Date: Fri, 22 Jan 2010 22:27:38 -0700
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: Phalen III - Reputation and Honor 1

Phalen - Reputation and Honor

Chapter one

by Roy Reinikainen


	"I'm standing in a freaking furnace!" Phalen grumbled.  The sounds
of the capacity crowd filling the stadium faded into the background as he
removed his cap and wiped away a bead of perspiration, which had slowly
begun to roll over his forehead.  Even though it was only early spring, the
intense heat caused the dry air to shimmer, and made the spectators on the
far side of the field appear as insubstantial as an imaginary pool of water
in the desert.  Overhead, gauzy wisps of clouds stretched from the distant
mountains to the opposite horizon, promising a glorious sunset.  At the
moment, though, they did little, other than create a beautiful scene.

	In a moment, his entire attention would be focused on the batter,
but, now, while a new pitcher warmed up, he let his mind wander, wondering
what Jeff was thinking of the baseball game.  Phalen smiled, imagining his
father attempting to answer both Jeff and Greg's questions.

	"You're short," Jeff said, one evening, not long after they'd met.
He and Phalen were sitting side-by-side on a thick beach towel at the edge
of the swimming pool, dangling their feet in the cool water, as Phalen
attempted to explain the game he loved.  "Is that the reason they call you
a shortstop?" Jeff had asked.  "You're short, and your job is to stop the
ball?"  Phalen's eyes widened, and he'd burst out laughing, rolling onto
his back and splashing the water with his feet, while he pounded the brick
pool deck with his hands.  When he saw Jeff's uncomprehending expression,
he struggled to a sitting position, cleared his throat, and tried to school
his smile into a serious expression, appropriate to answering Jeff's
question.

	"First of all, I'm not short," he managed to say, before once again
giving in to laughter.  "You're just taller than me, that's all.  That
doesn't make me short, and my height has nothing to do with the position I
play."

	"Oh," Jeff frowned, shaking his head, still clearly puzzled.

	Phalen's mouth twisted into a crooked grin, as he turned to the man
he loved, and traced a line over Jeff's jaw with a forefinger, amazed, as
always, that someone like Jeff would find him interesting.  The man was so
. . . so . . . perfect, from his head of thick black hair, to his
startlingly bright green eyes and light skin, to his unique accent.
'Whenever I'm with him,' Phalen thought, 'I'm surprised at how often people
turn to watch him, yet he doesn't even notice!

	'I'm so freaking lucky!' he remembered thinking, as Jeff laid back
and took him in his arms, the naked length of their bodies pressed close as
their tongues found one another's.

	"I'm sorry for laughing a minute ago," Phalen murmured, as they
parted, propping himself up on his elbows and looking into Jeff's eyes.  "I
wasn't laughing at you; I've just never thought of things the way you do.
But," he added, in a tone of mock severity.  "I am not short.  I'm the
perfect height for my pants."

	"You don't wear pants," Jeff chuckled, after another lengthy kiss.
"You're always wearing shorts."

	"Hmm, yeah, I guess."  Phalen's eyes had lit.  "That would mean
that I'm seriously tall, since I've got so much leg exposed, huh?"

	Jeff had reached up to tenderly run a fingertip over Phalen's lips.
"I love you, my handsome . . . short . . . stop," he murmured, the corners
of his lips twitching in amusement.  "I'd also love it if you . . ."

	"Phalen!" the second baseman, Bobby Pickett, called, shattering the
recollection of Jeff's cock stiffening between their bodies, and what
followed.  "Heads up!" Bobby called.  Phalen signaled his understanding and
his thanks, and tried to push away thoughts of Jeff, of his shy laughter,
his warm touch, his sparkling eyes hiding a growing mischievous spirit, and
of Jeff's weight on top of him, or the soft breathing as Jeff slept at his
side.  Ignoring those thoughts was a difficult thing to do, especially
since the team had returned to town from a three-day road trip, which meant
he'd not seen . . . or touched . . . Jeff, in three days.  'I'm sorta sorry
we're having a party tonight.  I'm selfish.  I want him all to myself
. . . though I will be happy to see the twins, Kerin and Thian, again.
It's been a long time since they've been over.  Dad and Greg are always
fun, too.'

