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 off the road wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"We sure showed'em, huh coach?" Barry shouted out, entering the lockerroom, with the rest of the Applegate University Swim Team.
"That we did," Anthony agreed with the nineteen year old college sophomore, catching Barry's hand, for a `slap-me-five', the teen hopping up, as coach stood there, his hand up.
However, when Robbie entered the room, he was more than ecstatic over capturing the highest honor, after making some of the best dives of his career. The Applegate members were quite surprised out of their gourds, when Robbie bent down, threw his arms around Barry's waist and hoisted him up over his shoulder.
"We done good, huh Robbie?" Barry said, as his head passed over Robbie's mane.
Responding, a spectacle for the whole team, including Anthony, as onlookers, Robbie lined his lips up with Barry's, giving a hearty kiss, breaking and agreeing, "We sure did!"
None more amazed, than Barry's bro, Larry, his identical twin, stood there, mouth dropped wide open. Right away, as became the opinion of some of the other team members, he wondered, while others voiced, "Out of all the hot guys....." Their reaction faded, not wanting to cut Barry down, in the midst of his heightened excitement.
"Um, did you have any idea, Larry?" Anthony questioned, in privacy.
"None, coach. I guess all those times Robbie provided backup, for some dumbass action on my bro's part, had more meaning than protecting a team member. I never would have thought Barry would wind up with a studmuffin like Robbie Sinclair."
"That makes two of us," Tommy Perez agreed, towel slung over half his chest.
"Make that three," Emmanuel Rosado agreed, leaning his arm on Tommy's other shoulder.
Senior member of the team, Jason Youngblood, fesses up, "I guess that screws my chances of `getting to know' Robbie!"
Defeat, obviously shown on some of the Greenville team members' faces, shoulders slumping, two in particular skirted the edges of Robbie and Barry, one comments, barely audible, "Faggot!" One other says, "Yeah, watch out... we don't want to get infected!"
As they continued, their path became blocked, as one particular ear picked up on the two Greenville freshman, as they chanced to make comment. Matt's front butted up against Trevor's back, at the abrupt stop.
Arms crossed over his chest, Anthony states, "I think you owe us an apology?"
With the cheering on hold, Trevor looks over his shoulder, then back to Anthony. Staring at Anthony, a sly grin forms on his face. In the silence of the room, Robbie slowly allows Barry to slide down his body, passing the teen off to his brother, as he moves in, towering over Matt's backside.
"We don't negotiate with faggots!"
It was a bad move on Trevor's part, stepping to Anthony's right, shoulders connecting, pushing aside, Anthony too stunned by the student's disrespectful action, to let it register. However, the whole incident, transpiring right in front of Robbie, set off a chain reaction in his mind. Before anyone, let alone Trevor could react, Robbie lurched forward, his fist diving forwards, ahead of him, making contact with Trevor's lower back, rightside.
"Oh shit!" Could be heard, ringing out around the room, echoed by both Applegate and Greenville swimmers. No comment could be as strong, as Greenville's swim coach, upon entering.
Anthony was no match for hot-tempered Robbie, who after causing Trevor excruiating back pain, grabbed the freshman's hair, pulling him back, doing a split-second maneuver to twirl the nineteen year old swimmer around, planting his first punch, deadcenter, right above Trevor's navel.
It wasn't a time for laughter, but if it was, it would have been comical, to see Barry grab hold of Robbie, around the waist, trying to hold him back, but instead, being dragged along with the gargantuan swimmer, in his quest to defend his coach's integrity, delivering two more gutpunches, before nailing Trevor to the wall.
Even both coaches couldn't contain Robbie's fury, each grabbing the six foot two swimmer around each arm. Finally, one of Greenville's members stepped in the line of fire.
"He's had enough!" Gil shouted out, his back up against Trevor's front.
Readying to punch Gil's lights out, Barry loses his grip and sandwiches in between Robbie and Gil, saying, "He's one of the good guys, Robbie!" Furthering his explanation, not realising the implications, "He's gay like us!"
Losing strength, rather the adrenaline rush which powered Robbie's endurance and fists, the two coaches manage to subdue him, Greenville's coach, nearly as tall as Robbie, putting him in a neck hold.
Tugging on the coach's arm, Anthony says, "I don't think that's necessary, Vincent."
"You don't do you? What should I do, Tony? Let him go ahead and bust one of my boys' abs?"
Leave it to Barry, as he shouts, "Well, if Trevor didn't call us faggots and harass Coach Torricelli, all this wouldn'da even happened!"
