You know the drill: 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, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states 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.
i Was a Teenaged CuB 03 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"You make a damn good shake, Michael!"
Jack smiled, thinking Patrick really had his heart set on liking Michael. An hour ago he had a complaint from a patron ordering a shake which Michael had constructed', it not coming up to par. So, whenever a shake was ordered, Jack weaseled his way into making it, except for this' particular consumer!
And when Michael's back was turned, Patrick turned to Jack and mocked out his true feelings, sticking his finger in his mouth like inducing vomit.
He might though he was pulling a fast one over on Michael, but Michael had actually caught the whole act in the reflection of the silver clad shake machine.
When turned around to Patrick, Patrick put on the act, saying, "Mm-m-m! You sure make a good shake Michael!" He smiled as he sipped.
"Oh really?" Michael replies, in a not so nice manner. Taking the other half of the shake, still lodged in the plastic blender, he renders, "Than maybe you should be wearing it!"
Totally disregarding the new foul language law', it could be heard about the gym an onslaught of oh shit', seeing Patrick drenched with his Chocolate Cherry Double Protein Whammy shake.
Before he pushes his way past Jack, he slanders him, "And you're supposed to be my friend!"
Jack turns to face a stunned Patrick, "I think we're in trouble!"
"You?" Patrick replies, "A little trouble. Me? I'm like in deep shit!" He slips off his stool and heads in the direction Michael has fled, the locker room. As he turns the corner, his washboard abs get broadsided by Michael's belly.
"Get outta my way!"
"Make me!" Patrick replied playfully.
Michael's uncle was a longshoreman. When he was younger his uncle taught Michael how to take care of himself. It came to mind what to do when faced with a brick wall of a man. His only vulnerable, soft area, Michael balled up his fist and caved in the fortification.
"Ohh-h-h-h-h-oh-h-h-h-oh fuckin' shit!"
Michael walked right past Patrick, caved in to his knees, holding his pounced on balls.
Rounding the protein bar, Jack offers, "Hey wait up Michael!" And so he can fit words in faster than Michael's pace, "It's all my fault really."
"What do you mean it's your fault? I saw Patrick's reflection in the shake machine," Michael protests.
Totally irrelevant to what has just happened, Tony comes over says, "You know you've got a helluva nerve?"
"Yeah really," another swimmer backs Tony up.
"I'll handle this," Tony says as he moves his sweated-drenched bod closed to Michael.
Michael was used to being badgered in school because of the excess baggage he carried along on his chest and stomach. As a result, his uncle taught him self-defense, but as far as diplomacy went, sometimes it was better to just walk away. "Look, I'm just leaving," he said, turning his back on Tony. But his instincts kicked in, feeling a hand to his shoulder, a pull on the fabric of his tee shirt, it being crumbled up in a fist.
"Now hold on a minute there."
Unlike the past, high school daze, Michael didn't feel the impending horror of high school adversaries, ready to physically abuse him for the sheer heck of it. He still had it on his mind to march on out of there, but turning back Michael asks, "What?"
Fixing the corner of Michael's right shoulder, Tony, regressing to his usual easy-going manner, states, "You don't know this but Patrick and me... we used to be real close..."
Michael guesses, "Fuck-buddies."
Tony tried rationalizing it, "Yeah, well I'm sure Patrick would have mentioned it, that is if you two ever got something going... but I guess not... anyway... yeah, he worked my ass over a coupla times, but what I was going to tell ya, Patrick... he ain't like that. He was just pokin' some fun with you."
"He didn't like the shake I made and instead of telling me, he went behind my back and...made fun of me... and you," he picked on Jack, "I thought you were `such' a good friend!"
But they were all interrupted, Tony exclaiming, "What the hell is that Patrick?"
"Armor," Patrick replied as he held a Bosu ball in front of his loins. Instead of fighting mad, he asks, "Where did you learn how to fight like that Michael?"
Tony dramatically says, "No, you didn't!"
Before Michael lent a word to explain, Patrick jumps in with, "I deserved it. No, I deserve worse."
One of the swim members, a giant of man, big fists attached to the oversized arms, says, "I could help you out with that Pat!"
"No thanks there, Neil. I think my balls have taken enough of a beating of one day."
After Patrick had mentioned all, Michael was coming around. None of the guys were out to get him. The first time he tried defending himself in high school, one of the ways in which his uncle had taught him, he didn't count on being attacked by two others as well. Fatefully, it became two on one and he suffered the gut and ball bashing. However, as he began to realize, this wasn't the case with Patrick, Jack and the others.
And now, Jack steps in to apologize, "Hey, I'm sorry. Sometimes friends do stoopid stuff. Trust me Michael, I didn't mean to do anything to hurt you and.... and I don't think Patrick did either." "I didn't," Patrick replies, as he still holds the Bosu ball over his pubic region, just in case.
Sentimentally, Michael says, "I was starting to like you Patrick."
Patrick confesses, "Yeah, me too... I mean like you and I know I shouldn't have done a shit thing like I did to you."
There was a lull, since everything which needed to be said, had been said.
Michael felt all eyes on him, like everything hung in the balance, based on his words. Looking up from the tiled floor, he looks at Patrick and says, "Were you really going to vomit up my protein shake?"
He didn't get to answer, Tony disregarding the new law about the gym, saying, "You look a fuckin' mess Pat!"
