% This work of fiction is set in the format of real-world situations. Identifying details to real people, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental in nature.
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% Sexual safety matters. Guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection and I don't mean going out and hiring a security guard...unless he gives your nuts and bolt a jolt!
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`GLaDiaToR EV'ry DaY' o5 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Coming down the hallway, into the main store, Jared notices the festive celebration had died down quite some. He thought it would be going another couple of hours. After shelling out all that dough for refreshments, it was good for business. Selling goods was good, to make up for all the loot he put out for all that fancy food and drink.
Not which it was a constant worry, but Jared hoped, with making the books balance, he and Kelly wouldn't need to worry about where their next meal was coming from. Of special concern was retirement. If it came to be, he would gladly become a pauper, for Kelly to live as a `prince'. His brother has suffered enough in life.
Catching himself slip into that syndrome, Jared's mind returns to the reality of a near empty store, "where'd they all go?"
For Ryan, there was enough eye candy left remaining. Bringing up the rear, he places a hand on Jared's shoulder, cocking lips to his ear, "hey, how about introducing me to `Robin Hood'?"
"Robin," his voice trails off as he scans the inner horizon, "Hood?"
"Mister Ripples over there, explaining how to use a bow and arrow?" Ryan replies in a sly tone.
One of his trainers for the Highland Games, Jared was more than happy to introduce Ryan. Like everyone employed by the Magonagle enterprise, they were subject to employed with two jobs at once. Being a `gladiator' meant, not doing everything himself. Too, pawning the responsibility off on another built up stamina in that designated worker, both in work ethnic and personal character. This wasn't something written down in a textbook. Jared was smart enough not to carry the weight of everyday business on his daily slate.
Other side of the coin, he wasn't ready for any long-term-love-affair. Playing around in bed with business associates was not an ideal aspect for career oriented people. So often, obligations dealing with a sexual nature led to `you owe me one'. Jared, he didn't intend on owing any worker in his employ, anything. What Erik did, was his business. Though, there were a handful of trusted allies in Jared's ranks, those he could trust with his life, whom he didn't mind having a little hanky-panky with!
For one, both brothers have known Erik since his mid-20's. From Clark, New Jersey, in his teens, Erik had attended summer camp in upstate New York. While in town, on a camp trip for souvenirs, he met Kelly and Jared. They struck up a friendship, him and Kelly becoming pen pals. For 3 years he went to summer camp and each time developed more of a camaraderie. It was the best souvenir Erik ever acquired.
Whether it was coincidence, or rather Jared's hand in Erik choosing to go to the same college Kelly attended was immaterial. If Kelly had thought it true, his brother keeping a watchful eye from afar, he didn't care. Erik was a good friend. When Kelly slipped into a depressive mood, his antidepressants not working, Erik was a good substitute. It was also more fun lying on a blanket, or the bed, talking through troubled thoughts.
Jared also trusted Erik with his brother's welfare. That one time Doc Watson had to head off to Mattawamkeag to help his poor 60-year old mother, whom had taken a sharp turn on her snow-taxi, fallen off and wound up with a sprained ankle, was a time of trial. Sam had warned her she was getting too on in her years, ferrying hunters around to places where the roads didn't go, on a snowmobile. After Sam spoke to the owner at the Penobscot Cafe, she agreed to become the hostess. It made Sam feel a whole lot better.
Regardless, Sam had agreed with Jared, Erik a good substitute, in his absence. Though the doc had wished he could fill Erik's shoes, when it came to the visual, that eight-pack abs adorning the front of his bod...yummy! He'd like to lick every nook and cranny, right on down to his...
Erik's `real' job was not parading around the company store, in uniform, kilt, Magonagle-tartan socks, leather-laced boots and that 8-pack, in lieu of upper bod apparel, turning sales shirtless, flaunting those tight pecs, and carved out hills and valleys. In the reality of the position he was hired for, Erik planned the weekly menu at the compound, held morning exercise classes and worked with other trainers for the purpose of glorifying the Magonagle name at the Highland Games.
"Not a problem," Jared, on the inside, was laughing, for the fact some of his sales staff, like everyone else in the business, doubled up on their duties at something or other.
They casually stood there until the bow sale was cinched, Jared paving the way towards introducing, "Erik, this is Ryan. He has an interest in trying out for the Highland Games prelim's."
"I do?" Ryan questioned Jared's motives. If it included `Robin Hood', he was in, "yeah, I was. Like, what's that about?"
From afar, gazing at Erik, dressed in only a kilt and boots, those rippled abs were like a magnet for anyone with an interest, beyond game-training, "good to meet you, Ryan."
Though, there were blanks needing to be filled in. Ryan, he hadn't a clue to what the Highland Games were. In his mind, it meant sitting down at a table for two, laptop in front of him, with the purpose of sinking his opponent's battleship?
Purposely, after what happened in the storeroom, Jared was more than happy to introduce Ryan to Erik, a no-nonsense type of guy, when it came to training for the Highland Games, "interested in training, are you sure you can take it?"
Certainly, for Erik, Ryan had potential, but he knew Jared wasn't talking about `that' type of motivation.
