(Themes: first time & recurring relationships, intergenerational, true love conquers all! )
% This work of fiction is set in the format of real-world situations. Identifying details to real people, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental in nature.
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`See The Good In All Things' o1
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
Already, June has given way to what looks to be a hot, balmy summer!
For Jared, he much rather be working at his old job, stocking warehouse shelves. Responsible for his own actions, the court ordered him into community service, which was rebuilding the landscaping he mowed down, when drunk and using his 4x4 as a lawnmower, to take down the neatly arranged setting in front of town hall, plus the churchyard next door.
At 32-years old, he didn't take kindly to following orders dished out by a 24-year old. First day, he was under the impression his new temporary foreman would be a strapping older man. Showing up for the job, Jared was confronted with taking orders `from a kid?', no less!
Reed Sullivan was left in charge, whenever the job foreman was called to another location. He totally understood how `overworked, underpaid' went. Sympathetic to Andy, a married man who juggled 2 jobs, Reed added a vote of confidence, patting Andy on the crotch, telling him anytime he needed to release his pent up emotions... Well, Andy wasn't ready to cross that line just yet!
Paid to do the same job as those who did the grueling landscape work, Reed bent the rules, making all the guys on the shift think he was one step up. First day of the summer, getting into the heavy landscaping, he looked forward to see what he had to work with. Same as when he dropped out of college a few years back, he convinced his supervisor he was responsible enough to direct men in getting the job done. Often, his nads would be his compass and guide.
Most of the time he could sit in the truck, listen to punk rock, drink a beer and periodically gaze out of the window to make sure the help wasn't slacking off. At the same time Reed would have his jeans unbuttoned, hand down his pants and fantasize of how he really wanted to make those guys work.
Not totally heartless, he encouraged the men to take their shirts off, part of the turn on, to watch laboring, sweat pouring down their backs and chests.
The one different thing this summer, he had only one worker in place of the two or three he normally started with. He smiled though, one worker? `Mmm, what he liked to do on morning break, lunch, afternoon...
Jared would be paid for his work, though he didn't know the exact deal between the courts and the warehouse, but he would be drawing full salary. The really big difference would be working outdoors and not with a roof over his head!
"Well, I'm ready when you are," Jared said lightheartedly, tossing his bottle of water in the air and catching it.
Already designs of how this was going to go, thoughts began spinning like a wheel in Reed's head, "I'll hold that for you, he snatches it right between another toss. "It'll be in the cooler in the back of the truck when you want some."
He thought that was cool, Jared thinking Reed was trying to be helpful, concerning.
"And, oh," he starts back, "in a few minutes it's going to get mighty hot."
Reed gave hint by unbuttoning his Howelland Landscaping shirt.
Jared wasn't at all appalled by what lay underneath his foreman's shirt. Apparently the same was returned when Reed, his boss returned with the same smile, after following the midchest trail to where his belt buckle hid the rest!
Even though Jared didn't really think, tried covering it up checking Reed out, saying, "you work out?"
"No," Reed answers, "but it sure looks like you do!"
From the perky pecs, right on down the six pack abs, Reed knew he was going to get a lot out of this workhorse – maybe even more!
"Well, we better get to it," Jared tried not staring.
Sure, Reed could have done what he's done hundreds of times in the past, retire to the company truck, except to emerge when having to give a new directive, he might give away how he was whittling away his time. It's all it took, only one man and that one man could start a fire no bottle of water could put out!
Jared pops the question, "what's up first, boss?"
He's 24-years old. The year before that, 23. 22-years old the year before. The younger he was, the tougher it was to convince men who were slightly older, or older, that he was their boss, that he had the expertise to direct men to toil at taking a mundane landscape and turn it into something beautiful.
As he saw it Reed wouldn't have a problem with Jared. He had been reprimanded by the court and as the judge saw it, not only would the front of the court house get a facelift, but would look even more enhanced than before Jared mowed it over with his truck.
"All these bushes you ripped out need to be thrown in the dumpster."
"Well," Jared looks around, "looks like we have our work cut out for us," he focuses on Reed.
However, he faces his boss' back, walking towards truck, and the tail end of their conversation, "I'll be in the truck working on the layout."
"Oh," with an afterthought, `I thought you were going to help me.'
Instead of standing there, wondering, Jared chocked it up to experience, getting drunk and instead of letting his buds talk him out of driving home, went and wrecked his shiny red Chevy and... as he turned around and faces the devastion, "no help, huh? Well I better start getting my hands dirty!"
