The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story.
Various states and countries have various rules regarding reading or viewing adult material'. It is up to the reader to research this subject, abiding by their own laws. The pages of this story contain adult material', intended for an `adult audience'. Bypass this warning at your own risk.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
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^o^ Concluding remarks ~ reading this story could make you stiff or gooey, so I would suggest not reading it at work... just sayin'! :)
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FiRE iSLAND BiKiNiS ~ `MAkiNG WaRRioRs' 07 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
^o^
Fortunately for Tommy, his clients, the girls', didn't show, which put him in a relaxed state, "Ah-h-h," he sighs, sitting down on a weight bench as if he were out on the beach, a head between his legs, cock feeling mighty good, then lifting his head, sitting up, "Feels mighty good to sit here and watch others' work!"
Jesse, after telling the 28-year old trainer the news, informs, "Glad you feel that way, Tommy. You can watch all you want, after we get the boats in the water?"
About to gripe, Tommy held his tongue, upon seeing a group of guys, looking to be a mix of high schoolers and college age, approach... in speedos... shirtless...
Rising off the weight bench, Tommy says, "On the other hand, if you're needin' help, let no man say Tommy Tucker is a sloucher!"
Jesse didn't mean for Tommy to take over, but being he did, like he was their counselor, it freed up Jesse for other things, being overwhelmed by the turnout.
Turning around, he was met by all the dudes who were in their wheelchairs. Tommy about-faced, walking around the perimeter of the gym, "Let's go this way, boys!"
Lying faced up on the floor, the other dudes were out of their chairs or off crutches, with the exception of Justin Petter. For the moment, no one knew how or if they should release Justin from the bonds of his chair, allowing the 21-year old, ginger-bearded college man join in.
Jesse had to admit, with 300 applicants out on the sidewalk, now reduced to around 25, he was pulling people from their predetermined position and shuffling them around. A blessing Tommy's clients didn't show, he could shuffle Tommy into the position Dack Harmon held, returning Dack to the physical therapy session.
"Sorry I'm late!" Dack walks in.
No one was a bit sorry, watching the 27-year old park a surfboard in the corner of the room, in the balance of two walls.
No one offered up a word to the speedo-clad therapist, Dack rubbing up and down his arms, "Oo-oo, it's chilly in here!"
Jay, on the mat next to Evan, comments softly, "I wonder if his balls are frozen?!"
"I'll raise my hand and ask!"
Slapping his hand over Evan's, Jay says, "Don't be a moron!"
Drake got a finger stepped on from his boyfriend, Drew, just for asking, "Can he be my trainer?" which kept Drake from raising a hand, let alone a finger.
Knowing how frivolous an 18-year old can be, Jesse acts serious, "Sorry, but Dack has been interviewed by the family and he'll be working with Justin."
It was the first time, since they met Justin, seeing him crack a smile!
"Let me just go get changed," Dack says, parading across the room.
Again, Jay had to slap Evan's arm, when his friend reaches out for an ankle!
"What's tripping him up gonna prove, Ev?" Jay asks him.
Being on the side Dack came from, Evan says, "He would have fallen in front of you, stoopid!"
His jaw dropping open, Jay laments, "Fuck! Why didn't you tell me? I would have crawled all over him!"
"Loser!" Evan tells him.
Then they restart the session, which was mainly getting the feel of the room, dragging themselves all over the mat.
Near Drake, Evan asks, "Is your boyfriend the jealous type?"
Assuming Evan and Jay were bf's, "Not necessarily. We have an open relationship, but depends on who the other guy or guys are. You and your boyfriend ever get it on with two other guys?"
Patric, in charge of working with Drake, comes by, "You guys are supposed to working, not taking a coffee break!"
Randy, who had stepped out, to find out if Jay's trainer had arrived, found out he quit before he got started.
Coming back in, he finds Evan regrouping with Jay, saying, "Patric's a meanie!"
Jay joins forces, "Yeah, Ev got his balls twisted up by Patric, because he was messing with his trainee!"