Back in Nashville, before having to run away from it all, Ryan was a champ at many computer games, "no sweat."
Standing there, without Jared saying a thing about it, Erik had the intuition, Ryan's eyes wandering his muscled bod, there was more than `game' interest, "well then, I don't think we should waste any time, do you, Jared?"
"Of course not."
Glancing to Jared, which Ryan had already made a connection, it was like some secret, mental code had passed between the two.
"Sure. Whenever you're ready."
Having already noticed the crowd size dwindling, Jared remarks, "no time like the present, eh Erik?"
A clue, thrown Erik's way, he knew Jared was letting him out of his salesclerk responsibilities, "great!" Great, because he was digging, seeing how raw a recruit Ryan would be, thinking if he had what it takes, if he could measure up to the standard of a gladiator, "I'll be interested to see what you cab bring, Ryan."
A lean frame, Ryan was no stranger to working out. On the road, he and his brother had enough loot to survive, until their funds dwindled, right around hitting Danesburg. So, he was still in peak condition, just a little underweight.
Turning clenched hands inside out, like he was ready to sit down at a laptop and launch into a game of Battleship, Ryan shows confidence, "bring it on!"
Smiling like a sadist leading a goat to the slaughter, Jared says, "great. Uh, don't go too hard on him, hey Erik?"
As it happens, many a time Jared will be there to set the tone and then exits, stage left, faster than the Flash.
Then, it made him smile, Erik commenting to himself, "typical," of Jared running out on him. Nowhere in plain sight, Erik takes the helm, "Ready?"
It did finally register with Ryan, "where's Jared?"
Then it didn't matter, Ryan's eyes now set on Erik, "when do you get off work?"
"Soon as I can grab a shirt."
A kilt vs. pants, it's the one thing Ryan was noticing, the inability to see the shape of a dude's ass. He was sure that was some kind of Scottish tattoo on his giant bicep. Before he covered it up, Ryan could only think, it must take some maintenance to keep up the loaded pecs and abs worthy of da Vinci's chisel. Like himself, Erik kept his bod smooth as a newborn's ass. Ryan, `hair' didn't matter. That was for guys who bore a relationship, lay there in bed, spent more time at foreplay than getting down hot and dirty!
"Ready?" Erik breaks Ryan's concentration, taking out a pair of sunglasses and putting them on.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
They didn't exit through the main entrance, rather going behind a counter and down a short hall, out into the afternoon sun. At that point, Ryan wished he could afford a pair of dark shades. His was stolen, right off his face, in broad daylight, somewhere in Philadelphia. John wanted to charge after the gang of thieves, Ryan wise enough to grab his brother around the waist and hold him back. Fortunately, he found a tossed-out Islander's cap in a fast-food dumpster.
In lieu of needing cash for food, Ryan waited until he could land a place to lay low for awhile, get a job, support himself and John. Growing up poor, it wasn't he and his brother were unruly sons. Values were important to their parents, in their own God-fearing way. Even though Ryan was skeptical about religion, one thing he learned, there was always a better side to life. A man had choices. Though other forces were at work in a person's life, choosing to do or not to do could make or break future circumstances. Right now, he was going with something which he didn't always subscribe to, allowing his churning balls to act like a thinking mechanism!
"Sweet," Ryan called it, Erik leading him over to his truck, a restored Ford.
"Like it? I did it myself," Erik responds with pride.
Ryan could only dream of owning such a vehicle. Though, whereas some of his buddies back home were willing to risk jail time to acquire such a treasure as Erik had here, he chose not to chance taking a route which could sidetrack him through the prison system. In lieu of all that drama, Ryan chose to save up, until he had the cash to plunk down. Forced to leave home and hit the road, money to do so, crushed that dream. The way it was with Ryan, he was always looking out for more than himself, when it came to brotherly love. After all, it was the least he could do for a martyr, living with it most of their lives, John having to hear and suffer the wrath of a father whom wished the younger son could be, `more like you're older brother.' In turn, John did try to be more like Ryan. With only one common link, being gay, other than that, the brothers had more different interests, than likes.
While Ryan gloated over the turquoise color, Erik's mind was on something else, or rather something of great anatomical value.
A smile crossed Erik's lips, every time he heard Ryan speak, "that accent. You're not from around here?"
Prying the driver side door open, it gave hint for Ryan to do the same.
Getting in, Ryan says, "Nashville, mostly."
"Thought so. Had a friend from Nashville once, but his accent was a little off from yours."
There was so much to his and John's life, it was tough for Ryan to keep track of every little detail. As Erik had named, `the accent', he chose it as a good place to start.
"John and me are not really brothers."
That was pretty awesome, Erik thought, "seems like you care enough, for him to be a brother. Me, if I had a brother, I'd certainly like him to be as caring."
For the rest of the trip up old Route 20, Erik watched the road and tried absorbing Ryan's history.
He did lose track of `when' Ryan said his cousin, John, joined the family, but did remember it was when Ryan's mother was still at home. Erik could not remember in what order, the mother left, John arrived, questioning, "John moved in and your mom moved out?"
"No. The other way around. John first, then her. Doesn't matter. She ran out on dad, me and John, for some traveling salesman."