The plans were all drawn out on paper, not which Reed didn't know how to use a laptop. In case the system went down, there was always `paper'. Besides, a laptop was never big enough to hide the activity in his lap!
He knew two things, it wouldn't take long before Jared began breaking out in a sweat and the other, before five remnants of bushes had been dumped in the big bin, Reed had a handful.
First five, then six, Jared wasn't really counting, but one thing, he's glad he remembered to put his sunscreen on before he left the house. Looking up, `yep, it's gonna be a hot one,' he thought to himself. And, already he was up for that first chug of water.
"Hey!"
"Oh shit!" Reed calls out, surprised out of his gourd, when a sweaty-faced-head-wrapped bandana appears at the truck window.
"Be needing that first sip of water, but I'll help myself, on account of I can see you're busy."
`OMG!' Reed thought, checking the landscape plans, first to make sure he was covering up the split in the top of his pants and then, that the tent he had wasn't all that visible.
He breathed relief in one long exhale, but then fright returned when he noticed at the `corner of the courthouse walkway', there was a wet spot!
"Hey..."
Reed again fumbles with the map of the courthouse complex.
"I was wondering..." Jared looks over his own shoulder, "I couldn't reach my back when applying sun tan lotion and wondered if...um...you wouldn't mind spreading over my shoulders?"
Actually, Reed was scared shit. If he closed up the map of the courthouse lawn, for certain his worker would see his stiff woody, even though it had regressed an half inch or so.
"Sure," he blurts out, "but first I gotta make a call to the office. You go ahead and I'll come do it after I get off my phone."
"No problem", Jared flicks the cap shut, tosses it back into the ice chest, slams the top shut, turns and walks away from the truck.
Again, that second exhale confirms Reed's thoughts, nothing was detected. What remained, was getting his erection down, which he turned to find his cold, half can of beer.
Holding it up next to his stiff stick, less than the seven inches he was stunned by the ice coldness, "sh-h-h-it!"
He was long, but narrow like a stick, it wasn't all that plump in girth to get one hand around both cock and can. It began to recede like pronto. It wouldn't be the first time Reed had treated his stiff stick with an ice cold can.
In the meantime, every inch of the way, Reed held his cell up to his ear, talking to `no one'. Like a cold shower – been there, done that – the cold can did the trick and in no time he tabbed off his cell and was jerking the handle on the door.
Hopping out, he was slightly stirred into embarrassment, forgetting to stuff it in and button up, but relieved to find Jared's back to him, "whew, that was a close one!"
Digging out a stubborn root, Jared smiles. Not only did he observe the ink spot on the landscaping plans, but out of the corner of his eye, fastening the button, zipping up, reapplying the buckle of his pants, he knew what Reed's mission had been, right before going for his water bottle.
"I'm here," Reed stood right above Jared's sweating right shoulder.
Turning, Jared forced himself not to smile, staring at Reed's crotch, "I see," he rose up.
Totally cool, Reed asks, "you got the stuff."
"Right here," Jared digs in his pocket, producing a tube, making sure the brand name faced Reed, `Banana Soothe'.
Like minutes ago, holding his cock in the palm of his hand, Reed takes the white tube.
Jared felt glee, watching Reed's every move, the 24yo's eyebrows rise and fall.
"Here, let me make it easy for you around the waist."
"What the hell, Pappas?"
Reed always called dudes by their surname.
Jared kinda thought he'd get that reaction, unbuckling his belt, but covers up, "you know how it is, every time I bend down, my jeans ride over my butt, almost showing my crack. Worst place to get sunburn, wouldn't you agree, boss?"
"Well, if you think I'm," Reed places a hand to his own chest, "sticking my fingers down your ass crack, you..."
Turning around, Jared's belt was unbuckled, pants still intact, "hey, not asking you to do anything I wouldn't do myself," he chuckles and holds the tacky, toothy smile.
With retrospect, Reed says, "I'll do your back, but you're on your own south of there."
Although, when his back was turned, Reed was sorry he wasn't smearing cream over Jared's front. From the start, he picked up on, "I see you shave your chest?"
"The tan. Early on in my teens, I noticed the uneven color between the follicles and bare skin. One of my buds gave me a tip. It's simple. After I tan, then I just let it grow back."
As he rubbed the cream over Jared's shoulders, Reed kept looking down. Realizing it might have been wise to carry a can of beer in his pocket, providing the ability to help keep his cool, it served to make him rub faster.
Light conversation, Jared stirs it up, "hey, you ever think of becoming a massage therapist?"
"No," Reed was curt. Noisily capping the tube of lotion, "here," he forces it into Jared's hand, by reaching around his side, then hightails it out of there, direction of the truck.
