Date: Wed, 6 Jul 2011 10:44:38 -0600
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: Phalen - Reputation and Honor - chapter 7 - Gay College Section

Phalen - Reputation and Honor

Chapter Seven

By Roy Reinikainen


	Dani looked around the small apartment he'd shared with his
brother, Denis, sighing at the boxes he'd spent a week preparing to shift
to a less expensive place.  'With Denis and me working, we could manage to
afford this place,' he thought.  'But, there's no way I can do it on my
own; besides, I don't need anything larger than an efficiency someplace,
hopefully one that's clean, not too noisy, and near the University.'  His
mouth twisted into a smile.  'I don't ask much, do I?'

	Denis' large desk was the last thing he had to go through.  Since
Denis had died, he'd done his best to avoid the desk and its contents.  If
he had to go through them, he had to admit to himself that Denis would
never be coming home, and, even though he knew that was the case, he didn't
want to admit it.  Now, he had to go through Denis' stuff.

	Most of it, he could dispose of.  Denis no longer needed his prized
set of baseball trading cards or his Superman comic books.  Dani shook his
head, wondering what some unknown person would think of him, should they
have occasion to sort through his stuff.

	After close to an hour, he sat back and surveyed the small box of
things he'd decided to keep.  "That's everything of importance in your
life, Denis," he said, his voice echoing in the nearly empty apartment.  He
shook his head.  "Pretty sad."

	As he sat daydreaming, Dani toyed with one of the few things he
knew nothing about.  The bracelet surely couldn't have been given to his
brother.  It looked expensive, and it was engraved.  "Jackson, Happy
Graduation, Ed."

	'Who are those people?' Dani wondered, as he ran a finger over the
engraving.  Surely, this Jackson person would want his bracelet back, now
that Denis had no use for it.  He glanced at the shining piece of jewelry.
'There's a story here,' he thought.  'This Jackson guy must have given it
to Denis.'  He shrugged, and tossed the bracelet into the box of items to
keep.  It clanged against Denis' laptop computer, then snuggled up to a
stuffed toy Teddy Bear, the twin of one Dani still had.  Denis' bear should
have been consigned to the rubbish.  Denis' embroidered name was fraying,
and, in places, the stuffing was escaping.

	"Poor Mickey," Dani murmured, running a finger over the bear's
snout.  "You miss him too, I bet."  Dani's lips twisted into a crooked
smile.  He'd always teased his brother about naming a toy after Mickey
Mantle, a star baseball player.  Denis, in turn had laughed when Dani had
told him that his bear was named Albert, after the famous scientist.  Denis
had hooted with laughter, and a wrestling match had ensued, complete with
pillow fight.

	'I have to learn to stand on my own,' Dani thought, leaning back in
the desk chair, with the fingers of both hands linked behind his head.
'Denis is gone.  As much as I hate it, as much as I feel as if I've lost an
arm or something, ol' Mickey and I will have to manage.'

	"How?" he asked the silent room.  'What's left to smile about?  Who
is there to share a tender touch with, or a laugh?'

	Dani grinned, thinking back to the time when he and Denis, both no
older than nine, had gone with their parents on a vacation drive along
Highway 101, the famous road which hugged the California coastline.  His
father had stopped at a roadside rest stop, and they'd had a picnic beneath
some trees.  His father had told them that the flowers next to the road
were grown by some sort of big company, for their seeds, which they would
sell to people so they could have flowers in their gardens.  Dani
remembered the red flowers, nearly as tall as he and Denis, seemed to
stretch nearly to the horizon.

	After lunch, he and his brother had run into the field, romping
among the flowers.  They had both laughed so hard, they had fallen to the
ground, among the blossoms, where they wrestled, shrieking and laughing.
He would roll on top of Denis, and raise his arms in victory, only to have
Denis on top of him, a moment later.

	When their mother called their names, they'd suddenly become aware
how dirty they were.  Their shorts, clean only minutes earlier, were
covered with dirt.  Their knees were stained green, and red petals
sprinkled their hair and shoulders.  Denis had frantically looked around
for a missing shoe, then shoved his foot into the sorry thing and had
brushed himself off.  Finally, satisfied he looked as presentable as
possible, Denis had tried to break one of the thick flower stems, so he
could take a gift to his mother as a peace offering, but hadn't been able
to.  "Dang," he muttered, turning to Dani, who stood by, wondering what his
brother was doing.

	So, instead of breaking one of the tough stems, he tugged until he
yanked an entire plant from the ground.  He'd carried it, as if it were a
gift of great consequence, before himself, and had presented it to his
mother, who was looking upon her two sons, aghast.

	"Here, Mom," Denis had said, holding the enormous bloom out to her.
"We've been looking for the perfect flower for you, and we sorta fell
down."  He brushed some stray petals from his hair, then reached over and
did the same for Dani, who he then urged to, "tuck in your shirt . . . you
look a mess."

