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`See The Good In All Things' 13
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
By the light of the next day, the fake cops were in custody, Dave and Pete jailed.
In hospital beds lay those who had been part of the ordeal, having been bound and lying victim to the sadistic criminal minds of their captors.
Of all those incarcerated in the dungeon bunker, Special Agent Chad Barrett had escaped with the least amount of injury. True, his nips had been viciously ravaged, but were the easiet to address, needing to be sterilized, healing cream applied and bandaged. He was released, not needing long-term hospital care. This morning in fact, while dressing, the circular spots where the sticky gauzes and strips of surgical tape had been taped over each nip, placing dress shirt over over his pecs proved to be more of a nuisance than a help. The attending physican had told Chad, wearing a tee shirt underneath his dress shirt, it would alleviate the tugging of his shirt on the bandages.
When Chad heard Dr. Webster's advice, he exclaimed, 'Rats!'
Regardless, with a stubborn mind and attitude, Chad didn't listen and now, as a result, his dress shirt, with each twist and turn, is agonizingly brushing over each nip to whereas it has caused the agent's pants to bulge.
Entering the hospital jon, Chad not only felt the itchiness of both nips, but he had to wee something fierce.
"Oh great. Just dandy," he said in a whisper, finding the private jon locked. Rather than seek out another he decides to use force, giving two raps, right over the signage which read, 'handicapped', yelling, "hey, you wanna hurry it up in there?"
Little did Chad know, inside, the lodger had thought up a snappy reply, but when opening the door and facing the rapper, was thrown off base, "oh, it's you."
"Yeah, well, if you don't mind," Chad passes by, scraping chest to chest in the doorway, "we can compare notes later?"
Dr. Webster thought it 'nerve', having hastening to have washed hands and rather than use the eletric hand drier, grabbed a paper towel. Standing there with hands on hips, the thirty-three year old thought of how just hours ago he had attended to the wounds of this patient. After ridiculing Chad out, the doc smiles. Left hand sneaks to his stomach and after looking around, slides to his right pec, right over where Chad's bod had slid. After an almost silent, 'oooh', Rick quickly swishes his head about, forgetting he wasn't alone. Fortunately for the young doctor, he was!
Having verbal ammunition in his mind, when Chad opens the door, all goes awry.
"Whew," Chad says, "thanks for hurrying it up," he casts his eyes over a shoulder, "in there, doctor," he looks at the tin badge, reading it, and like on buddy-buddy terms, "Dick?"
"Rich."
"Oh really? I thought Richard was Dick?"
"No," Doc Webster replies in a sarcastic tone, "Richard is Rich."
"Okay. Then Rich it is."
He had remembered the doctoring up, of something quite bizarre, a man's nips needing attention in order to heal up properly, "Chad Barrett, if I recall correctly?"
"Right," Chad simply says, with a simple smile.
There was also something else Dr. Webster picked up on, right before Chad barged through. After recognizing him as a patient of his, those wounded nips of his should have been showing somewhat through the fabric of his shirt, "I see you've decided against my advice?"
Feeling the guilt right away, "whatever do you mean, Richard?"
He said it like a parent would.
"Follow me."
Being he and the others were brought in at once, which overwhelmed the small town hospital staff, Chad, the only one who seemed to have suffered the least amount of bodily harm, was enough in control of his senses to want to carry on conversation.
The situation had calmed down dramatically, "no problem, doc!"
Back then, when he was being doctored up, Chad had wanted to elaborate on why and how Dr. Webster managed to patch up his nips, keeping himself in check. In other words, even though his damaged pecs were feeling the pain, those soothing fingers played havoc on his crotch muscles, without even a touch.
"In here."
He also wondered how a young doctor secured his credentials at such a young age, guessing he was no more than his own age, twenty-five.
The examination room, like several at the hospital, had no windows. Closing the only way in and out, Dr. Webster says, "hop up on the examination table."
"No problem," Chad says and feeling a little fancy-free, chooses to lay down, placing hands behind his head, much like he was at the beach.
Turning around from closing the door, Dr. Webster steps over to the table and taps Chad's pec, saying, "what's this?"
Knowing very well what the doc means, having replaced the two tiny round bandages with a total wraparound of gauze he found in one of the rooms, Chad defends himself with fibbing, "what on earth do you mean, doc?"
He hadn't had time to redress into his secret service agent uniform. Truthfully, when Pete had started to ready Chad for his incarceration, he had ripped the front of his shirt open, Dave taking over and peeling it off the rest of the way. The shirt was trashed. However, after Dr. Webster had tended to him, he lent him a hospital garment.
