Phalen

Phalen - Reputation and Honor

Chapter one

by Roy Reinikainen

"I'm standing in a freaking furnace!" Phalen grumbled. The sounds of the capacity crowd filling the stadium faded into the background as he removed his cap and wiped away a bead of perspiration, which had slowly begun to roll over his forehead. Even though it was only early spring, the intense heat caused the dry air to shimmer, and made the spectators on the far side of the field appear as insubstantial as an imaginary pool of water in the desert. Overhead, gauzy wisps of clouds stretched from the distant mountains to the opposite horizon, promising a glorious sunset. At the moment, though, they did little, other than create a beautiful scene.

In a moment, his entire attention would be focused on the batter, but, now, while a new pitcher warmed up, he let his mind wander, wondering what Jeff was thinking of the baseball game. Phalen smiled, imagining his father attempting to answer both Jeff and Greg's questions.

"You're short," Jeff said, one evening, not long after they'd met. He and Phalen were sitting side-by-side on a thick beach towel at the edge of the swimming pool, dangling their feet in the cool water, as Phalen attempted to explain the game he loved. "Is that the reason they call you a shortstop?" Jeff had asked. "You're short, and your job is to stop the ball?" Phalen's eyes widened, and he'd burst out laughing, rolling onto his back and splashing the water with his feet, while he pounded the brick pool deck with his hands. When he saw Jeff's uncomprehending expression, he struggled to a sitting position, cleared his throat, and tried to school his smile into a serious expression, appropriate to answering Jeff's question.

"First of all, I'm not short," he managed to say, before once again giving in to laughter. "You're just taller than me, that's all. That doesn't make me short, and my height has nothing to do with the position I play."

"Oh," Jeff frowned, shaking his head, still clearly puzzled.

Phalen's mouth twisted into a crooked grin, as he turned to the man he loved, and traced a line over Jeff's jaw with a forefinger, amazed, as always, that someone like Jeff would find him interesting. The man was so . . . so . . . perfect, from his head of thick black hair, to his startlingly bright green eyes and light skin, to his unique accent. 'Whenever I'm with him,' Phalen thought, 'I'm surprised at how often people turn to watch him, yet he doesn't even notice!

'I'm so freaking lucky!' he remembered thinking, as Jeff laid back and took him in his arms, the naked length of their bodies pressed close as their tongues found one another's.

"I'm sorry for laughing a minute ago," Phalen murmured, as they parted, propping himself up on his elbows and looking into Jeff's eyes. "I wasn't laughing at you; I've just never thought of things the way you do. But," he added, in a tone of mock severity. "I am not short. I'm the perfect height for my pants."

"You don't wear pants," Jeff chuckled, after another lengthy kiss. "You're always wearing shorts."

"Hmm, yeah, I guess." Phalen's eyes had lit. "That would mean that I'm seriously tall, since I've got so much leg exposed, huh?"

Jeff had reached up to tenderly run a fingertip over Phalen's lips. "I love you, my handsome . . . short . . . stop," he murmured, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. "I'd also love it if you . . ."

"Phalen!" the second baseman, Bobby Pickett, called, shattering the recollection of Jeff's cock stiffening between their bodies, and what followed. "Heads up!" Bobby called. Phalen signaled his understanding and his thanks, and tried to push away thoughts of Jeff, of his shy laughter, his warm touch, his sparkling eyes hiding a growing mischievous spirit, and of Jeff's weight on top of him, or the soft breathing as Jeff slept at his side. Ignoring those thoughts was a difficult thing to do, especially since the team had returned to town from a three-day road trip, which meant he'd not seen . . . or touched . . . Jeff, in three days. 'I'm sorta sorry we're having a party tonight. I'm selfish. I want him all to myself . . . though I will be happy to see the twins, Kerin and Thian, again. It's been a long time since they've been over. Dad and Greg are always fun, too.'