Perhaps they were expecting solidarity, Randy saying, "You probably deserved it. Get back to what he was telling you to do!"
Walking over to where rings hung from the ceiling, Jay condemns, "Looks like Patric's not the only meanie!"
There was a vast difference between the too, as far as Evan was concerned. From first laying eyes on Randy, he already had it set in his mind, this was husband-material, for which he states, "I think we should give him a break."
Jay, knowing Evan's feeling for Randy, says, "Who, Patric?"
"No, moron, Randy!"
Evan did a pretty good job getting back in his chair.
Jay, he had great difficulty, so much he was forced to swear when his chair turned over on its side, "Oh shit, I suck so bad at this!"
Patric, again the `meanie', walks right past, "So? Suck it up, Jay. You don't get anywhere by not trying?" he continues to walk on by.
"Hey, did you know I'm good at helping people who suck?"
Jay thought Jesse gave Sean Hardy another job to do, but was happy Sean was tilting his chair upright and that he didn't have to figure it out himself, "Thanks Sean. Oh, by the way, I don't suck... up... you know what I mean!" he sinks at Sean.
Going on his way, because Sean was on his way from here, to there, stripping off his shirt, on the way to help Tommy with the boats in the water, trails his thoughts, "Not yet, anyway!"
He wasn't even thinking about mobility, but Sean's parting words, which threw his mind into a tailspin. Past history recalled, he did have the opportunity, he and Jared in a curious mood, 69-ing it, but thinking on words of the moment, spoken, "Maybe," Jay wasn't sure if he would want to take cock again. Realizing, all this thinking preoccupying his time, Jay hadn't a clue, until his butt hit the seat, softly rejoices, "Wow! I did it!" looks to both sides of his chair, handled corralling in thighs and butt.
Also, he hadn't noticed, Justin next to him, Dack having him pass a tennis ball in between hands, which seemed to be a great, great feat for Justin, he says to Jay, "What do want, an Olympic medal?"
Of course, when Justin rolled in, Jay thought he looked hot, but throughout most of the morning he sat there, did nothing. Now, Jay could see Justin wasn't totally helpless, trying to pass the tennis ball from one hand to the next, rolling it over the little laptop table.
"All right," Dack instructs, "now we try it without the table," he removes it.
"I can't do it," Justin's wrists rest on his thighs.
Watching, Jay's peak interests switch from patient, to therapist, and back.
"Of course you can't!"
"Huh?" Jay thought, like `some help you are, Dack!'
Justin stood his ground, sitting there, eyes intent on not doing it.
"First," Dack lightens up, holding up the tennis ball between `fuck' finger and thumb, "you can't do anything without this?"
"It's not going to matter," Justin says, like losing patience.
Jay tries psychologically to help, "I bet I can do it!"
Playing along, Dack asks, "Do we want to see Jay do it, Justin?"
Something didn't seem right, but Jay thought, if it got Justin to do it, he would go along with it.
"Sure. Why not?" Justin replies.
Though, Jay was sure, Justin had more of an interest in Dack than himself. But, why not? Dack was gorgeous. Everyone in the room was a witness to him, stripped down to a speedo and with clothes on.
Too bad, when Randy calls for him, "Your turn, Jay," at the rings!
Oz Nolan and Ed Larsen had taken on training with the older men, having volunteered, when the whole of the trainers were silent, Jesse giving the job of who trained who, up for grabs.
Though, Oz acted a little more grabby, grabbing up Peter Brekker over Carlos Goya, choosing the younger patron. Perhaps he had it on the ups and ups, knowing Brekker an overall sportsman, into rugged sports as mountain climbing, snowboarding and could play a mean game of tennis. You think a guy involved with challenging sports could ski straight!
Alas, when Peter raised his ski pole by accident, getting snagged in the branch, it pulled him into the tree instead of away from it. The ski didn't pull free from his foot and Peter could swear he heard the break as his ankle twisted.