On purpose he gave Chad a size smaller, "sit up and take off the gown."
He sat up, but Chad swung his feet over, not making a move to remove anything, saying, "why?"
Standing there, much like Dave had done, when he was cuffed with arms overhead, admiring his handiwork, Dr. Webster stood there with arms folded across the middle, "I think you've had enough discomfort for one day, not wanting me to result in having to remove it for you?"
Chad could only hope, "okay. I give."
When Chad was brought into the hospital there was enough of his pants to salvage, thanks to Dave for unbuckling his belt, unzipping and dropping his pants to the ground. But his shirt did not resemble it, hence having to wear something which covered all the foliage, which Chad now reveals.
Same pose, Dr. Webster questions, "where did that come from?"
Chad could remember back in high school, when he and another guy got into a fight. The principal gave him much the impression as the doc was doing now, his looks making a guy want to tell the truth.
"Well, y'see doc, it was kinda rubbing on my shirt and all and..."
Webster jumps in, "and you thought you could do a better job than me?"
Flustered by not what he was prepared to hear, Chad stumbles, "what. Well. I. Uh."
"Are you doubting over ten years of medical training, Mr. Garrett?"
Chad didn't care that the doc screwed up his name, but wanting to buy time to think, "it's Barrett."
"Don't change the subject."
Taking a fingerful of the bottom of the bandage, Chad's doing, wrapping it around and around his pecs, Webster let's it go, making it slap midchest.
Certainly it didn't hurt, but being it was the doctor doing it, it was almost as if a finger touched his skin, which sent trickles of heat to his crotch, "it was scraping on my shirt, so I thought I could relieve it somehow, if I put something all around it?"
Chad waited to see if the doc accepted his excuse.
Turning around, the doc picked up a pair of scissors and returning, says, "stand."
Chad stood.
"Turn around."
As Chad turns around, he grins.
Using the scissors at the bottom of the nearly foot wide bandage, Dr. Webster begins to cut, rendering, "if it hurts it's your own fault."
"I know," Chase surrenders, losing the grin as he looks over his shoulder.
The only sound in the room were small tears, when the scissors cut through the wrapped around gauze, or Chad's 'oohs' and 'ahhs'.
"Arms up."
Richard had to admit, Chad having a fine back. Too bad he didn't have a reason for him to drop his pants!
Placing his arms up, Chad connects with hours ago, being the victim of bondage. Yet, whereas he felt threatened, it didn't even enter his mind he was in harms way.
"Turn around."
When the bandage comes off, much as he wanted to look into those dreamy eyes, where the bandage clung to his nips, Chad gives in to his feelings, "oooh. Ah. Oh."
Instead of ridicule, Chad hears, "sorry 'bout that. Couldn't be helped."
Once again, with the doc in view, Chad asks, "by the way, you mention more than ten years medical schooling. You look very youthful. How old are you?"
"I'm not at liberty to say." After moving the gauze, more than a doctor would use, it's wrapped up into a ball and tossed away. With Chad being such a willing subject, Richard softens, "how old do you think I am?"
Not his expertise, thinking of how much education is necessary for a doctor's degree, Chad tries adding up from high school graduation and tacking on ten years, "twenty-eight?"
"Thirty-three, and you?"
Chad had a couple of lucky breaks. One involved when he was nineteen, using his HS football tackling properties to tackle a holdup man at the bank, who it turns out was wanted by the FBI and finding a backpack left by two teenagers at a bus station, whereas it turned out to be a very crudely made bomb. Regardless, either action fell under government investigation, which made the director of this agency look at Chad with possibilities.
One of the youngest in his division, Chad utters, "twenty-five."
"Hmm." At that point, standing there with no where to look but into each others eyes, Dr. Webster says, "you didn't do any damage to the wounds, but from now on follow orders and don't cover anything up."
"Aye-aye, captain," he cracks a smile.
They lingered longer, until a knock on the door admits a nurse, "Dr. Webster, you're wanted in admitting."
Door closing, "work, it never stops," Dr. Webster reaches in a pocket and handing Chad a card, "give me a call if you have any problems."
Right after the doc leaves, Chad can feel a problem he was having between his legs and wondered if now was a good time to make the call, "nah!"
%
Meanwhile, Sean, who had come to the hospital to check up on his brother, but with Dean slipping back into a deep sleep, he felt useless.
The doctor came and went, suspecting nothing unusual. Having the option to leave the hospital and report back to Steven Steeves' estate, he chose to stick around, at least until official visiting hours were over. To his advantage, Steven's hefty donations over the years, any friends he knew, priviledges could be extended, which meant visiting hours could be interrupted by lying down on a hospital cot and then checking up on Dean whenever it felt right to do so.
