Date: Sat, 7 Apr 2007 13:52:35 -0600
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: Phalen - Finding Happiness - chapter 9

This story is entirely fictional, and any resemblances to actual persons
are completely coincidental.  Actual locations are mentioned, and are used
for 'background' only.


'Phalen - Finding Happiness'
Chapter nine


by Roy Reinikainen



The dimly lit exercise room of his condominium building was empty.  The
only sound was the steady rhythm of him running on the treadmill.  The
music on his iPod went largely ignored as pushed himself to run faster in
an attempt to get his mind off of Greg.

It had been a wonderful day, having dinner with Greg near Jeff's pool,
learning that Jeff thought of him as a friend, and best yet, seeing Greg's
reaction to his first kiss.

The treadmill automatically began to slow, signaling the end of his
workout.  'What happened in his past to make him so afraid of getting close
to another person.  He was acting just fine and then it was as if he ran
into a brick wall.  The look, first of panic and then apology was almost
too much to bear.  'If he let me be aware of those feelings, I wonder what
he's hiding that no one else knows about.

The treadmill slowed from a job to a fast walk and finally to a stroll.  He
stepped off of the machine and snatched up the white towel from where he
had draped it over the machine and wiped his forehead, neck and bare chest,
all glistening with sweat.  His burgundy university running shorts were
clinging to his hips and buttocks.

'Geez,' he thought as he stripped off the shorts while still standing next
to the machine.  'I must have worked myself harder than I thought.'  He
wiped the towel over his sweaty groin and then brought the towel to his
face and inhaled deeply.

'Brad used to like to do that,' he thought as he crossed the exercise area,
feeling daring to be naked in what would normally be a space filled with
people.  His penis began to thicken at the thought of everyone seeing him.
He shook his head in denial.

'Face it.  You're horny because you'd like to be in bed with Greg right
now.  That's why you're getting hard.  That's why you ran those extra
couple miles at a pace faster than usual.'  He tossed his shorts and shoes
into the locker and headed for the shower room, picking up a large
rolled-up white towel from the large basket and hanging it on the hook

The large gang-style shower room was one of the things that sold him on
buying a condominium in this building.  Most gyms had small private
showers.  He enjoyed watching everyone, and being watched.  The hot water
sluiced over his body forming clouds of steam.  Even though he enjoyed
seeing the other naked men, he enjoyed working out late at night because
the lights were dimmed.  He could think . . . or masturbate.

He spread his legs farther apart for balance and teased his nipples to
firmness, his cock filling out to a full erection.  He ran a hand over the
short hair of his chest, over his flat belly and down to his erection
thinking of Greg . . . how his nipples made prominent points beneath the
butter-yellow Polo shirt.  His clipped chest hair had shown at the neck of
the shirt.  His broad long-fingered hands were strong, as were his arms.
Curt leaned against the wall of the shower, closed his eyes, and began to
slowly stimulate himself, an easy thing to do while thinking about Greg.

He felt a momentary pang of guilt to be thinking of someone other than
Brad.  'But, Brad's got Larry.  They're happy with one another.  Why
shouldn't I be happy as well?  Brad would understand.'

'Greg's lips were so soft, his tongue so . . . aggressive.'  Curt tugged
slightly on his scrotum as he continued masturbating himself.  'Those eyes
of his,' Curt thought.  'That dark blue surrounded by an even darker rim.
His eyes are one of his best features.  His eyes, his reticent smile
. . . and the way he sort of rolled the r in his name each time he said it.
It was like having a different name, one spoken only by Greg.

He could feel Greg's genitals, even though he didn't have an erection.  It
was exciting to imagine Greg naked, stimulating him to orgasm . . . tasting
his sperm . . . shooting his own sperm into Greg's mouth.  He loved
watching a jet of his own sperm shoot into another man's waiting mouth,
coating his tongue.  He enjoyed seeing the look in the other man's eyes as
he tasted Curt's jiz, and the sound the guy made as he finally gulped it
down and then opened his mouth to show how he had swallowed it all.

