes it on himself
to bark orders to Sean, snatching the map out of his
hand, "You go sit in the back. I'm telling Robbie
where to go now!"

Of course, they all made fun out of Barry `telling
Robbie `where' to go'. It was easy for lithe Barry to
sneak between the seats, but when Sean, six feet tall,
one hundred and eighty pounds, tried the same route as
Barry, he managed to trip over everything in and out
of sight.

It gave the guys more to laugh at as Sean fell, face
forwards, into Mik's bod, chest meeting chest, cheeks
becoming close, as Mik yelled out, Russian rooted, in
his newly aquired vocabulary, "Doofus!"

Meanwhile, a melancholy moment just occured, as Barry
asks, "Alright if I lead you babe?"

"Anywhere!" Robbie replied, his loins leading the way
to reaching over, across the way, cupping Barry's head
in his big hand and kissing him deeply.

Of course, the laughter subsided, when the swim team
saw all this happening, provoking the lot into
commenting on things from, `We're never gonna get
there!', to `Keep your eyes on the road!'

Robbie responded, "I'm not even on the road!"

Then more bickering, the friendly type, took place as
they badgered, "Well, would you get on the fuckin'
road?"

The engine still running, Robbie put the van in `D'
and slowly accelerated.

After studying the map for no more than two minutes,
Barry says, "Stop!"

"Oh shit!" Robbie called out, steering wheel in one
hand, his hand at his heart, with the other.

"Whatsamatter, babe?" Barry asks.

"Nothing," Robbie forces a smile, "only next time give
me warning before you give me a heart attack?"

Alert to his complaint, Barry, squashing the map up,
sits on the edge of his car seat, asking excitedly,
"Do you have pressure? Squeezing? Pain in your chest?"

"No, Barry, I...."

"Do you have pain in your arms, or back, or jaw?"
Barry asks, now looking almost point blank at Robbie.

"Um, no.. you see...I..."

"You look a little sweaty. Are you nauseous or
light-headed?"

"Um, no, when I said...." Robbie tries to intervene
again.

"Maybe you should pull over and let me take your
pulse?"

"I'm fine... really," Robbie finally got in, Barry
listening, but not from an urgent perspective. "When I
said I had a heart attack, I didn't mean I was having
a heart attack. What I meant is you scared me."

Then, in a reverse, more sentimental mode, Barry
kindly says, "I'm sorry if I scared you babe, but I
thought you were  really having a heart attack."

The mixup had them again sitting on the shoulder of
the road. Complaints began to register, as they
engaged in a sweet kiss of affection.

"Um, maybe we'll get there by Christmas?" Sophomore,
Alex Nagano asks, sarcastically, from the rear of the
van.

"What d'you care?" The majority of the riders hear,
casting them all into a fit of raging humor, as Jeff
Kyser cheerily remarks.

"Okay, what's going on back there?" Robbie reads the
situation like a book, trying to search the rearview
mirror.

"Believe me," Starke Richter says, reflecting his
German accent, "you don't want to know, Robbie!"

Of course it was feed for more laughter, Robbie just
shaking his head, preparing to make a U-turn, asking
his co-pilot, "Where to babe?"

Settling down, Jeff went back to giving Alex a nice
slow suck-job!

After back-tracking, hanging a right, where Sean made
the mistake of mis-reading the upside down map,
sending them a few miles out of their way, Robbie
turns the wheel. Getting used to how Barry dished out
the directions, Robbie already had it through his head
to expect a sudden directive. If the van sped along at
a fairly fast pace, Robbie laughed his ass off at the
guys in the back, cursing him out when bodies landed
on top of bodies. By this time Alex was drained so he
and Jeff had sacked out in the back, tumbling over
like rolling pins.

"Are we there yet?" Freshman, `Flip' Peterson asks,
whining like he did ten minutes ago.

"I'm not going to even answer that Peterson," Robbie
said, making eye contact in the mirror.

Barry, turns slightly in his seat, again the colored
map getting mashed up so the mountains took on the
figures of raised topography, bellows, "Yeah, stop
asking `cause   we're not gonna tell you. And stop
bugging Robbie, or you'll make him have a heart
attack!" With his two cents spoken, Barry plunges back
into his seat, studying the deluxe map, which includes
all fifty states, as if reading a study text. "Hey
Robbie?," distinguishing something serious.

"What?"

"Want to play a game, babe?"

"Game?" Robbie questioned.

"Right. I ask you a question about a state and you
tell me the answer. How `bout it? Betcha you get a lot
right!"

