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 05 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
Around the gym Gregg wouldn't allow anyone to put something over on him. It was his job to make sure things ran smoothly. He also had the look of someone, whose attitude could sway opinion. For instance if a gym patron were a swimmers build and a foot taller than Gregg, to some men it would stand to intimidate. Not Gregg, he'd haul off and tell a man right off to rack the weights instead of leaving them on a machine for the next dude to deal with.
However, right now Gregg was off the clock, coupled with his feelings for Terrence, no one would ever believe this was the same gym manager, "Sure," he agrees, Terrence having him hand a pile of dishes from the washer. What he didn't tell Gregg, is the drying process took off every particle of wetness, leaving it hot to the touch. "Owch! Oh! Oh!"
More than Gregg wincing in pain, it could be heard, the eight plates crashing to the floor.
"Sorry `bout that," Gregg replies.
All eyes were on, not Gregg, but Terrence. It seemed he commanded things with a sort of reputation towards dealing with things when they didn't go right.
Right now he hesitated, tapping a foot near the mess on the floor.
They all knew, since Terrence ruled the kitchen, except the chefs, he ruled with an iron fist.
However, instead of a deviant tone directed at Gregg, they were all whacked out of their gourds when Terrence states, "Geoff?"
"Yeah?" an eighteen year old summer hiree, kept on, steps forwards.
In a bland tone, Terrence responds, "Get a broom and clean this mess up."
Geoff looked towards Gregg, back to Terrence and then rendered, "Uh sure. No problem Terrence."
It went unsaid, but some of the others wondered why the dude Terrence brought into the kitchen wasn't cleaning up after himself. It's the protocol which always drove the staff on, in the process of providing a neat and orderly run kitchen. Of course, Terrence being there almost like an evil presence, made all the different between choosing right and wrong, the wrong being anything which would constitute going against `the almighty Terrence'!
Almost immediately Terrence leaves to attend to something in the restaurant.
"I can help you with that," Gregg says to Geoff, squatting down.
Gregg going after picking up the large pieces, Geoff tells him, "You better not. Terrence told me to do it, so I better do it.... alone."
"I'm sure he's not going to mind," Gregg forces the issue, picking up a piece of a broken plate.
"No!" Geoff says, putting his hand on Gregg's forearm. "I mean. Thanks, but you don't know Terrence."
Then, one of the other workers leans over the counter, "Yeah. You don't know Terrence!"
Gregg replies, "You make him sound like a `god' or something!" he laughs.
But they weren't laughing, hearing Terrence coming back, yelling something about the chicken not being cooked all the way through, tossing the whole plate in the trash.
Too, with haste, Dave, the other worker, and Geoff scurry about, doing what they are supposed to be doing.
Figuring he better leave Geoff to his work, Gregg springs up with words, "So, what do you want me to do next?"
Terrence had an idea, but right now he wasn't in the mood, nor was this the place to commit to a sexual act. "Keep an eye on things while I run out."
`Run out?' Gregg thought, watching Terrence make a beeline for the back door. "Where's he going?" Gregg asks, his knees about the height of the sweeping teen's head.
Looking up, Geoff replies, "He has to run over to the bakery to put in tomorrow's order."
"I could've done that." When Gregg looks down, Geoff is looking up, a smile on his lips. "What?" he questions it.
"Nothing," Geoff replies.
But Gregg knows nothing' is something'. He stands there, hands on each side of his torso, watching the top of Geoff's dark brown mane shake to the rhythm of swiping the whisk broom over the floor, parking the ceramic particles in the dust pan. He deliberately swivels his foot on his ankle, covering a piece of debris.
Looking up, Geoff questions, "Wanna move your foot?"
"Maybe." But there was more on Gregg's mind.
It set him to thinking more, when Geoff asks, "What would I have to do to get you to move your foot?" He stay squatting, his tongue punching the side of his mouth.
Gregg didn't see himself a match for Geoff or anything. Even Terrence, ten years younger than his thirty-eight years seemed bent on `robbing the cradle', let alone, "How old are you?"
Standing, Geoff had enough of trying to make it look like he was sweeping up, while checking out Gregg's crotch, "Eighteen." Then, energetically, "I'll be nineteen next month?"
"You attend Charter?" Gregg means the community college.