When Oz heard the story, plus the part Peter hadn't told the press, raising the ski pole to show off, which he wondered why Peter was confessing it to him, all Oz could do is shake his head and label Brekker a dummy!
On the other hand, 44-year old Carlos Goya had legitimately hurt himself while on the job in construction.
Trainers had a choice of either meeting their clients ahead of time, or on the first day to report. Ed chose to meet Carlos beforehand. It was Ed's last day, taking an early retirement from the nursing home he worked for. At 52-years old, he was too young for true retirement, but had had enough of the position and felt Warrior One an in on the out.
Giving Carlos a call, Ed figured they could meet at a park or on the water somewhere. Carlos claimed he could not easily move around.
Falling for it, Ed agreed to meet at Carlos' house.
A normal driveway, when he entered the house, there were two wrought iron gates to walk through, which upon seeing what lie inside, he couldn't help but ask, "You do nice on a laborer's salary?"
Having met Ed for the first time, Carlos was delighted by his looks. Like himself, Ed had a beard and stash, but longer hair, nicely coiffed. Silently he was thinking, `woof!', admiring the v-neck of Ed's shirt, a tease of chest hair. He could have been offended, but after the initial view, decided to make this a pleasant meetup, "What'll you have to drink?"
Drink?' Ed thought. He had come here to say hello' and find out Carlos' needs. Regardless, "A beer, if you have it?" Though, Ed doubted he didn't have it, led to a large, mahogany bar, mirrored and equipped with a fridge, commenting, "Nice set up."
Regarding Ed's earlier comment, as he uncaps 2 bottles, Carlos says, "For a laborer, huh?"
Smirking, Ed replies, "Have you ever wished you hadn't said something, after you've said it?"
After taking a swig, Carlos says, "Only half-million times. C'mon, let's go out on the deck."
Again, Ed had to mention, "Very nice..."
Carlos cuts him off, "Yeah, not bad for a laborer's salary, huh?"
Even though he was going to say something like it, Ed refutes, "I wasn't going to say that."
"Oh," Ed winces, trying with both hands to put his leg up.
"Allow me," Ed says, getting up and lifting the left leg onto a chaise lounge.
"Thanks," Carlos says, smiling when the sandal falls off his foot.
"Want that on?" Ed holds the sandal up.
Carlos chances it, which could get him dumped out of his chair, "Unless you're into feet?"
It wouldn't be anything foreign to Ed, having tongued, licked and sucked on a man's toes, but decided to make Carlos squirm, "What was that?"
"Um, just thought you might like to see me wiggle my toes as part of the test, that's all," Carlos exhaled.
"Oh, I thought you meant something like that. Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out."
But Carlos could not wiggle his toes, saying, "That's why I signed up at Warrior One," even though part of Carlos' reason was watching all the hot guys, all summer long, "to loosen up my toes."
"Warrior One is about much more than physical therapy, you know?"
Didn't he know it, Carlos exclaims, "Of course!"
He could write the book on Gaydar, Ed saying, "Part of it will be trying to keep your mind on your training and not all the other hot guys in the room. In other words, you're going to have to restrain yourself from getting hard!"
Carlos' jaw dropped, him saying, "What the...?"
"Don't say it like it's a dirty word, will ya?" Ed laughs, drinks. He adds, "And if you must know, I don't do feet on the first date!"
Feeling rooked, Carlos says, "Oh, I could think of much, much more for you to do, to please me!"
Back to the future, the others, becoming all `warrior-ed out', getting out of chairs or working their way down the pole of a crutch, only to return topside, then do it all over again, 6 times, now lay on the mat. Some had been retrieved by parents, partners or friends.
Little did anyone speculate, though wasn't surprised, Sean had made friends fast with Greg Smith and throughout the course of a couple of hours. Having reported to `the boats', it was found out, Sean wasn't much help. Returning to Warrior One, Greg didn't know, it part of the deal, Sean had made arrangements with Greg's brother, to stay with the 18-year old at his house, which an arrangement made between Greg's brother, Mark, Jesse Spenser and Sean. This way, Greg would have an escort home and back the next day.