Virtually, Gil's bod, wedged up against Trevor's chest, amounted to keeping Trevor pinned against the wall, upright. If Barry and Gil had moved, Trevor would have keeled over, chin hitting the floor. Even though doused by the pool, the beaten swimmer sweated, resembling a dip in the pool. His head lagged to the side, eyes barely open, groaning. Nobody could see his hands, behind Gil's back, clutching his sore abs.
"Is that so?" Coach Grant replied, loosening his grip around Robbie's neck. "Um, somebody want to fill me in around here?" He asks, looking to the side of Robbie, at Trevor, breathing heavy, his hair over his face.
Not as bold as when he stood with Trevor, Matt approaches, fessing up, "Yeah. What he says," meaning Barry, "is true. Trevor...." Seeing eyes trained on himself, bent of the fact Trevor wasn't alone on his assault with words and force, Matt adds, "Trevor might have said some things about...." he decided to clean up his mouth, "some of the Applegate team, but I was there to back him up. I'm not exactly proud of myself. I don't even know why I went along with the things Trevor said...I..." Standing there, Matt thought he said enough, too ashamed to say anymore.
"Well, that's a mouthful," Coach Grant says, a hand to Matt's shoulder. But then defends, "It still doesn't give," he directs this to Anthony, "your team the right to haul off and slap around one of my boys, Tony."
Finally, Robbie, tired of hearing all of this being taken so lightly, states, "When it comes to pushing Coach Torricelli around, I think `your boy' deserves what he got!"
"Push? Like physically, Tony?" the Greenville coach asks Anthony, still pressing for details.
He isn't disappointed, as Barry loosens his stance, making Gil flip around, catch Trevor's sagging bod. Stepping around Robbie, Barry stares up into Coach Grants face. A hand on one hip, the other finger wiggles in front of Coach Grants face, as Barry tells all, in the same sarcastic manner Robbie used, "Yeah, `your boy' stepped over the line when he pushed Coach Torricelli out of the way!"
Overriding Barry, the Greenville coach exclaimed, "He struck you, Tony?"
"More pushed by me. I probably would have had a better hand on stopping Robbie here, but frankly, I was more stunned, mentally, than physically."
Emptying his lungs, shaking his head, taking in the revelation, Coach Grant reassesses the situation. First he apologizes, "I'm really sorry, Tony. I have to admit, I never knew any of this... bias stuff was going on."
Still wound up, Barry corrects him, "It's called being homophobic!"
By now, with Robbie calmed, he had come to Gil's aid, taking one of Trevor's arms and gently laying the nineteen year old down on the tiled floor. In fact, Robbie had seen to the beating he had given Trevor, placing a cool towel on the teen's abs, Gil wiping Trevor's sweaty face with another wet one. Squatting down, Barry looked over Trevor, casing his pecs, following the thin trail, originating out of a mass of midchest hair, down to where Robbie soothed the swimmer's abs.
"Here, let me take a look at that," Coach Grant ordered, replacing Robbie's hands.
"Still on the Greenville first aid squad, Vincent?"
"Yeah," the coach replies, focused on Trevor, as the crowd of integrated swim teams close in. "Comes in handy at times like these."
Anthony always thought Vincent a little `bent', but he wondered even more, when the Greenville coach swiped a glance of Robbie's speedo-filled package, almost in his face.
"What do you think?" Anthony asks, hands on hips, bent at the waist.
All eyes keyed in on the downed teen swimmer. Nobody saw Barry, slowly make his way around Trevor, splayed out on the floor, move around Gil and find his way closer to Robbie.
"Looks bad," Barry said, not to anyone in particular.
However, Coach Grant picked up on Barry's comment, looking in the direction of his input. His voice was intended for Barry, but his eyes focused on Robbie, as he revealed, "Uh, there's nothing seriously wrong with Trevor here," then for fear of lingering too long on Robbie's speedo, he looks to Anthony, assessing, "other than a bruised six pack."
"You're sure of that?" Anthony questioned.
"To be sure, I think I should run him over to the hospital."
Matt saw to it, to crack open Trevor's locker and return with a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt. Good thing for Trevor, being in a lethargic state, he didn't realize both Robbie and Gil helping to dress him. Not sure what he felt, when pulling the sweatpants up over Trevor's package, Matt kept it to himself, when his hand grazed Trevor's cock and balls. In fact, being in on the homophobic harassment, he surely did not want anybody to notice anything suspicious, which would be perceived as `gay'.
Anthony offered to `mind the store', while Vincent attended to Trevor.