Right away Geoff thinks, it was nice while it lasted', talking with Gregg. If anything, he got his jollies down on the floor, looking up at what must be a hefty sets of balls a nice sized cock filling Gregg's pants. "Next year. I'm still in high school." And recollecting he said almost nineteen', "I'm kind of stoopid. I stayed back a year in eighth grade."
High school?' Gregg thought it over. Damn they're making them cuter and cuter'. But then, pertinent to Geoff's situation, "That was eighth grade. Um, don't you think you could be a lot smarter now?"
His thoughts made him smile, Geoff thinking, "What?"
"Oh nothing!" Gregg flit their conversation away with his hands.
However, Geoff wasn't giving up the ship just yet. Too, he knew this Gregg to be gay, because everybody knew Terrence was gay and when he brought Gregg back to the kitchen, he was holding him with his arm around his lower back, hand to Gregg's side. In all possibilities, perhaps Gregg might have this gaydar stuff, but if he didn't... it was now or never, especially when Gregg asked about being smarter. Taking a deep breath, Geoff marches over to where Gregg is standing, addressing him, "Hey Gregg?" "Yeah?"
"I think you're cute!"
It made Gregg flaunt a toothy grin. Here he was thinking the same thing. However, one thing disturbing remained, "Thanks, but I'm like twenty years older than you, you know?"
Right away, the way Gregg said it, Geoff was under the impression he was being propositioned for a date or something. And like the `now or never' thing still beating in his brain, Geoff asks, "Do you like Jason Mraz?"
Gregg was ready to say `Who?', but lied, "Sure. I know Jason." And putting two fingers together, "Jason and me... we're like this!"
"Cool!" Geoff replied. Knowing Gregg was lying, Geoff thought he wasn't so dumb after all and maybe there was something to this gaydar stuff!
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"This is good steak," Michael says, being very carefully to cut each piece small so the good taste in his mouth would last. Already he had given opinion when the steak arrived, it being called a medallion by Patrick. He agreed, thinking it was no bigger than an award he received once for the library club at school.
"And the rest?" Patrick asks.
"Carrots are good but the string beans are a little.... `watery'?"
Michael watches as Patrick snapped his fingers, Jason coming over to the table. "Wow! Just like in the movies!"
The comment goes over Patrick's head, him more concerned with the quality of the beans.
"Right away," Jason responds to Patrick, but it's to Michael, Jason says, "I'm terribly sorry sir. The management will make amends for your displeasure."
"No, you don't have to..." Michael replies as Jason tears away from the table, the dish of beans in tow. Then to Patrick, "Nobody's gonna get into trouble are they?" "Nah," Patrick replies, "They'll just take the cook out back for a whipping and then everything will be fine!"
Knowing it not the case, Michael replies, "Is that all?"
"Hey! I just thought of something, while we're on the subject?"
Michael wondered `which' subject, "You mean the beans?"
Since they were in a joking mood, Patrick figured he could turn serious thoughts into a joke, saying, "How about when we go back to my place, would you be willing to whip my ass?"
"Do what?" Michael asks, his mouth dropped open.
Thinking it not going over so big, Patrick switches the mood, "Just kidding. Nah, when we get back to my place we'll put on some music, light some candles and..."
"No."
"Huh?"
"You weren't kidding. You really meant it Patrick."
"Meant what?" And seeing the conversation reverting to the undesirable, Patrick says, "You ready for dessert? They make some awesome desserts here."
"I'm not done with my steak yet. Besides, I ordered the chocolate sliver with whipped cream."
`Whew!' Patrick sighed incognito.
Still fresh in Michael's mind he asks, "Other guys you had sex with, did they whip your ass with a belt?" Patrick then realizes he's opened the portal of no return, fessing up the truth, "Some." Saving Michael the probing, "Look, I kind of got into it and like it. On the other hand there are some guys who enjoy whipping a guy's ass or.... whatever, it feels good." And giving reason for making it feel awesome, "It makes me hard. Keeps the fluids flowing, if you know what I mean?"
The steak was very tender, easy to chew up and swallow, but this new development was not too digestible, Michael questioning, "I don't get it. A guy getting slapped on the ass with a belt, hurts. How can hurting feel good?"
Lost for words, Patrick replies, "It's hard to explain. Really, experiencing it is the only way to get a grip on it."