	Ross McCree, the alternate pitcher, made eye contact with each of
his outfield teammates, verifying their readiness to resume play, then
turned to face the waiting batter, prepared to throw the ball which, if
thrown badly, could conceivably result in the three men already on-base,
plus the current batter, scoring.  Ross was the team's best pitcher, sent
in to salvage the game with one of his ultra-fast power pitches.  The word
was that, if he turned pro, Ross could already ask for a six figure salary,
and was actively being considered by a number of professional teams.
Phalen frowned.  'I can't imagine doing nothing but playing baseball for
the next twenty years.  I'd have to be away from Jeff way too much.  Hell,
I hate it, and we've only been separated for three days.  Sometimes a
pro-player is away from home for weeks . . . or he might be traded to
another team.  No way, Jose!  But . . .' he grinned, as the crowd became
silent, 'the pay is good.'

	'Okay, Ross,' he thought to himself, 'all we need is one perfect
pitch, and if the rest of us do our job, the game'll be over and I can go
home.'

	Phalen adjusted his cap and hunkered down, bending his knees
slightly, prepared to move in any direction necessary to intercept the
ball, should it be hit in his direction.  He knew that many people
considered the difficulty playing shortstop to be second only to the
pitcher.  If a ball made it past the pitcher, or the second baseman,
responsibility fell on his shoulders.  He enjoyed the pressure, though, and
had, after the first few games of the season, proven himself an outstanding
player.

	Time seemed to slow.  The noise of the crowd dimmed even further,
as Ross McCree, like a tightly coiled spring being freed, hurled the ball
straight towards the catcher.  Phalen was surprised the air didn't sizzle
with the speed of its passing.  'Perfect,' he thought in the briefest space
of time it took for the batter to swing.  There was the unmistakeable crack
of the bat making contact . . . and . . . Phalen reacted.

	The ball, at waist-height, came at him like a rocket.  Without
conscious thought, he caught it and, in one fluid motion, threw the ball to
the catcher standing over home plate. The catcher almost casually tapped
out the runner, approaching from third base.

	In the blink of an eye, the catcher threw the ball to third base,
where another runner was tagged out.

	Three outs!  The game was over!  The Sun Devils had won!

	The roar of the crowd returned to consciousness as Phalen joined
his teammates in a celebration - laughing, patting each other on the back,
and behaving like children, rather than one of the best baseball teams in
the nation.  Beating their down-state rivals was always cause for
celebration.  In fact, most of the team would be using the victory as a
reason to continue the celebration throughout the afternoon and late into
the evening.

	"Are you going to join us for a party?" second baseman Bobby
Pickett asked, as the celebration on the field ebbed and the players headed
to the locker room, singly, or in small groups.  Phalen stooped to pick up
his cap, as Bobby continued speaking.  "There's going to be lots of beer
and women," he continued, as if that might be an enticement.  "Lots of
food, too," he added, as an afterthought, proving he knew Phalen well.

	"Nah," Phalen answered, trying not to let his thoughts about such a
party color his voice or show on his face, no matter how much food was
present.  "In fact, I'm not going to even go back to the locker room to
change.  I'm heading straight home.  A bunch of friends are coming by for a
barbecue and a swim."  He playfully slapped Bobby on the butt.  "You played
a great game today.  Enjoy your party!  Eat an extra burger for me, eh?"

	Phalen returned head coach Ed Bowen's wave, then turned to the
stands, looking for Jeff.