He was close now.  He kept his eyes closed, imagining Greg, Brad, and other
men he had had sex with.  Tonight though, his thoughts kept returning to
Greg.  He tugged harder on his scrotum and then circling the base of his
cock, forcing it to maximum hardness.

It would only take a few more strokes.  He closed his eyes tighter and
spread his legs a little wider, balancing himself against the wall of the
shower room as steam billowed around him.  He slowed the movement of his
hand.  One more stroke.  Another . . . and he shot.  It was as if a dam had
been breeched.  The intense feeling coursed from his prostate to his anus
and then over his groin.

He gasped at the first shot, and took a quick breath in time for the
second.  He slowed his hand motion until he was unable to touch himself
because he was so sensitive.  His erection throbbed in front of him as he
sagged against the shower room wall, dropping both hands to his sides in
exhaustion.

A nearby gasp caused him to open his eyes.  A red-headed man, a person his
own age, someone he had never seen before, is standing not six feet away
watching him intently.  He's masturbating wildly.

When he realized Curt was watching him he choked out an apology.  "Sorry
man, but . . . I've."  He continued to stroke . . . faster now.  'I've
never seen something so exciting as you beating off."  There was another
stroke.

"You liked it, did you?"  Curt pushed himself away from the shower wall and
took moved closer to the newcomer.  The guy silently nodded, his eyes never
leaving Curt, moving from his face to his thickening erection.

"Yeah," the red head huffed.  "My wife'd kill me if she knew what I'm doing
right now."  He was grasping his erection tightly.  "I've never seen
another guy masturbate . . . before."  Curt took another step.  His
erection was close enough for the man to touch.

"You shot so far," the guy groaned.

"C'mon, man," Curt coaxed.  "Shoot a big load for me."  He stepped even
closer.  "I wanna feel your sperm hit me."  The guy groaned, loudly.  He
opened his mouth in a silent groan as he watched Curt begin fondling
himself.

"C'mon, man," Curt urged again, squeezing the base of his erection to
stiffen it further.  The engorged head with its wide piss slit gaped open.
A glistening drop of sperm emerged, remnants of his earlier orgasm.  The
guy's eyes widen at the sight.

"Ahhhhh, shit," me moaned, as the first shot of cum hit Curt on his pubes.

"Yeah, man," he murmured.  "Do it."

The guy's second shot splats onto the shower room floor, lost in the clouds
of steam surrounding the two men.  His stroking slowed and then stopped and
he gave Curt a sheepish grin.

"That was soooo hot.  Thanks man."  Curt smiled and reached out to squeeze
the guy's shoulder in response.

"Hot for me too."  He turned back to his shower and let the spray wash away
the other man's sperm from the hair of his groin.  When he turned back the
other man was gone.  He turned off the shower and padded across the tile
floor and grabbed his towel.

He walked down the short aisle to his locker, toweling his hair dry and sat
on the slick wooden bench.

"Damn," he muttered aloud.  "I wish that had been Greg."


----------


"Thanks for the ride, Phalen."  Greg pushed the button, lowering the garage
door and held the door to the courtyard open for Phalen.  "How was
practice?"

"Practice isn't much more than lifting weights and stuff right now.  The
guys are nice.  The guys on the team, that is.  There's a creepy guy
helping out though."  He gave an expressive shudder.  "Gives me the shivers
whenever he's around."  Phalen plucked a note from Jeff of the front door.

"He's had to go back to school to substitute for another instructor who's
sick or something.  He orders me to stay out of the kitchen since he won't
be able to leave class even if I burn the house down."  His look killed
Greg's chuckle before it had hardly started.  Phalen waved the paper.  "He
says *you* know how to cook, so you're elected to make us something for
dinner."

A few minutes later Phalen was leaning on the counter of the kitchen island
watching Greg stand in the middle of the kitchen trying to decide what to
make for dinner.  "I've been waiting for an opportunity to make some *real*
food," he said.  "Now's my chance!"  He rubbed his hands together in
anticipation and then opened the door to the freezer and began rummaging
about muttering to himself.

"Ah ha!"  He dumped a large piece of frozen meat onto the counter with a
loud thump.  The meat skidded to a stop in front of Phalen, who looked at
the icy lump and then up at Greg.

