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.
%
LiFe SuCKs! 04 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
Left on the bed, face the door, front seared to the bed sheets, chin propped up by resting on his two hands, Travis stare momentarily at the door where Mike had just made his exit.
With this segment of the morning behind him, Travis rolls over onto his back, hands slapping against his abs, mumbling to himself, one thought left for him to ponder, "What could Trev possibly have..."
Scrambling to find his cell phone, Travis figures the only means by which to unravel the mystery as to how his big brother held responsibility towards helping Mike finish his book, was in speed dialing with his finger!
To his brother's message, Travis demonstratively leaves an answer to the prompted recording, "You damn better get back to me bro... like yesterday?"
Standing there in Mike's bedroom, unashamed of being in a foreign place without a stitch of clothing on, Travis sums up `right now', "Well!" looking around the room, as if it would supply a clue to his next move!
Scanning the room for something to clothe his bod, Travis remembers Mike saying something about laundering his muddy shirt and jeans. Approaching the laundry bin like he expects to find something creepy, like a decapitated human, he opens it and `just' what he's thinking, "Yeah right," he pulls his muddy tee shirt out, utilizing his index finger and thumb like pincers, "thanks for washing my duds!"
Then another idea, of rather brilliance, dawns on Travis. Looking up from the mucky shirt, he drops it, voicing an idea left by Mike, "Closet?"
Double doors, opening out into the room, he wasn't expecting much of a college professor, other than a dozen or so white shirts, neatly pressed, black suits and dull-looking ties to match, but rather blinded by the array of bright colors, some neon pinks and yellow. "Alright Mike!"
Diving for a red tee shirt, Travis' hand was guided towards the A&F logo. "Nice!" he exclaims, yanking it from a hanger, two hands holding it up for inspection. "Sold!" Travis says, claiming it for ownership!
Fanning through the rest of the clothes, Travis assesses Mike's taste in clothing, "Abercrombie, Abercrombie, Abercrombie, Abercrombie, Abercrombie, Abercrombie, what the?"
Removing this item, Travis didn't flip it off the hanger, but rather used the hanger to display the insignia on the back, "The Road Hogs?" He further reads the less eye-catcher, "NorCal Aids Cycle?" and as if Mike were standing there, "I didn't know you rode a bicycle, Mike?" Realizing Mike is not standing there, "I guess so."
Grinning, like it was a wicked idea, it wasn't wicked at all for Travis to slip the jersey from the hanger and feed his own hands into the sleeves, in an effort to see how it would feel to be a bicycle champion. Zipping it up, he walks over to the dresser mirror. Grabbing him as funny, he chuckles, saying, "Wouldn't that be something!"
Spotting the obvious, Travis handles his junk, still on his mind how it would be, the Road Hogs showing up in their jerseys... and that's it! Wouldn't that be a spectacle! However, rubbing his own shaft, thoughts trickled back into his mind of Mike.
Last night he had more of a sexual escapade than any other time of his life. And, this morning in the shower...
Travis hugged the cycling jersey as if he were hugging Mike. It didn't matter, the guy he lay with last night and showered with this morning was more than ten years older. All he cared about was how uninhibited he was about allowing a man, a total stranger, suck him, then lay there while Mike's ass sunk down over his thick shaft. The `why' he allowed himself into the sexual encounter with such ease, he recalls, "Trevor," which leads to, "Trevor, why aren't you calling me back?"
Keeping the contoured shirt clinging to his bod, Travis finds his cell phone again, thinking maybe he missed the call. Could have been the case, only he hasn't stray more than twenty feet from his cell phone.
Then, as it's right there in the palm of his hand, it rings up a tune.
"Trev!" Followed by, "I'm not shouting!" Then, more calmer, "Okay, I was shouting." Then, forgoing the brotherly greetings, "What did you do to make Mike finish his book?"
Travis knew it a copout, Trevor saying, `I'll explain when I get there', Travis saying into the dead link, "You'll explain when you..."
Sitting on the foot of the bed, Travis held his cell phone, saying, "Great. You'll explain when you get here. Thanks, Trev!" he tosses the cell phone uncaringly, over his shoulder.
Lying down, he lay on the cell phone, it poking him in the left shoulder. However, he didn't care. Instead, he let the phone irk his scapula as he placed his hands behind his head and reflecting on the whole scenario, from yesterday to this morning, "So many questions, so little answers!"