	They met one another's eyes, and it was as if their love for one
another was instantly reconfirmed.  Once again, the rest of the world
seemed to disappear.  The stadium held only two people - him and Jeff.
Phalen's raised hand and smile was mirrored by Jeff's.  Feeling playful,
Phalen raised his arm further and sniffed his armpit, a signal to Jeff that
he wanted a tongue bath.  'And do I ever,' Phalen told himself, grinning
when he saw Jeff, who, having received the message, suddenly begin to herd
Larry and Greg toward one of the stadium exits, with funny shooing motions
of his hands.

	'I want the Big Man to slowly strip me,' Phalen mused, as he
watched his father, Greg, Jeff's brother, and his father's lover, and Jeff,
disappear from sight down a passageway leading to the parking lot.  'Then,'
Phalen resumed his fantasy as he wiped an arm over his forehead, 'he'll
lick me all over, starting with the hair of my pits, then my crotch, my
balls, and between my legs, before he slowly slides into me.'  "Damn,"
Phalen said, as he adjusted himself and trotted toward one of the
ballpark's exits.  "He has no idea what I've got in store for him."


----------


	From the stands, Jeff watched, clueless, as an expectant hush
blanketed the stadium and the crowd stood, leaving Greg and him behind.
Greg glanced toward his brother, with a crooked grin, and shrugged silent
amusement, then heaved himself out of his seat with a tired sigh, and
stood, responding to something Larry said, with a grin and a nod.  Jeff
followed, a moment later, pleased to finally stand.  'Boring perfectly
describes this game,' he thought, wondering how to best respond when Phalen
asked if he'd enjoyed himself.  'Maybe I'll grow to . . . like . . . it,
once I understand what's happening,' he thought, contemplating what an
expression of cautious optimism might look like.  Jeff sighed, wishing he
was in his swimming pool, or bed, or anyplace, as long as he was naked and
with Phalen.  He shook his head, feeling guilty.  'It's bad form for me to
not at least try to make a greater effort to enjoy myself.  After all, this
game is Phalen's passion.  It means a great deal to him that I like it.'
Jeff's brows lowered.  'Hmmm.'

	He glanced around. The silence of the crowd was almost freaky.  'A
crowd never behaves like this during a hockey game,' he thought, as he
glanced toward Phalen, the only man he'd watched during the interminably
long afternoon.  Phalen looked wonderful in his white baseball uniform.
The way the pants hugged his butt caused Jeff's cock to twitch.  'They're
like a second skin,' he thought to himself, hoping no one noticed as he
adjusted himself, imagining his face buried between Phalen's sweaty butt
cheeks.

	Jeff loved it when Phalen would kneel, straddling him, reaching
back and spreading his muscular ass cheeks before grinding his hole into
his face, and groaning with pleasure.  He would alternately tease Jeff's
cock with his tongue, or take as much as he could manage down his throat.
If Jeff shot first, Phalen would shift positions and shoot his load
directly onto Jeff's outstretched tongue.

	"I love watching my jiz land on your tongue, then slowly slide back
to your throat," Phalen once said, immediately before he began kissing
Jeff, tasting his own sperm on his tongue.

	'The best part of today's game,' Jeff thought, 'occurred before it
had even begun.' When the team ran onto the field, Phalen had turned toward
where he knew Jeff was sitting, and had waved his hat, flashing his
trademark smile.  The crowd, unaware that the wave was solely for Jeff,
went wild, waving and cheering the man who had become one of the crowd and
media favorites.  Phalen, it seemed, always had time to sign an autograph,
pose for a photograph with a fan, or be interviewed, where he invariably
spoke of the accomplishments of his teammates.

	Jeff's heart swelled with pride, as, in the distance, the huge
screen focused on Phalen, as he donned his hat and trotted to his position
on the field.  'That is the man I love,' Jeff wanted to shout.  'He loves
me . . . me! Aren't I lucky?'

	If possible, the silence had become more pronounced.  Jeff watched
the guy standing on the mound of dirt move to the center of the circle, and
begin waving his arm.  'He's been doing that for the last ten minutes,'
Jeff murmured to himself.  'Why are we all standing, now?'  Phalen and the
rest of the team seemed to think something was about to happen, though.
Their attention was focused on the guy with the bat.