	Dani remembered wondering why his mother had to turn away and wipe
her eyes, as she brought the large bloom to her nose, and told him and his
brother that the flower they had chosen had to be the most perfect flower
ever.  That flower, minus the roots and the dirt, had stayed with them
during the remainder of the vacation, and the wilted remnants had later
been pressed between the pages of an old set of encyclopedias, the only
souvenir of the family's vacation.  Dani smiled in recollection, as a tear
rolled over his cheek.


----------


	"Ho' man," Eric said, his words echoing off the walls of the
shower, along with the sounds of the splashing water.  He raised his arms
and danced in a small circle.  "Ho' man," he repeated, shaking his hips for
the sheer pleasure of moving.  "I wen luck out!  WooHoo!" he shouted,
pumping his arms up and down.  "Brad says Marty likes me!"

	That morning, he and Marty had shared the same shower in which he
was now dancing.  They'd embraced one another and kissed, until Eric would
have sworn that the steam coating the shower and the mirror over the
vanity, was not caused by the hot water, but by the two of them.

	"Y'know," Marty had grinned, as he toyed with Eric's hair.  "I've
often thought that your hairdo was pure art."  He pulled a few wet strands
of hair into an upright position, and shook his head, still smiling.
"Nope.  Now, I realize you wear your hair the way you do 'cause you don't
own a comb."  He'd giggled, and coaxed other strands of Eric's hair into a
standing position.  "There!" he exclaimed.  "Don't touch it!  It's perfect!
It looks like the two of us have made love all night long.  Which," he
continued, beginning to nuzzle Eric's neck, "wouldn't be too far from the
truth."  He tried to stifle a yawn.

	"That's the problem with spending the night together, Mister Sexy.
I get so little sleep, I'm a wreck if I don't manage a nap sometime before
practice.  Hell, I wouldn't be able to hit a ball past the pitcher!"  He
ran his tongue over Eric's lips.  "As it is, all the guys tease me about
being worn out because of you.  They think they're joking."  He lightly
kissed Eric, then quickly stepped out of the shower, along with billows of
steam.  "If they only knew the truth!" he laughed.  "They'd be soooo
jealous."

	"Oh, Marty," Eric murmured, as he left the bathroom, shutting off
the light and climbing onto his bed.  "I wish you were here tonight."  He
snuggled up to a pillow . . . the same one Marty had used . . . and
imagined Marty lying next to him, or on top of him.  It took little
imagination to recall the feeling of Marty's weight, or what his breath
felt like against his skin, in the middle of the night, or the taste of his
tongue, or the furnace-like heat whenever Marty surrounded his penis with
his mouth.

	Eric jerked out of the beginnings of a sensuous dream as his
cellphone, resting on the nightstand, played its supremely annoying tune,
demanding attention.  He scooted to the edge of the bed, and swiped his
finger across the glass surface.

	It was Marty!  "Hey, my handsome Hawaiian!" he said, before Eric
had had a chance to answer.  "I'm laying in bed wishing you were with me.
But . . ." he sighed, "since you're not, I thought I'd call just to tell
you how much I miss you."  There was a brief moment of silence.  "Since
we're not together tonight, I just sent along an electronic goodnight kiss
. . . not nearly as satisfying as the real thing, but it'll have to do, at
least for tonight.  Sleep well . . . my favorite man," he added, then hung
up before Eric had been able to say a word.


----------


	"I tell you, Randy, the next time that guy stops by I'm calling the
cops.  He gives me the willies!"  Carl Murphy was one of the few people who
knew how to contact Randy, and was, as he called it, ventilating about
Coach Cline.  "He's even been over to the apartment manager's office,
telling him it was urgent he get in touch with you.  We're both continuing
to play dumb.  The manager says you've moved and that I've moved into your
apartment. Whenever that coach-guy asks me about you, I ask, 'who?  You
must mean the guy who used to live here.  I don't know him or where he
might be living.'"

	Carl lowered his voice.  "Randy, the guy was even sitting in his
flashy ol' sports car, out in the parking lot, last night when I got home
from work.  That was close to midnight!  What did you do to him?" Carl
asked, his voice rising.

	"I didn't do anything, Carl.  It's him who is stalking me, not the
other way around."

	"Yeah, I know that, but why."

	Randy sighed.  "Okay, Carl.  He and I had a bit of an affair.  I
wanted to end it, he didn't.  He won't take, 'no' for an answer."

	"Whoa.  You had an affair with him?  Randy, he's one of the hottest
guys I've ever seen.  I wonder if he'd consider . . ."

	"NO!" Randy couldn't help himself from shouting.  "Trust me, Carl,
this guy is good looking and he's hung, which would make a size queen like
you happy, but listen Carl . . . he's really and truly dangerous.  He gets
off on pain and humiliation.  Don't even think of letting him near you.
Please, Carl.  We've been friends since elementary school.  You're like a
brother to me.  Please don't.  You've seen how determined that guy is to
get his way.  And, he's doing all this to get to me.  I never was that good
a fuck."