"Oh," Erik responds to the bits and pieces of Ryan's family history.
"That's okay. She didn't care much for me and John, even less for my pa."
Erik could see a lot of animosity there, but like with his own gripes about life, left that up to occasional office visits with Doc Watson, "so, how is it you and John wound up running away from home?"
Seems, after his mother left home, his pa turned to the bottle. He had no patience for raising a second `son', especially when he wasn't his own. The father's sister's husband had done the same thing his wife did. As a favor to her, with 5 other children, he took young John in. It was only to be a temporary situation, but with years passing, John's stay became a permanent situation.
"I mean, I didn't mind it, being I didn't have any brothers or sisters. It was cool having a younger brother to look up to me."
"And," Erik turning off Route 20, onto the unmarked road, wanting Ryan's story to come to a close, "the cause for running away?"
"Pa, he was okay with me, but sometimes mean to John. I could see John was starting to show some, um...I don't know what the word is...he didn't like me, because?"
Erik smiled, Ryan using him for a dictionary, "resentment?"
"Could be. I grew to love John, like a brother and I didn't want that to change. So, whenever pa used the excuse, `why can't John be more like me', I started standing up for him, like a brother should do."
`Oh!' Erik thought, glad Jared wasn't there. Funny, when someone says something and it applies to another person's situation. If Jared were there, Ryan's words would have stabbed right through the heart!
"From then on, pa looked at it like we were ganging up on him. It wasn't only John. He started in on me. Second time he gave me a black eye and a cracked rib, was the last straw."
Since Erik was no stranger to family squabbles, which resulted in physically lashing out, halfway up the lane he steps on the brake, emotionally saying, "so sorry about that."
Other than himself and John, Ryan didn't have anyone who cared, except right now, the look in Erik's eyes, hand on his sleeve, "yeah, he was pretty brutal. That's why we left. Well, it was me who wanted to. Then, I could see John's point, leaving him behind. He talked me into taking him on account of he didn't want to be left behind to be pa's only punching bag. You can understand that, right Erik?"
With his own history of abuse, Erik, sitting there in his truck, abs flexing, not because he was trying to get in some extra muscle-building, but the thought of another guy going through the abusive gut-punching, didn't dwell on the past, "I can and from experience, I can also add, better days are yet to come."
Throwing the Ford in drive, Erik drove.
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Jared had a system. If by chance perspective inhabitants had crossed paths with him, he certainly did not want an undesirable person or persons roaming the complex. That branch of human resource' was not his thing. He hired people to hire people. Even though Erik had degrees in nutrition and personal physical maintenance, Jared trusted him enough to keep an eye'. As could happen in this circumstance, concerning `Ryan', Jared would certainly alert his human resources person, but instead of even picking up the phone, Erik's trusting opinion was more convenient. Besides, Jared had more to contend with than his own sexual needs, like welcoming his brother back into his life and to the business, Kelly settling in, feeling at home. For certain, this was one thing Jared was not going to screw up on!
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With only one route available, Erik's turquoise `baby', zipped up old route 20 and onto the unmarked country lane. Slowly it was becoming named Magonagle lane, or passage, or whatever, being there wasn't a consensus, nor official poll of ideas.
Kelly, he kind of liked the idea, passage', like in Northwest Passage', it having a more macho sounding effect. If Jared knew this, he would probably have the town change the county map to read `Magonagle Passage', an effort to please his brother!
Given, Erik liked that Ryan was doing his homework for him, detective work for his boss, finding out where he and John were from, what future aspirations entailed and other details. Having gotten more than an earful on the trip from store to the `passage', they finally arrive at the destination.
Cutting Ryan off, right in the middle of another complaint about how life has treated them, "so, how do you like it?"
Apparently, Ryan was into deep thoughts regarding how parents treat their children, when Erik's words stabbed like a knife, turning his attention to the passenger window, "like what?"
"Beyond the fence, the outskirts of the Magonagle property? All that green?" Erik slows the truck.
Right to left, looking at the rustic wooden fence which corralled in a meadow of green grass, until it met a wooded area, all Ryan could do is carry on with complaint, "I'd hate to be the one to cut that lawn!"
Security had come up with the informal term, `wanderer', a person whom wanders onto the property in hopes of at least finding a meal and a place to spend the night. As with Ryan and John, and there have been others, one night could turn into a week, then months. A few, they've been there a year or two. It's only been a couple of years since Jared came up with the idea of selling off old assets, which closed the chapter on both him and his brother's past. It took about a year to complete all the legal details. Several months of transitioning the farm into housing and a factory, with a few other added amenities, another year passed. Then, after the first Highland Games, the past several months have been geared towards prep for the next.
One thing to scratch off the list, Erik concerned himself of where this wandered' could be of value, what line of work to place Ryan. He left landscaping in the cross balance of ideas. Sometimes, placing a worker in the line of work he complained of, made them a better person. Yup,' Erik thought on it, `landscaping was Ryan's thing!'
Most whom have traveled up the `passage', had little say in where they worked. One thing instituted at the beginning, they had to contribute. For room, board, literally the clothes on their back, it was a small price to pay for secure living.