Ross McCree, the alternate pitcher, made eye contact with each of his outfield teammates, verifying their readiness to resume play, then turned to face the waiting batter, prepared to throw the ball which, if thrown badly, could conceivably result in the three men already on-base, plus the current batter, scoring. Ross was the team's best pitcher, sent in to salvage the game with one of his ultra-fast power pitches. The word was that, if he turned pro, Ross could already ask for a six figure salary, and was actively being considered by a number of professional teams. Phalen frowned. 'I can't imagine doing nothing but playing baseball for the next twenty years. I'd have to be away from Jeff way too much. Hell, I hate it, and we've only been separated for three days. Sometimes a pro-player is away from home for weeks . . . or he might be traded to another team. No way, Jose! But . . .' he grinned, as the crowd became silent, 'the pay is good.'

'Okay, Ross,' he thought to himself, 'all we need is one perfect pitch, and if the rest of us do our job, the game'll be over and I can go home.'

Phalen adjusted his cap and hunkered down, bending his knees slightly, prepared to move in any direction necessary to intercept the ball, should it be hit in his direction. He knew that many people considered the difficulty playing shortstop to be second only to the pitcher. If a ball made it past the pitcher, or the second baseman, responsibility fell on his shoulders. He enjoyed the pressure, though, and had, after the first few games of the season, proven himself an outstanding player.

Time seemed to slow. The noise of the crowd dimmed even further, as Ross McCree, like a tightly coiled spring being freed, hurled the ball straight towards the catcher. Phalen was surprised the air didn't sizzle with the speed of its passing. 'Perfect,' he thought in the briefest space of time it took for the batter to swing. There was the unmistakeable crack of the bat making contact . . . and . . . Phalen reacted.

The ball, at waist-height, came at him like a rocket. Without conscious thought, he caught it and, in one fluid motion, threw the ball to the catcher standing over home plate. The catcher almost casually tapped out the runner, approaching from third base.

In the blink of an eye, the catcher threw the ball to third base, where another runner was tagged out.

Three outs! The game was over! The Sun Devils had won!

The roar of the crowd returned to consciousness as Phalen joined his teammates in a celebration - laughing, patting each other on the back, and behaving like children, rather than one of the best baseball teams in the nation. Beating their down-state rivals was always cause for celebration. In fact, most of the team would be using the victory as a reason to continue the celebration throughout the afternoon and late into the evening.

"Are you going to join us for a party?" second baseman Bobby Pickett asked, as the celebration on the field ebbed and the players headed to the locker room, singly, or in small groups. Phalen stooped to pick up his cap, as Bobby continued speaking. "There's going to be lots of beer and women," he continued, as if that might be an enticement. "Lots of food, too," he added, as an afterthought, proving he knew Phalen well.

"Nah," Phalen answered, trying not to let his thoughts about such a party color his voice or show on his face, no matter how much food was present. "In fact, I'm not going to even go back to the locker room to change. I'm heading straight home. A bunch of friends are coming by for a barbecue and a swim." He playfully slapped Bobby on the butt. "You played a great game today. Enjoy your party! Eat an extra burger for me, eh?"

Phalen returned head coach Ed Bowen's wave, then turned to the stands, looking for Jeff.

They met one another's eyes, and it was as if their love for one another was instantly reconfirmed. Once again, the rest of the world seemed to disappear. The stadium held only two people - him and Jeff. Phalen's raised hand and smile was mirrored by Jeff's. Feeling playful, Phalen raised his arm further and sniffed his armpit, a signal to Jeff that he wanted a tongue bath. 'And do I ever,' Phalen told himself, grinning when he saw Jeff, who, having received the message, suddenly begin to herd Larry and Greg toward one of the stadium exits, with funny shooing motions of his hands.

'I want the Big Man to slowly strip me,' Phalen mused, as he watched his father, Greg, Jeff's brother, and his father's lover, and Jeff, disappear from sight down a passageway leading to the parking lot. 'Then,' Phalen resumed his fantasy as he wiped an arm over his forehead, 'he'll lick me all over, starting with the hair of my pits, then my crotch, my balls, and between my legs, before he slowly slides into me.' "Damn," Phalen said, as he adjusted himself and trotted toward one of the ballpark's exits. "He has no idea what I've got in store for him."