	Carl snorted agreement.  "And, you've gotten sorta scrawny
recently, too."  There was a long pause.  "Does your losing weight have
anything to do with him?"  He hurried on.  "I won't ask any more questions.
I promise, and I'll stay away from the guy."

	"Yes," Randy sighed, in answer to his friend's question.  "He
pretty much beat me up, both mentally and physically.  I'm at least able to
keep food down . . . most of the time."

	"Aw, shit," Carl sighed.  "I just had to sit down.  This is all
just too much to handle.  I can't believe anyone getting the better of
you."  There was yet another long pause, where Randy could almost hear
Carl's mind working.

	"Well, are you going to do anything about what's happened to you,
other than go into hiding, I mean?  You'd better, Randy.  If that guy's
half as bad as you describe, he needs to be locked up so he doesn't hurt
anyone else."

	"That's my goal," Carl.

	"Goals are good, but the question is are you doing anything to meet
your goals?  What about your folks?  Do they know what you told me?  I'm
sure they're worried sick, wondering what's going on."

	Randy rubbed his eyes.  "Yeah, I told them and my sister some of
it, just to keep 'em from going off the deep end and imagining me into
drugs or something."  He'd done his best to comfort his mother, who was
already worried about his sudden weight loss.  "I'm just having to deal
with stuff, Mom," he'd said.  "Head coach Bowen understands, and has given
me time to get things figured out.  Coach," he swallowed, barely able to
say the name, "Cline has become a real prick, not only to me but to lots of
guys on the team.  I'm . . ."  He absently massaged the back of his neck.
"I'm trying to sort things out and figure out what I need to do."

	"But . . ." his mother had begun.

	"Please, Mom," he'd interrupted, holding up a hand.  "I'm okay.
I'm not in any sort of trouble with anyone.  The doctors at the clinic tell
me I'm healthy.  I've just been worried about things, that's all.  The head
coach knows what's going on.  I just need some time, okay?"  He lowered his
voice.  "I'm sorry.  There's no need to raise my voice.  Please try to
understand, though."  His mother had reluctantly nodded her acceptance.

	"As parents," she said, holding his hand, "we want our children to
grow up and be able to handle things on their own.  But," she grinned,
"when they do grow up, it's tough to let go, for fear they'll hurt
themselves.  Remember, dear, that your father and I are here, if you need
anything."

	Randy kissed his mother's forehead.  "Thanks Mom.  Sometimes that
growing up you're talking about isn't so easy.  But," he grinned
encouragingly, "I think I've finally got the hang of it."


----------


	Coach Cline walked alongside Marty from the practice field to the
locker room.  "Have you thought about what I asked the other day?" the
coach asked, taking one of the heavy equipment bags Marty was carrying and
hefting it to his own shoulder with ease.

	Marty looked toward the coach.  "Yes, I've thought about it."

	"And . . . have you decided that you'd like to be on the team
rather than lugging around these heavy bags and taping people's ankles?  I
know you're gay.  I've seen you hanging around with that Asian guy.  He's
getting pretty familiar with you . . . in public no less.  The guy's a
loser, Mister Kelly.  You can do better than that.  If you're going to be
on the team, you're going to have to start hanging out with the right
people."

	"I've already given you my answer, Coach.  Following me around and
stuff is not likely to make me change my mind."  Marty stopped and turned
to the coach, as the team, in groups of twos and threes made its way to the
locker room.  As always, some lagged behind.

	Bobby Pickett nudged Phalen and nodded toward the two men facing
one another, then jogged on, not wanting to be part of whatever storm was
brewing out on the field.  Phalen, on the other hand, knelt and seemed to
suddenly find his shoelaces of extreme interest.  Coach Cline was facing
away from him, and must have thought no one was nearby since he'd raised
his voice.  Phalen smiled to himself when Marty responded, in an equally
loud voice, drawing the attention of the few players who straggled past.

	"His name is Eric, Coach," Marty responded, trying not to lose his
temper.  How dare the coach attack Eric!  He realized his own voice was
rising, but didn't care.  'This man does not deserve my respect.'  "Eric's
a good person, not someone to be made fun of.  I don't understand what you
could possibly have against someone you've never met.  Also, what do you
think gives you the right to criticize what I do with anyone, whether it's
in public or not!"  His anger temporarily eased, though he distanced
himself from the coach by dropping the equipment bag he'd been carrying,
between him and the coach.

	Marty heaved a sigh.  "But, you're right, I'm gay . . . just like
you."  He was pleased at the look of surprise that flashed over the coach's
face.  "So, I like guys.  What of it?  Just because I like men doesn't mean
that I automatically would like to be with you.