Greg pointed to the meat.  "Reindeer."  Phalen's glance flicked to the meat
and then back to Greg.  A moment later something else slid across the
counter joining the first piece.  "Salmon," Greg said in a satisfied tone,
pushing the freezer door closed with his foot.

"Tonight, we're having a real Finnish treat.  "Poroniliha," he said, giving
the chunk of meat a smack with the open palm of a hand . . .  "and my
favorite."  He took the fish by the tail and slapped it against the
counter.  "Lohilaatikko, a salmon casserole."  He leaned against the
counter and faced Phalen with a bright smile.  "Aren't you excited?"

"Uh . . . I . . . guess, though maybe we should wait until Jeff's home so
he can share in these tastes of the old country.  Ya think?"  Greg was now
standing on the other side of the island with his hands on his hips.
Finally, he could stand it no longer, and burst out laughing.

"I *hate* poroniliha and lohilaatikko.  I just wanted to see what you would
say."  He picked up the chunk of meat and headed back to the freezer.

"This isn't really reindeer."  He gave the lump a puzzled look.  "I don't
really know what it was when it was alive."  He opened the freezer door and
returned the object to the cold.  He shook his head as he returned the fish
to the freezer.  "I didn't think Jeff liked fish."

"You're in a rare mood tonight.  Work must be agreeing with you."  Greg
nodded as he dumped some vegetables on the counter.

"It does.  That, and seeing Curt."

"You like him, don't you?"  Greg nodded and began chopping things to make a
salad.  Phalen watched the preparations with skepticism.

"Have you ever made a meal before, Greg?"

"Sure.  It's not difficult.  You chop some stuff up and then eat it."  He
attacked a cucumber with zeal.  "Not difficult at all.  It's the cooking
that's got me stumped.  I eat lots of raw things."  He nodded over his
shoulder toward the freezer.  "Tried raw meat once."  He made a face.
"Didn't like it.  Made me think of anatomy lab in med school.  I never have
been a big fan of meat after taking that class."

"So, you like Curt?"  Phalen made an attempt steer the conversation back to
something resembling normalcy.  Greg's smile faded to be replaced by a
serious expression.

"Yes, I like him.  He's not pushing me."  He looked up to see if Phalen
understood.

He stared into the distance seeming to forget Phalen's presence.  "Phalen
. . . I've never been able to get an erection while Curt and I are kissing.
We're both completely dressed, so it's not like we're trying to have sex or
something."  He paused a moment, laid the knife aside, and pulled up a
stool to the counter.  "I'm pretty screwed up.  I mean kissing someone as
sexy as Curt should give me an erection, shouldn't it?"  He heaved a sigh
and began toying with a stray piece of cucumber which had landed on the
counter instead of inside the bowl, not meeting Phalen's eyes as he spoke.

"I'm going to tell you something I've never told another living person."
Phalen's eyes widened, but he remained quiet and nodded.

"I told you about my troubles with trying to have sex with one of my fellow
students . . . a woman, and how badly it turned out?"  Phalen nodded,
remembering the conversation from when he and Jeff were in Finland.  "And
the couple times I tried having sex with a man.  They didn't work out
either.  Phalen, everyone always tells me how they admire my
single-mindedness, my strength, my drive . . ."  he sighed.  "Well, there's
a bad side to those things.  If someone else had had the very same
experiences with those people I did, they probably would have chalked it up
to a bad experience and moved on.  Not me.  I saw those bad experiences as
signs of personal failure.  I know having those thoughts is ridiculous,
but. . ."  He shrugged.  "I *know* they're ridiculous, but I can't stop
feeling that I was a failure.  Not being able to perform was humiliating.
No one likes being ridiculed for not being able to keep an erection.  I saw
my attempts at forming an intimate relationship as giving up control.
That, combined with my fear of doing something *incorrectly,* kept me from
doing anything right.  I'm so afraid of not being able to perform, I
. . . can't."