When they see a flock of bareback riders, on horses, ride nearly up to them, take the course around the inner fence, which takes them along the passage, then Route 20, distance making them smaller than life, Ryan is captured by bare chests and backs, "now that there...that's what I call `scenery'!"
As Erik saw it, at least it pulled Ryan out of a rut, "they're training."
"Training for what?" Ryan didn't break eyesight.
"The Highland Games. Eventually I would have mentioned it," Erik puts the truck in gear and steps lightly on the gas, "that we all work two, some three jobs, depending how a person is placed. One of those is training for the games. Everyone is required to provide input in some way."
Soon the riders had ridden to where it placed them behind the Ford.
Laughing, Ryan says, turning around in his seat, "well, I'd sure like to give them boys some of `my' input!"
Sure, it was funny, Erik thinking it comical, but even more humorous, was his private thoughts, stealing glances at Ryan's ass, wanting to give some of his own `input'!
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Kelly, being appointed half-ruler over the Magonagle `kingdom' by his brother, was one of the selected few who didn't need about wanderers.
For certain, ever since the store supply closet, the two had hit if off. Not in a sexual way, yet, but they were enjoying each others company.
It helped, when they left the store, in JC's red Lexus, Carlos in tow, the others helped in making John feel comfortable.
"This is great, guys!"
Fifth in the car, Sam, being a psychiatrist, always looked beyond the common phrase for something else, "in what way, John?"
Kelly could swear, Doc Watson having a `pad and pen' in his head, starting in on John's file folder. Sometimes it didn't seem like it, being psychoanalyzed, other times plain, casual conversation.
"Because."
"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you feel that way?"
Kelly sat next to the doc, John on his right, JC driving and Carlos on the passenger side. It did move Kelly somewhat, John, leaning over to answer the doc's question, balancing out the weight of his bod, adding a hand to Kelly's thigh!
"Um, probably because I hadn't gotten any friends, growing up. Except Ryan. He's been the best friend a guy could have."
Thinking on it, distracted from John's leaning, Kelly could agree with that. Like, he's been over it already, even though Jared's been the only dude he's been `sexual' with, his brother did provide him with the best sex!
"I see," Sam mulls it over.
They would have zipped right up to the passage, to the front gate, if JC hadn't broken the pace of a self-created speed limit, complaining with both voice and horn, "c'mon...move your ass!"
Rightfully, no one in their right mind would want to take on Erik. Though, he'd never intentionally pick a fight, especially over something degrading as an inpatient driver's road rage. Nah, it was more peaceful slowing the truck, sticking an arm out the window and giving JC the finger, stuck high in the air!
Not which they thought JC was angered, his Spanish keeping them at a high level of confusion.
Carlos acting like a translator, his laughter, they knew JC was responding with playful rhetoric.
The passage, from Route 20 to the entrance hadn't been widened, though town engineers were on it, a strong request by Jared to do it `soon', before the winter months set in.
Erik's answer to Carlos was weaving to the left, which would keep the right side open. Keen at derelict-driving, the year before summer camp, Erik had taken his first and last joy ride in his step-father's BMW. Honing up his driving skills on the Garden State Parkway, he swore it was a deer that cut him off. All State Trooper could say was, `uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,' letting the info go right over his head, as he applied the cuffs to Erik's wrists. His step-father, an upstanding citizen, whom also had lots of loot in the bank, Eric got off easy, earning a ticket to a special summer camp.
Strangely, at the camp, he came across the same arresting officer, whom worked there as part of the offender's youth program. Even weirder, that same officer, Mitch, was in charge of his division, eight boys in for the same, low-risk criminal mischief.
Years later, Mitch could be under the gun, accused of harassment or other charges. Just goes to show, when two guys get together, all thinking goes out the window and, `balls rule!'
Tired of the cat and mouse games, Erik speeds up, approaching the front gate 2 seconds later.
Getting out, they approach each other, JC slinging the mud, "you owe me a car wash, Erik!"
Erik, with unfriendly attitude, is not careful who hears, "drop your pants and I'll show you who's boss!"
Other than Carlos, who knew Erik and JC were close friends, the other guys thought a battle was in the making.
Sam, he was unsure of whether they were serious, JC and Erik seemingly with Academy Award acting skills, were they kidding?
Kelly, John and Ryan, they stood there. "Is he for real?" Kelly says to John.
"Looks that way."
Ryan stands there silently. In a way, the serious confrontation is turning him on. Talk of `dropping pants', he could feel his balls churn. Though, instead of poking JC in the ass, man, would Ryan like to get it on with his driver!
Then, stirring them all out of how they perceive the drama...
Erik and JC bro-hug and make up!
Returning to their vehicles, the passengers all pile back in.
Advantage for Erik, one passenger, he's on his way, before the Lexus has time to fire up.
"Too bad you let JC off so easy!"
Not which Erik has `done' JC, keeps Ryan guessing, "yeah, would've been sweet, eh?"
"No," Ryan giggles, talking shop, "what would've been sweeter would be jerking off, while watching you fuck'm!"
Then, throwing hint, Erik confronts him with, "or my hand around your barrel, while fucking you from behind?"