"Hey, wanna come to the party?"
"What party?" Gil asked Barry, as he and Edwin changed, right along with the Applegate team.
"Coach Torricelli always has a pool party after a competition. Wanna come?"
Monitoring their conversation, Larry leans over, to Barry, saying, "You better clear it with Coach Torricelli first, Barry."
"Okay. Cool," Barry responds. Half dressed, the lower half, zipper open, left forgotten, Barry, sitting on the aisle of lockers, leans around, shouting "Hey cooooooach?" He didn't really have to yell, as Anthony was standing right there, causing Barry to almost yell into his gut. "Oh hi coach," Barry says, looking up, bearing a toothy grin.
"What's up, Barry?" Anthony asks, looking down at him.
"Alright if Gil and Edwin can come to our vic'try party? I already invited them!" Barry asks, followed by silence and a shiny smile.
"Well, if you already invited them, then I can't very well say no, can I?"
Acknowledging him, Barry says, "You're the best, coach." Then, turning back to his twin, asks, "Isn't Coach Torricelli the best, Larry?"
"Yeah and very patient!" Larry comments, looking up at Anthony, while tying his sneakers.
"'Scuse me coach," Robbie says, fitting in between Anthony and the corner of the string of lockers. "Aren't you ready yet, babe?"
Barry turns and looks at Larry.
"Don't look at me, Barry. He's talking to you, doofus!" Larry tells him.
"Me?" Barry exclaims. Then, turning to Robbie, staring at him, as if looking at the top of the Empire State Building, "Is it me you called `babe'?"
Instead of pursuing the endearing namesake, Robbie says, "How about you ride with me to Coach Torricelli's?"
His head whisking around, Barry confronts Larry, speedily asking, "Can I Larry? Can I?"
Since they were old enough to realize they were identical in features, blond hair, blue eyes, cuties, Larry has dominated his twin brother. In the past few years, he's found something different about Barry, making their likenesses split. Their parents saw it early on, the differences in the two boys, having Barry `checked out' by professionals. Like one of a kind, doctors termed Barry with a variant of Asperger's Syndrome. In school he did well, qualifying for the resource room, showing off his vast intellect, accruing above average grades, for his educational level. However, outside, in the bigger world, he often lost control, talking too much or lacking social skills. Often this would lead to poor peer relationships, leaving him in a lonely world of his own. This is where Larry came in, always there for his brother. Sometimes a constant companion.
As if suspicious, Larry stare deep into Robbie's eyes.
Reading his mind, alert at how attached Barry has been with Larry, more like a dog on a leash, Robbie comments, "Nothin's going to happen. He'll be safe with me."
If Larry hadn't developed a camaraderie with Robbie, as well as the rest of the Applegate swim team members, he might have objected. Deciding to chance letting go of the reins, he told Robbie, "I guess it'll be okay just this once."
"Cool! Thanks bro! You're the best!" Barry exclaimed, jumping around, hugging Larry, then addressing Robbie, one-on-one, "Cool, huh Robbie?"
Robbie just smiled, putting Barry into a one-sided hug, under his shoulder.
Ten minutes later, Anthony, walking the lockerroom, doing Barry's `job', checked for left behind speedos, jock straps and other items, happening upon the lone habitant, sitting on a bench, head hanging down.
"Aren't you coming to the party, Larry?"
"Oh. Hi coach," Larry says, in a sullen tone.
Seeing Larry downcast, Anthony sits down on the bench next to him. "Want to talk about it?"
Looking up, Larry seemed as if he was ready to let go of the torrents in his tear ducts. "I knew this day would come."
"This about Barry?" Anthony questioned.
Turning his head, Larry looked at Anthony's face, then returned his gaze to his speedo, still lying on the floor. He picked it up, but didn't take the effort to stuff it in his gym bag, handling it as if he needed something to keep his hands busy.
"You two are close, huh?"
"When we left for college, our mom cried, telling me to take care of Barry."
"And as I see it, you have, Larry."
"Yeah, until Robbie came along," Larry says, in the same monotone.
"I would think you would be happy about Robbie coming into Barry's life." Then, as if Robbie was standing there, right in front of Anthony, not that he hasn't seen Robbie, head to toe in the buff, he sums up, "I mean, what guy wouldn't pass up the chance to have a relationship with a six foot, two inch tall muscleman, like Robbie Sinclair, not to mention the hottest stud on campus?" He pictured the long cock, sagging over the two humongous orbs, but left that to his private memory. "Huh?" He probed Larry's thoughts, looking to him, placing a hand on the nineteen year old's thigh.