"On top of that, I've never been at ease being nude around other people.
It's funny, really, since both Jeff and Dad wear clothes just to keep other
people happy.  *They're* not really happy unless they're naked."  Greg made
a slight face.  "Not me.  I don't know if I think of being naked as no
longer being totally in control of my surroundings . . . or what.  You guys
seem to think nothing of being naked in front of other people.  *I* think
back to those times when I tried to have sex, and couldn't keep an
erection.  I somehow equate being naked with being humiliated.  If I'm
dressed, I have a wall of sorts between me and the world that'll laugh at
me."  Greg laid the knife aside and sighed, giving Phalen a fleeting
glance.

"Well, there's more to the story.  This is the part I've never told anyone.
It's something that takes over my mind whenever I was with those guys back
in Finland, or when I'm with Curt."  He took a deep breath and looked at
Phalen with pain-filled eyes.

"When I was starting medical school, we had to follow doctors around and
learn how they did things."  He took another deep breath.  "There was this
young boy.  He couldn't have been more than five or six."  This time the
breath was ragged.  "He'd been sexually abused.  He was bleeding
. . . badly.  His trousers were soaked with blood."  Greg saw his own
horror reflected in Phalen's eyes.  "He said his father had been drunk and
had passed out . . . after.  The little boy had *walked* to the hospital
from his home, a few blocks away.  He *walked,* Phalen!  In *his*
condition!"  Phalen's eyes were huge and he was biting his lip trying not
to cry.  Even so, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

"The strangest thing was the little boy never cried.  He seemed resigned.
It wasn't new.  Oh, I mean the blood was, but the abuse . . . no.  He never
cried . . . until later, when I sat on the edge of the hospital bed and
hugged him.  Then he cried, silently."

"Do you know what he was afraid of?"  Phalen sniffed and shook his head.
"He was upset because he had caused so much trouble for everyone.  He was
afraid I would get in trouble because he got my white coat wet with his
tears!"  Greg stared into the distance as Phalen gulped once or twice for
air.

"I knew I was gay then.  Intellectually, I knew having sex with a man was
different from abusing a little boy.  I've never fantasized about being
with someone younger than me, but to this day, whenever I'm with another
man, I see that little boy, all bruised and bloody . . . and not crying.  I
think of him and I can't seem to . . . function."

"The image of that little boy, and the blood, flashes through my mind every
time Curt kisses me.  I can feel his erection pressing against me.  I know
he would like to have sex, but I just . . . can't.  I can't seem to give up
control.  I can feel the mound of his erection, and I think back to how I
was laughed at.  I'm afraid if things don't . . . work, he'll laugh, or
I'll *think* he's laughing.  And, then to top things off, I think of that
little boy, how much he hurt.  I can't seem to separate what happened to
*him* from what I'd like to do with Curt.  They're not the same things, yet
they are.

Phalen tucked the napkin Greg handed him into his back pocket after wiping
his eyes and then blowing his nose.  He returned Greg's understanding
expression with a wan smile and sniffed, swiping a hand across his eyes
once again.

"Maybe what it'll take for me to loosen up will be for me to get drunk out
of my mind so I don't fear ridicule . . . so I don't see little Essa."  He
looked at Phalen across the counter.  "That was his name . . . Essa."  The
room was silent for a few long moments while Phalen attempted to control
his emotions and Greg relived the past.

"Little Essa," he murmured.


----------


Curt looked up as his brother entered the kitchen, the ubiquitous
foul-smelling cigarette dangling from his mouth.  "Hey man, I didn't know
you were into sports."  Dustin gave him a withering glance without saying a
word.

"Does wearing the jersey mean something?"

Dustin jabbed the cigarette out in an ashtray on the kitchen counter.  "It
means twenty-two."  He looked down at the front of the jersey and pointed.
"This is a two," he said, as if to a child, or an especially slow adult.
"And this one is too.  Combined, that means the number 22."

"Smart ass.  You know what meant."

"Yeah, well at least my ass is smart.  I don't go whoring around and
offering it to anyone who asks."  Dustin poured himself an incongruous
glass of chocolate milk and then lit up another cigarette, blowing the
smoke in his brother's general direction.

"Oh, who do you know who offers their ass to people like that?"  Dustin
made a long-suffering face and pointed toward him.