On the road, Ryan was faced with like circumstances, a choice or out of necessity, having to give head or fuck around, for a meal or pillow-rest. For certain, he wasn't going to have John `pay', so he had to make it good. Sometimes he felt like a slave to sex, or a guy's whims, but that's life...take it as it comes!
"So, you going to introduce me to those bare-backers?"
Erik, now that he's gotten into slinging sex around, like warriors in a mud pit, needed to digress. Under the steering column, the erection he was getting almost had the tip of his 8c reaching the wheel!
"I think I'll make you sweat and find your own `bare-backer'!"
That confused Ryan, thinking they had the start of something, "really?"
"Why? Were you thinking of something else?"
"Yeah," Ryan answers truthfully, thinking the first place on the tour, Erik's bedroom!
Then, in a cool, calm, collective way, Erik says, "first thing you should learn, sex doesn't come first and..."
And about ready to finish reading Ryan his rights, his cell phone rings. Anyone else, Erik would have muted it, but everyone knows, when the name JARED pops up, it becomes the immediate order of business. Other than taking a badly needed piss!
"I gotta take this."
Just inside the gate, Erik brakes, puts it in park and hops out.
Speeding past, JC's arm is in the air, wishing Erik a `hot fuck'.
Everyone learns by mistakes. Jared, with his often hidden agenda, a person doesn't want to be talking on their cell, in front of someone else. It's not fun having to cover tracks, after something, which should have been kept secret, is broadcast for all to hear!
"Got it," Erik says, before pocketing his phone.
Hearing the door slam, he turns around to the other side of the truck bed, Ryan asking, "what's up?"
"Nothing," Erik replies.
Though, as he's learned, leaving something up to nothing, doesn't sit well, often leading to suspicion.
"Jared, he wants to make sure I show you the Highland Games training ground."
Taking it at face value, Ryan pulls on the door handle, "what're we waiting for?"
In his mind, more than sugarplum fairies are dancing in his head, a real chance at meeting those bareback horse riders!
Arriving at the training ground ahead of them, JC, Carlos and Sam knew the routine.
Leading up the troops, JC and Carlos, who looked at this like many of the others whom worked there, taking up with the tools of their `second job' and training for the games, was part of the daily routine.
Sam, he hung behind with Kelly and John.
The new wanderer', John, stood there with Kelly, watching. Really, their interest began, watching JC and Carlos hurry, stripping out of their clothing and into uniform'.
Entertained, Sam stood there with a quaint smile, interested in Kelly and John's reactions to watching the two strip down till cock and balls were flopping about, arranging a kilt around their hips.
John breaks out of his shock, "they wear no underwear?"
"Not for practice," Sam informs. "The Games, it's optional, though it's preferred they wear `something' to fence it all in!"
Other than kilts, JC and Carlos pick up socks and boots and hightail it out of the locker room.
"Your turn," Sam giggles. "Pick a locker."
Cleverly, the lockers were arranged in order.
"What's the red-green-blue-yellow lockers for?" John asks, calling off the colors, in order.
Answering that important question, Sam instructs, walking over to the stacks, opening the red door, "these are small kilts," he closes, opens the next, "yellow are medium, blue, large and yellow, Xtra-large." Furthering, "each are numbered. Pick what fits and then you officially become a statistic, after your name is recorded next to a number on the clipboard."
Holding up the clipboard, he adds, "alterations can be made at the factory, if need be."
Kelly observes, "but the only problem would be in the waist, right?"
"I would think," John has his take on, if fitting into a kilt doesn't involve casing in the male anatomy.
Sam liked the way young minds think!
"There's a little more to it than waist, like, length?"
It made John smile. Even though no one has held his shaft in hand, except himself and his step-bro, it was Ryan whom informed him, when it came to `size', he was more than adequate!
Because they didn't put it out there, Sam entertains, "y'know, a guy might have a sense of pride, not wanting to show off what he `owns'?!"
Acting goofy, Kelly says, "because he might not have that pride?"
The sillier it got, John goes along, "not me...I ain't got no reason `not' to be proud!"
That stoked Sam's fire, "then, what'll it be?"
John's last comment made Sam pull a kilt from the yellow bin. Perhaps he wasn't thinking waist size, "try this on, then?"
Taking it, John was sure this was not the right fit, though stretched it out and then fit it around his clothed waist.
"No, dummy," Kelly says, what was on Sam's mind too, "it would make a difference without clothes on. I mean," he felt he was being a little too forward, "I would think it would?" said in an apologetic way.
"Correct," John replies.
A bit shy, when John drops the kilt on a bench, and goes for his belt buckle, he says, "uh, aren't y'all gonna try one on too?"
Already knowing size, Sam says, "of course. Let me just get to my locker?"
He had to pass between Kelly and John, which in the not-so-big locker room, meant sideways, getting quite the jolt, both front and rear!
Following, the two others hadn't realized the capacity of lockers, "oh, there's more?"
Thinking of the wolf leading the sheep, Sam says, "oh, yes. Right around the bend!"
Away form the mainstream of visibility, a little sensitive to undressing in front of others. As a preteen, John wondered if his small boy-cock would ever grow. However, on the other end of the spectrum, in high school his crotch suddenly began to bloom. John began to think, being too `big' as conspicuous as too short!