	"You're also right about another thing.  I really would like to be
on the team.  It's always been one of my dreams, but . . ." he made a face.
"This isn't the right way to do it.  You know it isn't, or you wouldn't be
slinking around, using the team as bait to get me to do what you want."
His voice was rising again.  "I'm getting tired of this, Coach!  I've given
you my answer, at least a half dozen times.  Surely, you understand what
the word, 'no,' means."  He held up a hand.

	"I'm sorry.  There was no need for me to get sarcastic, but the
answer is still the same.  So, please, leave me alone."

	"I don't intend to wait around forever, Mister Kelly," the coach
answered, louder than he realized, pointing a skewer-like finger at Marty's
chest, as if ready to pluck out his heart.  "You know you're going to give
us what we both want, so what do you have to gain by pussyfooting around,
hanging out with that loser you've been seeing?"  He touched Marty's chest
with the tip of an extended finger.  "I am going to be the one to take your
virginity, Mister, not that so-called friend of yours.  It is mine," he
hissed, "and the sooner you realize it, the better.  You're going to have
to learn that, in the real world, you can't play hard to get."  With that,
Coach Cline dropped the bag of equipment he'd been holding, at Marty's
feet, turned, and stalked off, shouting orders to the groundskeepers.

	Marty watched him until he entered the locker room, then bowed his
head and sighed.

	"Hey," Phalen said, as he approached.  "Is he giving you a hard
time?"  Marty shrugged.

	"Sorta."  He looked at Phalen's serious expression from beneath
lowered lashes.  "Yeah, he is.  He has been for quite a while now."

	Phalen gestured toward some bleacher seats shaded by a row of trees
and flowering shrubs and, coincidentally, out of view from the locker room,
and lifted one of the equipment bags Marty had been carrying.  "Umph," he
huffed.  "You carry two of these things?"  He shook his head.  "Geez, no
wonder I don't see you in the weight room."  He set the bag down next to
the bleachers, and smiled, patting a nearby seat.

	"You and I have got to talk," he said, as Marty slowly sat.
"Alright," Phalen continued, in a no-nonsense voice, "what's going on with
Coach Cline?  And, don't tell me that it's nothing, 'cause I know it is
something.  I've watched you.  Whenever he's nearby, you get all freaky.
You're dealing with something big, and I don't want you to deal with it
alone.  So . . . tell me."  Phalen sat back with the attitude that he could
wait forever for Marty to respond.

	"Coach Cline is hitting on me."

	"He's what?"  Phalen's voice slid upward, along with his brows.

	Marty nodded once, then sighed, and leaned forward, resting his
elbows on his knees and looking up to Phalen.  "Yeah, he's told me that he
can get me a place on the team if I only agree to go to bed with him."
Marty turned to face Phalen.  "I don't know what to do.  You know how badly
I want to be on the team.  A few weeks ago, I would have said that I'd do
anything to get what I wanted."  He slumped back.  "Now, I'm not so sure.
I mean, how bad could going to bed with him once possibly be?  Sure, he's a
big guy, but I'm not that small."

	Marty grinned his impish smile.  "I'm not talking about weenie
size."

	Phalen snorted a laugh, pleased that Marty still had his sense of
humor.  At the moment, he was not feeling very humorous.  'How dare the
man!' he shouted to himself.  'That lousy son of a bitch is using his
authority to get sex partners.  I'm sure Marty isn't the first person he's
propositioned.  I wonder what he promised the others?'

	"I've told him," Marty continued, "that I'm not interested in his
offer, that just 'cause I'm gay doesn't mean I automatically am attracted
to him or am interested in his offer.  I've also told him that I'm happy
doing what I am, for the good of the team."  He sighed.  "But, that's a
lie.  I know it, and he knows it.  I'm happy to be tied with the team in
some way, but I'm not happy, like I would be if I were on the team.  If he
could get me a position, I ask myself, would giving in to him just once be
so bad?  I mean, it's not like he was going to beat me up, or maim me or
something.

	"Still . . . whenever I stop and really think about it, I know it's
not the right thing to do, but," he shrugged.  "I applied for a scholarship
and was turned down.  I've played by the book.  Maybe I should try
something different."  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees,
his hands clasped, his head bowed.

	They both looked up at the sound of someone approaching.  "Hi
guys," Eric said, as he rounded the flowering shrubs next to the bleachers
where Marty and Phalen sat.  His smile became strained as he saw how
serious both men were.  "Bobby," he pointed back to the locker room, "told
me I'd find you out here.  You talking bout dat lolo buggah?"

	Marty nodded.

	"You know about Coach Cline?" Phalen asked.

	"Yeah," Eric answered, glancing from Phalen to Marty, then back.
"Some," he added, as he sat on the bleacher behind Marty and urged him to
sit back between his spread legs.  Phalen watched as Eric gently began
massaging Marty's shoulder muscles.  "Marty told me the good-for-nothing
mullet is stalking him.  He hasn't told me why though."

