The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. % Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
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HoT FuN iN THe SuMMeRTiMe: BeaRS & CuBs WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Another fortunate incident occured for Adam, upon asking for the day after the next off, on account of the funeral for Jake's father. His office manager, Mr. Treat gave him no hassle whatsoever. And Adam was learning a lot from his friendship with Chip Shipman, having the ability to separate the real men' from the asslickers'!
He was surprised from behind when Sam, delivering a small package, stopped by to say, "Now that's one fellow you don't have to worry about!"
"Who?" Adam said as he stood near his station.
Vigorously poking his thumb over and over, over his shoulder, Sam indicates the person Adam was just talking with, "The one who goes whichever way the wind `blows'?" Hanging over the partition with the empty cube next door, Sam seriously tells him, "He's been with company for a long time. He's quite knowledgeable about the way things go actually. Good man to call on when you need help." Then on a light note, "Too bad he's such a brown-noser."
"Brown-noser?" Adam questioned Sam as he parked his ass in the swivel chair at his computer cubicle.
"Yeah, you know, a guy who..."
"I know what a brown-noser is Sam. Like it's one of the things you don't learn in school from teachers?"
They smiled at each other, a gesture of Sam knowing.
Then Adam says, "I just meant a guy with `his' physique, well it just doesn't match his personality?"
Laughing it off, Sam replies, "Yeah. One hunk of a sheep in wolve's clothing!"
Then, paying more attention to Sam than Mr. Treat, Adam takes the advantage to flirt, "I think you're a hunk!" His own comment made himself blush.
"Hunk? Me?" the thirty-three year old looks about. "Who you talkin' to son? Not this ole bear?"
"Bear?" Adam says with a giggle.
"You've got a lot to learn my boy," Sam talked with him like a father to his own young child.
And taking him up on it literally, Adam asks, "I've heard of these things. Exactly what is this `bear-cub' stuff?"
Closing the gap of Adam's cubicle, Sam doing a body-block, he moves his navy tie aside and unfastens one button of his shirt. "See this?"
Staring straight to Sam's stomach, Adam asks, "What is it I'm looking for?"
"Well what do you see?"
"Flesh and hair. What else is there to see?" Adam answers truthfully.
"Exactly!" Sam says, buttoning up and letting his necktie flop down over his beefy-ness.
"Bear? Hair?"
"Yeah, you're getting it?" Sam replies, his hands making a motion like pulling taffy apart. "And? And?"
"O-o-o-oh I get it! Bear'.... hair'.... You're the `bear'!"
The manner in which Adam said it, set Sam's jolly mood reeling. "You say it like I'm the only `bear' in the world!"
"Does that make me a cub?"
"Well now that depends on a couple of things. First of all you don't fit the frame of a cub."
"Yeah, I am kind of skinny aren't I?" Adam says with a hint of disappointment.
Sam sensed this, but didn't let the flame in Adam's eyes dim. "But what about hair?"
"Hair?" Adam pulls a lock of hair down from his head, a few strands forming on his forhead, taut between his thumb and finger.
"Not hair from there." And then, lowering his voice as if telling a military secret, "Ya got any hair on your chest or belly?" Sam patiently waited for Adam to think!
"Hold on. Lemme think!"
Sam giggled. Adam was being so cute! "Time's up. I gotta go."
"No wait! Yeah... um, does chest fuzz count?" Adam asks suddenly as he stretches his white dress shirt open over his parted tie.
"It could be the start of something," Sam replies.
"I like have a few coming in around my nips. Any good?"
Now this interested Sam greatly, Adam stretching his shirt to his right to pinpoint his right nip. Even though it entertained Sam, they weren't exactly in a place for bodily show and tell. "You're going to have to do better than that, I'm afraid." Unintentionally Sam was milking this for what it was worth. It was kind of turning him on, this eighteen year old giving him a bod survey, sensing a yearning in Adam, a need' almost, to gain acceptance as a cub'.
"I've got this like thin, hairy place from my navel to my... you know?" And since the two began to stir interest up, from a cubicle across the way, Adam didn't bother digging out his bellyhole, from down yonder.
However, the slight jolt in his pants, from Adam making the failed attempt to point out his tummy trail, made up Sam's mind for him, "You're a cub!"
"For real? This decides it?"
He didn't realize what he said til after he said it, "Well I'd really need to see it before making any judgement."
"See it? Like you want to see me without my shirt on Sam?"
