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, nor governmental areas, which the story is stages. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offences 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. This is fiction. Use protection, in real life.
ROAD TRIP confrontation wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Rumor has it your coach is a faggot!"
Well, Robbie Sinclair, a freshman at Applegate University, currently stripping down in the Greenville Community College lockerroom, an aisle over the top of lockers, couldn't help hear the homophobic comment. Rather than make a fuss over it, he was ready to let it go, until he heard Barry Billington's voice ring out over the airwaves.
"Whether Coach Toricelli is or is `not', is none of your fuckin' business, so take it back or I'll make you fuckin' sorry you ever said it!"
Rolling his eyes, Robbie said to himself, plus the team member next to him, Starke Richter, "Not again!"
"'Fraid so," Starke assured Robbie, with his German accent.
Being patient, not wanting to intervene, both he and Starke looked to the end of the aisle, when Larry, Barry's twin brother, appeared, pleading, "Um, I think we need some backup, Robbie?"
Whenever Barry got himself into a fix, which was quite often, Larry always got the same comment, like a slap in the face, as Starke asks, "Are you sure you two are from the same sac?"
Then, the three hear a belch, not the kind you hear after downing a full bottle of beer, but the kind when fist makes contact with abs.
"Robbie, you gonna help out or wait til my bro's abs are jelly?"
"What abs?" Robbie asks.
"You know what I mean!"
"You're gonna owe me big time for this, Billington," Robbie says, the six foot two, two hundred and six pound, `built' freshman states, slamming the locker door shut, stepping into his speedo, while walking the length of the aisle.
Larry's mind was mostly on his twin brother getting bashed by two of Greenville's goons, but picking up on Robbie's comment, `owing him', he only wished he could pay him back, in more ways than one!
"Um, you want to let my little buddy go there, stud?"
Neither of the two Greenville swim team members, nor their backup, assorted swimmers, green and black speedos, Greenville's signature design, came close to topping Robbie's height. With his mouth dropped open, the swimmer holding Barry, arms behind his back, for his bud in front of him to warm up Barry's stomach, with his gut punching skills, lost momentary motor control, frozen in place.
"Uh, could it be you didn't hear me punk?"
Dropping his fists, the one guy steps aside, allowing Robbie access to Barry, still restrained by the Greenville swimmer.
"Um, sure," he said, finally realising the hold on Barry's arms.
As soon as Barry cleared the swimmer's six pack, Robbie drew his hand up into a ball, stating, "Next time pick on somebody your own size," he cautioned, swinging his arm back and plowing into the six neatly stacked abdominal muscles.
"Yeah, pick on your own size, asshole!" A few strays from Applegate and almost all of the Greenville swim team, witnesses Barry plunge his fist into the gut of the guy who punched him.
"Owwwch! Oh! Oh! Oh!" Barry yelled, withdrawing his fist, holding it with his other hand, hopping around the valley of lockers. "Ohhhh... I think I broke my hand!"
The Greenville swimmer recovered, `miraculously', cracking a smile, which broke the icy waves between the dividing teams. But it put a tailspin in the short-lived humor, when he comments, "You're nothing but a little woosie faggot!"
Stepping right up to him, Robbie made it a point to pin the guy's left foot down to the tiled floor with his size 13, grabbing the dude's gelled hair, a fist ready to punch his lights out, as he threatened, "Speaking of `faggots', maybe you'd like to tangle with this one?"
Not as big a man, the guy looked scared shit, but also questioned, "You? You're...? But you can't be.. you're so.... masculine!"
Just as Robbie pulled his fist back, making it look like he was going knock him out senseless, they hear, "Uh, Sinclair, are you and the rest of the team intending on reporting to the pool sometime this afternoon?"
It was so quiet, they could hear the crowd from the swimming pool. Both opposing teams frozen in place, Robbie, speechless, his right fist ready to pounce, his left hand mussing up the swim jock's head of hair.
"Well?" Anthony questioned, when neither team moved, Anthony's hands helping to get the point across.
"Uh yeah. Sure Coach Torricelli," Robbie led the troops, from both sides in getting their asses in gear. He turns to the guy who didn't suffer from Robbie's fist, saying, "Uh, sorry I messed your hair up", Robbie `fixing it' with his hand, wiping the gel on his torso, right next to his hairy navel.
"No problem, man," the Greenville guy said.
"Hustle!" Anthony shouted when the aisle, composed of both teams, emptied out. "Except you!"
Even though Robbie Sinclair stood there at over six feet tall, the body of a locomotive, Anthony's hand, pressing against the hairy midchest, stopped Robbie in his tracks.
After the masses left, leaving Robbie and Coach standing there, he rashly said to Robbie, "I'm really surprised, Sinclair..."
"But coach..."
"Wait, let me finish. When you joined the team, I specifically remember you stating you had goals to become a role model for people. Some role model!"
"But Coach Torricelli..."
"I should ban you from the competition...."