Robbie thought it over for a second.

While at it, Barry turns around in his seat and
questions his twin, "Remember when we used to play
trivia games in the car, when mom took us to see our
cousins in New Jersey, Larry?"

"I'll never forget it!" Larry replies, rolling his
eyes.

One of two non-team members, from the brigade of
Applegate University's swim team,  Edwin, his arm over
Larry's shoulder, asks, "Why the long face?"

Giggling, Barry responds to Edwin, everyone else all
ears, "Because as soon as our mom asked the question,
I knew the answer right away!"

"Okay, brainiac, you've managed to knock me down a peg
or two, so what's your point?"

Knowing Larry joked, Edwin took it a little to heart,
sweetly saying, as he took his boyfriend's hand, "I
think you're an intelligent guy."

Barry said, "Nothing. Just finding out if you
remember," as Larry smiled, his head turning, allowing
Edwin to fulfill his obligation to follow up with a
kiss.

"Yeah, I remember," Larry told his nineteen year old
twin.

"So, what's your first question?" Robbie asks, unaware
of the sudden quiet in the back chambers of the
vehicle.

"Carson City is the capital of what state?"

Right away, Robbie and Barry giggle, as they hear from
the back, "Oh! Oh! I know this!" coming from Jason
Youngblood, the only senior member of the swim team.

"Leave it to a pro," Jim Stoan remarks. "Like I'm the
history major? It's Colorado."

So high on his ego, it wasn't tough for the other guys
to `boo' him, as Barry says, "Wrong-- It's Nevada!"

All hell broke loose, guys tickling the junior,
sticking their hands up his shirt, giving him
nip-tugs, accosting him with their ugly, yet friendly
comments.

Turning to Robbie, Barry asks, while the others are
laughing it down, "What's the capital of New York?"

"Wait-- I know this," Robbie says, the pressure on,
thinking one of the guys from the back has heard the
trivia question.

Not being disappointed, hearing, "Oh, that's so
fuckin' easy... New York City," plus a myriad of wrong
responses, Robbie tells them, a smile on his face,
sure of himself, "You're all wrong! The capital of New
York is Albany!"

It's then Robbie found out Barry wasn't wearing his
seatbelt, jumping out of his seat, across the divide
and hugging Robbie around the neck. In a flash, Barry
was guiding the van through an obstacle course of
cars, yelling, "I got it!"

"Feels good, Perez," Josh Berg says, of Tommy Perez's
face, pressing into his crotch.

"Get a grip, Berg... you know I'm not gay!"

"Don't knock it til you've tried it Perez," Josh
replies.

"You go first!"

But upfront, sympathetic Barry, soothes Robbie,
rubbing the outside of his tee shirt, across his hairy
pecs, apologizing, "I'm sorry. You're a little sweaty.
You aren't having a heart attack are you?"

Panting, heart rate definitely up, sweating like a
hog, glad they wound up on the side of the road and
not under the hood of the ten wheeler, nor the side of
a neighborhood house, it's the first time he felt
anger towards Barry. Yet, instead of blowing his top,
he mellowed out, telling him, "Just sit in your seat
and put your seatbelt on, okay?"

"Okay," Barry said solemnly, "if that's what you
want."

To Robbie, it must have been a harrowing experience,
as he pressed his bod into the seat, hands pushing on
the steering wheel. His hairy forearm became a towel
as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

For the passengers, it became a forum, Larry telling
of at least ten instances in which Barry steered their
car or his bike from danger, always pinpointed back on
course, as if the vehicle or cycle never deviated from
it's straight line. "Except this one time," Larry had
the story on the tip of his tongue, but a sad memory
blocked it for now. All the other guys, seeing the
excitement drain from the blond teen, turned around
and minded their own business.

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want
to," Edwin put it, his meaning to fish for an answer
to Larry's downcast attitude.

"Well, you see," Larry started in, "our mom says Barry
has this gift. He can see things faster than he can
react. I don't understand all of it, but it's like
seeing the future a split second before it happens.
Anyway, the two of us were skateboarding in the
neighborhood. He saw this pothole in the road before I
did. He rammed my board, causing himself to hit the
pothole."

"Don't tell me," Edwin said.

"Yeah. Even though we had helmets and protective gear,
Barry got scraped and bruised. I felt really bad about
it."

"Sure. Who would'nt, but at least you can come away
knowing your bro has a deep sense of love for you."

"That's the way it was around our house. Mom was the
mother and I played `the father'."