	"Marty," Phalen said.  "Tell him what you just told me."

	"What?" Eric asked, leaning forward to look at Marty.

	"He wants me to go to bed with him as the price for him getting me
onto the team."

	"The frickin' moe lepo!!"

	"Marty, I'm needing to say a couple things.  I hope that I don't
offend either of you guys.  I'm not pretending to be a man of the world, or
something, I just need to give you a little booster shot of, I don't know,
conscience, I guess.  You don't have to pay any attention to me, but it'll
make me feel better.  Okay?"  Both Marty and Eric nodded.  Phalen noticed
that Eric continued to gently knead the muscles of Marty's shoulders.

	"Marty," Phalen began, reaching out and briefly squeezing Marty's
hand.  "You already know this, but . . ."  Marty nodded understanding.
"There are some things that no matter how badly you want them are not worth
the price.  I gave a speech once where I talked about reputation and honor.
Right now, you have a wonderful reputation.  Everyone who knows you likes
you.  Every one of the guys on the team thinks of you as their friend, just
as the guy who's massaging your shoulders does.  Just as I do.  You also
have your honor.  You can look at yourself in the mirror each morning,
knowing that you have not compromised the ideals you have always played by
and believed in.

	"Would you be able to feel good about yourself if you gave in to
that bastard's propositions?  Sure, you might be on the team, but there is
no real guarantee of that happening.  I personally don't believe that the
assistant coach has that ability.  Oh, he probably makes recommendations,
but when it comes to deciding who gets a scholarship, that's something only
the head coach can do, and I know he listens to no one but himself.

	"I know that, because I've mentioned someone to the coach that I
think should be on the team, and I know for a fact that he's heard from
high school coaches, about specific guys.  I'd be willing to bet he doesn't
discuss his thoughts about scholarships with Coach Cline, or anyone else,
until he's made his decision."

	"This guy's that good, that you'd go to the coach on his behalf?"
Marty asked, looking up.  Eric, Phalen noticed, had stopped the shoulder
massage and was studying him with a very serious expression.

	"Yes, he's that good," Phalen continued, trying not to look at
Eric, for fear he would give away more than he wanted.  "He's one of the
best players I've seen, as well as being a number one guy.  You're a lot
like him, Marty.  He's always stood by his ideals, just as you have.  Are
you willing to take a chance that the assistant can really get you on the
team?  After all, he's going to have already had what he wants.

	"Are you willing to take the chance that you won't be able to look
at yourself in the mirror . . . on the day after . . . you go to bed with
him, and he tells you that whatever deal he's been talking about with the
head coach has fallen through?"  Phalen snorted.  "He'd probably choose to
tell you that, while he's got his dick buried in you, and you're crying
with pain and humiliation."

	Phalen reached out and took Marty's hand.  "You've never been
fucked, have you?"  Marty compressed his lips and jerked a reluctant shake
of his bowed head.

	"Well, shit," Phalen huffed, sitting back.  "That guy'd split a
person in half, he's so big.  I'm not joking!  You might never be the same
if you let him at you.  That's not a joke.  I'm deadly serious.  I'd be
willing to bet that he's not a gentle lover either, not like someone else."

	Marty looked up at Eric and smiled, confirming Phalen's guess.

	"Marty," Phalen continued.  "Assuming that you decide to let him
have his way with you, and assuming that he's speaking the truth and is
able to get you a position on the team, and you have a stellar career with
crowds cheering and lots of fans.  Even though you could have a wonderful
reputation, you'll always know what you had to sacrifice to get where you
are.  I'm not talking about the sacrifice of your virginity, either.

	"Are you willing to have exactly what you want, to be on the team,
and to have crowds cheer you, and all that, but know, deep down within
yourself, that you had to sacrifice your integrity to get what you wanted?
Those cheering crowds won't mean a whole lot when you see you're dragging
around the shattered bits of your honor."  Phalen lowered his voice.
"You'll never get it back, Marty.  No matter how hard you try, you'll
always know what you did.  Maybe no one else will, but you will.  And, you
are the only person who counts.  The only one."

	Phalen looked away, wondering if he'd stepped over the line and
Marty might think that he was being lectured to.  'Well, I was lecturing,
wasn't I?'  His attention was brought back when he heard someone sniff, and
the wooden seat squeak, as someone changed position.

	"Thanks, Phalen," Marty said, gripping his hand.  "I don't know
what I ever did to deserve a friend like you."

	Phalen smiled and made a dismissive gesture.  "Me, I'm nothing
special.  The man who'd sit at your back for the past half hour and massage
your neck, though - he's someone special.  Don't let him go, Marty.  He'll
never ask you to compromise your honor, I'm sure of it."