From the stands, Jeff watched, clueless, as an expectant hush blanketed the stadium and the crowd stood, leaving Greg and him behind. Greg glanced toward his brother, with a crooked grin, and shrugged silent amusement, then heaved himself out of his seat with a tired sigh, and stood, responding to something Larry said, with a grin and a nod. Jeff followed, a moment later, pleased to finally stand. 'Boring perfectly describes this game,' he thought, wondering how to best respond when Phalen asked if he'd enjoyed himself. 'Maybe I'll grow to . . . like . . . it, once I understand what's happening,' he thought, contemplating what an expression of cautious optimism might look like. Jeff sighed, wishing he was in his swimming pool, or bed, or anyplace, as long as he was naked and with Phalen. He shook his head, feeling guilty. 'It's bad form for me to not at least try to make a greater effort to enjoy myself. After all, this game is Phalen's passion. It means a great deal to him that I like it.' Jeff's brows lowered. 'Hmmm.'

He glanced around. The silence of the crowd was almost freaky. 'A crowd never behaves like this during a hockey game,' he thought, as he glanced toward Phalen, the only man he'd watched during the interminably long afternoon. Phalen looked wonderful in his white baseball uniform. The way the pants hugged his butt caused Jeff's cock to twitch. 'They're like a second skin,' he thought to himself, hoping no one noticed as he adjusted himself, imagining his face buried between Phalen's sweaty butt cheeks.

Jeff loved it when Phalen would kneel, straddling him, reaching back and spreading his muscular ass cheeks before grinding his hole into his face, and groaning with pleasure. He would alternately tease Jeff's cock with his tongue, or take as much as he could manage down his throat. If Jeff shot first, Phalen would shift positions and shoot his load directly onto Jeff's outstretched tongue.

"I love watching my jiz land on your tongue, then slowly slide back to your throat," Phalen once said, immediately before he began kissing Jeff, tasting his own sperm on his tongue.

'The best part of today's game,' Jeff thought, 'occurred before it had even begun.' When the team ran onto the field, Phalen had turned toward where he knew Jeff was sitting, and had waved his hat, flashing his trademark smile. The crowd, unaware that the wave was solely for Jeff, went wild, waving and cheering the man who had become one of the crowd and media favorites. Phalen, it seemed, always had time to sign an autograph, pose for a photograph with a fan, or be interviewed, where he invariably spoke of the accomplishments of his teammates.

Jeff's heart swelled with pride, as, in the distance, the huge screen focused on Phalen, as he donned his hat and trotted to his position on the field. 'That is the man I love,' Jeff wanted to shout. 'He loves me . . . me! Aren't I lucky?'

If possible, the silence had become more pronounced. Jeff watched the guy standing on the mound of dirt move to the center of the circle, and begin waving his arm. 'He's been doing that for the last ten minutes,' Jeff murmured to himself. 'Why are we all standing, now?' Phalen and the rest of the team seemed to think something was about to happen, though. Their attention was focused on the guy with the bat.

'I'll never understand all of this,' Jeff thought to himself, as the man doing all the arm-swinging finally threw the ball at the batter. "Get out of the way!" Jeff wanted to shout. Inexplicably, the batter stepped closer and swung. There was a loud crack, and the ball headed in a sizzlingly fast line directly toward Phalen, who caught it, then threw it to the player standing where the batter had just been. That guy, in turn, threw it to someone else. And then, in mere seconds, almost faster than one could see, and certainly faster than Jeff could comprehend, the game was . . . over, leaving him wondering what exactly had happened. 'We sat here all afternoon for that?' he asked himself, feeling as if he'd been, in some obscure way, cheated.

The crowd went wild; the players on the field . . . half of them, at least . . . piled on top of one another, in a mass of laughing humanity, while, in the stands, Larry joined the rest of the crowd's celebration, acting like a crazy man, cheering his son, jumping up and down, waving his arms in the air, and acting nothing like the dignified attorney he was. Greg's barely stifled yawn, caused Jeff to smile. 'At least I'm not the only one who doesn't have a clue,' he thought, consoling himself, while the celebration continued on the field. 'Hmm,' he smiled. 'After all that jostling around, I imagine Phalen's going to need a massage.' He smiled. 'He'll probably be very sweaty, too. Oh yeah!'