Smiling, tapping the tube on his other hand, Jared says, "thanks." He did look around, in case anyone noticed his tenting pants, but mainly smiled, whistled as he worked, thinking how he loved pushing guys' buttons!
Reed's hand was on the door handle of the company truck in no time.
%
Meanwhile, back at corporate, Gaston Howelland IV, fourth in line of the family dynasty, was perusing a resume, "well, nothing much more than I already know, Peter."
Peter Lane-Howelland faces his uncle, just sitting there, after having heard summed up his inexperience in landscaping, or anything to have to do with it, which on paper looked like nothing, "except that I work out and can pull more than my weight?"
"When your mother asked if I had a summer job for you, she wasn't talking about getting your hands dirty!"
"Yeah, I figured she would want me showing up in a 3-piece suit, pushing a mail cart around or sharpening pencils."
It threw Gaston, because a lot of summer applicants would rather work in an air-conditioned office, sharpening their pick-up skills, rather than out in the field, doing a sweaty, gritty job. It made him smile, reflect on the gay couple who applied for summer positions last year. Both young woman didn't care if they broke a nail, rather were glad to leave the make up behind; two of the best summer employees he hired.
"Well, if that's what you want, Peter?"
In eighth grade Peter had stayed back, after a longer-than-usual bout with pneumonia. As he looked at it, playing sports, being a year older than the other guys, it gave him better stamina at competition.
"Yeah," he reassures, "and that other stuff, well I don't do it anymore."
With that spike in sports, came popularity, which in turn turned Peter into a bully. He did some pretty wicked stuff, like pick fights with dudes who couldn't hold a candle to his physique, whip guys with wet towels in the locker room, or destroy personal property – and get away with it! Intervention came, through his football coach, who took an interest in taking Peter down a peg or two. None of this would have come about though, if his coach hadn't met Uncle Gaston at a gay bar, quite by accident.
"I know you don't, because if it had, my `spy' would have given me the heads up!" his uncle smiles.
He didn't know his uncle had a `spy', "really?"
"Nah, but keeps people on their toes," Gaston reported.
Though, under the desk he had his fingers crossed, hoping his negative response was taken to heart.
"Well, I really appreciate what you did for me, Uncle Gas and..."
"Ahem," Gaston clears his throat, "and so there is no dissension in the ranks..."
"Oh. Right. I forgot. `Mr. Howelland'," Peter flashes his beautiful smile, waits.
Half-cracked smile, Gaston hesitates as well, but then knowing what they both know about each other, "let's not go there, Peter?"
Peter looks around, "I hope we're not being spied upon?"
There were no mics, nor cams, Gaston assuring, "I had the spy equipment turned off before you came in. What's up?"
The boy's demeanor changed to a man, Peter saying, "you know I've been dying to get into your pants, Unc?"
With mutual feeling, but never mentioning it, Gaston retorts, "well, there's lots of other ways you can show your gratification, like doing a good job?"
Opportune moment to stand, Gaston rises out of his chair. Of course, there was a reason he left his laptop open!
Peter rose also, not making a motion to dismiss his slightly tented pants, "you can count of me Unc...I mean Mr. Howelland...gee that sounds so weird."
"I know," Gaston quickly folds his laptop down, scoops it up when his nephew's back is turned, carries it along with him, "but from here on in, you and I won't be seeing much of each other, except at the company Fourth of July picnic."
"Oh right. Your spies. They will be reporting back to you how I'm doing?!"
"You never know," Gaston props the door open. Addressing his secretary, "oh, Blake, would you show Mr. Lane to the wardrobe room?"
Peter hadn't noticed, but then recalls, Blake' not at his desk when he came into his uncle's outer office. Admitting himself, he had propped his Uncle Gas' office door open and uttered a quaint, ok if I come in?' But now, he's so sorry he missed being shown in, watching Blake' get up from his desk, immediately in response, sticking out his hand, "oh hi. I'm Peter Lane." He almost slipped and added the hyphenated, Howelland'!
"Very glad to meet you Peter," Blake took his hand.
Hardly close in age, Peter at 19-years old, Blake, 31, neither had age on their mind, but only the electricity which seemed to pass between engaged fingertips.
It was Gaston who had to break up the mesmerizing gesture, "uh, wardrobe, Blake?"
"Oh yes. Right away sir," Blake grabbed a long chain of keys from his desk draw, after dropping out of the cordial handshake.
"Right this way," he paved the path out the door for Peter.
% Copyright 2020 T. Chase McPhee
Developing segments of `See The Good In All Things', may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.