"Uh, you got room for us back there, Doctor Watson?"
Kelly sneaks in, "ps-s-s-st, just call him, `Doc'."
Not really sure of it, Sam could only wish, "should be."
If not, he was willing to help someone to evacuate, in order to accommodate!
Honor system, there were no locks on lockers. No need for spending, other than going into town. Cash and valuables were left in small safety deposit boxes, fastened to the floor of each dorm room.
Seeing this the case, Kelly asks, "what do I do with my wallet?"
Giggling, John says, "doesn't matter to me. I ain't got no money to steal!"
Truthfully, whereas Kelly's wallet seemed to be loaded, green seen in the main fold, a few credit cards in the slots, John's wallet looked as if it were picked clean!
"I got this," he pulls out a driver's license, "but it's no good for anything. Expired!"
Kelly and John, they took it like a joke, laughing their asses off.
The doc, he thought of it in a melancholy manner, feeling sorry for the lad. Most wanderers at least had a dollar bill and loose change. Maxed credit cards, or hanging onto the plastic, cancelled out a few days after leaving home, it was still kept, in case by magic it was reactivated! For some, they didn't show up with a wallet, nor I.D., stolen along the way, so...John did at least have some `leather'. But it wasn't the material thing...Sam couldn't define it, but he just had a warmth which couldn't be cooled off.
"Doesn't matter. Only plastic you'll be needing around here, is this."
Even though Sam had been to town, he didn't carry a wallet. Money was optional, paying for goods. All a worker had to do was flash their `Magonagle' I.D. card and what they were buying was instantly theirs...unless going over a monthly budget.
"Really?" John says, looking over one of Sam's shoulders.
Over the other shoulder, Kelly is amazed, "when do we get ours?"
From the start, Sam knew Kelly would be of celebrity status even before setting foot on Magonagle property, "oh, you'll have a special card, Kelly, but I'm sure once townsfolk know your face, I.D. won't be an issue."
"Geez, Doc, you make it sound like I'll be a God!"
For John right now, even though it felt cool looking down Doc Watson's chest, Kelly was his `God', perfect specimen of how his dream-guy would be, act and he was fun to be with. He already wondered how it would be, showering without Kelly around!
Sam jokes, "Welcome to the Magonagle kingdom!"
Not minding at all, he became the resting post for both boys and while the euphoria lasts, Sam left things be.
"Hey, can I be your queen?"
The younger guys were being silly, but Sam didn't mind playing along, "and I can be your faithful subject!"
"Um, excuse me, but can I get in there?"
A hush of quiet added to the three focusing eyes on the intruder.
"Sure," Kelly says.
For either of the three, they would probably have much rather stood there, jaws dropped open and stalk the shirtless dude in front of them.
Like the stranger had to give a rational explanation for his actions, "my locker. It's a few doors down."
With only one way in and out, Sam is the first to say, in a sarcastic, cutesy manner, "on well, then excuse us for getting in your way!"
Under the gun, the three plaster their backs to the locker wall to let the man by.
"Thanks!"
Whether John got it or not, Kelly knew the hot man's words weren't meant for them, being his bare back slid across their chests, pecs facing the doc. It was also tough to fend off the hours-old sweat, wafting off of a man, who apparently had been at some rigorous activity.
After the passage between was clear, Kelly taps John on the arm, "c'mon, maybe there's a less congested locker out front."
Sam never heard a thing. The way Kelly perceived, his stab at delivering a message, was like receiving a text with the phone off.
John, he would have stood there, eyes mostly on the kilted stranger - the kilt, another weird thing - if it wasn't for Kelly, digging digits into his belt line, dragging him sideways down the locker alleyway. The feel of fingers, about 6-inches east of his junk, was enough to remain focused on moving and less on the tartan wrap-around!
"See you guys," was Sam's way of giving the brush off, translated to a nice `get lost!'
Even though there were no introductions, John waves, saying, "nice to meet ya, um," he got politely formal, "sir."
Kelly set the record straight, when they were out of sight, "really, John? `Sir' is too good for him."
Out of the road, Ryan had given John some schooling. The old way, living under the dictatorship of their father, didn't match what they found in the free world.' Forging their own way, they gave up on traditionalism. One thing, Ryan told John, after one incident, not to call older dudes, sir,' and that everyone wasn't the same. Might have been quite a change of pace, but certainly John did learn much about the world, Ryan not excluding himself from that concept.
"Oh. Correct."
Not which Kelly minded it, he started picking up on John's little quirks. Kind of cute, he thought. Every time John agreed with him, it was, `correct'. First time he thought it weird. Second, it made him smile. Now, it was a smile which wore off quickly, thought it did provide an ounce of why John was starting to grow on him.
Meanwhile, even though they were picking out kilts, socks, boots, stripping down and gearing up, they kept their voices to a minimum. Mostly, they listened to what was taking place two rows over. Tough, both were acting silly, over why a kilt didn't have a zipper!
Sam didn't want to make it seem obvious, nixed stripping like a porn star. He tried not to steal glances, as the wrap-around kilt came off.