Marty Kelly, the assistant trainer, watched what was happening on the field, with ill-concealed envy. Ross McCree, the team's best fast-ball pitcher, was warming up, replacing poor Doug O'Neil. Doug had pitched a good game, until he became tired and threw a few bad pitches, which resulted in the opponents putting a man on each of the three bases, threatening his team's one-point lead. Doug had been removed from the game, and was now sitting slumped against the wall, either in exhaustion or dejection; it was difficult to tell.

'I know exactly how he feels,' Marty thought, recalling the letter he'd received from the university denying him a baseball scholarship. For weeks afterward, he was convinced his world had ended. His mother, standing anxiously by, didn't need anyone to tell her what the letter from the university contained; her son's slumping posture, his look of utter defeat, told her all, and more than she wanted to know.

'How is it possible for all the life to drain out of a person in mere seconds?' she asked herself, knowing there was nothing she could possibly do or say to make her fun-loving, energetic, and forever-talking son feel better. She held her breath, waiting for him to give her the news.

"I'm not good enough," he mumbled. Being on the university's baseball team had been his goal since he watched his older brothers play high school ball. None of them were good enough to even apply for a scholarship, much less hope to receive one. Marty was different. He was better than good. Even his high school coach thought so. It was he who had encouraged Marty to apply for a scholarship. In his mother's mind, just as in that of her husband, their son was the best. Now, he'd been told that, no matter how good he was, he wasn't good enough.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she finally said, swallowing the pain she felt, and lovingly drawing him, unresisting, to her side, just as she'd always done with him and his brothers whenever they'd needed comforting. He'd put his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder in silent misery. Finally, he'd pulled away, and straightened, giving her a kiss on the cheek and a crooked smile, which tore at her heart.

"I'd better call Brad. I told him I'd let him know when I heard something."

Today, it was Doug O'Neil who needed comforting. He needed to know that he'd not been forgotten.

"Y'doin' okay?" Marty asked, tearing himself away from the tension on the field, and perching on the bench next to the dejected looking pitcher.

Doug's mouth twisted into a grin. "Yeah," he nodded, "I'll survive. Thanks for asking, though." He squeezed Marty's shoulder. "You're a great guy, Marty . . . always looking out for all of us on the team." Doug made an effort to look cheery. "All of us appreciate the things you do, whether anyone's told you or not."

The sudden silence of the crowd saved Marty from having to respond to the kind words, around the sudden lump in his throat. "C'mon, Doug, we've gotta see how things turn out." He smiled encouragingly and lent a hand, tugging the unresisting man to his feet, just in time to see Ross throw a perfect pitch.

Crack! The unmistakeable sound of the bat and ball meeting, and all the practice the team had endured, paid off. The ball, like a bullet, shot past the pitcher and second-baseman, and was caught by one of the team's best players. Phalen Weston, the shortstop, threw the ball to the catcher, who tagged-out the runner from third base. In what appeared to be the continuation of one fluid movement, the catcher sent the ball in a straight line to the third baseman, who tagged the runner heading in from second. "Three outs!" Marty shouted, slapping Doug on the back, and rushing out onto the field, to join the rest of the team, as well as the entire coaching staff, in a heap of laughing and celebrating players.

"Y'know something?" Phalen murmured, close to Jeff's ear, feeling the slight stubble of whiskers against his cheek.

"Hmmm," Jeff responded, as he cupped Phalen's butt cheeks and nuzzled his neck, inhaling the . . . maleness of him.

"Being here with you, like this, is so cool." His sweaty jersey slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor, where it joined his previously discarded cap and shoes. All that was left were the burgundy stockings, the white pants, and, of course, the sweaty jock. "Ever since today's game started, all I've thought about was lying in bed with you, all naked and sweaty," he grinned, "with us doing all sorts of unnatural things with one another. Now that we're home, and we have guests showing up soon, I'm thinking that what I really want is to spend a little romance time with the man I love."

Jeff playfully licked across Phalen's neck. "I've got to say that I don't like your going on those road trips, one bit. The house seems all echoey when you're not here to fill it up." Jeff grinned, as Phalen watched him step out of his own jock, freeing his erection, which had been painfully throbbing since they closed the front door to the house and he'd taken Phalen into his arms. He licked a broad swath across the sweaty muscles of Phalen's chest, then paused to tease an ultra-sensitive nipple with his teeth.