Walking out of Dean's private room, Sean roamed, thinking of how on earth his step-bro came to be in this predicament? Dispite getting bits and pieces, Sean supposed he would have to wait until Dean woke up, to get the lowdown. Maybe it would be today, so instead of going back to Steven's place, he hung around.
Leaving there, he passed by the next room. Being nosy, the door open, Sean stole a glance into the dim lit room. 'Wow,' he thought, seeing a guy sleeping. Reason for the gesture, he was covered up to just below the pecs and shirtless. In the dim atmosphere of the room all he could make out is the profile, curves of the chest, a fine covering of hair and two perky nips adorning the beautiful shapes, which in all, disturbed Sean's balls enough that it made his feet shuffle forward.
Venturing into the hospital room, the shadows of light playing across the room and the patient's chest, made the view more intriguing, the lure more alluring. With closer inspection, those two slightly haired mounds gave way to...well, Sean couldn't see under the white sheet, but suspected it could turn into a stripe, or maybe fan out over...
'Oh shit!' he then exclaimed inside his mind, as he heard the soft breathing pattern change. Unlike Dean, this victim didn't have a plastic mask over nose and mouth, which made it easier check out his looks and as he did, eyes flipped open!
"Oh good. Nurse, water?"
It made Sean smile, him thinking he worked for the hospital, but instead of explaining he wasn't on staff, reaches for the plastic cup and pitcher, saying, "right away, sir."
Apparently, as Sean was reacting to the request, the requester had fully regained consciousness, "hey wait."
In the middle of pouring, Sean turns his head, "oh. I know what you're thinking. I'm not a nurse," but with the cup overflowing, "oops!"
He didn't care if his cup overfloweth, "no problem, um?"
Recovering and using 4 tissues he pulled from a box to mop up, " my name's Sean and as you can see, I'm not only not a nurse, but a clutz!"
Sean's little giggle put a smile on the patient's lips.
"Nice to meet you Sean. I'm Greg," then all went silent.
Picking up on the drop out, "okay Greg it is!"
No bells and whistles were going off, so Sean figures Greg has suddenly lulled off to sleep.
Sean did feel bad, that he had just gotten a name of his finely-haired-blond-pec-man, when he should all of a sudden conk out, "Greg?" he dared to arouse the patient at the bicep.
"Huh? Oh. It's you, Sean."
Little had Sean known, earlier Greg had questioned Dr. Webster, who the tall, muscled blond dude was. At the time, Richard had all the faces of his patients memorized. Having worked on Dean and allowing his professionalism to slip, thinking along the lines of this patient being drop-dead gorgeous, hot bod, nice hair pattern and all, along with that he had memorized Dean's visitor, hence able to pass the name along to his other patient.
"You sure memorized that fast," Sean says, trying to figure out how to elevate Greg's head and when different buttons don't function, "oh well."
Eyes glued to Sean's face, Greg says, "I'm not really that thirsty." Although, Greg was feeling a different kind of thirsty!
"Here," Sean slides a palm in between the pillow and Greg's head, the other hand on the glass of water, tipping it towards the pair of waiting lips.
After a sip and slight clearing of the throat, Greg says, "that's better, thanks," he clears it again with a cough.
"Did the doctor say, maybe you're coming down with a cold?" Man, would that put a damper on trying to steal a kiss.
Frankly, there was a lot of stuff done to him, that Greg was embarrased about, "no. That's not it."
Not a psych major in college, Sean had met with the school psychologist a couple of times when in high school, "okay," he senses more, "but if you need someone to talk with, in private, I'm a good listener?"
Right now Greg wanted more than an ear to listen, but figured it might be a good way to get to know Sean, "it could take a long time?"
Shrugging both shoulders Sean says, "time is what I have plenty of!"
Pulling up an easy chair, it evened up the visual plane. All Greg had to do is turn his head and he was eye to eye with Sean.
Figuring this was going to be cut and dry, Sean didn't realize Greg wasn't going to start at the beginning of the ordeal. With ulterior motives, at the same time he would have gained insight to what Dean had gone through.
"Where do you want me to begin?"
In limbo, between Dean sleeping it off, and upon having just laid eyes on the footballer's awesome looking physique, it only drummed up one answer in Sean's mind, "well, being it you're not going anywhere,"
he smiled. Greg smiled,
"why don't you start at the beginning beginning."
"You mean, the beginning beginning?"
Since Sean had tons of time on his hand, his whole life in flux over what's happened to Dean, unrest over which college he would matriculate at and all that hair coursing down Greg's bod, "sure. Why not?"