The revealing nature of the conversation, drove Larry
on to tell about not knowing their father, the trials
and tribulations of growing up, Barry with a strain of
Asperger's Syndrome, Larry, always in a never-ending
quest to search for why it wasn't him.

"I don't think you have the right to make a call like
that, Larry."

Breaking away from Edwin's arm over his shoulder, he
looks him in the eye and replies, "How can you say
that? You weren't there when I had to stand up for
Barry in school, when...." After spilling his guts,
telling about this time and that, rattling off
instances when Barry had to be bailed out of some
situation, always being there for him, Larry posed the
question, "I don't understand where you get off saying
what you said, Edwin? Huh?"

"Bad call. Sorry. I guess at one time or another, any
of us can doubt why we turned out with better
circumstances than someone else. I mean, it wasn't at
all what you went through, with my brother."

"What about it?"

"Oh, when I was younger, I always wondered why I
couldn't be like my brother. Alex..."

"What?" Alex Nagano became alert to the sounding of
his name.

"Not you, Alex. Edwin's talking about his brother
`Alex'."

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to intrude," Alex apologized,
then went back to Jeff, lying across his lap, hand up
under the eighteen year old's shirt, rubbing his hairy
pecs and stomach, as they became bored with Barry's
`United States trivia' questions.

"So, your brother? Alex?"

"Right. Almost like you, we grew up without a mother."

At the revelation, Larry sunk back into the mold of
Edwin's curved arm, butting up against his ribs.

"Nothing much to tell, actually-- the envious brother
routine. Alex was always better at everything that had
to do with sports. When we lived in Cali..."

"You lived in South America?"

"No, not the Colombia `Cali', the `Cali', like in
`California'?"

"Oh right," Larry excused his ignorance.

"Anyway, Alex; tall, dark, handsome, fit right in with
the beach jocks, playing volleyball, picking up a
surfboard for the summer, riding it like he's been
doing it for years, not to mention his hot bod
attracting... well girls, faster than misquitos to
sweat."

"Did you come out to him yet?"

"Oh yeah and not recently," Edwin replied.

Turning inward, Larry, two years younger than Edwin,
put one arm behind the Latino's back, the other
falling on his shirt, over his naturally chiseled
pecs.

"So, when did you come out to him and your mom?"

"Well, it freaked me out. What I thought for sure the
reaction would be something bad, with my mom, things
went well. But Alex, it turned out to be the opposite
reaction."

Hand sliding down, Larry's fingers play with the tail
of Edwin's shirt, eventually crawling up the inside,
til he felt the rather bushy treasure trail. Edwin
looked down, when he felt a finger slide inside his
navel.

"Okay?" Larry inquires, when it's noticeable he's
zeroing in on what's going on under his shirt.

"Feels good. Can't say that I've ever had anybody
explore that territory before," Edwin replied, feeling
it, but not saying anything about the equal reaction
he was feeling under his zipper.

"So, what about Alex and you?"

"Right. So, I figured Alex, being the big, straight
jock he is, would haul off and punch my lights out or
something. `Wrong'," he made the sound of a buzzer, "I
figured I would get the worst of this over, telling
them I'm gay, by clueing in Alex. Was I ever wrong!"
Then, off on a different tangent, "If you don't take
your hand out, I'm going to wind up with wet undies!"

"Do you want me to stop?" Larry questions, looking up
Edwin's face.

"Um, no."

Smiling, Larry poked his finger back in Edwin's
bellyhole, moving it around in a circle.

"Looks like you've found a new `hot spot' for me,"
Edwin says, the slope of his bod in the seat, telling
he's enjoying it.

"I hope we're still together long enough to find out
the others!"

The diversion made Edwin forget all about telling the
rest of his `coming out' story, as he squirmed about,
moving his hips up and down, as Larry probed further
up the trail.

"And what's the capital of Alaska?"

"Hmmm... Anchor... no, Juneau!" Robbie guesses.

"Wow! You're really smart, Robbie."

"Really?"

"Yep. You've got it all."

"Got it all?" Robbie questions him. "How's that go?"

Barry rattles off, without reservation, "You're
intelligent, you're the hottest guy on campus and
you've got... never mind about that!"

Instantly smiling, Robbie lingered on the thoughts of
the last few nights. First time, it killed him when
Barry tried getting the head of his cock inside.
Pinching his ass together, Robbie squirmed in his
seat, still feeling the stretching of his anal
passageway, the third night they made more love.

"Whatcha thinking about, Robbie?"