"Y'mean the house seems empty because I talk a lot?" Phalen managed to say, on an indrawn breath.

"No," Jeff murmured, beginning to lick the hair of one of Phalen's armpits. "You don't fill the house with sound; your laughter, your enthusiasm, your presence, fills the place, just like it filled that stadium this afternoon." Jeff's voice was low, filled with emotion. "I am so lucky."

Phalen inhaled deeply, through an open mouth, as Jeff returned his attention to the damp hair of an armpit. "It was way-dumb of us to plan a party for tonight! Maybe we can chase everyone off as soon as we've finished with dessert. Better yet; skip dessert altogether. We can eat standing up, no refills on the drinks, the meal's served on saucers instead of plates." He groaned, as Jeff groped him through the uniform's pants, then began to work them over the swell of his buttocks.

"I thought we were gonna wait. D'we have time t'do anything?" He obediently raised one foot, then the other, as Jeff slid the uniform's pants and stockings over his feet, and, in only moments, was naked, his bobbing erection belying his request to wait until the dinner party was over to begin playing.

"We are waiting," Jeff chuckled, as he knelt and buried his face beneath Phalen's scrotum, inhaling deeply as he urged Phalen to spread his legs. "We'll have sex later. Right now, all I'm doing is giving you a little pre-shower cleaning, and a quick blow job. Don't worry," he added, "by the time dinner's over, you'll have reloaded; then we can get down to the really serious stuff."

"Umpf," Phalen exhaled, as Jeff hefted him onto one of the bedroom dressers and pushed his legs back to his chest, exposing his tight, hairless pucker. "Damn . . ." Phalen sighed as Jeff sucked on his balls, then began to tongue his hole. "That's soooo good," he mumbled, as he squirmed on the soft invader. "If you don't consider this serious stuff, what is?" he panted.

Jeff looked between Phalen's legs, pleased with the slightly glazed expression which greeted him, and winked. "Fucking me is serious stuff. I'm hoping you're ready to do me two or three times. I'm still catching up for all those missed years," he added, as he buried Phalen's erection in his mouth.

Phalen closed his eyes and sighed, imagining slowly sliding into Jeff. "Damn, I can hardly wait."

Hunky Randy Shaw stood in the entry to the trainer's room, his white jockstrap standing out in contrast to his deep tan. "Goin' to the party?" he asked, as Marty restored order to his little domain.

"Nah, not me." Marty turned toward Randy, and leaned against the counter. "I'm not much of a party person."

Randy strode into the room, his jock displaying a thick cock curving over a large set of balls, which filled the jock's pouch. He sat on the counter across from Marty, and wiggled the fingers of his heavily taped wrist and hand. "Could I get you to strip this stuff off me?" He grinned to himself, as Marty began unwinding the tape, wondering what thrills those fingers might bring him. "I'm not going to the party either. All those squealing girls . . ." he shuddered, "not my thing."

"Hmm." Marty flicked the barest of a glance at the man on the counter, whose bare foot and calf were rubbing against his hip and upper leg.

Randy silently watched as Marty, frowning in concentration, removed the tape, layer-by-layer. 'Nice looking guy,' Randy thought to himself. 'I always did have a soft spot for laughing eyes and an impish smile. Of course, the body's not too bad either . . . sort of compact.' "Y'bout done for t'day?" he asked, smiling his thanks, as Marty stripped off the last of the tape and tossed the sticky wad into the nearby bin.

"Yup," Marty answered, tidying a stack of towels. "It looks like you're the last person needing attention. Most of the guys must have already left. The place sounds pretty deserted."

"So, what have you got planned?"

"Planned?"

Randy made a slightly impatient gesture. "You know, for the evening. What are you doing for dinner? Would you like to get a burger or something?" Randy looked down at himself and made a face. "Gotta get a shower first, though. Join me?" he asked.

"For a burger, sure."

"First a shower, then we can head out."

Marty smiled. "Sure. I wasn't gonna say anything, but you're pretty ripe."

"I'm not the only one, mister," Randy laughed, as he slid off the counter and crossed his arms, waiting for Marty to strip.