	'I'll never understand all of this,' Jeff thought to himself, as
the man doing all the arm-swinging finally threw the ball at the batter.
"Get out of the way!" Jeff wanted to shout.  Inexplicably, the batter
stepped closer and swung.  There was a loud crack, and the ball headed in a
sizzlingly fast line directly toward Phalen, who caught it, then threw it
to the player standing where the batter had just been.  That guy, in turn,
threw it to someone else. And then, in mere seconds, almost faster than one
could see, and certainly faster than Jeff could comprehend, the game was
. . . over, leaving him wondering what exactly had happened.  'We sat here
all afternoon for that?' he asked himself, feeling as if he'd been, in some
obscure way, cheated.

	The crowd went wild; the players on the field . . . half of them,
at least . . . piled on top of one another, in a mass of laughing humanity,
while, in the stands, Larry joined the rest of the crowd's celebration,
acting like a crazy man, cheering his son, jumping up and down, waving his
arms in the air, and acting nothing like the dignified attorney he was.
Greg's barely stifled yawn, caused Jeff to smile.  'At least I'm not the
only one who doesn't have a clue,' he thought, consoling himself, while the
celebration continued on the field.  'Hmm,' he smiled.  'After all that
jostling around, I imagine Phalen's going to need a massage.'  He smiled.
'He'll probably be very sweaty, too.  Oh yeah!'


----------


	Marty Kelly, the assistant trainer, watched what was happening on
the field, with ill-concealed envy.  Ross McCree, the team's best fast-ball
pitcher, was warming up, replacing poor Doug O'Neil.  Doug had pitched a
good game, until he became tired and threw a few bad pitches, which
resulted in the opponents putting a man on each of the three bases,
threatening his team's one-point lead.  Doug had been removed from the
game, and was now sitting slumped against the wall, either in exhaustion or
dejection; it was difficult to tell.

	'I know exactly how he feels,' Marty thought, recalling the letter
he'd received from the university denying him a baseball scholarship.  For
weeks afterward, he was convinced his world had ended.  His mother,
standing anxiously by, didn't need anyone to tell her what the letter from
the university contained; her son's slumping posture, his look of utter
defeat, told her all, and more than she wanted to know.

	'How is it possible for all the life to drain out of a person in
mere seconds?' she asked herself, knowing there was nothing she could
possibly do or say to make her fun-loving, energetic, and forever-talking
son feel better.  She held her breath, waiting for him to give her the
news.

	"I'm not good enough," he mumbled.  Being on the university's
baseball team had been his goal since he watched his older brothers play
high school ball.  None of them were good enough to even apply for a
scholarship, much less hope to receive one.  Marty was different.  He was
better than good.  Even his high school coach thought so.  It was he who
had encouraged Marty to apply for a scholarship.  In his mother's mind,
just as in that of her husband, their son was the best.  Now, he'd been
told that, no matter how good he was, he wasn't good enough.

	"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she finally said, swallowing the pain
she felt, and lovingly drawing him, unresisting, to her side, just as she'd
always done with him and his brothers whenever they'd needed comforting.
He'd put his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder in
silent misery.  Finally, he'd pulled away, and straightened, giving her a
kiss on the cheek and a crooked smile, which tore at her heart.

	"I'd better call Brad.  I told him I'd let him know when I heard
something."

	Today, it was Doug O'Neil who needed comforting.  He needed to know
that he'd not been forgotten.

	"Y'doin' okay?" Marty asked, tearing himself away from the tension
on the field, and perching on the bench next to the dejected looking
pitcher.

	Doug's mouth twisted into a grin.  "Yeah," he nodded, "I'll
survive.  Thanks for asking, though."  He squeezed Marty's shoulder.
"You're a great guy, Marty . . . always looking out for all of us on the
team."  Doug made an effort to look cheery.  "All of us appreciate the
things you do, whether anyone's told you or not."