----------


	"That damned kid."  Jackson Cline muttered, and slammed his locker
door closed, instead of tearing it from its hinges, as he wanted to do.
'He's mine!  Who does he think he is, leading me on like is?  He knows he's
going to let me have him, yet he screws around with that friend of his,
defending him when I make some offhand comment.  And now, that Phalen
bastard is horning in on my territory.  He doesn't realize that I can bring
him down as easily as I can anyone else.  He goes around thinking he's
soooo special, with that sickening smile of his and his do-good attitude.'
Coach Cline huffed a disgusted laugh.  'One night with me on top of him
would change that attitude.  I hate people who go around thinking they have
the right to manage everyone else's lives.'


----------


	A telephone ringing in the next door office, shouldered itself into
Head Coach Ed Bowen's consciousness, followed by someone muttering and
angrily slamming a locker door.

	"Hey," he shouted, to the unknown person, "take it easy on the
furniture!"  He shook his head and swiveled his desk chair to look out onto
the practice field and the stadium beyond.  'My domain,' he thought, to
himself.  'Under attack.  If what Brad Kelly claims is true, my own nephew
is at the heart of the assault.  He's preying on my players, my boys!  He
might just as well be seeking sex from one of my own sons!'  The coach
wearily rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the blue ink stains which
seemed to linger.  It had been nearly a week since Marty's brother had made
his assertions, and he still didn't know how to approach the problem.

	'I've been watching Jackson,' he told himself.  'But what am I
expecting him to do? He seems to be acting normal enough, though a little
extra sensitive about everything.  He seems to be barely controlling his
anger.  So far, though, he's only taken out whatever it is he's feeling, on
the equipment, not any of the players.  I've noticed that there nearly
always seems to be someone hanging around Marty.  That tells me that
someone on the team has spread the word that Marty needs a little,' he
cleared his throat, 'protection.'  He grinned.  'I expect the ringleader in
getting things organized is Phalen.  He seems to have his finger on the
pulse of the entire team.  Hell, when Dennis Chaves was in the hospital
with that appendix attack, Phalen was visiting him every day, and
encouraged all the other team members to go to the hospital, as well.
Phalen even organized a 'welcome back party' when Dennis was finally able
to return.

	'I wonder what that little confrontation Jackson had with Marty, a
few minutes ago, was all about.  He seemed angry with the boy, then stalked
into the building.'  Coach Bowen grinned.  'I admire Marty for standing up
to someone like Jackson.  Not many people would do that; yet Marty
certainly didn't seem to have any trouble.'  A movement caught the coach's
eye.  It was Phalen, talking to someone in the bleachers.  Who it was
though, he couldn't tell, since all but the first row of seating was hidden
by the shrubbery.  It was Phalen's broad gestures which had attracted his
attention.  'I wonder what that's all about.  He should be showering by
now.'

	"I'm heading out, if you don't need me for anything else," his
nephew said, sticking his head into the office, and tearing his uncle's
attention away from Phalen and whoever it was he was talking to.

	Ed Bowen turned from the window and smiled.  His nephew, Jackson,
had always been his favorite nephew.  Maybe the young man's love of
baseball had had something to do with his opinion, but Ed had always felt
Jackson had more in common with him than with his own father.  "You're all
dressed up!" he observed, "Do you have a date?"

	Jackson leaned against the office door and made a dismissive
gesture.  "Naw.  I'm just going to cruise around and see what trouble I can
get into."  His grin, his uncle thought, was not entirely pleasant.

	"I noticed you giving the what-for to Marty, a while ago, out on
the field.  What was that all about?"

	The grin faded from his nephew's face.  "I told him he'd better
shape up and stop dragging his tail, hoping someone else would pick up the
slack.  He's just not working out as a trainer, Coach.  He's too slow, too
. . . moody, always wanting things his way.  He's not a team player.  He's
too headstrong.  He thinks everyone should do things his way."  Jackson
huffed.  "I don't know how he acts around you, but around me, he's just a
spoiled brat who thinks everyone should cater to his wishes.  I'm getting
so I can't stand to be around the little creep."

	Jackson's eyes shifted to the field beyond the window, and widened
slightly.  "Just like now, for instance," he said, continuing his earlier
thoughts, "he's been out there shooting the bull with that Phalen kid
. . . another goof-off in my opinion, and some kid who seems to be hanging
around the locker rooms a lot lately.  Probably some sort of pervert, or
something."

	Conversation halted while the three men being discussed entered the
locker room.  While Coach Bowen was studying his nephew's reaction, the
three young men passed the office.  Of the three, only Marty's friend, Eric
glanced in.  When he saw both coaches, his humorous monologue about the
name of Hawaii's State fish, the humuhumunukunukuapuaa, faltered.  He was
quick on the recovery though, and had both Phalen and Marty laughing, as
they left the coach's office behind.