"Yeah, yeah, well, I've been working hard, looking out for you guys. All you have to do is catch the ball when it heads in your direction. I'm surprised you even break out in a sweat, your job is so easy." Marty grinned, as he skinned out of his shirt and tossed it into the dirty clothes bin, then stripped off his pants and jock. He walked to his locker and took out his shower stuff, totally oblivious to Randy's almost open-mouthed reaction to seeing him naked. Marty's skin was flawless. His body was hairless. His butt was round and firm, flexing with each step.

"Do you shave?" Randy asked, tilting his head forward. "Down there, I mean?"

Marty returned a chagrined smile. "Yeah, though there's not much to shave, there, or anyplace else. My brother has a beard. I couldn't grow a beard or decent pubes, no matter how much I wanted them. So, rather than look all scraggly, I cut it all off." Marty looked down at his bare groin, then at Randy. "Does it bother you? It makes me look like a little boy, I know, but . . ." he shrugged. "It's bothered some of my coaches and stuff, a lot. They'd tease me about it, n'stuff," he said, as he turned one of his impish smiles on Randy.

"No! Ah, no, it doesn't bother me." The two men left the trainer's office, heading for the large gang-showers. "I think it looks cool. Lots of guys shave their crotch hair."

Marty laughed, as he draped his towel over the hook on the wall, and watched Randy strip off his jock, then absently scratch himself. "Yeah, that's why it doesn't bother me too much," Marty commented, mesmerized by the . . . fullness . . . of Randy's cock and nuts. "If I could grow the hair, I wouldn't shave, that's for sure. Not being very tall, combined with the lack of pubic hair, makes lots of people who see me think I'm younger than I am."

"That many people get to see your bare pubes?" Randy teased, as he soaped his hair.

Marty laughed, and watched as Randy lathered-up. 'Sweet,' he thought to himself. 'Getting to hang out in the locker room, and see all the naked flesh is one of the best things about this trainer's job.' He frowned slightly. 'I wonder if Randy always spends this much time soaping up his crotch.'

"Hey," he laughed, "not to be too personal, but are you showering or wanking your cock? If you're trying to show me that you're bigger'n me, you got your point across." He turned his shower head in Randy's direction, rinsing off the white froth.

Randy thrust his hips forward and shook his cock from side to side. "I'm not trying to show off. You're packing a good-sized package. Not having hair surrounding it makes it look even bigger." He grasped himself and teased his cock to a full erection. "Don't you play with yourself?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "I do, at every opportunity." He laughed, removing his hand from his thick penis, and stepped closer to Marty, wondering at the reason for the blush and bowed head. "I'll stop, if it bothers you, though."

"It's your dick." Marty forced a laugh, trying desperately not to stiffen up. "You can play with it any time you want. You're not bothering me. Guys play with themselves in the shower all the time. I see 'em every day." Marty cleared his throat, and industriously lathered his hair.

Randy's voice held a mischievous tone. "I think I am bothering you." He gripped the base of his formidable penis and appeared to examine it, turning it this way and that. "Pretty nice, huh?"

"I've already said that it's bigger than mine." Marty tried to act casual, as he shut off the water and headed for his towel. "But, most people are," he added. "It's a nice one, though," he added, when it appeared Randy had been hoping for more. "Ah . . . um . . . sweet." He grinned, then grabbed his towel and began to dry.

"Hey," Randy suddenly appeared at his side. "I didn't mean that yours is anything less than perfect. I'm just a show off, and I do like to beat-off." He flopped onto the wooden bench, his face almost at eye level with Marty's groin.

"Are you into guys, like me?" he asked, looking up and meeting Marty's eyes. "Because, if you are, I'd certainly like the two of us . . . you know . . . to get together."

Marty suddenly felt his nakedness. He wasn't embarrassed; he just felt so . . . exposed. "Damn, Randy! I hardly know you!" He turned on his heels, and headed for the trainer's room . . . and clothing. He wanted to accept Randy's invitation, but, at the same time, he was terrified of jumping into something too quickly. 'Brad jumped into a relationship with Curt, before thinking, and look what happened. Four years of hell! I'm not gonna let something like that happen to me!'