	The sudden silence of the crowd saved Marty from having to respond
to the kind words, around the sudden lump in his throat.  "C'mon, Doug,
we've gotta see how things turn out."  He smiled encouragingly and lent a
hand, tugging the unresisting man to his feet, just in time to see Ross
throw a perfect pitch.

	Crack!  The unmistakeable sound of the bat and ball meeting, and
all the practice the team had endured, paid off.  The ball, like a bullet,
shot past the pitcher and second-baseman, and was caught by one of the
team's best players.  Phalen Weston, the shortstop, threw the ball to the
catcher, who tagged-out the runner from third base.  In what appeared to be
the continuation of one fluid movement, the catcher sent the ball in a
straight line to the third baseman, who tagged the runner heading in from
second.  "Three outs!" Marty shouted, slapping Doug on the back, and
rushing out onto the field, to join the rest of the team, as well as the
entire coaching staff, in a heap of laughing and celebrating players.


----------


	"Y'know something?" Phalen murmured, close to Jeff's ear, feeling
the slight stubble of whiskers against his cheek.

	"Hmmm," Jeff responded, as he cupped Phalen's butt cheeks and
nuzzled his neck, inhaling the . . . maleness of him.

	"Being here with you, like this, is so cool."  His sweaty jersey
slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor, where it joined his
previously discarded cap and shoes.  All that was left were the burgundy
stockings, the white pants, and, of course, the sweaty jock.  "Ever since
today's game started, all I've thought about was lying in bed with you, all
naked and sweaty," he grinned, "with us doing all sorts of unnatural things
with one another.  Now that we're home, and we have guests showing up soon,
I'm thinking that what I really want is to spend a little romance time with
the man I love."

	Jeff playfully licked across Phalen's neck.  "I've got to say that
I don't like your going on those road trips, one bit.  The house seems all
echoey when you're not here to fill it up."  Jeff grinned, as Phalen
watched him step out of his own jock, freeing his erection, which had been
painfully throbbing since they closed the front door to the house and he'd
taken Phalen into his arms.  He licked a broad swath across the sweaty
muscles of Phalen's chest, then paused to tease an ultra-sensitive nipple
with his teeth.

	"Y'mean the house seems empty because I talk a lot?" Phalen managed
to say, on an indrawn breath.

	"No," Jeff murmured, beginning to lick the hair of one of Phalen's
armpits.  "You don't fill the house with sound; your laughter, your
enthusiasm, your presence, fills the place, just like it filled that
stadium this afternoon."  Jeff's voice was low, filled with emotion.  "I am
so lucky."

	Phalen inhaled deeply, through an open mouth, as Jeff returned his
attention to the damp hair of an armpit.  "It was way-dumb of us to plan a
party for tonight!  Maybe we can chase everyone off as soon as we've
finished with dessert.  Better yet; skip dessert altogether.  We can eat
standing up, no refills on the drinks, the meal's served on saucers instead
of plates."  He groaned, as Jeff groped him through the uniform's pants,
then began to work them over the swell of his buttocks.

	"I thought we were gonna wait.  D'we have time t'do anything?"  He
obediently raised one foot, then the other, as Jeff slid the uniform's
pants and stockings over his feet, and, in only moments, was naked, his
bobbing erection belying his request to wait until the dinner party was
over to begin playing.

	"We are waiting," Jeff chuckled, as he knelt and buried his face
beneath Phalen's scrotum, inhaling deeply as he urged Phalen to spread his
legs.  "We'll have sex later.  Right now, all I'm doing is giving you a
little pre-shower cleaning, and a quick blow job.  Don't worry," he added,
"by the time dinner's over, you'll have reloaded; then we can get down to
the really serious stuff."