"Relationship. That's it." Then, being more suspicious, Larry says, "Why would a stud like Robbie choose a guy like Barry?"
"Who knows," Anthony puts it. "They say there's somebody out there for all of us and all it takes is finding the right one. I mean, you must have thought about some guy, at some time, crossing paths, huh Larry?"
Still, passing the waistband of his speedo around and around, from hand to hand, head down, Larry concedes, "There's been one or two, but I've always thought Barry comes before everyone else."
"You trust Robbie, don't you? I mean, you allowed him to take Barry to my place, in his truck?"
"I suppose. I mean he's always been there for Barry, when he's screwed up and gotten himself into trouble."
Anthony carefully chooses his words, "So don't you think, since Robbie has taken more than an interest in Barry, you might think along the lines of letting go?"
Looking up at Anthony, Larry's eyes immediately mist up, tears beginning to drip down his cheeks, a sniff rounding out his feelings for his twin brother. Swiping his hand from Larry's thigh, he places it around the swimmer's back, caressing him in the pocket of his arm.
"Yeah... that's it... let it out, Larry."
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Meanwhile, one by one, team members have sped past Robbie, sailing along the country road, onwards towards Anthony's estate. Not quite up to the speed limit, Robbie's powder blue 4x4 glides along the narrow roadway.
"Robbie?"
"Huh?"
Without flinching a muscle, his eyes glued to the world outside his window, Barry states, "Did you know that someday Aspen trees are going to be extinct?"
Wondering what brought this on, Robbie maintains his gaze on the road ahead, answering, "No I didn't."
Still, his interest on the green world outside, Barry continues, "Microbial ecologists have found that atmospheric conditions will cause the Aspens to disappear, birch trees crowding them out of northern forests, by the end of the century."
"Really?" Robbie questions, already trying to figure out if it was something he said, to lead Barry onto this subject of conversation.
"It's already started. As global warming continues, it traps gases in the atmosphere, heating it up. Rising carbon dioxide levels can have a fertilizing effect on trees and other plants, but not all. The birches will multiply and keep growing, whereas the Aspens will slowly be overwhelmed by the birches. Get what I'm saying?"
Finally, coming to the conclusion of his thesis, spawned by gazing at the passing greenery, Barry looks to Robbie, probing for an answer.
"Sure," Robbie replies, retaining nothing close to what Barry has just ripped off in the whole of a few minutes. "Um, how come you know so much?"
"I don't know. I got straight A's in school. My mom says I have a gift."
"Impressive," Robbie says, thinking he's got a genius on his hands.
"Do you have any gifts, Robbie?"
"Well sure. Doesn't everybody?" Robbie replies.
"I don't know. Did you know that Albert Einstein, best known for his theory of relativity, but specifically for his equation for the mass-energy equivalence, received the 1921 Nobel Prize in Physics for his discovery of the law of photoelectric effect?"
"Seems to me I've heard of it," Robbie replied, a hand rubbing against the five o'clock shadow under his chin. "Yeah, I think my dad had a camera like that."
Barry looks strangely at Robbie, wondering what a camera had to do with Einstein's theory. He perked up, realizing maybe Robbie had read something he wasn't aware of.
Robbie just smiled, at their road trip conversation, mostly one-sided, comprised of why bears rub against trees', a mouse with schizophrenia', the impact hurricanes have on the carbon sequestration of forests', his own theories on how the world is not ending, but changing from as we know it, evolving into a new world' and `how some insects stop breathing, to live'.
"You know a lot about science, huh Barry?"
"Yup. When I was a kid, I always wished I could grow up to be a scientist. Do you think I could be one, Robbie?"
A hand to Barry's thigh, rubbing it, Robbie assured him, "You can be anything you want to be, babe. All you have to do is have the desire to do it and work hard to make your dream come true. All it takes is.....oooooh shit!"
Faster than Robbie could get his hand back on the steering wheel, the truck swerved right, off the road, then back on, narrowly missing the deer in the middle of the road. He slammed on the breaks, cutting over to the shoulder.
"Whew! That was a close one!"
It's then, Robbie realized it wasn't his own hand performing the fancy maneuver.
"Wait! How did you do that?" He questioned Barry.
"Do what?" He asked, honestly not sure what Robbie meant.
"You like perfectly steered us around the deer and then got us back on the road. It's as if I had done it myself... except, I probably would have wound up hitting it."
"Oh that," Barry finally admitted.