Up until now Michael was liking the `date', but this little turn of event, speaking of whipping somebody on the ass, him the most probable part of the equation, having to do the whipping, turned him off. Right now, before they furthered their relationship status he wanted to know, "And what else are you into doing?"
Thinking upon Michael lightening up to the ass-whipping, Patrick opens his big mouth, "Well I `can' get into allowing a guy to tie me down." Drawing on one or two experiences, "There was this one guy who had me bend over a table, tie my arms outstretched to both corners and after he got through turning my ass red with his belt, he gave my ass a good going over with his fat cock!"
As Patrick laughed his ass off, Michael bumped the table with his rounded belly as he rose up from the table.
"Where you going?" Patrick's glee turned to utter horror.
"I forgot. I gotta do something for my uncle."
All apologetic, Patrick says, "I'm sorry. I mean.... we don't have to do any of that stuff the others guys want to do?"
Getting up some gumption, Michael describes it the way he sees fit, "The other guys Patrick? I don't think so. If what you said it true and I think it is..."
"No wait, Michael!"
Right in the middle of the crowded ristorante, the two stalled, Michael accusing, "Don't lie to me Patrick."
Suddenly those around him, some whom were his neighbors, friends of his deceased parents, Patrick retreated from his argumentative manner, "Okay," and with a smile, being the fake he was, "I'll see ya later then, Michael." He cordially talked to a couple of people as he made his way back to the table. Then wiping a hand over his troubled face, sat there.
"Trouble in paradise?" Jason happened by.
Right away, as if Michael never came into his life today, Patrick inquires, "What time do you get off Jason?"
Reading him right, Jason grins, saying, "Need a heavy ass massage?"
Like a fix, Patrick says, "Yeah, right about now I could use a heavy beating." Turning his head to face Jason, "Y'know? Something to calm the nerves?"
Confiding in Patrick, Jason says, "I think I can get away for a few hours."
"How?" Patrick asks, looking over the multitude, not a table empty of patrons.
"I've been training a new waiter. Right now he's busy in the back, but I'd say there's no better way to induct a new member of our waitering staff than to throw him to the sharks!"
"You're cruel, Jason."
"Your check?" Jason places the padded booklet in front of Patrick.
Pushing it back towards the edge of the table, Patrick says, "Take it out of my hide."
Picking up the tab once more, Jason says, "Whatever you wish, `boy'!"
%
"Anything else?" Tony asks of Jack.
"Nope. Except lock the door?"
Open ended, Tony smiled, thinking of how much simpler it would be to be sequestered away here at the gym, rather than explain to his house mates about bringing a guy back to his room. Not that he needed to give any reason, they would be curious.
After helping Jack clean up, piled on top of the grit of expending all that energy working out, he says, "Hey, would you mind if I took a shower before we leave?"
Even though Jack made Tony do all the heavy work, vacuuming, filling in the supplies at the counter, hauled up from the basement, he says, "I should probably shower too!"
Smiling, the hidden thoughts not tough to decipher, Tony replies, "I'll start the hot water running while you lock up!" As he walked away, he was tearing the shirt up and over his head.
About to put the key in the door, Jack presses his nose to the glass, looking through. "Is that Michael?" he says to himself.
Sure enough, the key still in his hand, ready to enter the door port, Michael opens it, entering, all out of breath.
"What happened to you?" "I ran all the way," Michael replied, stepping inside.
"Where's Patrick?"
"I walked out on him at the restaurant."
Jack asks the obvious, "What happened? I thought you two were.... starting something."
Set in his mind already, Michael says, "Patrick is not for me and I am definitely not for Patrick."
Sidetracked, Jack was thinking on Michael's problem and not the fact of the hot water running in the locker room. Intently prying, he says, "Things looked like they were going good for you two when you left the gym?" He locks the door. Doing so jogs his mind, him mentally thinking, `Tony!'
No sooner has he said it, then a big, booming voice is heard, "I've got the hot water going and my motor is running!" Then, "Oops!"
There was Tony, as Jack had already guessed, with the sound of his voice, totally devoid of clothing. With mention of his `motor running', Tony held quite a firm and elongated cock in his hand. Even at the embarrassment of someone other than Jack's presence, Tony's mind was too involved, set on where his cock was going to go, shrivel up and go away.
Seeing Tony's hand trying to shield his blood-filled shaft, Jack says of it, "Tony, I'm sure Michael knows what a man's cock looks like!"