%
Cross town, Jerome had woken up with an awful headache. To confuse matters, like last night, he was startled awake, still with thoughts, the possibility of Travis in the room with him.
He whistled out his exhaling, commenting to himself, "Good thing too, Dalles!" his good buddy `Travis', now reduced to a namesake.
Something which came as rude awakening, possibly from leaving five of the sixpack empty, on the floor at the side of his bed, his hand scathing down his bod, soft, fluffy chest hair turning to crusty scaling, "You fuck, Travis!" it turns personal again.
Thinking about last night, Jerome humiliating Travis, by making him `suck' him off, didn't matter that it was a made up man to man action which got him off, not once, but twice, while beer-drinking his troubles away. He rather enjoyed having a man's lips running the barrel of his inflated shaft.
Then, as if his good buddy' were to blame for his moment of reverie, "Dalles, you fuck!" he cursed him out, realizing his thoughts had transferred from mind to hand, in the throes of early morning wood-working'.
As with yesterday afternoon, into evening, Jerome's whole self was immersed in his `problem' of what to do about Travis. He stare at himself in the mirror, the scruffy beard taking form after yesterday morning's clean off. Standing there, leaning on his dresser, looking at the teen fuzz on his wide pecs, the strip, just starting to fill in this year, running the height of his bod, down to the deep recesses of his chiseled abs, then melding with the mass above his cock, it began to occur to Jerome, "I wonder?"
Condemning Travis for being a homo, a new take on this whole scenario, Jerome wondered how many times he was checked out in the lockerroom at school. "Dammit Dalles!"
He could have been really pissed off, but Jerome knew he had a hot bod, to match his incredibly good looks. It was one thing for the babes to think he was hot, but some `perverted' guy?
However, by now, Jerome was too much into his thinking to turn back, wondering if Dalles got off checking him out? Standing and because of his pec-sensitivity, the football jock patted down his chest, stopping when his palms seared over his sensitive nips, eliciting, "Oo-o-o-o!"
Almost as sensitive as lips to a cock, Jerome crisscrosses his wrists, turning each nip hard with the opposite hand. Closing eyes, again, instead of turning his mind towards his girl friend, head cheerleader, his motive becomes revenge!
%
"Ah, yes, here it is!"
Mike hovers over the registrar's, shoulder, making comment, "That was easy!"
Turning his clasped fingers inside out, Hans Breck, a longtime worker at Fossil Mountain Community College, notes, "Good looking chap."
"You can say that again," Mike replies, scanning for other details of the high school senior.
"Good looking chap!"
"Hans, you're supposed to be looking for something to help us out here?"
"`Us', Mike? Since when did I become your accomplice?"
Turning from the monitor, to Hans, Mike says, "Since your cock started churning at the mention of `high school football jock'?"
"How did you know... never mind," Hans shoos the assumption away, knowing Mike was right.
"Not too bright," Mike scans the face of the computer screen, picking up on Jerome's grade point average. "Then again," Mike assumes, "I suppose they want him for his football skills and not what's upstairs!"
Giggling, Hans says, "I know what I would want him for!"
Mike stops research to mention, "Typical Chapter 4 man!"
Turning away from their research, Hans swivels around in his chair, causing Mike to back away, "Y'know Mike, I always had a problem with Chapter 4?"
"In what way, Hans?" Like Mike hasn't heard Hans' gripe before?
"Bears and Other Freaks' Of Nature, Mike? Just what do you mean by `freaks'?"
With calm, cool and collectivity, Mike explains, "Every time you ask me this, Hans, I tell you the same thing, `gay vs. straight'?"
"I don't see why, because of me being a muscle-bear, I should be labeled a `freak' and a straight muscle-bear... well you know!"
Knowing this would throw Hans off track, "Um, can we get back to the straight muscle-cub, Hans?"
It worked! His head swiveling on his broad shoulders, brought Hans' attention back to Jerome Smith's computer file, the registrar mulling over, "Muscle-cub? Hmm," a hands grazes over his fuzzy chops, "What else you want to know?"
Here was the clincher, Mike hoping the muscle-bear would take the bait, priming Hans for submitting his idea for total approval, a hand on Hans' shoulder to add a nice touch, "I was just wondering something?"