	"Umpf," Phalen exhaled, as Jeff hefted him onto one of the bedroom
dressers and pushed his legs back to his chest, exposing his tight,
hairless pucker.  "Damn . . ." Phalen sighed as Jeff sucked on his balls,
then began to tongue his hole.  "That's soooo good," he mumbled, as he
squirmed on the soft invader.  "If you don't consider this serious stuff,
what is?" he panted.

	Jeff looked between Phalen's legs, pleased with the slightly glazed
expression which greeted him, and winked.  "Fucking me is serious stuff.
I'm hoping you're ready to do me two or three times.  I'm still catching up
for all those missed years," he added, as he buried Phalen's erection in
his mouth.

	Phalen closed his eyes and sighed, imagining slowly sliding into
Jeff. "Damn, I can hardly wait."


----------


	Hunky Randy Shaw stood in the entry to the trainer's room, his
white jockstrap standing out in contrast to his deep tan.  "Goin' to the
party?" he asked, as Marty restored order to his little domain.

	"Nah, not me."  Marty turned toward Randy, and leaned against the
counter.  "I'm not much of a party person."

	Randy strode into the room, his jock displaying a thick cock
curving over a large set of balls, which filled the jock's pouch.  He sat
on the counter across from Marty, and wiggled the fingers of his heavily
taped wrist and hand.  "Could I get you to strip this stuff off me?"  He
grinned to himself, as Marty began unwinding the tape, wondering what
thrills those fingers might bring him.  "I'm not going to the party either.
All those squealing girls . . ." he shuddered, "not my thing."

	"Hmm."  Marty flicked the barest of a glance at the man on the
counter, whose bare foot and calf were rubbing against his hip and upper
leg.

	Randy silently watched as Marty, frowning in concentration, removed
the tape, layer-by-layer.  'Nice looking guy,' Randy thought to himself.
'I always did have a soft spot for laughing eyes and an impish smile.  Of
course, the body's not too bad either . . . sort of compact.'  "Y'bout done
for t'day?" he asked, smiling his thanks, as Marty stripped off the last of
the tape and tossed the sticky wad into the nearby bin.

	"Yup," Marty answered, tidying a stack of towels.  "It looks like
you're the last person needing attention.  Most of the guys must have
already left.  The place sounds pretty deserted."

	"So, what have you got planned?"

	"Planned?"

	Randy made a slightly impatient gesture.  "You know, for the
evening.  What are you doing for dinner?  Would you like to get a burger or
something?"  Randy looked down at himself and made a face.  "Gotta get a
shower first, though.  Join me?" he asked.

	"For a burger, sure."

	"First a shower, then we can head out."

	Marty smiled.  "Sure.  I wasn't gonna say anything, but you're
pretty ripe."

	"I'm not the only one, mister," Randy laughed, as he slid off the
counter and crossed his arms, waiting for Marty to strip.

	"Yeah, yeah, well, I've been working hard, looking out for you
guys.  All you have to do is catch the ball when it heads in your
direction.  I'm surprised you even break out in a sweat, your job is so
easy."  Marty grinned, as he skinned out of his shirt and tossed it into
the dirty clothes bin, then stripped off his pants and jock.  He walked to
his locker and took out his shower stuff, totally oblivious to Randy's
almost open-mouthed reaction to seeing him naked.  Marty's skin was
flawless.  His body was hairless.  His butt was round and firm, flexing
with each step.

	"Do you shave?" Randy asked, tilting his head forward.  "Down
there, I mean?"

	Marty returned a chagrined smile.  "Yeah, though there's not much
to shave, there, or anyplace else.  My brother has a beard.  I couldn't
grow a beard or decent pubes, no matter how much I wanted them.  So, rather
than look all scraggly, I cut it all off."  Marty looked down at his bare
groin, then at Randy.  "Does it bother you?  It makes me look like a little
boy, I know, but . . ." he shrugged.  "It's bothered some of my coaches and
stuff, a lot.  They'd tease me about it, n'stuff," he said, as he turned
one of his impish smiles on Randy.