Maybe it was Tony's shame of appearing out of nowhere, his big cock being the most noticeable, him scurrying away, the two looking at his ass cheeks wobbling as he went.
His mind off his troubles for a few seconds, Michael says, "Tony looks good."
They both knew, his swelled endowment, but Jack makes out, "Yeah. He keeps up all those crunches, he'll have a six pack in no time!"
Speaking with authority, Michael says, "You don't get a six pack by just doing crunches."
"Oh," Jack replies. "I knew that," even though he didn't! "So, what's with Patrick and what are you up to now?"
"Patrick?" As he saw it, "Patrick was into too much of what people were thinking about him at the restaurant."
"He ran after you, didn't he?" Plain to notice, "You don't see him banging down the door?"
"I guess not," Jack says, pointing his index finger at his own head and shooting an imaginary bullet.
Then, snapping his fingers, he says, "Wait a minute! I've gotta ask Tony something!"
"Um, but Michael," Jack follows after the teenaged cub, as he jogs the hallway, "remember Tony's got no clothes on?"
"I know," Michael replies, "but I've gotta ask him!"
More excitement, rather than dejection, Jack was inquisitive himself.
"Tony?"
"Tony!" Jack said like putting the blame on him.
"Oh `hi'!"
The two stood there, Tony flat out on one of the benches, nothing fancy, same as you would find in a sports locker room, his chest, stomach and whatever else, cemented in place. Over his lower back was strewn a leather belt. Walking right over to Tony, Michael picks up the belt.
"Tony, what is this?" Jack asks.
Before Tony could express himself, Michael says, "He wants you to hit him in the ass!"
He figured Jack would go right along with him, but instead Jack takes the belt from Michael's hand and says, "Oh, okay. No sweat."
"No sweat, Jack?" Michael replies with question.
"Sure," Jack replies, adding, "a lot of guys at the `Cub Club' like to be spanked.... or whipped."
Turning around, parking his elbow on the wooden seat, his hand holding up his head, Tony nonchalantly says, "I would love' to go to the Cub Club' some night with you as my master, Jack?"
Jack simply replies, "I'll think about it Tony."
Then, getting the info he came for, Michael asks, "Tony, did you whip Patrick on the ass?"
"Sure! We took turns. Why?" Tony replies.
Michael says, "I don't know. I don't get it." His bod going droopy, "I'm just gonna go home and think about this." Like a shattered dream, Michael headed for the door.
Unlocking the door, Jack says, "Call me if you need me."
He fades out of sight.
The sun beginning to pale in the sky, Michael began walking briskly. With the summer transition, he figured he would be getting immersed in his studies and forget all about Patrick and everything which has occurred, resembling one whole, huge nightmare. He was tossing away his first `almost' affair with a guy and looking forward to the next one. Too, he was looking upon this first real relationship, it being less than a day old, as one of the bad ones, knowing there's got to be better out there.
Then, halfway up the block, Michael is passing a strip mall, guy looking to be about his age changing a tire. In high school he wouldn't even look at a guy in distress, passing him by. This wasn't high school. Michael didn't have to be afraid of the bullies, nor anyone else who meant him harm. He was a college freshman, and will this bore upon his shoulders, Michael marched right over to the guy squatting at the flat tire, bent a little to see over his belly and asks, "Need any help?"
When the dude stood up, Michael scanned for his first worry, of whether he recognised the dude from his high school.
Before even introductions, the dude says, "The lug is stuck. I'm having a tough time loosening it." And after the two made deep eye contact, "Um, you want to take a try at it?"
"Sure," Michael replies. After exchanging places, Michael says as he puts his foot on the cross bar, "This is what my uncle showed me to do when the lug nut is too tight. Unless if it's been tightened by a machine, it usually..." Michael jumps on it, the lug loosening, "there it goes!"
As Michael stands, the dude pats him on the back, saying, "You're a hero!"
They did exchange brief smiles, Michael wanting to accept more than a pat on the back. He didn't know what it was, but for the first time, not being confronted by an adversary, he wanted to project more than a handshake.
But `the dude' beat him to it, saying as he shook Michael's hand, "Thanks very much. My name is Geoff and if you ever need anything, I'm your man!"
Michael smiled back at Geoff's infectious grin. Same time as they both show an interest in the gratitude extended, their hands became warm and sweaty.