It was like, the third time Greg had licked his lips. First, was when Sean stood at the door.
Secondly, his tongue stuck to one cheek, hoping the wide-shouldered individual would indeed walk through his doorway.
Third, whetting of the lips came when the silhouette made himself known. It was like the footballer were putting on makeup. Not much he could do, but adjust himself a little in the bed, and give his lips lube for the purpose of talking. Lying there on his back, there wasn't much to do but count the lines of ceiling tiles, making them fit together like city blocks. But that third licking of the lips, justified his desires had worked into fruition, willing Greg to sit up and take notice.
"Well, I don't want to bore you?"
Bore Sean? If that should happen, there were all those follicles of blond hair to count, "bore me? Nah," he leans forward, which serves purpose of a closer gaze over Greg's bod, much like a view of ripe wheat in a field of gold, "so, you were born. What happened after that?"
It made Greg's ear perk up, eyes lift wide open, "you want me to go back that far?"
"Sure. You've got no place to go. I've got no place to go. How sweet could that be?"
Greg wondered why the white patches on his abs weren't making the sensors on the overhead gauges beep, because his heart sure felt like it was racing, "okay, then. You asked for it."
He also had it on his mind, but wasn't 100% sure, Sean was coming onto him. It's the same feeling he had with at least two of his fellow footballers, but not knowing for sure, let the hunch go.
Sean cautions, placing a few fingers on Greg's fuzzy arm, "but if there's some boring parts, you can leave them out?"
Too bad Greg felt incapacitated. For certain the urge was there, to hop up out of that hospital bed and put a hold on Sean!
%
Back, when patients began arriving, there was one in particular Dr. Webster had particular interest. His field was medical science, but he did have interests in the field of psychology.
Looking back to high school, Richard well-knew the bully types. More into the books than playing sports, there was opportunity for bullies to pick on him.
Blade as he was called, was not only the son of motorcycle leader, but also the toughest kid in school. Among his followers were two dudes, Chance and Calico, who thought it a waste of time to study books, developing a natural talent at picking on students, with Blade as their mentor.
Chance got his name from not afraid to risk detention, nor suspension, in taking chances.
Calico was a tough gay dude, but hid it well.
Except where Blade was concerned, when suddenly his chick wasn't available.
His real name Curtis, Calico always had a hankering to have Blade's big bat stabbing him in the butt.
As it turns out, even though Chance and Calico never questioned Blade, neither ever saw him with a girl!
From day one of high school, ninth grade, Richard took in the scene as it would go from this day forward, all the way to graduation day. Either he would stand up to the bullies or like others, grovel on their stomachs every day, day in and out. Not only was school turf the bullies playground.
Blade always carried a little chain in his pocket. Richard summed it up as this being Blade's security blanket. Very rarely he saw Blade use it for anything other than twirling it around, catching it between fingers or work it in his pocket, like Blade was playing with himself.
That first day of high school, wherever the day took him, Richard would catch Blade and his cronies stopping dudes, shaking them down for loose dollar bills or taking cell phones, making calls and then tossing them back to their rightful owners. Occasionally a catcher would miss, which would just have Blade laughing it off.
The other two dare not laugh!
As it goes, it came Richard's turn. 12:35 in the afternoon. After exiting the cafeteria with two new friend he made, he was grabbed by the backpack and hauled in through a gym door. Apparently this was a well-crafted plan being, in the dark hallway no traffic was coming in or going out. Of his two buddies, one escaped and the other there as a witness.
Blade badgers, "thought you'd get away, pencilneck?"
Richard's buddy was held with arms behind his back, by Chance.
Calico held Richard by the backpack, tighly securing him as if hands were cuffed. Turning a blind eye to the witness, Blade approaches his victim.
Having good genes, Richard looked like a gymrat, even though he never set foot in one. More inclined to studying books than sports, Richard always thought he would take up one, being it kind of a hot thing to shower with other guys.
"Let's see what we've got here to work with?" Blade approaches.
Even though he clung to the loose chain, Blade's hands made haste to tug at the tails of Richard's tee shirt, lift it up and over the ninth grader's busy haircut and place it between neck and backpack.
Viewing Richard's pecs, little circles of dark hair around, tiny patch in the middle, scanning down to the deep navel, eyeing up the trail which led into his pants, Blade says, "well, will you lookie at what we got here," he says of the man-trail, "a real man!"
Unlike his buddy, Richard watching as he cursed and carried on, earning him a punch in the stomach from Chance, Richard kept his cool, doing nothing, which kept his agressor chilled as well.