Drake had been chilling out, waiting for his boyfriend to come back. Early on, Drew felt concerned, but after about 15 minutes found it to be, Drake in good hands. However, right now he had not returned, Patric hanging around until his boyfriend shows.
"You know," the 18-year old addresses his trainer, "you're a tough trainer?"
More softer in his approach, different than when Drake tried getting back in his wheelchair, Patric tells him, "There's a difference between making someone do something and making someone do something for their own good."
Knowing it so, Drake has come around, "I know."
With skeptical return, Patric says, "Right. Now you do, but before you thought I was out to be some mean ole SOB!"
Drake had to giggle, Patric hitting the nail on the head, "Well, what can you expect," he condemns himself, "from a spoiled kid from suburbia?"
"No. Really?" Patric cracks half a smile.
"Yeah," Drake elaborates on the history, "like Drew and me, we both grew up on the same block... only, the first block was about a mile wide. Guess you can say we were born with silver spoons in our mouths."
Patric smiles, wondering if it were Drew who stuffed Drake's mouth, or the other way around, acknowledging, "Oh really?"
Trying to feel Patric out, Drake pops the question, "You know, Drew and I are gay?"
"Really?" Patric replies. "I never would have guessed, except he kissed you on the cheek before he left? Unless that was brotherly love? Then again, your application says you haven't any siblings?"
Getting impatient, Drake says, "Okay, so you know I'm gay. What about you?"
"What about me?" Patric plays dumb.
Drake didn't get a straight answer, whipping his cell out and taking a call from Drew. When talking about the `silver spoons', Drake had mentioned his folks were fine with him coming out, but Drew having a serious problem with his religious family. It was of no imposition for Drake to take Drew into the modest home he rented on the island.
After tabbing off his phone, Drake made a long exhale, "Oh bo-oy."
"Problem?" Patric had sunk into a yoga position on the mat, indian-style.
Sitting up on the mat, leaning against a wheel of his chair, Drake says, "That was Drew. His brother, Marc, decided to come out... well, he really didn't have much of a choice, one of his college buds from campus accidentally outing him. To make a long story short, Marc asked if Drew and I could put him up for at least the summer, until he figures out what he's going to do?"
Seeing this an in, to explain, `yeah, I'm gay,' Patric asks, "Oh really? What are his stats like?"
Pointing the finger, Drake says, about his own gay intuition, "I'm never wrong!"
"I see. Then, how come you didn't come right out and say it, instead of trying to trip me up?"
"Because you don't go around asking people if they're gay, dah!"
Casually, Patric says, "Okay, so you know I'm gay. Now, how about Drew's brother's stats?"
"Uh, let's see," Drake leans back, looks up into the imaginary clouds, "tall, handsome... from the few times I can recall, whenever I had the opportunity to check him out, he was `amply' built," he clutches his own crotch.
"Amply?" Patric replies. "And how would you happen to come across such information?"
"If I make it sound like a porn novel, will it get you hard?"
Patric says, "It might!"
"Okay. Get hard over this. Brothers share rooms. Sometimes one brother takes a shower. When that brother comes back, he dries off, removes the towel and gets dressed. That's how come I know," Drake tells.
"Don't give up your day job. A porn novelist you'll never be!"
Smiling at Patric, Drake gets even, "I suppose not, if I can't make a guy hard!"
Drake got a second chuckle out of it, looking at Patric stealing a glance to his own pubes, calling the situation, "You're pathetic man!"
"I beg your pardon? Who's the pathetic one?"
Now there was real life porn taking place, a reason for Drake's deliberate staring!
"Let's get busy," Patric says.
Drake's smile turned into a wide, toothy grin, watching Patric getting up, then get down on the mat to work with him, in a haunched over position, like a porn novel would dictate, a position for a hot cock to come up behind a guy, he laments, "If only Drew's car hadn't fallen on me."