	Ed Bowen leaned his elbows on his desk.  "Jackson, is everything
okay?  Lately, you seem to be angry all the time.  Marty has always been an
exemplary trainer.  I've never had one as good as he is.  The same is true
of Phalen . . . both men are great people, both assets to the team.  What
have either of them done to get your hackles raised, so?  If they've done
something I should be aware of, let me know, and I'll get to the bottom of
it.  And, the young man you're calling a pervert is anything but.  His
name's Eric.  Marty introduced him to me the other day.  I can't believe
Marty would have befriended Eric if he wasn't an upstanding fellow.  Seems
like a nice person to me . . . always smiling."

	Jackson made a derisive snort.  "That sort is always smiling, but
you never know what's going on inside."  He pointed to his head.  "In here,
they're sick.  That sort is almost always sick."

	"Hmmm.  I'm thinking that maybe instead of going out, cruising,
looking for trouble, as you said you were going to do, that perhaps you
need to go home and try to figure out why you're so angry.  You can take
out your frustrations, or whatever, on the lockers, but never on another
person, like you appeared to be doing to Marty.  Never, Jackson," the
coach's voice hardened.  "Especially, one of the members of the team.  The
parents of the boys we work with have entrusted their sons to us.  We have
an obligation to continue those folks' efforts to help their boys become
fine young men.  Shouting and pointing your finger, making fun of, and
generally being a nasty person, as you have been lately, has no place here.

	Coach Bowen was finding it increasingly difficult to control his
temper, when faced with the surly attitude of his nephew.  'I've always
thought of him as . . . prickly,' the coach thought, watching his nephew
grind his teeth in response to his comments about controlling his anger.
'I'm afraid he's gone beyond prickly to something darker . . . something
. . . dangerous.'

	"If you want to behave like you have been, I suggest you join the
military.  There, the sort of behavior you're exhibiting is, if not
expected, at least tolerated.  But, Jackson, it will not be tolerated here,
as long as I am the head coach.  None of my boys will ever be abused, by
anyone under me.  And, if I find that they have been, whoever did it will
find that they're out on the street with the imprint of my shoe on their
butt.  Now, shape up!  Change your attitude.  Stop picking on people.  Stop
thinking bad of people who have never done you any harm, and start acting
like a person the boys can look up to as a role model."  He made a
dismissive gesture.  "Now, go . . . you don't want to be around if I get
really angry."


----------


	"So . . . Eric," Phalen smiled, as he and Marty dried themselves.
Eric looked up from where he sat cross legged on one of the wooden benches
at the end of a row of lockers.  He'd been watching the two men who were
laughing and joking, but had been unable to get the image of Coach Cline
standing before his uncle, anger written in every line of his body, out of
his mind.

	'They were talking about Marty.  I know it.' he told himself.  'If
Coach Bowen was only aware of what his nephew was attempting to do.  If
only someone would have the nerve to tell him.'  He snorted a disgusted
thought.  'Certainly, no one on the team will do it . . . not even Phalen.
They're all enthralled to the assistant coach.  Would Coach Bowen listen to
me?  I mean, I've only met him once.'

	"Earth to Eric!" Phalen laughed.  "Come in, Eric!"

	"He's still trying to figure out how to spell that humuhumu-fish
name," Marty laughed.

	'Both guys are oblivious to the fact that they exuded sensuality,'
he thought, as he watched Phalen stretch, and twist, working his stiff
muscles.  Every movement both men made hinted at a passionate person, and,
at least in Marty's case, a passionate lover.

	'Damn, he's sexy,' Eric thought, as he watched Marty dry his hair.
'I friggin' love the bare pubes.  Though,' he amended his thought,
'Phalen's dense mat is nice, too.  They're both so casual about their
nakedness.'  Eric grinned, thinking back to the previous night, when Marty
had laid on top of him, kissing him and grinding their erections together.
Even now, Eric imagined he could feel the hot spurts of their combined
orgasms coating their stomachs.  'And then,' Eric recalled, 'he gave me a
tongue bath, starting with my stomach, which he slurped and licked clean,
before moving to my cock, my legs, feet, arms, chest . . . hands.'  Eric
squirmed slightly, trying to adjust his thickening penis, while Phalen and
Marty continued laughing and taking far longer to dry than was necessary.
'Hmm,' Eric grinned to himself.  'The show offs!'

	He watched as Marty faced away from him and vigorously rubbed the
towel over his back.  'His butt is as perfect as the rest of him,' Eric
thought.  He felt his cock squeeze out another drop of pre-cum, and was
positive there'd be a wet spot on the front of his shorts whenever he
stood.  'I love how muscular those two mounds of smooth flesh are.'

	When Marty bent over to dry his feet, his ass cheeks spread,
exposing a hairless pucker, which twitched in silent invitation to Eric's
tongue.  Marty glanced over his shoulder, wearing one of his trademark
impish smiles.  'Damn, him,' Eric thought, 'he knows exactly what he's
doing to me.  Well,' he vowed, 'the next time we're alone, we're going to
take our sexual relationship to the next level, with a little asshole
stimulation.'  He mentally rubbed his hands together in expectation of
having Marty squatting on his tongue, squirming with pleasure.