From the sidelines, around the corner of the lockers, they hear, in a small, mousy voice, "Greenville called you a faggot, coach. Robbie came to my rescue. Shit, coach, if Robbie hadn't put those two guys in their place, I woulda been mincemeat!"
"Guys?" Anthony questioned.
In two breaths, Barry had the whole story out, as if play-by-play of a sports game.
"Coach, they're looking for you," Josh Berg came to inform.
"This is not over," Anthony told them, turning to walk out of the aisle.
"Am I still in the competition?" Robbie questions.
"How can you not be, when you were never out of it, Sinclair?"
With haste, Anthony and Josh lightly jogged from the place of confrontation. Barry smiled, as he tugged on Robbie's dark-haired forearm, speaking in a bright tone, "Thanks Robbie!"
"No problem," Robbie replied, putting on some haste, right after he kissed Barry on the top of the head.
Stopped in his tracks, Barry stood there, mesmerized by the fact, one of the hottest guys on the team, if not the whole university, actually touched him with his lips. With a hand to his head, he petted himself over the place, saying, "Wow!" In a slow dirge, Barry made his way to the hallway, dividing the pool area from the gym, smack into a guy hustling to the lockerroom, butting chests. Immedately, after both bounced backwards, Barry plastered his back up against the wall, eyes as wide as saucers, mouth dropping open, as the guy recovered from the collision.
At first, the green and black clad speedo guy, looked at Barry. Then realizing the sophomore's horror, most likely because his `bodyguard' wasn't about, cracked a smile, as he calmly said, "Y'know, not all of are us are like Matt and Trevor?"
The quaint smile became infectious, Barry unpinning his traps from the wall. "Who?"
"Matt. He was the one holding your arms and Trevor, trying to act like Mr. Toughguy. They're both losers."
"Then how come they are on the swim team? Coach Torricelli wouldn't put up with two guys like that," Barry said, as his shoulders sloped down, taking on the shape of his normal self.
"Then again," the Greenville swimmer says, "not all coaches are like yours!"
He meant it, meaning the feeling he got, from Barry's and Robbie's allegiance, coming to the defense of their team manager, which showed their high regard for him. However, as Barry sunk into a `pissed off' look, eyes squinting, losing all semblance of a smile, he knew he better put his feelings. "I mean... Uh..." But the guy couldn't find the right words, on such short notice, so finally decided to divulge a secret he's only revealed to one other person in the world.
"I don't think you got what I meant... I mean I prolly didn't say it the way I meant it," the eighteen year old said it, like he was pleading a case, at the same time stalling, not wanting to play his `gay card'. I mean... look, I don't have anything against your coach... I'm gay too."
It was a quick metamorphosis, Barry on the edge, his demeanor melting. "That's cool," Barry replied, touches of a smile at the corners of his mouth. As long as the guy had brought things out in the open, Barry added, "I am too, and so are some of the guys on the team!"
"As far as I know, there's only Edwin and myself." An interval of silence passed, the two just looking at each other, til the Greenville swimjock mentions, "My name if Guillermo, but you can call me Gil."
"Cool," Barry replied, for lack of words, other than, "I'm Barry", then so used to saying it, "Larry is my twin brother. We're almost the same age!"
Gil stood there, smiling, before admitting, "You know what?"
"What?" Barry asked.
"I..." Gil stretched his neck, his head looking around the corner, down the hall, "I think you're cute," ending with a killer smile.
"Me? Cute? That's a new one!"
Then, to break the camaraderie of the moment, they hear, "Giaimo, you stupid asshole! The guys are shivering their asses off, waiting for `you', with the towels!"
"I was on my way," Gil stated.
As Trevor passes between them, he purposely presses the point of his elbow against Barry's stomach.
"Hey, that was uncalled for, Trevor!" Gil shouted to Trevor's back, as he moved towards the back of the lockerroom.
"Just what the world needs -- another faggot-lover!"
Returning, burdened with fresh, white towels, Trevor barges by, roughly telling Gil, "Move it, faggot-lover!"
"I guess there's a first time for everything," Barry says.
Realizing the minutes passed, Gil asks, "Um, wouldn't your coach be looking for you, Barry?"
"Nah. I'm not good enough to do any of that fancy diving stuff, but Larry is one of the best on the team. He said if I couldn't be on the swim team, he wasn't going to join. So, Coach Torricelli let me be on the team."
"But if you don't dive, what do you do, Barry?"
"Oh, lots of stuff. I get to make sure all the guys have towels, make sure they are clean, make sure they don't leave any of their gear out. Yeah, I guess I have an important job!"
Flashing his teeth, made Gil's loins dance around in the confines of his speedo, relaying, "Yeah, you're cute alright. Guess what?"
"What?" Barry asks.
"I was the best swimmer on Greenville's team," Gil replied, sort of gloating.
"Then how come you're in here and not out there?" Barry asks, not catching the past tense usage, looking Gil up and down, noticing for the past three minutes, since Trevor made his way in and out, he's taken small steps of advancement.