"You've done it before?"
"A few times. Once when mom was driving me to school and a kid on a bicycle came out into the road. My doctor says it has to do with quick reflexes, plus putting things into perspective, in split second timing. My mom says it's a gift. In fact, my mom says everything is a gift. Except when I get into trouble. Then my mom doesn't call it a gift!"
"I think your mom is pretty smart. What about your dad. What does he have to say about all this?"
"He's not around," Barry said of it, as if it meant nothing.
"What do you mean he's not around? Is he like on vacation, in the armed forces, um...." Robbie steered around saying `dead'.
"I don't know. Larry and I... we never knew who our dad was. He wasn't with us when we were growing up," Barry explained, the best he knew how.
"What a shame." Then, looking upon Barry, the blond mane, deep baby blues, he couldn't help but make excuse, "A good looking guy like you without a father. It's a sin!"
His stare into Barry's eyes, forced Barry to ask, "Robbie, do we have a relationship?"
"Meaning?"
"Do you like love me? Am I supposed to be loving you back? Are we going to have a relationship where we live together, have sex and you let me fuck you?"
It was coming at Robbie a little faster than he could comprehend it. Yet, when Barry uttered the part about getting fucked, it made his loins tingle.
"Have you thought about having a relationship with a guy, Barry?"
"I don't know. The only guy I've been around is Larry."
"Have you um... ever.. ah, have sex with a guy?"
"With Larry? I can't have sex with Larry, Robbie. He's my brother. Brothers don't have sex with brothers."
It wasn't what Robbie was driving at, but it gave him the impression there hasn't been another guy in Barry's life.
"Um, have you ever thought about having sex with another guy, Barry?"
The whole conversation was driving Robbie crazy. He's glad the dark recesses of the steering wheel kept his erection hidden.
"I don't know. You see," Barry sounded like going off on another tangent, "one time Larry and I measured our penises."
"Oh, really? And?"
"My mom says we're identical twins. We are. We're both five feet, ten inches tall, almost the same weight, varying by one pound, we both have blond hair and blue eyes. But, as Larry puts it, when it comes to below the belt... that's where we differ."
"Oh really?" Robbie asks, "How's that go?"
Robbie hoped Barry hadn't noticed his hand, closest to the door, feeding his stiff cock down the left leg of his sweatpants.
"Easy. I told Larry the only way we could find out if we were different, is to measure us. So, I said we had to make ourselves hard first. Larry said he wasn't sure he could. I told him to think about something that would turn him on."
"How old were you two?" Robbie inquires, almost sure something was leaking out of his cock, feeling the moisture, not pool water. He was happy his sweatpants were black.
"Sixteen. By the way, Robbie, when you were sixteen, did you have any hair on your body?"
"Where?"
"Anyplace. Well, other than your head."
Forgetting for a moment about his hard shaft, tunneling down the leg of his sweats, Robbie swings around in his seat, as if swiveling in an easy chair, his feet on the floor, near the center, between their seats.
"Hmm... let me think.. At sixteen, huh?"
Nonchalantly, out of the blue, Barry asks, "Hey, is your penis hard because we're talking about sex stuff?"
Slapping a hand against the leg of his pants, Robbie tries to hide the inevitable, too late.
"It's okay," Barry says, plainly. "because I'm hard to. It has to do with the levels of hormones and connectivity to the brain. When you think about guys and what they are saying, it's normal for your brain to pass along the thoughts and makes your penis swell up. Same reason my penis is hard. See?"
Robbie sat there, his mouth dropping open. Barry, curving the fabric of his sweatpants over his hard cock, it stood straight up, reaching far above the circle his finger and thumb made around the cloth-encased base of his briefs.
"Wow!" is all Robbie could get out.
Putting it bluntly, Barry asks, "Robbie, do you think, if we ever get into a relationship, where we love each other, that I might try fucking you with this?" Barry nods to his lap, his cock still fighting to bust through the seams.
"It could happen!" Robbie exclaims, not sure if his ass could stand the beer can roundness. In a fit to get off, he says, "We better get going to Coach Torricelli's place."
Igniting the engine, Robbie turns the wheel to exit the shoulder. Both hear, `klunk-klunk-klunk'.
"Uh-oh," Robbie says.
"What is it, Robbie?"
"Flat tire, I think."
Rotating his key in the ignition, Robbie turns the works off. Both exit from their respective sides. In seconds, they are standing at the passenger side, front tire.
"I don't think it can get any flatter than that," Barry suggests.