Horny from age twelve and beyond, Calico wanted like hell to view Richard's bod. However, he was just as happy restraining the ninth grader, being his crotch was rubbing on the bottom of Richard's backpack, which was close enough to his ass. Like hell, Calico tries suppressing himself, being he's close to tenting his jeans!
Not getting a word out of Richard, which was Blade's way of dealing with a victim. Perhaps this had been Blade's way his father dealt with him. Whenever Blade (his real name, 'Jimmy') did something wrong, his father skipped over the details, going right to punishment. He didn't want to hear another dude started a fight, but rather what Jimmy did about it.
Richard could not see how he did anything wrong with Blade, not which warranted the bully to haul off and punch him in the stomach, "ugh-h-h-h!"
"Oh my god!" Calico says, almost losing his grip.
"What?" Blade looks at Calico, with daggers in his eyes. "You don't think this punk is getting what he deserves?"
"No. No. No. I mean. Yeah," Calico tries pleasing his buddy, when in reality he was losing his grip after the ninth grader belched and bent in half from the force of Blade's fist. To further take the blame off himself, "I was just wondering why you're punching is kinda," Calico fought for words which would exonerate himself, "light?"
An evil grin filled Blade's face, "you think so, do you?"
Not really sure of anything at this point, other than he needed to buy time to lose his erection, Calico says, "yeah that's it. Not your usual power, Blade."
Cracking knuckles, his neck and readying to pack a real wallop to Richard's gut, Blade says, "hold him tight. I want this one to really count."
Taking in every word, Richard had prepped himself for the first gut punch, tightening his ab muscles, but wasn't sure the same prep would work, being his stomach ached something fierce.
Putting it all back on Blade, Calico says, "why don't you give him the ole 1-2?"
Like he had just won the Price is Right, Blade says, "I like that."
Chance bit a lip and being his attention was so much on the three, he lost his grip on Richard's friend, who pushed on the door and ran for his life!
"What'dya do that for, asshole?"
Being more bullified than Calico, Chance stood up to Blade, "not my fault you are taking your time!"
Looking to Calico, a gesture at Chance tells him it sounded like a bonafide reason.
Chance smiles back.
Blade didn't catch the reference, more intent on terrorizing Richard. Holding his head up by his scalp, he brutalizes in words, "gonna put you down boy and there ain't nothin' you can do about it."
Richard said nothing, but did act frightful.
It was a good plan on Richard's behalf, making Blade think he was scared shit, when in reality he was planning a surprise move.
"Hold him tight, Calico," Blade holds a knuckle-full up to Richard's stomach. "Gonna hit you so hard, you prolly wouldn't be able to eat for a week!"
Studying the force from behind, Richard was glad he had his sneakers on. When the punch came, he twisted around, dragging Calico with him. Instead of the punch to his stomach, his captor took the brunt of Blade's punch!
"Oh shit, Blade!"
His manuever not only loosened Calico's grip, but put a spin on Blade's brain. For a few seconds it stunned him. Enough so, it gave Richard leeway to haul his foot backwards and in one swoop connected toe to Blade's balls!
"Oh damn," Chance said plain and simple, watching Blade fall forward onto Calico's crumbled posture. Now seeing Richard as more a threat, with two down and one to go, he turns turncoat, "you better get outta here, if you know what's good for you?"
Chance allows his prisoner to go free and with quick-thinking, does what he's been a coward at trying to do, heads out the door, almost on Richard's tail.
It irked Richard for the rest of the day. Not that probably both Blade and Calico would be gunning for him, but the kind gesture and warning from Chance. He shouldn't have been that caring to him, unless maybe he wasn't really the bully he pretended to be?
With social media, texting in particular, it got around school when a short video circulated, showing Blade on the floor, clutching his crotch, shedding explecatives as he was moaning in pain. The caption read, 'Rick Webster puts Blade down with a swoop of a foot!'
Texting can be cool, in getting the word out, but when the school principal viewed the footage, both Chance and Richard was in the office soon as the next period started.
Sitting there, the pair of criminals were silent.
Richard felt the urge to speak, "why'd you do it, Chance?"
"Um." Not sure himself, he bought some time, "my name isn't Chance."
"No?" Richard looks to his left side, "then, what is it?"
"Carl, but I didn't like that name, so I changed it to Chance, because it seemed to mean something."
"Like, taking a chance and running with bullies?"
"Yes and no."
"Want to clarify that?"
"Yeah, in the beginning I thought it was cool, but mainly it was so I wouldn't be getting beaten up, too."
"And the, 'no'," Richard pushes the conversation along.
"Once I got into it, I found out I wasn't like Blade and Calico. Fact is, I don't think Calico is either."