"You go to Charter?" Michael broke off the long `thank you', bending down at the wheel and dissembling the rest of the lug nuts.
"Nah. I go to Catholic school. I'm a senior this year," Geoff replies. Too, as Geoff explains his course of study, after his fateful failing to move ahead in eighth grade, he hints on the fellow abuse he's received along the way.
Michael didn't mean to belittle Geoff's situation, saying, "You? You think having some kid break your pencils all the time harrassment? Try having a guy hold you in a full nelson and the other one punch you in the stomach!" At the same time as making his point, Michael finished putting the new tire on the car and adjusting the lug nuts. "There! All we need is air!"
He could have taken it the wrong way, but Geoff was getting to like Patrick. It didn't matter he sort of had this `gut', Geoff saying about it, "Um, is your stomach okay?" Michael replies, "It happened when I was in eleventh grade. After that, my uncle taught me how to fight better. I'll show you sometime. Got an air pump?"
Geoff wasn't sure, saying, "It's my brother's car." He then clues Michael in, "David works at the service station. He could have come and bailed me out!"
Sweetly, because it's the way he's been spoken to, Michael replies, "Then you wouldn't have needed me to fix your flat!"
"Except I don't know how we're going to pump it up?"
Michael liked the fact this was becoming a joint venture. "How about calling your brother?" "Yeah, that's cool," Geoff replies. He feels up his pockets, like frisking himself. "I think I forgot my..."
There was Michael, Geoff `knight in shining armor', his cellphone out, clicked open and all ready to, "Dial!" Seeing Geoff reluctant, "Go ahead. You can hold it."
In no time Geoff had punched in a set of corresponding numbers, talked on the phone to a `David' and cut off. "David says he can't come by for another hour. He said to park myself somewhere and get something to eat."
"Sub Station is right here?" Michael thumbs his thumb over his shoulder towards the strip mall.
"Yeah, that's about my speed!"
As they go to enter the Sub Station, Michael suddenly closes the door, almost in their faces.
"What's up Michael?" Michael says, "Forgot. I only got two bucks in my wallet."
"No sweat! I just got paid today and have enough for both of us."
"Where do you work?" Michael asks.
"Garden Ristorante. I'm sort of the guy who does everything," Geoff tells.
"Garden Ristorante?"
"What of it?" Geoff asks.
"I just ate their with my b..... with my friend." Shit!' Michael thought, hoping he didn't blow it. He was starting to think Geoff' a nice guy!
Geoff thought Michael was going to saying something, something he would not mind hearing, which would give him an opinion about Michael. Not meant to entrap, but to probe he could think of only a few possessive words beginning with `B', "Do you have a brother, Michael?"
Gut reaction, Michael stepped back, hoping he didn't blow it with Geoff. In his reasoning, he recalled his uncle's words upon graduation, you're a big man, in a big man's world, act the part! So, taking a deep breath, do or die, win or lose Geoff's friendship, "I was at Garden Ristorante with my boyfriend." He waited, but acted with caution.
Cool, calm and collectively, Geoff replies, "You're boyfriend? That's a damn shame!"
"It's the `gay' part you don't like, huh?"
He was acting kind of serious about it, but not because Michael was gay', but the boyfriend' part, him voicing opinion, "Not really," and to give himself away, "It's the `boyfriend' part because I was hoping maybe we could become one's?"
"You and me boyfriends?" Michael suddenly felt a rush of hot air fill his veins, as he approaches Geoff.
"But you've already got a boyfriend?"
"Had. We broke up at the ristorante," Michael replies, a smile on his face.
In heaven's light, Geoff replies, "Oh that's so cool Michael!" Then realizing he was only thinking of himself, "I mean... are you okay? Was it a bad fight?"
"It wasn't really a fight at all. I walked out on him." "What for?"
Michael thought it would scare Geoff away, telling about Patrick wanting to be whooped on the ass.
Then again, because he pondered his answer so long, Geoff took the hint, "If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay." He took the initiative, as he put his hand on the door, "Ready for a foot long sub?"
"I dunno. I just ate an hour ago."
Geoff ushered Michael inside anyway, with the excuse, "Nonsense! David says teenagers are always hungry!"
"My uncle says the same thing. Maybe this is how I got this round belly!"
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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.....