Even Jack gets his digs in, "Oh shit Uncle Mark's gonna be pissed at the mess you made of the floor!"
"I guess if I didn't dump the shake over Patrick's head..."
Patrick cuts in, smiling, "I deserved it."
Tony says, "You look so fuckin' ridiculous with that thing over your crotch, Pat!" He takes it away.
Michael tells him, "That's okay Patrick. I'm not going to punch you in the balls again."
"Promise?"
%
A different situation, but still volatile, Mark had caught Gregg two blocks up the road and as they hurried along the sidewalk, Mark trailing Gregg, it's Gregg accusing, "You never liked me because I didn't have a hairy chest and stomach and didn't fit into your little club scene!"
"That's not true, Gregg! There happens to be a few less-hairy guys at the `Cub Club'."
Passing by one of the restaurants Mark has taken fellow executives he corrals Gregg to the side, forcing him into the entry way.
"What the fuck are you trying to do, Mark?"
"Shut up. I'm taking you to dinner."
As they move inside the door, Gregg replies, "More like kidnap!"
"Just shut up. You're going to get a meal you don't have to pay for."
As a rule, Gregg's paycheck would never cover a meal at Garden Ristorante and any other circumstance which brought him there would have made him overjoyed. "I'm not hungry!"
"You were, back in my office?"
Two different trains of thoughts were running on different rails. Gregg pictured a ten course dinner, whereas Mark talked on more the level of a creamy dessert.
Neither had more to say on this subject, being interrupted by the maitre'd, "Good afternoon Mr. West."
"Afternoon Terrence," Mark replies as sweet as pie.
After sitting them, Gregg asks, "Terrence, he one of your `Cub Club' playmates?"
As he lay his napkin out on his lap, Mark says, "Yes and one of the ones who likes his cubs not too chubby and `smooth'."
"Oh really?" Gregg perks up, spying over the wall of the rounded booth. Seeing him in preparation, Gregg asks, "How come you never said anything about him before?"
"You never asked. As I recall you didn't want to have anything to do with the `Cub Club'."
A bit whiny, Gregg replies, "That's because I thought it was a bunch of fat, hairy guys."
"I suppose it's what anyone would think, but no, the `Cub Club' is for anyone with an interest. Young, old, hairy, smooth, with a number of likings." "Likings?"
Rather than dwell on the many different scenes, he keys in to Gregg's particulars, "And not only does Terrence prefer trim, smooth men, but he also likes `white boys'!"
As Mark laughs his ass off, Gregg licks his lips, just wondering how big Terrence is.
"Though, Terrence can be a bit dominant."
It went right over Gregg's head, him asking, "Fuck that. I'll do anything for a man with a big cock!" Again he looks over the booth wall, but instead of a long distance search, Terrence is standing right there with their drinks.
Without hesitation, Mark looks up at the waiter and says outright, "By the way Terrence, Gregg here happens to be almost smooth!"
Gregg kind of got the feeling he wasn't the only one checking out the guts of the Garden Ristorante, Terrence saying directly to him, "I have a thick, long cock and you will take the whole thing down."
At the same time, he was laying out the table, placing soup bowls and plates about, arranging the silverware.
Thinking the stall was for his benefit, Gregg takes things further than Terrence, "You got a hairy ass to tongue?"
He didn't see it, Terrence turning to Mark and smiling. However, as he stood, he straightened out his lips, demanding, "You will do whatever I tell you to!" And he walked away.
Gregg smiles, saying to Mark, "I think he likes me!"
As Mark figured it, at least it got him off the hook!
%
"Look, I'm sorry I dumped the shake over your head."
"I'm not!"
How could Patrick ever be mad at Michael, his indignant action, in the long run bringing them together in the shower of the gym locker room.
"Turn around."
Unsure, Michael finally relinquished, doing a pirouette of sorts.
"You can trust me."
"Unless I make your shake wrong," Michael replies.
Since it was more or less water under the bridge, Patrick suggests, "Can we put that behind us?"
"I suppose," Michael turns around.
"And oh, by the way, how `did' you ever learn to defend yourself like that?"
More then slopping Patrick up with the shake, Michael felt regret, "I'm sorry I punched you in the balls." And in confession, "I couldn't help it. It's what my uncle told me to do whenever I felt threatened. I'm sorry. I felt threatened."
"Yeah," Patrick accepted it. "It's not like we've known each other... not like Tony and me."
"You Tony like had something going?"
"I found out a lot of things being with Tony?" Michael questions, "Like?"
"Like I really," Patrick looks down," enjoy sucking cock?"
"Many guys do."
"No... uh, yeah... what I mean is I never sucked cock until I met Tony." "For real?" Michael asks.
"I always thought I was a purebred top."
"You fucked Tony?" Redundant, because Tony had already said.
"I thought I had a thing for him. In a way I thought maybe Tony was `the one' for me, but it didn't work out."
"Why not?"
"We both had this feeling we were meant to be friends and not lovers," Patrick explains.
"Okay," Michael replies, even though he was sketchy on the details. "So, what do you want to do now?"
They were both skin-soaked, Patrick replying, "Would you want to come over to my place... and fool around?"
"You mean listen to music and stuff?" Michael replies.
Glancing down between them, Patrick says, "Maybe more?"
This time Michael didn't get all bent out of shape, allowing Patrick to feel up his already hard shaft.
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Copyright 2010 T. Chase McPhee
`i Was a Teenaged CuB' 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.....