"Oh, that thing we can't talk about now," Robbie
replies, grinning.

"Leaning over, Barry says, in a soft whisper, "Maybe
we can go all the way tonight?"

Answering, Robbie says, just as subdued, "Maybe
halfway?"

"Sure," Barry replies, all serious, "we can take it
slow. Larry said if I got with any guy I would have to
do that!"

"Good," Robbie said, happy Barry has been clued in to
how it's done, the sane way. "Um, now will you put on
your seatbelt and tell me where to go, babe?"

"Oops!" Barry exclaimed, jumping back in his seat,
trying to shove the metal part of the belt into the
buckle.

"Better hurry. I think we're coming to a junction in
the road here, babe."

Without even opening the map, Barry shouts out, "Turn
left!"

"Don't tell me you've memorized the map?" Robbie asks,
with the understanding of not being surprised if that
be the case.

"Only the part where we'll be traveling. I've got the
whole route up here," he proudly refers to his head,
pointing to it.

"I wish I was as smart as you," Robbie says,
whimsically.

"Doesn't matter. At least you turned out to be a
hunk!"

After paying attention to traffic, which had petered
out since leaving the interstate, Robbie makes a left
turn. Looking for a sign, Robbie asks, "I wonder what
the name of this street is?"

It's obvious to all, the change in scenery, from city,
to town, to a few buildings, suburbs of the town, then
fields, forests and then old fenced in properties made
to hold nothing but weeds and vines.

"Fox Glen Road," Barry says, the map still folded up,
sitting between his legs.

"You're sure of that?"

"Here, take a look," Barry hands him the map, neatly
folded up, as if almost new.

"Um, I'm driving?"

"Oh! Right," Barry says, tossing the map over his
shoulder, accidentally throwing it out the window.

"Oopsy," Robbie says, bringing the van to a halt on
the deserted country road. "I'll get it."

"No, that's okay. I'll get it," Gil, a Greenville
swimmer acknowledges, pushing the side door open and
hopping out.

What none of them took notice of is the cop car parked
behind the van. Not until Gil has the paper in his
hand, then stands to view the police officer staring
into his eyes.

"You throw that paper out the window, son?"

"Um... no... not me sir... I mean," Gil looks at the
brass badge, "Officer Swerdfager."

"That's `Swerd-fay-jure', son."

"Yes, sir," Gil responded, as if talking to his
father. "I mean I wasn't saying it wrong on purpose,
nor to associate it with any... I mean...."

>From the beginning of their encounter, when Gil
spotted the engraved badge, pinned to the left side of
the officer's navy shirt, after first saying it to
himself, it had seemed like the stress came on the
syllable, `fag'.

"You think I'm a fag, don't you boy?" The officer
tried reading Gil, like the front page of  a
newspaper.

"You could be. None of us would really know, unless
you came out to us... Are you gay, Officer
Swerdfager?" Barry asked outright, in a courteous
manner, saying the surname perfectly, accents falling
into place.

"Oh shit!" Came the shout from inside the fan. "Who
let `him' out?"

Opening his door, Robbie jumped to the pavement and
trotted around the hood, appearing over Barry's
shoulder.

Robbie caught Barry explaining, "Lots of guys who look
straight, can be gay," then realizing Robbie standing
behind him, brings him forward, asking Officer
Swerdfager, "Does he look gay to you, babe?"

"I dunno," Robbie replies, loosening the collar of his
tee shirt, allowing `steam' to escapre. "Um, why don't
you backoff?"

A hand on his hip, Barry overrides Robbie, ready to
comment. Pointing a finger, saying to the cop, as a
reprimand, "You're acting just like one of those
homophobics!"

"Hey, don't get me wrong," Officer Swerdfager
contests, "I have nothing against any peoples; gay,
straight, black, Asian, Indian, whatever they may be.
I mean, if I had anything against gays, I'd be putting
down my own brother!"

"And what do you think about that?" Barry asks, as
Robbie hangs on, `in the wings', Gil fading from view,
encompassing the van and gaining entry through the
driver's seat.

Shrugging his shoulders, the cop says, "He's my
brother. We grew up together, became best friends--
still are. Just because he turned out different
doesn't mean I have to change all that."

Seeing him as friend, not foe, Robbie steps forward
and his normal, masculine tone, offers a hand, with,
"Robbie Sinclair and this here is my boyfriend, Barry
Billington. I'm sure glad you are the understanding
sort, Officer."

