Date: Mon, 27 Sep 2010 16:41:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: i Was a Teenaged CuB 03

You know the drill: 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, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns,
villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or
non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene
involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here?
Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up
your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under
18 years of age, in most states 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.

i Was a Teenaged CuB 03
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"You make a damn good shake, Michael!"

Jack smiled, thinking Patrick really had his heart set on liking
Michael. An hour ago he had a complaint from a patron ordering a shake
which Michael had `constructed', it not coming up to par. So, whenever a
shake was ordered, Jack weaseled his way into making it, except for `this'
particular consumer!

And when Michael's back was turned, Patrick turned to Jack and mocked out
his true feelings, sticking his finger in his mouth like inducing vomit.

He might though he was pulling a fast one over on Michael, but Michael had
actually caught the whole act in the reflection of the silver clad shake
machine.

When turned around to Patrick, Patrick put on the act, saying, "Mm-m-m! You
sure make a good shake Michael!" He smiled as he sipped.

"Oh really?" Michael replies, in a not so nice manner. Taking the other
half of the shake, still lodged in the plastic blender, he renders, "Than
maybe you should be wearing it!"

Totally disregarding the new `foul language law', it could be heard about
the gym an onslaught of `oh shit', seeing Patrick drenched with his
Chocolate Cherry Double Protein Whammy shake.

Before he pushes his way past Jack, he slanders him, "And you're supposed
to be my friend!"

Jack turns to face a stunned Patrick, "I think we're in trouble!"

"You?" Patrick replies, "A little trouble. Me? I'm like in deep shit!" He
slips off his stool and heads in the direction Michael has fled, the locker
room. As he turns the corner, his washboard abs get broadsided by Michael's
belly.

"Get outta my way!"

"Make me!" Patrick replied playfully.

Michael's uncle was a longshoreman. When he was younger his uncle taught
Michael how to take care of himself. It came to mind what to do when faced
with a brick wall of a man. His only vulnerable, soft area, Michael balled
up his fist and caved in the fortification.

"Ohh-h-h-h-h-oh-h-h-h-oh fuckin' shit!"

Michael walked right past Patrick, caved in to his knees, holding his
pounced on balls.

Rounding the protein bar, Jack offers, "Hey wait up Michael!" And so he can
fit words in faster than Michael's pace, "It's all my fault really."

"What do you mean it's your fault? I saw Patrick's reflection in the shake
machine," Michael protests.

Totally irrelevant to what has just happened, Tony comes over says, "You
know you've got a helluva nerve?"

"Yeah really," another swimmer backs Tony up.

"I'll handle this," Tony says as he moves his sweated-drenched bod closed
to Michael.

Michael was used to being badgered in school because of the excess baggage
he carried along on his chest and stomach. As a result, his uncle taught
him self-defense, but as far as diplomacy went, sometimes it was better to
just walk away. "Look, I'm just leaving," he said, turning his back on
Tony. But his instincts kicked in, feeling a hand to his shoulder, a pull
on the fabric of his tee shirt, it being crumbled up in a fist.

"Now hold on a minute there."

Unlike the past, high school daze, Michael didn't feel the impending horror
of high school adversaries, ready to physically abuse him for the sheer
heck of it. He still had it on his mind to march on out of there, but
turning back Michael asks, "What?"

Fixing the corner of Michael's right shoulder, Tony, regressing to his
usual easy-going manner, states, "You don't know this but Patrick and
me... we used to be real close..."

Michael guesses, "Fuck-buddies."

Tony tried rationalizing it, "Yeah, well I'm sure Patrick would have
mentioned it, that is if you two ever got something going... but I guess
not... anyway... yeah, he worked my ass over a coupla times, but what I was
going to tell ya, Patrick... he ain't like that. He was just pokin' some
fun with you."

"He didn't like the shake I made and instead of telling me, he went behind
my back and...made fun of me... and you," he picked on Jack, "I thought you
were `such' a good friend!"

But they were all interrupted, Tony exclaiming, "What the hell is that
Patrick?"

"Armor," Patrick replied as he held a Bosu ball in front of his
loins. Instead of fighting mad, he asks, "Where did you learn how to fight
like that Michael?"

Tony dramatically says, "No, you didn't!"

Before Michael lent a word to explain, Patrick jumps in with, "I deserved
it. No, I deserve worse."

One of the swim members, a giant of man, big fists attached to the
oversized arms, says, "I could help you out with that Pat!"

"No thanks there, Neil. I think my balls have taken enough of a beating of
one day."

After Patrick had mentioned all, Michael was coming around. None of the
guys were out to get him. The first time he tried defending himself in high
school, one of the ways in which his uncle had taught him, he didn't count
on being attacked by two others as well. Fatefully, it became two on one
and he suffered the gut and ball bashing. However, as he began to realize,
this wasn't the case with Patrick, Jack and the others.

And now, Jack steps in to apologize, "Hey, I'm sorry. Sometimes friends do
stoopid stuff. Trust me Michael, I didn't mean to do anything to hurt you
and.... and I don't think Patrick did either." 

"I didn't,"
Patrick replies, as he still holds the Bosu ball over his pubic region,
just in case.

Sentimentally, Michael says, "I was starting to like you Patrick."

Patrick confesses, "Yeah, me too... I mean like you and I know I shouldn't
have done a shit thing like I did to you."

There was a lull, since everything which needed to be said, had been said.

Michael felt all eyes on him, like everything hung in the balance, based on
his words. Looking up from the tiled floor, he looks at Patrick and says,
"Were you really going to vomit up my protein shake?"

He didn't get to answer, Tony disregarding the new law about the gym,
saying, "You look a fuckin' mess Pat!"