	"Hey, Eric," Phalen laughed, flicking a sprinkle of water in his
direction.

	"Wha . . .?  Huh?"  He shook his head, surprised by the droplets of
cold water one of the guys had flicked in his direction.  Both Phalen and
Marty were watching him . . . Phalen's smile bright, Marty's impish,
matching the sparkle in his eyes.  'He knows what I was dreaming about.'
Eric's thought was confirmed by the slight widening of Marty's eyes, and
playful stroke of his hand down the length of his cock.

	"Daydreaming?" Phalen asked.

	"Fo' shua, but only for da guy standing next to you."

	"Whoooooo," Phalen teased, reaching out to ruffle Marty's short
brown hair.  "Marty's got an admirer."  Phalen laughed, following Marty out
of the shower room and into his office, where his street clothes waited.
Eric followed, casually leaning against the door jamb, as the two men began
to dress.  In the distance, it sounded as if Coach Bowen was chewing
someone out.  'I'd bet the assistant is the one getting chewed out,' Eric
thought.  Coach Bowen wasn't shouting, but his voice . . . carried, echoing
in the empty locker room.  Marty and Phalen looked at one another,
wondering what was happening.  The sound of the head coach's voice abruptly
quieted, followed by the slam of the locker room door.

	"I'm glad he's never needed to do that to me," Marty murmured.
"I've heard of a tongue lashing before, but I never actually heard one,
until now."  He made a face.  At the door to the office, Eric had turned
and was grimly staring down the wide hallway leading to the head coach's
office, and the door which had just slammed.

	"Um, well," Phalen looked over his shoulder as he continued
dressing.  "Eric, back in the shower, I was asking if you like being naked?
Would you and Marty like to come over to Jeff's and my place tonight, for
dinner and a swim?"

	"They hang out naked, when they're at home," Marty explained.
"I've been over to their place a couple times.  It's cool.  Dinner and
naked sorta go together."  His smile broadened.  "Maybe we could do the
same thing when we have dinner together."

	"I don't think I'd get much eating done," Eric grinned, as his
glance slid from Phalen to Marty, then back again.  "Does this naked-thing
involve sex?" he asked, still not quite sold on the idea, unable to imagine
Marty having casual sex with anyone, but intrigued by Phalen's invitation.

	"Not with Jeff or me, it doesn't," Phalen responded, with a laugh.
"If you guys want to have fun, though, no one's going to stop you.  We've
got a great pool, and some lounges which easily hold two people.  Jeff'n I
have used them . . . quite a few times."

	"I don't think I'm much of an exhibitionist," Eric began, but was
interrupted.

	"But, I am," Marty laughed, twisting his hips from side to side,
causing his flaccid penis to slap one side, then the other.

	"Ho' boy, and how!" Eric's laughter joined Phalen's.  "I've never
known anyone who was as anxious as you to get out of their clothes.  I half
expect you to strip down in the grocery store, or something."  He grinned,
as Marty made a face in his direction.

	"Kiss my ass, Mister Mori," he laughed, turning his back to face
Eric, and slapping an ass cheek.

	"Later, brah.  If I start now, I won't be able t' stop.  I've been
hard the whole time I've been watching you guys show off in the showers.  I
was thinking that I could make a million bucks if I filmed you both.  I'd
be rich and you guys would be stars."  He smiled, nodding his head, as if
trying to convince the two that it was a good idea.

	"Fame, at last!" Phalen hooted, then tossed the damp towel at Eric,
who flailed his arms, eventually tossing both Phalen's and Marty's towel to
the floor.

	"Sure," he turned to Phalen.  "I'd love to come over.  I've gotta
warn you, though, I'll probably be hard the whole time."

	Marty spoke to Phalen in a stage whisper.  "He's got a great
pecker."  Phalen hooted with laughter.  "And, he can really kiss," Marty
added, twisting away from a playful punch.

	"Me, I'm a butt man," Phalen said.

	"He's got one of those, too." Marty couldn't help himself.  "I'm a
personality-man, myself," Marty continued.  "Oh, and hands.  I love hands."
He nodded in Eric's direction.  "He's got a couple'a winners."  He
playfully shivered.  "Oh maaaan," when he starts working on me, I go all
limp."

	"Nah, you no get li dat," Eric laughed.

	Marty grabbed a nearby towel and flicked it in Eric's direction.
"You know what I mean."

	"Limp, huh?" Phalen asked, his smile bright.

	Eric wiggled his fingers.  "What can I say?  I'm talented, but I
don't come cheap."

	"I'll say!" Marty laughed, tugging on his underwear.  "I've never
bought so much vanilla ice cream as I have since we met."


~ to be continued ~


	Thank you for taking the time to read my work.  I welcome your
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