"For the same reason?"
"Could be. I don't know. Blade, we went along with whatever he was up to, because," many reasons Chance went along with, but didn't know why, "well," he finally got up the nerve to be responsible, "we just didn't wind up being on the shit end of the stick. Probably the wrong thing to do, right?"
Richard thought, 'suddenly Chance is confiding in him, looking up to him and not the school's no. 1 bully?' "I don't know the whole situation, so can't make the call." Then, rather than doing the school's principal's job for him, to get to the bottom of things, diverts, "if you don't want to be 'Chance', then who do you want to be?"
"I like the name, 'Caleb'."
It wasn't what Richard was looking for, more who the person he wanted to be, but took it, "Caleb sounds like a nice name. It fits you," he sounds it out, "Caleb Dubois. Yeah, that sounds nice."
For certain, Caleb knew he didn't drop his surname. So, "how do you know my last name?"
Did Richard slip? The first day of senior high, when standing around the art teacher's desk, he looked down at the roster when Mr. Dubois looked up at the student who matched 'Carl Dubois' and made a big deal of the student, having the same surname. Off the record, for each other, they weren't related. But, for Richard, he did get a name to fit the cute boy in art class!
"I got from when Mr. Dubois made a fuss about you and him having the same last name."
"Oh. Right. I remember."
It didn't matter now probably, but when Carl/Chance/Caleb ran with Blade's gang, he kept it strictly confidential, thinking Caleb a hot dude. Especially, when he got the full frontal assault in gym class, afterwards, catching a glimpse of Caleb in the shower. Now, after an office secretary hushes them into silence, Richard had a moment to revisit that day. He stole glimpses of Caleb's zipper area, wondering if when wet, was his cock as big as when dry. He smiled, thinking of a guy's anatomy at a time when he's probably in big trouble. When Caleb looked to the left, Richard looked to his left and was right on target, looking at the 'V' of Caleb's shirt. Other than skin, Richard could not see any of the fine strands of hair on the dude's chest.
Finally, the pair was called into the principal's office and good timing. Any later and Richard's thoughts might have caused reason to hold his bookbag in front, instead of slung over the shoulder. He's noticed that happening a lot lately, a hot guy causing him to go on overload!
After the boys were called in, they were amazed they weren't being charged with criminal behavior.
"Boys, have a seat?"
First off, Richard thought the principal was a women, questioning, "are you the prinicipal?"
"No, I'm not. But good observation on your part, Mr. Webster."
Picking up on it, Caleb asks, "then who are you?"
He thought, 'these boys are quick to the chase' and thinking things might get personal, gets out of his seat, walks over to the door, "I'm Derek Winters, on the school's psychology team," closes it and walks back.
"We're being psycho-analyzed?"
'Wow,' Dr. Winters thinks, 'not only is Richard cute, but smart as well, one to be watched, "I won't call it that. What I'd like to accomplish here, is to find out a hunch."
Caleb went silent, Richard asking, "a hunch. Like, how would that go?"
"I'm sure you are aware of the video going around school, after your altercation in the hallway between the gym and the cafeteria?"
"No," Richard says.
Whipping out his cell phone, Caleb is eager to share, "I've got it right here."
Winters didn't get his psych degree forty years ago. Fresh out of college, Derek, by choice, has had much experience in the field of psychology, having taken it upon himself to counsel at the local community college and at the age of twenty-five, has settled down in the HS position. If he knew that his father was the architect for the building, he would have chosen another. He was wondering, with so many applicants to the position, why other professionals had been passed up over a fresh-out-of-college psychologist. After he condemned himself, over his father meddling in his business, Derek had to apologize, finding out 'dad' didn't even know he had applied! Then Derek realized it was his own doing, that he did have the confidence to apply, interview and stand up for himself, which brought a long, withstanding rift between him and his dad, over assumptions as this. His father, not prejudiced, but wishing his only son had turned out 'straight', didn't talk much about Derek being gay, which was also they had to come to terms with. However, after Derek opened with the new school year, word did get out, that he had to be a shoo in, being his father designed the state of the art high school. At least, even though it caused both parties words, Derek saw the good in it all, in the end, knowing the truth and also being offered the first hug from his father, after coming out in his teen years.
After Caleb hands his phone over to Richard, Richard turns to position himself so the school psych can view.
Even though he had watched it twice, first time wincing, upon seeing a student holding his 'injury', Winters says, "no, I'll come around," which he does circle his desk. Then, sitting on edge, looks down Richard's shirt! A mistake, Derek switches from the lightly dark-haired chest fuzz, to the phone, inches away.