	"No!  Ah, no, it doesn't bother me." The two men left the trainer's
office, heading for the large gang-showers.  "I think it looks cool.  Lots
of guys shave their crotch hair."

	Marty laughed, as he draped his towel over the hook on the wall,
and watched Randy strip off his jock, then absently scratch himself.
"Yeah, that's why it doesn't bother me too much," Marty commented,
mesmerized by the . . . fullness . . . of Randy's cock and nuts.  "If I
could grow the hair, I wouldn't shave, that's for sure.  Not being very
tall, combined with the lack of pubic hair, makes lots of people who see me
think I'm younger than I am."

	"That many people get to see your bare pubes?" Randy teased, as he
soaped his hair.

	Marty laughed, and watched as Randy lathered-up.  'Sweet,' he
thought to himself.  'Getting to hang out in the locker room, and see all
the naked flesh is one of the best things about this trainer's job.'  He
frowned slightly.  'I wonder if Randy always spends this much time soaping
up his crotch.'

	"Hey," he laughed, "not to be too personal, but are you showering
or wanking your cock?  If you're trying to show me that you're bigger'n me,
you got your point across."  He turned his shower head in Randy's
direction, rinsing off the white froth.

	Randy thrust his hips forward and shook his cock from side to side.
"I'm not trying to show off.  You're packing a good-sized package.  Not
having hair surrounding it makes it look even bigger."  He grasped himself
and teased his cock to a full erection.  "Don't you play with yourself?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continued.  "I do, at every opportunity."
He laughed, removing his hand from his thick penis, and stepped closer to
Marty, wondering at the reason for the blush and bowed head.  "I'll stop,
if it bothers you, though."

	"It's your dick." Marty forced a laugh, trying desperately not to
stiffen up.  "You can play with it any time you want.  You're not bothering
me.  Guys play with themselves in the shower all the time.  I see 'em every
day."  Marty cleared his throat, and industriously lathered his hair.

	Randy's voice held a mischievous tone.  "I think I am bothering
you."  He gripped the base of his formidable penis and appeared to examine
it, turning it this way and that.  "Pretty nice, huh?"

	"I've already said that it's bigger than mine." Marty tried to act
casual, as he shut off the water and headed for his towel.  "But, most
people are," he added.  "It's a nice one, though," he added, when it
appeared Randy had been hoping for more.  "Ah . . . um . . . sweet."  He
grinned, then grabbed his towel and began to dry.

	"Hey," Randy suddenly appeared at his side.  "I didn't mean that
yours is anything less than perfect.  I'm just a show off, and I do like to
beat-off."  He flopped onto the wooden bench, his face almost at eye level
with Marty's groin.

	"Are you into guys, like me?" he asked, looking up and meeting
Marty's eyes.  "Because, if you are, I'd certainly like the two of us
. . . you know . . . to get together."

	Marty suddenly felt his nakedness.  He wasn't embarrassed; he just
felt so . . . exposed.  "Damn, Randy!  I hardly know you!"  He turned on
his heels, and headed for the trainer's room . . . and clothing.  He wanted
to accept Randy's invitation, but, at the same time, he was terrified of
jumping into something too quickly.  'Brad jumped into a relationship with
Curt, before thinking, and look what happened.  Four years of hell!  I'm
not gonna let something like that happen to me!'

	"Is knowing me better necessary before getting together?  I can
tell that you would like to."  Randy chuckled.  "I mean, you're about blue
in the face trying to think of things to keep you from getting hard.  That
must mean something.  So, what's the word?  A 'yes'?" Randy asked,
following Marty into the trainer's room.  "I'm hoping so, 'cause I think
you're about the hottest looking guy around here, and I'd like to spend
some time with you."

	"Thanks for the compliment, but . . ." Marty sighed, exhaling a
long slow breath.  "Yeah, I'm into guys, but," he held up a hand to
forestall Randy's suddenly expectant look, "my way of looking at things is
opposite of yours."