"Is knowing me better necessary before getting together? I can tell that you would like to." Randy chuckled. "I mean, you're about blue in the face trying to think of things to keep you from getting hard. That must mean something. So, what's the word? A 'yes'?" Randy asked, following Marty into the trainer's room. "I'm hoping so, 'cause I think you're about the hottest looking guy around here, and I'd like to spend some time with you."

"Thanks for the compliment, but . . ." Marty sighed, exhaling a long slow breath. "Yeah, I'm into guys, but," he held up a hand to forestall Randy's suddenly expectant look, "my way of looking at things is opposite of yours."

Randy gave him a puzzled look.

"I'd like to get to know you better, first . . . then," he shrugged, tugging on a pair of bright red briefs. "Then, see where things go."

"If we're gonna end up in bed, why not skip all that getting to know one another crap?"

"To me, it's not crap, and there's no reason, really, other than that's the way I am." Marty leaned against a counter and crossed his arms. Now that he had his underwear on, he didn't feel quite so . . . exposed. "Let me tell you something." Randy nodded. "My older brother's gay, and had a terrible experience with a guy he was living with. It went on for four years. Things are okay between them now, but, for all those years, Brad's life was filled with pain and anger. His partner looked at anything with a dick as a challenge. He wanted every man he saw, and, he got many of them, all the while killing Brad." Marty bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "Brad's experience really affected me. He managed to get through it. I'm not sure I could've, at least not as well as he did. So, y'see, I'm afraid of jumping into something for fear of being treated like my brother was.

"So . . . if you'd still like to get a burger for dinner, I'd really like that; but, as for the other . . . no . . . at least not yet."

"You mean you'd like to date or something?" Randy asked, with barely concealed scorn.

"No, but I would like to know you better before doing anything."

"Geez, Marty!" Randy heaved a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your attitude is so . . . last century, or something. I'm not looking for someone to cook my meals and clean up after me. I'm looking to have a good time.

"Yeah, last century; that's me. Still . . . that's the way I am. So . . . do you still wanna get a burger?"

Randy thought for only a moment, then made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "Nah, better not. I'm not too good when it comes to dating someone. Sorry," he said, with a casual wave over his shoulder, as he walked out of the room, whistling to himself.

"Hey Jeff!" Kerin raised his hand in greeting, as Jeff opened the front door to his house. "Long time no see. Thanks for the invitation." Jeff stepped aside to let the twins into the house. Like Phalen had said, they were the last of their dinner guests to arrive.

"They'll be fashionably late," Phalen had laughed. "I told 'em we'd have lots of stuff for them to graze on, so it wouldn't be necessary for them to bring their own food."

"Graze?"

Phalen nodded. "Y'know, that vegetarian stuff. That's what those people do, isn't it . . . graze?" He made a face. "I was cured of all that vegetable stuff when I was growing up. M'mother was a grudging carnivore. Dad and I were grudging vegetarians. To please her, we ate the piles and piles of green things she set in front of us." He crossed his arms in remembered irritation. "I don't care how much a person carries on; adding a few little cubes of tofu to a salad does not meet my minimum daily requirement of protein. Now . . ." he laughed, "maybe I could have handled all those greens, and even the tofu, if you were providing me the extra protein I needed." He tweaked Jeff's groin as he finished speaking. "Remember, Big Man, the minute the guys clear out, you're mine." He pulled Jeff into a tight embrace and gave him a lingering kiss.

"We didn't bring our swimsuits, in case you're going to invite us to swim," Kerin continued, after pausing to give both Jeff and Phalen a brief kiss, forcibly tearing Jeff away from his recollection of Phalen's kiss.

"Kerin," his brother, Thian, warned.

"Oh, yeah, we don't own a swimsuit," Kerin laughed, slapping his forehead as if he should have remembered.

"Not that . . . be quiet. You don't have to fill every bit of unused air time with your voice, no matter how nice it might be. Exert yourself. Let someone else talk." Kerin waved a dismissive hand, then spotted the rest of the guests. His smile brightened even further.

"Uuuuu," he turned to Phalen, and winked. "An audience."

~ to be continued ~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send a pic of the character(s), please ask.