"Oh no!" He sensed he said something lewd, his hands waving with his negative response. "I didn't mean it that way. What I meant to say is..." and realizing he said his mind, "I guess that's what I meant to...." he gulped, "say!"
Towards the end of their senior year in high school, Jake and he had talked it up about the crazy things guys do in college and soon the two would part of the statistics. An incident like this didn't fall too far from one of their discussions, so it seemed Adam, like he was being prompted, said, "I wouldn't mind showing you me if you showed me you, Sam?"
"Wait a minute." Then Sam cupped a hand over his mouth realizing he said it out loud. Much softer he renders, "You mean you want me and you to get naked with each other, Adam?"
He thought at least shirts, but since Sam was offering, Adam went for it, "You want to?" He put the burden on Sam's shoulders. But thinking this might not turn out to be in his favor, he quickly decides, "You got a place?"
"Well sure. I live alone. A small house over on Park St., but... you want to..." A little fear, but a lot of nonsense was driving him onwards from down below and he couldn't be sure whether he should mess with an eighteen year old. He wanted to, but wasn't sure if he should.
But Adam pinned him down to an answer, "Sure. Is it okay?"
"It's alright by me, but shouldn't you check with someone?"
"I'm eighteen and of legal age. I do need to phone my mom and leave a message, telling her I'm not coming right home from work. No sweat, really?"
For Sam it was `big sweat' and he could feel it under his navy blue uniform, the sweat dripping down from shoulders to stomach, seemingly following every follicle of hair from neck to navel.
Then the bomb dropped, "Oh damn!"
"What?" Sam questioned Adam's long face.
"I already told Chip we were going to get together after work."
In reality he felt relieved, even though he replied to Adam, "Bummer!"
"I know, but tomorrow night would be okay?"
Put on the spot again, the brief reprise from sweating returned as he said, "That would be-e-e-e," he looks at his small date book, in hand, "Friday night! Perfect night for a date!" He didn't mention there wasn't anything else written in from the prior week, to present day and in the next few days ahead, except his work schedule, which was the same old-same old.
"Date? Cool, is that what we're going to do?"
"Sure," Sam liked the sound of it.
"Right after work?"
"If you want," Sam went with the flow.
"But I wouldn't want to wear the same clothes I wear at work. I better go home and change first."
"Or... you can change at my place. Even take a shower if you would like?"
With no care in the world, Adam let himself go. "Cool!"
"Yeah. Cool," Sam replies, feeling a little nervous about himself, a thirty-three year old man, bringing an eighteen year old `kid' home.
"Oh but I just thought of something."
Again, Sam was torn between wanting and waning, a nervous interest. "You can't make it?" He relaxed.
"I'm taking the day off for Mr. Calder's funeral."
"Oh," and he voiced his regrets, "It must be hard on Jake." Though he really meant Adam, feeling more than remorse in regards to the youth's loss as well.
"Right." And he knew he said this to Sam before, "they were very close."
Sam recalls, "The fishing."
"Do you fish?" Adam threw in a quick quizzie question.
"No. Do you?" Then remembering, snapping his fingers he throws in, "That's right, you said you did."
"I did a couple of times with Jake and his dad, but it didn't sit right with me. I couldn't look those poor fish in the eyes right before they were going to get cut up!"
"I don't blame you. If it were me I'd throw them back, but I wouldn't even get far as that. Nope, I'm like a real wimp when it comes to threading a poor, defenseless, squirmy worm on the hook."
Adam thought his response was `cute' and let out a bit of a laugh. Same time, he was thinking of how he hated to give up the opportunity to go on a real date with Sam. There would be other days, but he was yearning for it now. He knew he was being crazy, but takes a gamble, "You're not going to the funeral?"
It hadn't even crossed Sam's mind. Jake, along with Adam, haven't been on the job but two days and here he was being asked to go to a funeral of the dad of a scarcely hired employee. A sad feeling coming over him when Adam shot down their Friday evening get together, he jumped at the opportunity, "I suppose I `should'. I mean as a company with the push on teamwork, I suppose it would be only right and fitting I show my solidarity?"
Knowing he was getting water-boarded here, Adam let it be and even added encouragement, "It would be such a nice gesture Sam, not only on behalf of the company, but to reinforce what a kind and caring man you are?"
Likewise, Sam felt the backlash of the schmaltz. Without further ado he says, "I think we both better cut out the bullshit and get back to work!"
First Adam began laughing his ass off, then Sam following. If they thought they weren't drawing any attention it was a myth. On the contrary, they became the focal point of the grouping of sixteen little cubicles.