	Randy gave him a puzzled look.

	"I'd like to get to know you better, first . . . then," he
shrugged, tugging on a pair of bright red briefs.  "Then, see where things
go."

	"If we're gonna end up in bed, why not skip all that getting to
know one another crap?"

	"To me, it's not crap, and there's no reason, really, other than
that's the way I am."  Marty leaned against a counter and crossed his arms.
Now that he had his underwear on, he didn't feel quite so . . . exposed.
"Let me tell you something."  Randy nodded.  "My older brother's gay, and
had a terrible experience with a guy he was living with.  It went on for
four years.  Things are okay between them now, but, for all those years,
Brad's life was filled with pain and anger.  His partner looked at anything
with a dick as a challenge.  He wanted every man he saw, and, he got many
of them, all the while killing Brad."  Marty bowed his head and rubbed the
back of his neck.  "Brad's experience really affected me.  He managed to
get through it.  I'm not sure I could've, at least not as well as he did.
So, y'see, I'm afraid of jumping into something for fear of being treated
like my brother was.

	"So . . . if you'd still like to get a burger for dinner, I'd
really like that; but, as for the other . . . no . . . at least not yet."

	"You mean you'd like to date or something?" Randy asked, with
barely concealed scorn.

	"No, but I would like to know you better before doing anything."

	"Geez, Marty!"  Randy heaved a laugh, shaking his head in
disbelief.  "Your attitude is so . . . last century, or something.  I'm not
looking for someone to cook my meals and clean up after me.  I'm looking to
have a good time.

	"Yeah, last century; that's me.  Still . . . that's the way I am.
So . . . do you still wanna get a burger?"

	Randy thought for only a moment, then made a dismissive gesture
with one hand.  "Nah, better not.  I'm not too good when it comes to dating
someone.  Sorry," he said, with a casual wave over his shoulder, as he
walked out of the room, whistling to himself.


----------


	"Hey Jeff!"  Kerin raised his hand in greeting, as Jeff opened the
front door to his house.  "Long time no see.  Thanks for the invitation."
Jeff stepped aside to let the twins into the house.  Like Phalen had said,
they were the last of their dinner guests to arrive.

	"They'll be fashionably late," Phalen had laughed.  "I told 'em
we'd have lots of stuff for them to graze on, so it wouldn't be necessary
for them to bring their own food."

	"Graze?"

	Phalen nodded.  "Y'know, that vegetarian stuff.  That's what those
people do, isn't it . . . graze?"  He made a face.  "I was cured of all
that vegetable stuff when I was growing up.  M'mother was a grudging
carnivore.  Dad and I were grudging vegetarians.  To please her, we ate the
piles and piles of green things she set in front of us."  He crossed his
arms in remembered irritation.  "I don't care how much a person carries on;
adding a few little cubes of tofu to a salad does not meet my minimum daily
requirement of protein.  Now . . ." he laughed, "maybe I could have handled
all those greens, and even the tofu, if you were providing me the extra
protein I needed."  He tweaked Jeff's groin as he finished speaking.
"Remember, Big Man, the minute the guys clear out, you're mine."  He pulled
Jeff into a tight embrace and gave him a lingering kiss.

	"We didn't bring our swimsuits, in case you're going to invite us
to swim," Kerin continued, after pausing to give both Jeff and Phalen a
brief kiss, forcibly tearing Jeff away from his recollection of Phalen's
kiss.

	"Kerin," his brother, Thian, warned.

	"Oh, yeah, we don't own a swimsuit," Kerin laughed, slapping his
forehead as if he should have remembered.

	"Not that . . . be quiet.  You don't have to fill every bit of
unused air time with your voice, no matter how nice it might be.  Exert
yourself.  Let someone else talk."  Kerin waved a dismissive hand, then
spotted the rest of the guests.  His smile brightened even further.

	"Uuuuu," he turned to Phalen, and winked.  "An audience."


~ to be continued ~



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