"Nope. Well, I better stop procrastinating and get out the spare!"
"You can't," Barry says.
"Sure I can. I `ve got one in the back."
"No. I mean you can't change it here," Barry again mentions.
"I can't ride with it. It'll ruin the tire. It might still be good."
Squatting down, his stiff cock, cut down in size, but still noticably butting up against his sweatpants, Barry picks up some soil in his hand, shuffling it around like sifting it.
"What's that?" Robbie asks.
"Liquifaction."
"Uh, you mind running that by me again?"
"It happened in California, in 1989, during the Loma Prieta earthquake."
"Oh?" Is all Robbie could ask, interested, but also an interest in the barrel between Barry's legs, distintegrating.
"Yep. The reason so many buildings collapsed, could have been prevented if they were built on solid ground. In the Marina district, they were built on ground, a product of geotechnical engineering. The foundations didn't have a chance, since being constructed on manmade base. The soft soil amplified the intensity of the earthquake shaking. Buildings' foundations sunk and the tops fell."
Robbie wasn't into a scientific explanation of everything, but at the same time, he was fascinated by how a guy such as Barry, with such poor social skills, could excell at scientific knowledge.
"So, what about this soil?"
"I'm getting to that. You see, the liquidfaction causes slope failure. This soil," Barry refers to the soil in his hand, "was put here by man."
"How can you tell that?" Robbie asks, for once not paying mind to the hard or soft state of Barry's pubes.
"I can't be sure, because I haven't analyzed the ground, geologically speaking. I can equate it to thixotropy, though."
Robbie tried repeating the word, getting tongue-tied, saying it like Bugs Bunny would say it.
"Thixotropy," Barry said it like it was natural to his conversational style. "You see, the properties of non-newtonian pseudoplastic fluids, involved in a time-dependent change in viscosity, undergo a change in shear rate. Thixotropic fluid takes a great deal of time to attain equilibrium viscosity, when first introduced into the step time of shear rate."
Pausing, Robbie interjected, "I thought so."
"Cool!" Barry responded, thinking it awesome Robbie must have a like interest. "So, you know what I'm talking about, then?"
"Sure," Robbie waved it away with his hand.
"Then you know that this isn't a universal definition, that the viscosity and time components need not be present, when applied to the pseudoplastic fluids?"
"Um, sure," Robbie replied, in agreement.
Barry might not have had it all, `upstairs', but he knew when he was being conned. He got all excited inside, as he prepared himself to say something, totally untrue and still question Robbie, in regards to it being substantial fact.
"So you can probably relate to the fact, when shaking occurs, the fungi decreases in velocity, increasing the shear rate, causing the meltdown of the solidification, reacting with the nucleus mucus, following the waves of solar wind, causing the axel to bend towards the opposite property, causing a shift in the foie de gras?"
It was a little geology, mixed with Stephen Hawking, with a pinch of Martha Stewart for added flavor, but Barry's deliverance made it sound authentic.
"Um, yeah. Sure. I think it happened in my backyard a few years ago. The gardners had the toughest time growing anything there. Especially when you talk about that solar wind. I mean it just blew everything down in one storm. Man, the gardeners were just pissed, after their hard work. I was thinking it, when it happened, it was sure to have something to do with liquidation."
Rising up, from squatting down, Barry approached Robbie.
"What?" He questioned.
"Did you mean it when you said I was cute?"
"Well sure. You were... and still are."
"I think you're cute."
"Oh?" Robbie replies, a smile on his face.
"Y'know something, Robbie?"
"What?"
"When we were sitting in your truck and I got hard?"
"Yeah," Robbie replied, wondering where this was going.
"Do you think we might get in love with each other tonight?"
"I don't know," the eighteen year old gives his opinion. "Sometimes love strikes all at once. Sometimes it takes time."
"Well, I don't know much about it..."
"About what?" Robbie cuts in.
"All this stuff about gay sex. I haven't studied up on it much. Do you know a lot about it?"
"Some," Robbie replied. "What's your question?"
With his hands on Robbie's forearms, Barry more explains, more than posing it as a question, "Y'know, when I was showing you how big my cock was, I was kind of thinking something?"
"And?"
"I'm thinking you could read all about gay sex, but a guy doesn't really know what it's about, until he experiences it. I was just wondering if we fell in love real quick, like tonight, I'd like to see how it feels to fuck you. Do you think we can?"
Squeezing his asscheeks together, Robbie almost yearned to feel Barry's beer can up his ass. "I think I'm in love!"
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Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection without prior written permission, by the author.