"Can you," Richard stuttered, Doc Winters' beard almost in his face, "see?"
Uprighting himself a little, Winters says, "fine. Just fine."
Then Derek wondered if he himself was talking about visual contact with the phone and the downward plane on the inside of Richard's shirt!
Starting the video, it took only seconds to view, both Richard and the psych saying simultaneously, "that's it?"
Looking up to the shrink, Richard says, "yeah, right?" like he was talking with a fellow student.
Smiling, Derek agrees, "right?"
Both were really glad the bell, moving students to the next class, dinged.
Getting up, force of habit with Caleb after every bell, in every class, except gym, jumps out of his seat, "oh, should I go?"
It gives Dr. Winters time to think, "you mean, can you go?"
Shrugging shoulders, Caleb says, "same difference, right?"
With his mind on something else, Winters says, "I suppose I can get your statement later."
"Not much different than Richard, here. We were both there and saw the same thing," Caleb says, already in the door frame to leave.
"He's right," Richard says. "He was right on tail after I lit out of there."
"Fine," Derek says, ushering Caleb out and closing the door.
Walking back towards his desk Mr. Winters had a smile on his face, saying, "now, what about you, Richard?"
Always with professional standards, Winters was losing his will to uphold those superlatives, like not crossing lines when it came to counseling students.
Indirectly answering the question, Richard says, "have you heard about Blade?"
Thinking it the last thing on both their minds, other than Derek eventually getting to the subject, "Blade? What about him?" Really, he expected the conversation to turn to detention, suspension, ways to compensate for actions.
"You know I regret my actions."
Not knowing where Richard was taking this, Derek says, "you do, do you? How so?"
"If I had a choice and my arms weren't bound by Calico holding them, I might have been able to put Blade off. You know, reason with him?"
Figuring more to this, Derek renders, "go on."
"The way I've thought it out, being the only weapon available to me was my foot, other than letting Blade beat the living daylights out of me."
He had other students to see that day, Derek thinking the lag was piling up outside his door, every available seat taken, the cue of standing room only, but for the life of him, all he wanted to do is sit there and allow Richard to ramble on. At one point he had the student dressed down, picturing the beginnings of that rug on his chest branching out, little skin seen as the wooly carpet covered the teen's pecs...
"You know what I'm getting at?"
Suddenly Derek had a throwback to reality, whereas not paying much attention, "uh, which part?"
Not an idiot in respects of having dudes check him out, Richard had pretty much assessed the situation, "which part do you need repeating?"
In a logical sense, "the part about when you're foot connects with Blade's balls?"
Poor Derek, he was only trying to recover from his daydreaming, but Richard was thinking of it from a different angle, presenting it like reverse psychology, "do you get a thrill out of watching guys get kicked in the nuts?"
It made the shrink sit up tall in his chair, clear his throat, fasten his tie...oh but, he dressed down today and wasn't wearing one, "of course not."
Seeing the school psych squirm, Richard thought it would be fun to toy with his mind, "have you ever been kicked in the nuts, Derek?"
Catching the casualness of Richard's words, Derek reacts, "no. Why would you even think that?"
This opens up a whole new subject, Richard saying, "when it comes to getting bullied, some guys are easy targets."
It didn't take much thinking back through life, Derek being popular in school, "well, I can assure you, I've never been bullied."
Seriously, Richard says, "I wasn't talking about you."
"Oh," Derek thinks on it, "you were talking about you?"
"But it's good to know you weren't, because then I know you haven't a clue to how bad life can be for a person at school or at home, or anywhere it happens that they are bullied and have no choice to act as if life was fine."
Wondering if Richard were putting it out there as a general statement, Derek's next question hits home, "are you speaking from personal experience?"
Suddenly that tough exterior began to buckle, Richard's eyes filling up. He kept up the steel frame of being and thinking he's confided enough, "never mind."
He got up to leave, grabbing his backpack, but quick on the rebound, Derek reaches over his desk and pulls at Richard's arm, "no, you don't have to go."
Richard visibly looks at his restrained arm.
"Oh," Derek realizes, "sorry 'bout that, but really, if you want to talk about it or anything else, I'm a good ear for listening, Richard."
He expected, like many students who begin to tell a hard luck story, that this is it, a blurb of their woes and he never sees again.
How wrong he is, when Richard, who seems to act more grown up than peers his age, "I figured that, Dr. Winter. That's why I'd like to follow up on our session."
"Session?"
"Yeah. When Caleb left, I thought I was being counseled?"