Then suddenly, without warning, the dude turns to him, "hi, I'm F. Scott Kennelly III, but you don't have to say the `F'. Just Scott is good."
His hand was grimy, but Sam took it and shook it, "Doctor Sam Watson, but you can call me Sam."
Obviously, he was an athlete. About the rug coverup over pecs and stomach, unlike many, Scott did not care if others couldn't drool over his built pecs, tight abs, and every nook of abs-muscle. Instead, he liked the feel of a hairy chest, stomach and often, when alone, reading, would run fingers up and down the embedded trail, mid-chest, to pubes and back. Sensitive navel, it stoked him up, dipping a finger in and out of the deep recess of his stomach, unless he had to turn a page.
Old habit from college days, lying out of the grass, he would prop a book up on his chest, the ledge of his pecs the apex of where his vision could see without using glasses. A perk, Scott loved looking down upon all that hot fur...even though it was his own. It's not like he couldn't feel something a-stir, over another guy's hairy something or other. Dangerous, in public, the reaction could boil over. There was enough laundry for a college boy to do, without having to wash messy goo out of his briefs. Too, it was tough to masquerade the reaction of the `tall tree' in his pants. Yup, there were reasons for privacy!
It did make him feel like he was conceited, but long as he didn't broadcast it, or get to the point where he pitched a pup tent, why not feel that way? It's a free country!
Okay, so there was that one time a campus security guard came over to him. Instead of filing a complaint, he asked Scott, `whatcha readin'?'
"Well, it's certainly nice to make your acquaintance, Sam."
"Same here," Scott says, his mind clearing during the short time lapse.
"Uh, you're new around here, right?"
It was a good opening line, Scott breaking off the grasp of hands.
Not which Sam minded, though it would have been much more satisfying having it wrapped around....
"Montana. Needed a change of scenery. Jared hired me to supervise the farmyard. He's interested in introducing sheep to the landscape."
Shrugging shoulders, Sam confesses, "hm-m," he adds his own hypothesis, "and I'm usually kept up to date on everything which goes on around here."
"Well, I better get showered and get back there."
For certain, Sam didn't want this fish to get away, "oh, so you're going and not coming?"
Scott figured, it tough for a nose, with the scent clinging to his bod, hard not to pick up on, "no, no. I've already put in a couple of hours."
"Hours?" Sam jokes. "Less than an hour would do me in!"
He knew it sounded cliched, Scott saying, "we should train together."
Certainly, Scott looked younger than him, so to be running after an older man...but who was he to play with fate, "might be good for me," he pats his own stomach.
"Well then, I better grab my towel and get a move on it."
A wolf in a man's bod, Sam licked his lips, watching that hairy ass walk away. Almost as much clout as Kelly, having CEO status, missing one day of `Games' practice, who would notice?
Though, he had to admit, Kelly and John walking back into his space, he'd been missing out, "well, would you look at the two Scottish warriors!
News to him, John remarks, "I didn't even know'd I was Scottish!"
Kelly thinks on it, "Hull, huh? Who knows? We'll look it up later. C'mon."
Quick as they came, the pair left, Kelly joking, "have fun with your gladiator!"
Leaving Sam there by himself, immediately a lonely feeling set in. Being a psych, he knew the implications.
Not for long. Scott, he never showered this fast in all his life. Soaped up hands scoured pits, pubes and even the bellyhole he normally worked slow. Rinsing, he hoped no soap streamed down between asscheeks, because his brain was operating too much on impulse to check!
At least what Sam felt he could do, to pass the time, is make it look like he wasn't hanging around. In some ways he hated the dress kit', buttoned down shirt, tie, dress slacks and matching jacket. Whereas for someone else, undressing meant whipping off a tee shirt, unbuckling belt and then unzipping the flap, briefs optional, it was a cumbersome feat to unveil the goods. Sometimes though, a guy would go bottom' on him, not which he preferred, and want to suck up to him.
He was referring to the few men who booked sessions with him, with no real need for psychoanalysis. Townsfolk, they wanted their privacy, talking over feelings of being gay; were it a rightful thing, or were they being childish?
Reconnecting with one of those men, Sam could get hard and spring a leak over the guy Phil Driskel recommended him to. A fellow colleague, Dr. Mel Turner, it wasn't medicine, the doc not from a medical sense, but head of the music department at Coarshill Commons Community College, whom suddenly got struck with a midlife crisis.
Married, at 52-years old age, the music prof suddenly had the urge to get it on with a guy. Being super-secret was key, since Mel didn't want to lose everything he built up over the years. Roughly a decade away from retirement, that would be a huge price to pay.
Conclusion, Sam came up with some options. It wasn't his position to tell a person, do this', or do that', but to work out strategies. If Mel wanted to rid himself of the anxiety many men faced, strong urge to be gay, a couple of ways to work around it, was either to divorce, or...cheat!
`Cheat', that set Sam off on a tangent, thinking of the one and only time he met with Mel, to give out advice and a blow job. He learned a long time ago, while getting a degree, one professor stressed that a doctor could not get emotionally involved in the struggle of his patients. They were there only to listen and respond as problem-solver. He felt bad for Mel, but it wasn't the first, nor the last would-be gay person Sam would help strategize.