They worked out, Drake explaining the reason he was confined to his disability, with divided attention. Caught up in Patric's inquisitiveness, regarding how he lost both legs under the car he was working on, he also told about his life since.
Patric learns, story behind how Drake and Drew came together, high school buddies, Drew feeling obligated, "Yeah, I wouldn't say we had a relationship of being partners, but Drew more obligated, since it was his car. He blames himself. You know how that goes?"
Working out, Patric moved back, waiting for Drake to crawl towards him.
Turning towards thoughts of porn, like sugarplums dancing in his head, Drake thought how sweet it could have been, hovering over a tight ass, plunged in and the guy he fucked, moving back, impaling him more deeply... "And that's how it all happened."
"Well, I could look at this with two thoughts in mind," Patric says.
Drake was slowly being absorbed in one thought, but knew he had to mask what he could not control, "Oh? How would that go?"
"You're living with a guy you don't love, am I right?"
Suddenly, Drake's dream-state had dried up, "I love him?"
"Are you asking me if you love him?"
"I love him," Drake replies, more adamantly.
"I see," Patric, who could read a guy pretty good, 98% of the time, not believing his ears. "Well, excuse me for stating the obvious, when it's not the obvious!"
Hearing Patric curtail his little theory with a giggle, Drake turned his feeling of protest against Patric's statement, lightening up with a smile.
Taking it as such, Patric says, "You're very forgiving, a quality I like in a person."
"Why? Are you always screwing up?"
With a smirk, Patric replies, "I'm versatile!"
"Oh my god, you're acting like one of my porn novels!"
"Hmm, like how would that go?"
Smiling, as Patric coaxes him along on the mat, Drake theorizes, the reason they are both faced down, "Are you hiding an erection?"
Hitting Drake back, Patric answers with a question, "Are you?"
Meanwhile, in the opposite corner of the room, Jay had time out, while Randy worked with Evan.
"How do you think I'm going to reach the rings without your help?"
"Brilliant deduction, moron!" Jay condemns his friend.
It was in the contract, code of moral ethics, trainers reserving the right to touch their clients, without causing it to be called sexual harassment, but Randy often reminded, "Would it be all right if I touched you?"
Propped up against the wall, sitting on his ass, Jay stares Evan deep in the eyes, like their brains were on the same wavelength.
"Sure," Evan replies, "especially below the belt!"
Behind Evan, in his chair, Randy was ready to assist. Looking straight ahead, he caught Jay's response, Randy posing to them, "Don't you two think of anything but sex?"
They both answer, before cracking up, "Nope!"
Infectious, Jay's favorite has been rubbing off, Randy calling them, "Morons!"
Jay was sort of jealous, Randy's hands all over Evan's rib cage, lifting him on the sides of his bod, so the rings above the wheel chair could be caught up in both hands.
"Damn! I haven't tried this since before all this happened," Evan says of holding onto the rings with both hands, "only, I can't hold on. I'm gonna fall!"
However, his knight shining armor was right there for him, Evan's grip slipping into his fingertips, "I gotcha!"
For certain, Randy didn't want any of his clients wheeled out, on a stretcher, with something equivalent to a broken ass. Thinking the wrong way about it, to himself, `At least not broken in that way!'
"What's so funny?" Jay asks, looking at Randy point blank.
"Funny?" guilt comes over Randy.
Jay says, "Yeah, you're giving Ev a bear hug and smiling. There's something to that, don't you think?"
"Like I said, you two have only one thing on your minds. You've got to get a hobby and it's not a marathon in the sheets!"
Now in his chair, Evan looks up, "Hm-m, I never thought of it like that Randy. Tell us," he glances to Jay, "are you a top or bottom?"
If he let it, Randy's training could have taken a different course, "Shut up about that stuff. You've got two more tries and then it's the other pervert's turn!"
Jay's jaw dropped open, but slowly turned into a smile. It was great he and Evan were getting along so good with Randy.