"What?" Hans asks, pulling up Jerome's medical file next to his picture, checking height and weight.
"What I was wondering, would you happen to be getting together this weekend with your leather buddies and would you happen to be thinking about making any of those `moving' home videos?"
Eyes attached to the screen, Hans knew where Mike was headed and without breaking his trance, "It'll cost you Jason and Ellis."
It didn't phase Mike at all, Hans quoting two names from his little black book, of whom Mike has lent out to Hans and his group, but what irked him, "And what about me?"
Laughing, Hans replies, "Okay. No problem. We'll set you up like last time."
"I just wanted to be sure. Of course, I have to know, if I'm `paying', I have to know the deed was carried out?"
Turning around, casting Mike away from him again, Hans puts on airs, "Oh now that hurt, Mike," Hans throws his own fist to his left pec, like he's burping from indigestion.
"I'm just sayin'..."
"I know Mike. I read your book from cover to cover. I know Chapter 11 by heart, so..." Hans trailed off.
Forsaking all the other bullcrap, Mike asks, "So, what can you do for me?"
Tilting his swivel chair back, eyes still glued to Jerome's face, Hans holds one hand in the other and flexes a bicep, asking, "Like when did you want this straight boy turned gay by?"
This wasn't in Chapter 11, but it was Hans' way of explaining the treatment Mike was gunning for.
Knowing it would be a quickie, Mike replies, "Like, would Monday morning be too soon?"
"What tha fuck, Mike?" Hans tilts almost into a flat position, staring into Mike's face, upside down, "Are you fuckin` crazy?"
A toothy grin, Mike breaks his pose, "I'm the shrink here, remember?"
Spinning around, Hans readjusts his focusing up on Mike, "Yeah, well if you're thinking I can convert a straight to gay in," Hans does an imaginary count on his fingers, "in like, forty-eight hours, Mike?"
Mike couldn't help it. When Hans sped in a circle and faced him, he had to look and as he suspected, Hans was `tenting'.
"What?" Hans says of his hard shaft pointing towards heaven. Then, `knowing', "What'dya expect, Mike, with a hot muscle-jock staring me in the face?"
"Oh!" Mike bops himself in the forehead with his palm. "How silly of me. For a minute there I thought it might be the other way around."
However, Mike wasn't a certified psychiatrist for nothing. He could always read Hans like a book and sure enough, there Hans was, spinning around like a roulette wheel, his attention refocused on the object of his coming there in the first place.
"Forty-eight hours, is it?" Now, being found out, his lust for the gorgeous, eighteen year old dirty blond, Hans didn't hide `how' he felt, a hand keeping his cock stiff, even though emotions could very well have done the trick. "You're gonna have to throw in another one of your boys?"
It threw a surprise into the equation for Mike and thinking of the situation at hand, doing Travis this favor, "Hey, do you remember the kid who used to work Bill's Service Station?"
Still attentive to Jerome's pic, Hans rattles off, "Six feet tall, muscled, as hairy as I am? Yeah, I remember that tight ass. What about him?"
"Think he'll cinch the deal for you?"
Turning his attention back to Mike, Hans replies, "Would be nice, but the kid is like two hours away at college?"
The tricks Mike had up to the cabin were always one on one, but special boys, like Trevor Dalles, sometimes Mike would `share', him speaking for old times, "Well, because I'm having you do this for me, under duress, regarding the time, I'm willing to try to get Trevor to spend a weekend with me?"
"I dunno."
"It's in the bag, Hans. I can get him for you." Mike tries convincing, especially where Trevor's bro's reputation is on the line.
"No, it's not that... I mean, the kid's been away at college."
"So?"
"I'm surprised you haven't guessed, Mike!"
"Guessed what?"
"College. Orgies? Guys fuckin' and suckin' each other. Hell, Mike, can you guarantee I'm still going to get a tight fuck?"
"Sure."
Mike knew he didn't sound convincing.
"Well okay, but if he isn't, I want your ass as collateral!"
Mike gulped. Even though he witnessed Hans' cock tenting' his pants, he knew it was lying down on its side, the tent' really the thickness when fully aroused. However, flashbacks of his little angel, home in bed, he couldn't tear himself away from completing the deal, "Well, yeah, okay Hans. You got yourself a deal."