"So, what's in the box?"
"Box? Oh yeah! The box!" Sam reclaimed it from the work station next to Adam's. "I know it could have waited til the supply truck came around, but you never know when you're gonna run out of tape."
"Like I've saying about you Sam?"
"What have you been saying about me?"
"Kind, considerate... do I need to repeat the eight other superlatives, Sam?"
He wanted to throw his arms around Adam right then and there, give him the biggest, longest bear hug and if it seemed right, more! "You better stop there. My mind is swimming as it is!"
"Time to get out of the pool, Sam!" Adam called attention, his head nodding towards the grand entrance to the set of cubicles.
"Oh shit! Shipman!" He thought maybe the head honcho was gunning for him, most likely seeing him standing there, fratting on company time.
With heads turning towards the doorway, Mr. Treat addressed himself on behalf of the employees he oversaw, "May I be of service Mr. Shipman?" he quietly asked.
"I'm looking for an," and he looked towards the little edge on the manila folder, "Adam Telemann?"
Hearing his name said long distance, Adam froze. Making a small sound, air drafted into his lungs all at once. As Treat waved his hand for Adam to advance to the head of the room, he comments to Sam, "That's it. I'm getting my pink slip."
But Sam knew better. The president of the company doesn't do that type of thing. Everybody had their job and he knew the head honcho let others do his shit-work. He knew Adam was in for something good and not discrediting. And while the three stood there chatting Sam kind of weaseled his way near to them, more to Shipman's back so he could be nosy without being noticed!
"A promotion? But I've only been here like two days?" Adam questioned.
Sam didn't mean to say it, it just came out, "Take it!"
Right away Shipman turns around to his right and says, "Sam, who's watching the lobby?"
"Ritchie. I left there a minute while I... um..."
And Shipman, seeing the package Ritchie should have been delivering, in the fold of Sam's arm, tells him, "Maybe you would like a tour of duty in the dungeon mail room?"
"I think I better get back downstairs," he replies. In his haste he left the small package in Shipman's hand.
In turn, Shipman hands it to Adam saying, "I take it this is supposed to go to you?"
"Yeah," Adam accepted it and covering for Sam, "I really needed a box of tape and he was making sure I got it a-sap!"
Being there two days, no one could have known Adam hung around with Jake or that they were best friends, being Adam worked on the second floor and Jake in the `dungeon mail room',
Making it sound like Adam is a genius, Shipman replies, "That's what we need around here. A man who reacts at a moment's notice." Nobody really knew how fond of Sam Mr. Shipman was, didn't think of it as a coverup when he offers, "Good idea of you to have Sam deliver the package to you right away."
Everyone has an agenda and Mr. Treat's was getting back to the person he was helping out, to keep the ball of Shipman, Inc. rolling, so ventures to say, "Mr. Shipman has some good news for you Adam. You're moving up!"
"You mean I'm not moving down? Like to the `dungeon'?"
Shipman smiled. It made him think of Chip and how he painted a picture of his father as being not such a good role model for him.
Taking the box from Adam's hand, giving it to Treat, he excused the office manager. "Not today. I would have like to have talked to your friend and you together, but I understand he's had a death in the family."
"His father," Adam replied, telling almost the same facts about how close he was too, the fishing saga and had touched on the subject of Mr. Calder being a father figure for himself. He added something to his story not told to Sam, "But poor Mr. Calder. It seemed like his worry about his job might have played a part in the stress he was supposed to avoid, orders from his doctor. Jake and I felt kind of bad..."
It flashed across Alexander Shipman's mind, the kid in the exec jon, the one he helped with the soiled shirt.
"...because it wasn't mentioned to him and he would not have bugged his father so much about going fishing if he knew." Adam wondered if he explained himself right, if Shipman was getting it.
Shipman got the first part loud and clear. Part two of Adam's conversation was sort of comprehended. Regardless, Shipman began exiting the room.
Adam asks, "Are we coming back?"
"Only if you wish to visit your fellow employees?"
As Adam gathered a few things from his desk he thought about the scope of the whole of Shipman industries. In two days he's met two people whom he would call his friends, first Chip, then Sam. None were from his division. Of the two his memory dwelled on Sam, yet he smiled to himself when he thought of Chip, running into him in the hallway, then their heated discussion in the copy room.
Walking out into the hallway he was about to say something about Chip, when Shipman beats him to the punch, "I understand you have met my son?"