"Hey, you ready for a tough workout?"
He would have minded, a man blocking his view of Randy, but Jay was equally, if not more, facing another trainer, one in which he admired from a distance, but now, looking up those hairy legs, disappearing into the shorts, "Wow! Are you going to be my trainer?"
Thomas Tucker, `Tommy', was supposed to be working with the girls, but since they didn't show, was employed to take up the slack. Take up the slack he did, going through some surf'n'rescue drills.
He and Jesse had to laugh, it too intense or provoking disinterest, the ranks cut in half. With it narrowed down to one craft, Jesse could handle it himself, sending Tommy back to Warrior One.
"For today. C'mon," Tommy turns his back on Jay and starts walking, "follow me."
"Wait! I need my chair!"
Evan was paying attention to more than Randy's hands all over him, laughing at Jay, "Not if he can help it!"
It wasn't any secret, dudes out of their chairs, the other trainers making them grovel on the mats, "Well?" Tommy stops, casting a look over his shoulder.
In reality? Jay wanted to follow this hunk to the ends of the earth, perhaps over the edge, "I'm coming."
Fortunately for Jay, Evan had already prepped him for this experience, the two crawling on the floor at home, back when they lived in the other house.
"Faster?" Tommy says, before stopping on a blank mat, a few feet from Jay.
"You're not asking too much, are you?" Jay says sarcastically.
The question Tommy has been asking his whole life, based on feelings turned on and off, wondered if he was into girls or guys. Lately, hearing a gay friend render advice, no such thing as bisexual, Tommy has distanced himself from dating the opposite sex. Whereas he's called himself a top, when with a girl, with a guy he prefers to be `on his knees.' Therefore, he figures, if he likes the taste of running tongue up and down a guy's hard shaft, taking him down, until the wind is cut from his lungs, rather enjoying a meal of sweet guy-cream, he must be gay. With this in mind, Tommy smiles, thinking of what would be too much, if he could only... snapping out of it, he didn't have a snappy answer, "Too much?"
Wise to a man's vices, Jay says, "You took too long to answer, which means you were thinking something else?"
"Oh, so you're a wiseguy?" Tommy stalls. "How about you get wise and crawl to the edge of the mat and back?"
Doing it, Jay crawls by, "You're such a meanie, Tommy!"
The 28-year old knew he wasn't a meanie. A little intimidating perhaps, standing there, towering above the mat at 6'2, larger than if he could meet a man eye to eye or even eye to cock. For a guy, navel to the ground, Tommy had a momentary vision, Jay crawling along on the mat, coming across him lying there and as if a miracle occurs, the 20-year old crawling right up on him, sitting on his chest, prying lips open and stuffing his cock...
"There!"
Rubbing his short-cropped beard, Tommy thought, `I gotta start paying attention!'
Having gone the distance and back, Jay asks, "Next?"
"Ready for the rings?"
"Trust me, I'm kind of fatigued?"
Knowing he was there to workout, which eventually would get him moving again, first day, Jay had his limitations.
Tommy didn't need to be told, seeing it firsthand, "Let's get you back to the wall."
As with the others, all were acting lethargic, moving in slow motion. After all, it was past pickup time, was expected. Lined up against the wall, it held them up, some, like Jay, falling onto his side, only to be uprighted by Tommy, who got tired of constant reaction, finally sitting down next to Jay.
In response to the warm feeling next to him, Jay says to Tommy, "Does this mean we're boyfriends?"
Excusing himself, Tommy replies, "Not when I'm ten years older than you. Besides, we have to keep it professional, know what I mean?"
Rubbing Tommy's hairy thigh, Jay says, "Of course. Need a little massage, coach?!"
Tommy did, especially the innocent little flirt, as he thought it, Jay's five digits weaving his leg like a loom, picks Jay's hand up, removes it, drops it back in his own lap, "Not at much as you do?"
Making a statement, Jay replies, "At least you can feel something!"