It never crossed the psychologist's mind, but it wasn't to say Derek thought Richard needed to talk things out, "of course I'd like to meet with you again." Then he had brain-glitch, thinking, instead of counseling, he was setting up a date, "for counseling."
"Well, the sooner the better, because right now I'm feeling a lot of anxiety over what happened and need someone to help think out all everything, if you can catch my drift?"
"Absolutely. I get you completely," Derek motions with his hand. Not wanting the moment to flee.
"Great. When do you have free?"
In reality, Derek had wanted it sooner than later, "do you feel suicidal, Richard?"
"No. Not at all. I don't think I'm anywhere's near that, but I just have a lot of things I want to talk about with someone and feel like we have a connection."
In one respect Derek was glad it was a statement and not a question. Having 'connections' in this day and age can mean many things, of which he would have no problem entertaining one of those definitions!
"I feel the same, Richard," and with a mindset of pushing back his schedule to help such a troubled teen, "why don't you come back after school's out?"
Checking his cellphone, Richard says, "that's like, in a half hour?"
With big clocks on just about every room in the building, Derek glances up and back, "where does the time go?"
"So, I'll come back in half an hour?"
At the door, door open, Richard ready to take his leave, Derek feels left with only one option, "sounds like a plan."
"See you then," Richard breaks that tough facade and offers a tiny smile, "thanks."
On both sides of the closed door there were huge exhales.
When he got back to his desk and sat, Derek had to do a package check. 'Oh shit,' he exclaimed, feeling, but looking, spotted a wet spot the size of a quarter. He shot up to his feet and looking down, pulled at his zipper. 'Whew,' he sat down again, seeing that if his pants were in a relaxed position, no one could see the leakage.
Richard, right after his hand left the doorknob, readjusts the backpack to being totally reliant on his shoulders. In doing so, it seemed to not only pull on his shirt, but his pants. It's then he realizes more than his shirt in a bind. 'Shit!' A quick search of the office, fortunately everyone was bustling about at the sound of the bell. Realizing he misjudged the half hour before school ending for the day, Richard froze, thinking he'd have to just make an about face. He did, facing the psych's office door, which then put a spin on his plan. For certain, Richard could not enter, not with the bulge. Fortunately though, the anxiety seemed to work for him, instead of against, "oh good."
Then he jumped, hearing, "hey, how'd it go with Winters?"
"Fine, Chance. I mean Caleb."
"What's the matter?" Caleb questions Richard's disorderly conduct.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
Seeing the good in all this, Caleb became his distraction, the prescription he needed to calm his thoughts.
However, as the new-found-friends walked to the hallway to their lockers, finding they were only two locker doors apart.
Addressing his locked locker, Caleb says, "I'm glad now we're friends and not enemies, at least while Blade is in the hospital."
Before Richard could dial the second number, he whips to his left, "hospital? Blade's in the hospital?"
Caleb muses, "I don't think your kick phased him much, once the pain wore off, but you don't know Blade like I know him. Although, I think he could be a good actor, if you know what I mean?"
Two things phased Richard, one being Derek, correctly his own relaxing of the school psychologist's name, "Winters, he never mentioned Blade was taken to the hospital!"
"Yeah, but like I said, even the paramedic said it looked like Blade was faking it, that it would make a good lawsuit."
"Lawsuit?" Richard laughed, though one-tenth of it turned to anxiety. "Uh, you don't think Blade will actually go through with it? I mean, it was him ordering Calico to hold me and you, he made you hold the other dude."
Finding the things he wanted in his locker, plus jacket, Caleb says, "the way I see it, and for Richard, I'd tell it like it happened in court, that it was self defense."
Having stopped bothering with the lock, Richard leans his shoulder up against his locker door, "thanks Caleb. I hope from here on out, we can become good friends?"
"I'd like that Richard."
The two stood there smiling at each other, until Caleb broke off the stare, "well, I gotta go. My dad will be picking me up."
Strange, but not far-fetched, it irked Richard, "your dad?"
"Yeah," Caleb comes close to Richard, in the space of faces almost having lips touch, "don't tell anyone, but I haven't any mom, but two dads."
"Hey," Richard assures, "I never heard about it!"
"Thanks," Caleb gets the message and leaves.
It seems Caleb was just the diversion Richard needed. Gone was the feeling of the bulge in his briefs and he felt relaxed dialing up his locker combination. Not his usual self, he was still consumed with not what happened early on, nor the hospital situation, but his time spent in the school psych's office. One of the big questions on his slate, had Dr. Winters noticed the slight bulge he was feeling? Critically thinking, was it a bulge at all or the beginning of one, which would not show if his pent up emotions were just starting to build? Such were tough questions for a ninth grader.
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% 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.