"Nice!" Hans replies, glances at Jerome, then back to Mike, "So you want to be there or what?"
"I think I'll pass," Mike replies. After all, this weekend he wanted to spend with Travis, instead of `in disguise', which meant playing-acting one of Hans' victims, stripped naked, tied eagle-spread in the fake dungeon and a leather hood hiding his identity. Perfect disguise for watching the action. If he was lucky, he very well knew Hans, when he had broken and owned Jerome, would prove it by making Jerome give him a blow job. Mike would welcome it, in the name of the torment Jerome put Travis through.
"Hey, where you going, Mike?"
"Huh?" Mike turns from the door to face Hans.
"Aren't you going to `seal the deal'?"
By this time, Hans was up, out of his chair and walking towards Mike.
"Of course not," Mike replies. Anxious to get back to his house guest, he was not opposed to binding the deal.
His lips meeting Mike's lips, Hans reaches a hand behind Mike's back and secures the lock on the door with a click.
"For a minute there, Mike, I thought..."
"Well you thought wrong, Hans!" Mike wipes the doubt from Hans' mind, roughly grabbing the back of Han's neck and smashing his lips into Hans' face.
Hands inside Mike's hoodie, Mike slips one of his down to Hans' belt buckle.
"Mm-m-m," Hans hums, thinking of soon having his cock buried in Mike's upright rump-roast!
On the other hand, Mike thought the same, only his already hard shaft taken to the hilt!
Doing a rush job, Hans slid Mike's hoodie off, sleeves inside out, then hurried to slip the tee shirt off overhead.
Then, playing Hans' game, Mike more or less demands, "There's, I've done the unbuckling for you. Strip down."
"What tha?" Hans stood there, hands on his hips.
Laughing, Mike says, "Betcha you'll be getting more flack than this from Jerome!" He laughs again.
Straight or gay, no matter who Mike has delivered to Hans, he hasn't failed to give him a good time. So, Hans always figured he owed Mike. Even though this was only the second time Mike had asked a favor, Hans owed him doubly the amount, so if he had to bow down to Mike's wishes, it was more than fair to do so in his book.
"I can hardly wait," Hans replies sarcastically. In all truth, after viewing Jerome Smith's file, Hans could hardly wait to get with him, one of the reason he would have to make his encounter with Mike short, to set up the `abduction'.
Both men went at it, stripping off last remnants of clothing.
Even though Hans has seen Mike's bod dozens of times, he never fails to tire of the beauty, "Damn, Mike, you sure you don't want to hang around in the dungeon for a couple of days?"
"Not exactly with the meaning you have in mind, Hans. Besides, the last time you had me roped up, I got a little ache in my neck!"
"Roped up?" Hans laughs. "They call it `bondage', remember?"
"Bondage-smondage," Mike goofs on him, "whatever, tied up like an eagle for hours is no picnic!"
"Oh really," Hans, having stripped down completely, approaches Mike, hand going to his friend's crotch, "with me tickling these," his fingers fondle the underside of Mike's balls, "I didn't think you minded!"
Referring to the present, Mike says, "Why don't you stop playing with them and start wetting them down?"
"Hmm," Hans show a upturned look to his fuzzy chops, saying, "I don't do this for everybody, you know?"
"I know," Mike replies. Smiling, he says, "And I'm getting such a kick out of watching you fall on your knees!" He laughs, a hand to Hans' head, like the Pope going to bless some dude.
However, when Hans got into it, the thirty-seven year old really didn't think of it as a top, lowering himself to suck off another guy, but rather a tasty, juicy morsel of steak on his palate!
%
Sitting in the kitchen, Travis had found all the necessary items to pull together a bowl of cereal. With just a pair of boxers clinging to his torso, he sat relaxed, just like at home, leaning back in a kitchen chair, crossed ankles up on a corner of the table, slurping up some soggy cereal and reading a book. A few times already he had to flip the book over, set it on the table and use a napkin to wipe some dribbled milk off, about mid-chest.
Rekindling his efforts, he found Chapter 11 and already past the titled page, Life Sucks' and the forwarding page, What You Can Do About It', he reads on.