"Done!"
Jumping up out of his stupor, the 35-year old shrink calls it as he sees it, "well, you certainly look different, all squeaky clean!"
Not which Scott would not derive pleasure, from smelling a funky pit, "mm-m," he sniffs, "clean as a whistle!"
As a kilt, the towel around Scott's waist, kept things concealed. It bothered Sam, the obstruction of view.
"I thought you might be ready for practice?" Scott says, removing the towel, but still holding it in place, in a ball, over his balls.
It made Sam bite a lip. He also thought, Scott was playing games here, so didn't play along. Purposely he stare into Scott's incredibly brown eyes, "nah. Skipping it today."
"Ooh," Scott shames, "I hear Jared doesn't take kindly to stuff like that."
Perhaps he had it over on Scott, acquiring Kelly as a patient around seven years ago, "and just how long have you known Jared?"
Counting on his fingers, Scott took extra care not to let the towel slip, "1, 2...maybe a whole 3 months?"
Okay, Sam did know more than Scott, but was kind, "that long? Wow, then you would know!"
"So," Scott says, "you had better change and get on out there, if you don't want to see his bad side?"
"Thanks for the warning." However, Sam made no effort to unbutton his shirt. "I think I'll take my chances."
"You're skin," Scott replies, opening his locker, paying attention to finding a stick of deodorant.
Giving Scott his privacy, somewhat, Sam busied himself in his own locker, arranging, rearranging, moving his toilet kit to the side, repositioning a towel, removing it, making sure it unraveled, only to fold it once again, place it back inside. He whistled a tune, to make it sound like he was very busy. Didn't matter is was `nonsense-busy'!
Scott felt his lips curl up into a devilish grin, `two can play this game!'
The `pit stick' was right there in front of him, but Scott pretended he needed two hands to find it, immersing both hands in the search. Without hands pinning the towel to his waist, the shimmy of hips against the locker, made it come loose!
"Oops," Scott acts innocent, giggling like a girl, "sorry `bout that!"
"Apparently," Sam reacts, knowing this a con.
Though, he wasn't giving in to craftiness! Okay, he was too compelled to steal a glance at the mere 6-inch shaft, hanging down over two hefty balls, but maybe a good way of showing what he wanted, what he liked.
Sam's wiggling of eyebrows was Scott's cue, "found it!"
Uncapping the oval of his Herban Cowboy deodorant stick, he begins to scrub each pit, dueting with Sam's song, humming his own tune.
Catching a glimpse of between-the-legs', Sam was surprised, thinking a strapping appraisal of over 6-feet tall, Scott should be' longer. However, he dummies-up quick, realizing how many times he's instilled in a patient, `should' not in his dictionary. Still, it didn't stop Sam's mouth from watering. It did stifle him from singing that tune he always recalled, when nervous.
Scott asks, "What was the name of that tune you were whistling?"
Picking the first tune to come to mind, "Dixie. Your tune?"
He knew that wasn't Dixie', but Scott let it slide. "Stole My Heart', by One Erection. Ever hear of `em?"
Scott giggled, knowing the take on directions.
Closing his locker door, Sam has a smirk on his pouty lips. Well knowing the score, "it's One Direction', not erection'."
"No kidding? Really? Are you sure? And all this time I thought..."
"But if you're trying to get an erection from me, you're going about it the wrong way?"
Playing the `innocent game', Scott says, "me...trying to get an erection out of you?" he holds a hand to his hairy chest, having gasped the words out. "You're crazy," he stops to pick up a sock, dropped to the floor.
"Oh, by the way," Sam decides to play some more. Even though counter productive to his own wills and wants, "uh, while you're down there, you could..."
`Enough of this nonsense!'
Rising up, with sock in hand, the other hand, free for the moment, Scott reaches forwards, digs four digits into the belt line of Sam's pants and reeling them together like colliding vehicles, adds a surprise kiss!
Guilty, after separating, Scott says, "maybe I shouldn't have done that?"
"Oh really? I was under the impression it's what you wanted to do, first time you lay eyes on me?"
A big toothy grin, Scott admits, "yeah. It was!"
Since Scott had manhandled him, Sam felt obligated to return the volley. Though this time, there was no forced effort for either man to come together, embrace, kiss and then kiss some more.
Didn't last though, Scott's watch signaling `work'!
"Time to check in on the sheep."
"I wasn't aware of Jared having livestock?"
"Sheep, as in `one'."
Laughing, Sam says, "a lot of kilts that's going to make?!"
Scott, he didn't care about sheep, but rather, "so, will I be seeing you later?"
Right now, he wasn't letting this one get away, "like I said, skipping practice today and for the record, I've known Jared for 7 years!"
"I know."
Sam is flabbergasted, "What?!"
"Yeah. Found out at my interview. Jared said if I should have any problem, I can bring it to the campus shrink!"
What they found out, as they stroll together over to the small barnyard, they had a lot in common, when it comes to joking around. Scott, he's had a history of pranking friends, Sam saying to that, he had a lot he could learn!
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Copyright 2017 T. Chase McPhee
`GLaDiaToR EV'ry DaY' and developing segments of this story, may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.