For awhile the conversation was dominated by Chip, but soon Shipman whittled his way back to Jake.
"Jake's family? Well there's him and his sister Cindy, she's nine and his brother, Kip, he's twelve and... and now there's the four of them." Also, Adam thought Shipman being very nosy about the funeral arrangements, but then again it was most likely him showing his concern. An employer of a giant firm might not do this personally, allowing the human resources person do the honors, but then again Shipman-inc. wasn't this type of environment.
"I would like to attend the funeral myself but I have an important business meeting tomorrow. Do you think your friend would understand if I sent my son?"
"Sure. I know Jake wouldn't mind if Chip showed up instead."
"I didn't mean Chip. I have another son involved in the business. His name is Thomas."
"Chip didn't mention him." Then again, their subject had wandered to another matter!
"Perfect way for you to meet him," Shipman replies, the two entering an office, passing through the division of sofas, a coffee table and a desk on the other side of the room. They enter a bigger office.
Adam guesses it belongs to Mr. Shipman. He was doubly sure when Shipman takes a seat behind the big mahogany desk and offers him a straightback, cushy chair on Adam's side of the desk. "Thanks."
Instead of acknowledgement, Shipman goes right to his phone, dials and speaks for a second or two, hangs up and then says, "Thomas will down shortly." He wasn't sure how to pass time, so opened Adam's folder, sitting on the desk in front of him. "I see you are very good at keeping things neat and tidy?"
"I suppose," Adam replied, not sure of what Shipman was pertaining to.
"You wrote here that your father does not live with you and..."
"I never knew my father. He died when I was a baby. My mom brought me up single-handedly."
"Right."
"He didn't leave us much and mom had to go to work. She still works."
"And what does she work at?"
"She's the manager of Tracy's Homegoods in the mall," Adam replies.
"A lucrative chain, as I've read."
"They are doing well."
"A good manager makes a well-run store, which in turn builds a good rapport with customers. It's important to have such a relationship with customers, which brings me to the reason I'm promoting you."
Adam was wondering when this was coming. He had in mind to ask, but he's glad he waited. But he did share, "I was wondering."
Getting up out of his chair he instructed, "If you will follow me?"
Shipman led Adam out of the office. Their backs faced the orange-colored seating arrangement. "This," he held out his hands, expanding them like bookends, "will be your new assignment."
"The desk?" Adam asked, not understanding the full scope of Shipman's presentation.
"The desk will be your workstation." He waited, with reason.
Walking around it, Adam dragged his index finger along the edge, till he reached the chair. "Are you trying to tell me I'm going to sort of be your secretary?"
"Not sort of. You are' my secretary. And not just any' secretary, Adam. Your title will be a temporary one," Shipman puts it in visual quotes, two fingers, each hand, "executive secretary."
"What happened to the one you had?" And he was frank, "Quit or fired?"
"Neither. She needed some time off for family reasons and since you are only here for the summer it will work out perfect," he informed Adam.
"Isn't it like a big responsibility?"
"That it is," Shipman said.
Adam noticed him look at his watch. He sensed something and asks, "Do you have an apointment or something? Should I be looking this up in a book for you?"
Reaching over the desk, Shipman opens the cover of a laptop. "Everything you need is right here. We will need to go over the new passwords and other security matters. However, you are to take this with you whenever you leave the office for the evening."
"You mean I can take it home?"
After hearing Adam's story in his office, Shipman makes a quick, corporate decision on his own, without the board members, "Take care of it. It's yours."
"Oh I will Mr. Shipman. I wouldn't let anything happen to company property, especially something with secure information."
He knew Adam didn't get it, so spelled it out, "I meant it's yours to keep."
"Keep? You mean to `keep' keep it?"
"We need to update, so when you leave at the end of the summer you are welcome to take it with you. Of course with a new harddrive, which I will make sure our support staff installs for you."
"This couldn't have come at a better time Mr. Shipman!"
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Right in the middle of doing my last paper for school my computer crashed. Fortunately I could use Jake's. Mom said it would be quite awhile before I could get another one. Wow! This is awesome!" He ran his hand over the top of the laptop.
As he looked up at Shipman, he only stood there smiling. Adam smiled back and for loss of words, sat down and started toying with the computer. He wondered if Shipman was going to make any suggestions, like the computer in exchange for some kind of office `favors', but it didn't seem to be coming. For one thing, he was glad he was sitting down because thinking about it kind of made his crotch active, probably his balls were jet-lagged from his talk with Sam!
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Copyright 2009 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP.....