"Wrong . . . smart ass.  This butt has never had anything in it but what's
supposed to be there.  It's true," he said in answer to Dustin's skeptical
expression.  He backed away from the counter a step so Dustin could see him
lewdly grope himself.

"Now *this* has been up lots of *other* guy's asses.  Something I'm sure
you've never experienced either, hmm?"  Dustin didn't deign to answer.
"But that's all in the past, Curt concluded, sitting down once again."

"Turned over a new . . . leaf?"  Curt nodded.

"Got that right.  I've learned from my mistakes."  He leaned across the
counter and gave his brother a serious look.

"Dustin, I know you don't think much of me, but please take my advice.  If
you treat other people badly, that type of behavior will come back and kick
you whenever you least expect it.  It happened to me.  I'd hate for it to
happen to you . . . or anyone else, for that matter."  Dustin shrugged.

"So, you're working with one of the university teams?"

Another shrug.  "I'm sorta a physician's assistant.  There's some new guy
over there that's substituting until they get a *real* doctor.  I hope they
get rid of him fast.  The asshole can't even speak English.  Anyway, I have
to work with him as part of a sports wellness class I'm taking.  I
volunteered."  He abruptly changed the subject.

"So, who're you hooking up with now?  Is the old one still hanging around,
wishing you'd plug his butt?"

"I'm seeing a very nice guy, a few years older than me.  He's the brother
of a friend."

"Must run in families, I guess.  Being a fag I mean."

Curt smiled.  "It sure does."  When Dustin failed to take the bait he went
on.  "Anyhow, Brad's not waiting around for me to "plug" him.  He's living
with a nice guy.  A lawyer.  They're both happy."

"Are you . . . happy, I mean?  Seeing this new guy?  I thought you said
you'd never get over the other one."  Dustin exhaled a noxious stream of
blue-grey smoke.

"I'm *not* over him.  I never will be.  But, I've met a very nice guy who's
great to be around.  We're both having a good time.  We'll have to wait and
see if something develops."

"I won't hold my breath."  Dustin left the kitchen and walked out into the
back yard.


----------


Greg looked up as the doors to the Athletics Clinic slid aside.  Two young
men dressed in the uniform of the university baseball team were assisting a
loudly moaning teammate walk into the room.  The two looked to Greg
appealing for some form of quick help.  He motioned the group down the
short hall, to the first exam room, getting their names and contact
information as they helped their friend onto the examination table.

Greg began to gather his patient's statistics, calling up his name and
medical records on the room's computer.  "So, your name is," he prompted,
motioning the two friends to remain quiet.

"Carl," the man on the exam table managed through clenched teeth.  "Carl
Short."  The effort to speak left him breathless with pain.

Greg laid a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder as he took his
temperature by running one of the new gadgets across the man's forehead.
"We'll get something in a moment to help you with the pain.  First, I have
to determine what the injury might be."  Carl furrowed his brow and then
winced and bit his lip.

"Sorry . . . I . . . didn't understand everything you said."  He gave Greg
a look of equal parts pain and embarrassment.

"That's okay."  Greg smiled.  "I know my accent can sometimes get in the
way of what I'm trying to say.  If you don't understand something I say,
don't feel bad.  Just ask me to repeat myself.  I won't be offended.  I'll
try to speak more clearly."  Carl nodded, the muscles of his jaw rippling
as he ground his teeth together in pain.

"How did this happen?"  Greg turned to one of Carl's friends for
explanation.  "Playing baseball?"  The friend who had been anxiously
shifting from one foot to the other shook his head.

"No, practice was over.  We were just horsing around.  Wrestling
. . . sorta.  All of a sudden Carl screams that his shoulder is killing
him.  Screaming like . . . really loud."  He tried to look around Greg
toward his friend.  "Will he be okay?"  He looked to his right where the
other person quietly stood.  "Can we go?  We gotta get back and let the
coach know what's happened."  Greg nodded.

"You've done everything you can for your friend.  If his injury is what I
think it is, he'll be out of commission for a while . . . but he'll recover
after he's patched up and has some rehabilitation."  Both men stepped to
their friend's side and gave him a few words of encouragement, and then
were out the door in a flash.