As Travis had already found out from another chapter, a mini-version of joyous, gay sex, whenever Mike talked about a guy, he gave a short description. Reading about the guy in Chapter 11, something started to pop out of his brain as suspicious, reading a dude's stats, "Eighteen years old, six feet tall, muscular, eight inches cut, brown hair... why does this all sound so familiar?"
Other than his brother being twenty now, even two years ago, the stats would have fit perfectly, Travis saying out loud, "That's my boy!"
He reads on, rather quickly, but other than the opening remarks of Trevor's dramatis personae, there's nothing else which fits his brother's description, other than, "Trev, you whore!"
Travis laughs, knowing it's the honest truth. Repeating the facts of college life in conversation with his brother, Travis knows of Trevor's daily sex life, not limited to only one or two encounters with his fellow gay frat brothers. Reading on, Travis is even more entertained by Mike's wording, "Yup! That's Trev!"
However, things turn from being rosy, when Mike detours from all the sucking and fucking, his book telling about life on the home-front, with this `fictitious' character in mind.
Not so cheerful now, Travis talks to himself out loud, "Yup! That's how it was," reading about the dude in the book coming out to his one-parent family, father figure and taking on the results of not only an unaccepting, but homophobic parent. "Yup, Mike," Travis agrees with the sentences, "that's how it happened," knowing of Trevor flying across the room, a result of their father's wrath.
Totally engrossed in the meaning of the words, Travis tosses the spoon, which has gone dry, onto the table, dropping the book into his lap and dropping his head back, closing his eyes and trying to form a picture of the day Trevor came out to their father.
After his deliberations, naming their father up there with illustrious people, like shitheads, bastards and the like, he faces his own self, "I'm like, such a coward!"
Ready to dig himself digger into a trench, Travis is awakened to reality by his cell phone ringing, calling it, "Trev!"
Sitting up, he answers, seeing the reading beforehand, "Not Trev,” then, "Hallo?"
It was Mike, hastily saying he was in his car and on the way home, but to copy down this email... which sent Travis bounding towards the pen attached to the refrigerator calendar, then taking down the information relayed by Mike. Crucial, was an email address, MasterHans@slaveheadquarters.org, of which Travis questions, "Slave headquarters? What tha fuck, Mike?"
After the next set of instruction, Mike rattles off his password, then hangs up.
"I can't believe he gave me his password!"
Leaving his cereal leftovers on the table, along with Mike's book, Travis heads for Mike's study. Sitting down at his Apple, he types in the password, `fuckthat69'. Doing so and waiting, he questions how much Mike is trusting, but then again figures it's not him, but him as a reflection of his brother, also thinking Trevor must have been something special to Mike. Once again joking, he laughs after naming his brother, "You cum-sucker!"
Going right to his own email, Travis enters in the send block, MasterHans@slaveheadquarters.org. In the subject box, as instructed, he giggles, typing, `slaveboy Jerome Smith'.
Deviating for a moment from his important message to this `MasterHans' dude, Travis takes a minute to reflect on Jerome, all the guy-times they've had together, but wondered why Jerome hadn't caught on earlier to him being gay, never mixing with the girls. Travis then thought his excuses of having to study, or his father limiting his dating life or spending the weekend with his bro at college, paid off, Jerome believing it.
With his cell ringing up again, Travis now knows the number on the readout as being Mike. No `hello', but a simple question, Travis repling, "I'm on it right now, Mike!"
As quickly as the call came in, it's over, Mike mentioning he was stopping for gas and groceries.
Buying time for Travis, he thinks out the question rendered by `MasterHans', easily typing in the big blank of the email Jerome's Saturday schedule. It was easy for him. Except for when they had an away game, Jerome did the same thing every Saturday. Got up, had an humongous breakfast, lit out for the gym, then hit the pizza shop, sometimes did something with his girl, or got with the guys and played some football at the high school, until late afternoon. After tackling each other for hours, they would head down to the bar. Only tough part, this MasterHans-dude wanted times.
Ending the email, Mike didn't give instruction. He had the feeling this MasterHans was Mike's contact, the one doing him the favor, so thought no harm in playing' with the dude, Hey thanks for what you are doing for me MasterHans and if there's ever a time you need help taming any rowdy slavedudes, give me a call!'
He signed his name, a comic lilt to it, `MasterTravis', sending it, laughing his ass off over his final remarks!
%
Copyright 2011 T. Chase McPhee
`LiFe SuCKs!' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.