Not the power behind the badge cop he was ten minutes
ago, the officer takes his leather glove off his right
hand, offering it to Robbie, introducing himself, "Jay
Swerdfager."

Taking Barry's hand, the officer's hardy handshake
overpowered the soft, almost nonexistant return.

"I took notice, the paper lying on the ground, tossed
out of your vehicle, is in the possession of the young
man whom I believe is inside your van?"

Owning up to it, in a low tone, Barry fesses up,
"Yeah. It's mine. I threw it, but didn't mean for it
to go out the window, Mr. Swerdfager."

"That's right," Robbie replied, "I guess you saw it
about the time we realized it floated out the window.
`Reason for me stopping. It's our map."

A hand appears out the side door, Gil returning the
evidence to the scene of the crime.

"Thank you," Officer Swerdfager says, to whomever the
hand belongs to. "Let's see here...."

Before the officer could get the words out, Barry
proceeded to name every street, whether turning left
or right, in their quest to find the place of
destination.

"So, you're headed for Miguel's place, are ya?" Jay
asks.

"You know him?" Robbie inquires.

Barry, on the other hand, digs deeper, "You ever been
there?"  Before Jay can answer, Barry pursues, "We're
going there to have fun with our coach. Coach
Torricelli. You know the name?"

"Can't say I do, but regarding Miguel Delgado, I had
the...."

"Coach Torricelli is the swimming coach at Applegate
University. He used to be the wrestling coach. So, you
know Miguel or what?"

Jay and Robbie exchange glances. He would have had it
out two minutes ago, if Barry hadn't interrupted!

Good-naturedly, he answers, "Well, if you're going
there for what I think you're going for, well then I
have a hint to why you're headed in that direction."

Curious, Robbie is ready to slightly throw a hint, but
instead Barry comes right out with, "Are you into
bondage, discipline, sadism or masochism, Mr.
Swerdfager? Are you a top or bottom? Do you like to
wear leather?"

"Quite a mouthful of questions," Jay says, glancing to
Robbie, then back to Barry, "I'm not really into
it.... well, wasn't until one of my buddies from the
force asked me to go along with him."

"Gay?" Barry asked.

After a slight giggle, Officer Swerdfager explains, "I
wasn't sure, but after he had sucked more than a few
cocks I think it convinced me."

"And Miguel let you stand there and watch?" Robbie
asked.

"Well, there had been one condition, which mind you, I
didn't mind conceding to..."

Both guys waited for the reply, Jay reading their
thoughts, when leaving them on the edge.

"If I wanted to watch, I had to do it...." after a
deep breath, Jay reports, "His conditions were I put
on some leather and participate."

Right out of his mouth, Barry exclaims, "You made your
cop-buddy suck you off?"

"Um, I tried to steer away from it, but after
swallowing eight loads of cum, everybody looked at me.
Their stares became enough for me to get the hint."

"Wow! What did your buddy say afterwards?"

"Well," Jay looks in the air, off into the distant
field, then coughs up, backed by a giggle, "that
night, before I let him out of the truck, he begged to
`do me' one more time. Hey, it felt great. `Why not'?
I told him. So, I followed him into his place and let
him suck me off... only."

Robbie and Barry stood there, as if on the edge of a
cliff, waiting.

"Let's just say it was my first time I ever fucked a
guy."

Of course, the first to intercede, Barry asks, "Did
you like it?"

"Actually, Gary, my buddy, really knows how to keep a
guy in limbo, sucking, licking, making me hold off for
a coupla hours before shooting it up his ass. Feels so
good, the way he does it, but when I felt his hot
insides caress my shaft... It's a feeling I never felt
before."

"So, you're brother is gay... don't you think you
could be too?"

The two way conversation, more between Barry and Jay,
kept batting questions and answers back and forth,
until Robbie says, looking to his wristwatch, "Um,
it's getting kind of late here, officer."

"Jay," The policeman corrected him.

"Jay, we should be going."

"Sure, I understand. You're not far from Miguel's
station."

"Eight and two-tenths of a mile," Barry rips off.

"What are you? A walking encyclopedia?" Jay questions
Barry.

"Don't encourage him," Robbie says, kidding, knowing
Jay didn't get what he meant.

"Oh, don't forget this," Jay hands Barry the map.

"I don't really need it. I remember the route back."

"Just the same, either put it back in the glove
compartment or dispose of it properly?"

Thanking the officer, Jay's last words, "Maybe I'll
see you over the weekend," the vehicles take off, the
patrol car zooming on ahead of them.

%

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


The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness!
TCMcP.....