"Nice to have friends who'll help out when you're in need," Greg commented
as he cut away the jersey, exposing the darkly bruised shoulder.  Carl
hissed at Greg's first touch.

"Carl, it appears you've torn your rotator cuff.  That means you've
seriously damaged the soft tissues that holds the humerus in place.  The
humerus is the bone of the upper arm where it joins the shoulder.  I'm
going to have to make arrangements to transfer you to the hospital downtown
so a specialist can take care of you.  Did you understand everything I just
said?"  Carl kept his eyes closed, but nodded.

"Thanks, doctor . . . "

"Layson," Greg provided.  He squeezed Carl's uninjured shoulder.  "You'll
be fine.  I'll go make arrangements and get you something to ease your pain
until you get to the hospital."

'Busy day,' he thought as he finished making arrangements to transfer the
baseball player to the hospital.  The ambulance was on its way.  The other
doctor on duty as well as the two nurses were tending other people.  He
could hear some muffled conversations coming from nearby exam rooms.

Suddenly, the volunteer student sitting in the waiting room lurched to his
feet and ran toward the entrance doors.  He grabbed a woman who appeared
barely able to stand.  One side of her face was covered with blood and she
was sobbing, on the verge of hysterics.

Greg and one of the nurses from a nearby exam room reached the young woman
at the same time and eased her onto a chair.

"I . . . I . . . fell," the woman sobbed, absently motioning toward a gash
on her forehead with a jerky motion.

Greg knelt on one knee at the woman's side.  The nurse trotted off toward
an exam room to get some gloves other supplies.  Greg looked around and
spotted Dustin, the student volunteer.

"Hey," he shouted.  "It's Dustin, right?"  Dustin reluctantly nodded.  "I
need for you to go to get a gown, goggles and gloves, as well as the
supplies to clean this young lady up.  The person in supply will know what
we need."  Greg glanced over his shoulder.  "Bring everything to exam room
three, and let the man in the occupied room that I'll be with him shortly."
Dustin didn't move.  He seemed transfixed by the sight of the blood and the
woman's sobbing.

Greg was getting impatient.  "Dustin!  Get moving!  I need those supplies."
Dustin's lip curled in distaste and he refused to move.

Finally, Greg had had enough.  "What are you waiting for, someone to do
your job for you?  Get the stuff I need to help this patient!"  The nurse
came running back with a pair of goggles and examination gloves and gave
Dustin a harried look.

"Go on, young man.  Do what the doctor says," she urged as she shouldered
past him and knelt at the woman's side.

"When a *real* doctor asks, I will," he spat.  "I don't take orders from
someone who can't even speak English, or from a *woman*!"  Dustin's fists
were clenched at his sides.  "You all can let some foreigner give you
orders, but *I won't!* You'll will be sorry you ever let the likes of *him*
touch your patients."

Dustin spun toward the person who had approached from behind him.  "Well,
young man, there are now *two* doctors in the room, Dr. Layson, and *me.*
Please leave the building.  I will be in contact with your instructor about
your behavior."  Dustin was so angry, he was shaking.  He glanced from the
newly arrived doctor to Greg, who was assisting the woman in a wobbly walk
to the examination room.  The nurse looked over her shoulder before
entering the room.

"Do you have difficulty understanding English?"  The doctor's voice
lowered.  "I told you to leave . . . *now!* Dustin's gaze raked over the
man before he spit at the man's feet and turned toward the clinic doors,
turning over a chair as he passed.



~ to be continued ~



Thank you for taking the time to read my work.  I *always* welcome your
email and enjoy hearing your thoughts.  If you would like me to send a pic
of the character(s), please ask.

In addition to the first 'Phalen' story, I have three other stories you may
want to read.  'Leith,' and 'Chris' are located in the Nifty College
Section.  The third story is called 'Wesley', and is located in the Adult
Relationships section.  I hope you enjoy them all.

Best wishes,

Roy Reinikainen
roynm@mac.com
suomalainen_abq@mac.com