"This," Gil says, his left hand peeling his speedo away from his ass, carefully pulling it down, over a rather large, white bandage attached to his left asscheek.
"What happened?" Barry asks.
As Gil is talking, twisting around, looking at the gauze, telling about accidentally sitting on a broken bottle, Barry tries to pay attention. But he's distracted by being inches away from Gil's black, hairy pubes, a hint of his cock buried in there some place.
"So, what do you think?" Gil asks.
"Uh, musta hurt real bad!" Barry chooses his answer, not getting a word of Gil's explanation, trying to play it `middle-of-the-road'.
A smile turned up Gil's lips.
"What?" Barry asks.
"You were checking me out, weren't you?"
"Me? Check you out? I was paying attention to your ass... I mean, not your ass, like checking it `out' out, like a sexual thing or anything. Yeah, um, I was following your story of how you bumped up against the..."
"Did you get anything of what I said, Barry, or were you trying to figure out how I fit my coming on erection in this tiny little space?"
His lips forming an `o', the nineteen year old couldn't say anything against Gil's thoughts, upon staring at the prominent bulge in Gil's speedo, which Gil didn't do anything about not flaunting it. Barry's eyes opened wide, as the Spaniard took Barry's hand and placed the palm on the front of his speedo.
"Shit, for a guy who's not out of the closet, you're sure not shy about it!"
"I'll say!" Came the remark from behind Gil's back, a baritone voice cheerfully speaking, taking on the scene. Spotting Barry flinch, take his hand away from rubbing the tube through Gil's speedo, the intruder says, "So, you finally went and did it, Gil?"
"What?" Barry and Gil said at the same time.
But directing to his fellow teammate, the Greenville team member tells, "Gone and got yourself a boyfriend?"
Barry didn't know what to say. It was on Gil's mind, way back when Trevor restrained Barry, wanting to do something, but wimping out. He dropped a subtle hint, "Jealous, Edwin?"
"You're the other gay guy!" Barry blurted out.
This time, both Gil and Edwin look, simultaneously down the long corridor. Stepping around the two, Barry's arm grazes Edwin's abs, picking up the sensation of moving across body fur. He didn't say anything, other than, "Nobody's there."
"Good thing too," Edwin suggests. "One thing I `do not' want to do, is have it out with Matt and Trevor."
"They're bad news," Gil adds.
"It's okay. I won't say anything."
"Oh, the reason I came out here. Coach," Edwin says, "is wondering what you're doing in here, when you should be attending to the team. He says you better get you're ass out there, before he excommunicates you from the swim team!"
"I'm coming," Gil replies, as Edwin disappears.
Not one to hesitate to speak his mind, Barry renders, "Edwin has a nice build. I like the way his hair is."
"He styles is okay. When he's not swimming, he uses gel on it, then spikes it up..."
"No," Barry cuts him off, "I meant the hair on his stomach. I accidentally nudged by him, when I looked around the corner."
"You didn't try to nudge by me!" Gil commented, looking down at the perfect black stripe, from his midchest to his navel.
"I like trails, too." Barry says.
With a sly smile, Gil conveys, "I gotta get out there, but if you're interested, we could meet up later?"
"Would be cool."
Seeing a ball point on the storage locker, Gil picks it up, saying, "Give me your cell number."
Both stand there, in a quadary. Neither has a paper in hand. Grinning, Gil sticks his thumb under the elastic of his speedo, moving it down inches. "Here, Barry. Write it here!"
"On your thigh?"
"Yeah. Good, safe place to keep it."
Barry was distracted a few times, spotting about an inch of Gil's cock, nestled in his black bush, from the base, to where it became hidden.
Before putting the cap back on the pen, Barry asks, "Can I have yours?"
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2B continued...
Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection without prior written permission, by the author.
Check out my other stories: FRIENDLY PERSUASION nifty/gay/authoritarian/friendly-persuasion NATURE's TRAIL (NATURE WALK) nifty/gay/adult-youth/nature-walk/ FOR SALE BY OWNER nifty/gay/highschool/for-sale-by-owner/ 5b & 6c nifty/gay/beginnings/5b-6c/ FOR THE LOVE OF MICHAEL nifty/gay/highschool/for-the-love-of-michael/ STRIPEs nifty/gay/adult-youth/stripes/ OLD-FASHIONED GOOD WILL nifty/gay/beginnings/old-fashioned-good-will/ TIDELIGHT ZONE nifty/gay/adult-friends/tidelight-zone/ SENIOR CUT DAY nifty/gay/highschool/senior-cut-day/ BUFFALO BOYS nifty/gay/authoritarian/buffalo-boys/ iCONS nifty/gay/beginnings/icons MUSCLE JOCKS FOR DOMINATION nifty/gay/authoritarian/muscle-jocks-for-domination/ CHRONICLES OF MARK SASSOON nifty/gay/authoritarian/chronicles-of-mark-sasson/
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP.....