Even Jack gets his digs in, "Oh shit Uncle Mark's gonna be pissed at the
mess you made of the floor!"

"I guess if I didn't dump the shake over Patrick's head..."

Patrick cuts in, smiling, "I deserved it."

Tony says, "You look so fuckin' ridiculous with that thing over your
crotch, Pat!" He takes it away.

Michael tells him, "That's okay Patrick. I'm not going to punch you in the
balls again."

"Promise?"

%

A different situation, but still volatile, Mark had caught Gregg two blocks
up the road and as they hurried along the sidewalk, Mark trailing Gregg,
it's Gregg accusing, "You never liked me because I didn't have a hairy
chest and stomach and didn't fit into your little club scene!"

"That's not true, Gregg! There happens to be a few less-hairy guys at the
`Cub Club'."

Passing by one of the restaurants Mark has taken fellow executives he
corrals Gregg to the side, forcing him into the entry way.

"What the fuck are you trying to do, Mark?"

"Shut up. I'm taking you to dinner."

As they move inside the door, Gregg replies, "More like kidnap!"

"Just shut up. You're going to get a meal you don't have to pay for."

As a rule, Gregg's paycheck would never cover a meal at Garden Ristorante
and any other circumstance which brought him there would have made him
overjoyed. "I'm not hungry!"

"You were, back in my office?"

Two different trains of thoughts were running on different rails. Gregg
pictured a ten course dinner, whereas Mark talked on more the level of a
creamy dessert.

Neither had more to say on this subject, being interrupted by the maitre'd,
"Good afternoon Mr. West."

"Afternoon Terrence," Mark replies as sweet as pie.

After sitting them, Gregg asks, "Terrence, he one of your `Cub Club'
playmates?"

As he lay his napkin out on his lap, Mark says, "Yes and one of the ones
who likes his cubs not too chubby and `smooth'."

"Oh really?" Gregg perks up, spying over the wall of the rounded
booth. Seeing him in preparation, Gregg asks, "How come you never said
anything about him before?"

"You never asked. As I recall you didn't want to have anything to do with
the `Cub Club'."

A bit whiny, Gregg replies, "That's because I thought it was a bunch of
fat, hairy guys."

"I suppose it's what anyone would think, but no, the `Cub Club' is for
anyone with an interest. Young, old, hairy, smooth, with a number of
likings."

"Likings?"

Rather than dwell on the many different scenes, he keys in to Gregg's
particulars, "And not only does Terrence prefer trim, smooth men, but he
also likes `white boys'!"

As Mark laughs his ass off, Gregg licks his lips, just wondering how big
Terrence is.

"Though, Terrence can be a bit dominant."

It went right over Gregg's head, him asking, "Fuck that. I'll do anything
for a man with a big cock!" Again he looks over the booth wall, but instead
of a long distance search, Terrence is standing right there with their
drinks.

Without hesitation, Mark looks up at the waiter and says outright, "By the
way Terrence, Gregg here happens to be almost smooth!"

Gregg kind of got the feeling he wasn't the only one checking out the guts
of the Garden Ristorante, Terrence saying directly to him, "I have a thick,
long cock and you will take the whole thing down."

At the same time, he was laying out the table, placing soup bowls and
plates about, arranging the silverware.

Thinking the stall was for his benefit, Gregg takes things further than
Terrence, "You got a hairy ass to tongue?"

He didn't see it, Terrence turning to Mark and smiling. However, as he
stood, he straightened out his lips, demanding, "You will do whatever I
tell you to!" And he walked away.

Gregg smiles, saying to Mark, "I think he likes me!"

As Mark figured it, at least it got him off the hook!

%

"Look, I'm sorry I dumped the shake over your head."

"I'm not!"

How could Patrick ever be mad at Michael, his indignant action, in the long
run bringing them together in the shower of the gym locker room.

"Turn around."

Unsure, Michael finally relinquished, doing a pirouette of sorts.

"You can trust me."

"Unless I make your shake wrong," Michael replies.

Since it was more or less water under the bridge, Patrick suggests, "Can we
put that behind us?"

"I suppose," Michael turns around.

"And oh, by the way, how `did' you ever learn to defend yourself like
that?"

More then slopping Patrick up with the shake, Michael felt regret, "I'm
sorry I punched you in the balls." And in confession, "I couldn't help
it. It's what my uncle told me to do whenever I felt threatened. I'm
sorry. I felt threatened."

"Yeah," Patrick accepted it. "It's not like we've known each other... not
like Tony and me."

"You Tony like had something going?"

"I found out a lot of things being with Tony?"

Michael
questions, "Like?"

"Like I really," Patrick looks down," enjoy sucking cock?"

"Many guys do."

"No... uh, yeah... what I mean is I never sucked cock until I met
Tony."

"For real?" Michael asks.

"I always thought I was a purebred top."

"You fucked Tony?" Redundant, because Tony had already said.

"I thought I had a thing for him. In a way I thought maybe Tony was `the
one' for me, but it didn't work out."

"Why not?"

"We both had this feeling we were meant to be friends and not lovers,"
Patrick explains.

"Okay," Michael replies, even though he was sketchy on the details. "So,
what do you want to do now?"

They were both skin-soaked, Patrick replying, "Would you want to come over
to my place... and fool around?"

"You mean listen to music and stuff?" Michael replies.

Glancing down between them, Patrick says, "Maybe more?"

This time Michael didn't get all bent out of shape, allowing Patrick to
feel up his already hard shaft.

%

Copyright 2010 T. Chase McPhee

`i Was a Teenaged CuB' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection,
without prior consent from the author.

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