"Oh," Tommy looks up, "there's your brother. Excuse me a minute," he pushes up from his ass and heads over to Jared.
Watching that ass, ten years older than his own, Jay thinks of how sweet it could be... yet, unobtainable, the idea of getting hard, getting it up, mounting that hot ass and... and then it occurs to him, what Randy said... he and Evan, too horny for their own good. Worse part though, here they were horny, but couldn't react properly!
For the most part, what started out as trainers matched up with clients, it didn't stay that way. What occurred, a trainer would stay near a station and work each client at that particular skill. Randy's thing seemed to be the rings, so he manned that station, passing each guy through, except Justin, "Now, what do we do about you?"
It was the same with every station, in and out of the chair, Justin Petter just could not physically do much of anything, not even twiddle his thumbs.
Like coming full circle, Dack Harmon, who had started with Justin, trades his client off to Randy, "I'll take care of him."
"Where are we going?" Justin asks, Dack rolling him away.
"Surfing!" Dack replies.
Well, he could not very well do it on his own, Dack grabbing a surfboard from the wall, calling the shots, "Hey, Sean, got a minute?"
Unfortunately, Sean Hardy was lost at what to do, faking it as a trainer, following what the others did. So, it was not a total loss of experience, the 21-year old liking the hands on approach, "Got more than a minute." Watching Randy with hands under Gregg's pits, lifting him up to the rings, Sean tells him, "Be back in a minute."
Seeing the side door open, Dack trying to man the wheelchair and surfboard under his arm, plus feeling totally useless, he was glad to be getting out of both, out of the stuffy building and continued responsibility, something he hadn't much of in the past.
"Ready to do some surfing?"
"Who?" Sean asks. "Me or him?"
"Both!" Dack replies.
Justin asks, "Is this okay with my brother?"
"Okay with your brother," Dack questions, "why don't you ask him yourself?
Right outside the door, a surprise was waiting for Justin, "Mark? What the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm here. That's all you have to know!"
Like admirer a hot, gay man for the first time, Justin says, "You look good... I mean, how did you get off from work?"
True, Mark Petter, for the most part, was always working. It's only been in the past 2 years, since Justin was cut down in the prime of his college life, via a hit and run, that Mark has had the need to take time off from work. If it hadn't been for his good friend and colleague, Joseph Rocco, Mark would be at wit's end with his own mental health.
"Thanks," Mark replies. Too, if it wasn't for Joseph, Mark might still be in the closet.
Dack, also open and even though he's known since only yesterday, feels comfortable enough to kid, "Yeah, Justin, someone might get the impression you have a bromance going on?"
Connecting Mark with Warrior One, yesterday making his first visit there, Joseph introduced him to all the essential personnel. It's when he had met Dack Harmon, who was to become Justin's personal trainer and mentor for the summer months, Mark felt super-good about placement for his brother in the program.
Eye to eye contact, there seemed to be a connection that flourished without even a word between the two. Already guaranteed by Joseph, a friendly environment, shaking Dack's hand, Mark was met with confidence and friendly warmth.
At their meeting yesterday, Justin is the one who sat on the sidelines, Dack putting the moves on Mark, showing him some of the things he would apply to Justin, upon their first therapy session together.
Unknowing to Mark, Dack had worked him quite vigorously, whereas he had sweated his shirt in all the usual places, pits, chest, back, "Whew! I'm going to be needing a shower by the time you're through with me."
Dack, one who took chances when it was right for the taking, responded, "I wish I could join you!"
He called the shots right this time, Mark saying, "I could wait till later?"
His concluding remark had Dack up against the wall, boxed in by a hand, seemingly holding up the wall behind Dack, of which he got a reply, "I could run you through the routine again, after dinner?"
Last night, after Justin was put to bed, Dack did show up, but this time it was Mark, giving Dack's tongue a workout, followed by his ass!
Yeah, the interview went quite well!
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Copyright 2014 T. Chase McPhee
`MAkiNG WaRRioRs', and developing segments of this story, may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.