Phalen

Phalen - Reputation and Honor

Chapter Three

by Roy Reinikainen

Randy studied himself in the large bathroom mirror, trying to steady his trembling by leaning against the vanity. The coach had granted him a couple minutes to, "clean up," before heading home. 'At least there's never been any blood,' he thought, wiping away yet more evidence of an orgasm, as it drained out of his hole. He took a shuddering breath, and tugged on a t-shirt, wincing as the soft cotton fabric came in contact with his nipples.

'You look like a reanimated corpse,' he told himself. Since becoming involved with Coach Cline, he'd lost more weight than he cared to think about. He shook his head, realizing, for the first time, how his clothes hung on him. Where he'd always been muscular, he was now gaunt. 'I'm a mess. I can't sleep. Whenever I eat something, it comes right back up. I can't go to class. I'm letting my teammates down. I can hardly think! The head coach has taken me out of the lineup altogether. It's only a matter of time until I'm kicked off the team. My parents want to help, but how can I tell them what's happening? Mom would worry herself sick, while Dad would agonize about what would happen to his business if anything becomes public. My life is coming apart at the seams.

'It's bad enough to have all this happening, but knowing that I'm allowing him to do it to me makes it worse, ten times over. I've given him power by falling for those lies about being able to get me placed in the starting lineup. Yet, how do I free myself? I want revenge.' Randy snorted. 'Hell, to have revenge, I need to first free myself.'

Randy took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door, prepared to face his tormentor. Walking down the hallway, however, was pure torture. He had to brace himself with an outstretched hand, as he took each small step, trying not to cringe or, worse yet, break into tears.

"Alright, Mister Shaw," Assistant Coach Cline drawled, holding his apartment door wide as Randy entered the living room. "You've had your fun; now you can leave. I'll let you know when we're going to get together again. And," he sneered. "Next time, pantywaist, no crying. You decided you wanted me to pound your butt. Y'gotta live with your decisions, boy!" He grinned, slapping Randy on the back with nearly enough force to knock him over. "You're old enough to know that you shouldn't make any decision without first thinking about the consequences."

'I hate you,' Randy said, to himself, when the apartment door slammed shut, knocking him forward hard enough that he had to grab onto the balcony railing to remain standing. 'I hate me too.' He paused, struck by a terrible thought. 'Is it possible that my old, love-em-and-leave-em attitude is just an early symptom of what he's doing to me?' He tried to shake away the thought, as he looked to his right, dreading the flights of stairs he'd have to deal with in order to get away. He looked over the balcony, contemplating the asphalt parking lot two floor below, then shook his head. 'Not high enough,' he thought, resolutely turning toward the dreaded stairs.

A half-hour later, Randy, out of breath and crying, limped toward a palm at the edge of the apartment complex's parking lot. He leaned against the trunk, in the shade cast by a nearby orange tree, totally exhausted, both physically and emotionally. 'I can't walk home. It's too far. I feel like I'm dying, I hurt so badly.' He felt for his phone, wondering whom he could call for help and not have to explain what was going on. He couldn't call any of his teammates, certainly, nor his parents. His roommate already thought he'd become involved with a bad bunch of people, and had made comments about moving out to 'save his own skin.'

Randy bit his lower lip, suddenly deciding on a course of action, then closed his eyes and sighed. 'I can be forgiven for having started this . . . thing . . . with him, but I do not deserve forgiveness for allowing it to continue. He thinks that just because he's afraid of anyone finding out that he's gay, that I have the same fears.' A hint of a smile formed at the corners of Randy's lips, even as he continued to cry. 'I have to free myself from this,' he murmured, as he reached for his cell phone. 'I can't do it in one step, but I can do something. I can!' he mumbled, as he searched his phone's directory for the correct number, deciding that suicide was not the way to stop both his pain, and the possible pain of others.

'Have you considered the consequences of your actions, Mister Cline?' he asked aloud, looking toward Coach Cline's balcony. Only minutes earlier, Randy felt as if there was no hope. Now, at the end of what promised to be a long tunnel, he saw a faint light.

He studied the innocent-looking numbers, knowing that if he did what he was planning, and Coach Cline found out about it, the torment he'd suffered would be as nothing, compared with what would happen. He knew, for a certainty, that there was no place he could hide where the coach wouldn't be able to find him. He feared for his parents, but decided that he couldn't let either his concern for himself, or for them, stop him from what needed to be done.

Randy hiccoughed back a sob, tasting the saltiness of his tears, which streamed over his cheeks unheeded, and pressed the telephone number with trembling fingers, resolutely raising the phone to his ear. He considered hanging up, but when he saw the coach speed out of the parking lot in his bright red convertible sports car, both his resolve and anger grew. Even though he had steeled himself to do what he knew he must, he couldn't help himself. When one of the only unfailingly friendly voices he knew came on the line, he broke down.

"Hel . . . Hello?" he hiccoughed. "Doctor Layson? This is Randy Shaw, from . . . from the baseball team. I . . ." He took a shuddering breath and swiped a hand across his eyes, leaving the smeared tears to dry on his cheeks. "I've got myself into a . . . situation . . . a sexual one . . . with another guy. I . . . I allowed it, at first . . . but . . . but . . . it's gotten outta hand. Cou . . . could you help me . . . please?" he almost wailed, turning his back on a person who was walking past on the sidewalk.

He listened as the doctor spoke, nodding a response. "Yeah, that kind of situation. I didn't know . . . when I first met him . . . that he likes hurting people. He didn't force me to be with . . . with him, or anything. I . . . I thought it'd be fun, but I . . . I . . . I didn't know he was like this. I have to take some responsibility for what has happened. But . . . but, a couple months ago it started to get bad . . . really bad. He controls me, using my fear of what he'll do, to make me do what he wants, and to . . . to . . . humiliate me. He uses pain to show his strength, both physical and mental. He's wearing me down until I can hardly think. I hardly want to go on living. I'm not a small guy, but he's found a way to break down whatever sense of self-worth I've got, until I feel like it'd be easier to die than continue breathing." Randy leaned against the trunk of the palm, realizing that his back was one of the only places on his body that didn't hurt.

"Doctor, I hurt so bad I can barely move. I need help, and you were the only friendly person I know of who can help me, while keeping quiet about what's happening, at least until I figure out what to do. Please," he choked back a sob, "Don't make me call an ambulance. I don't want to go to a hospital. I'm not bleeding or anything, I don't think. What's happened to me is serious, but not life-threatening. At least, I don't think it is, not in the . . . the normal sense, at least. Much of it is . . . is just in my . . . my mind. It hurts just as much as the bruises n'stuff." He sniffed. "Would . . . would it be possible for you to pick me up and do whatever you can to help me without letting the head coach, or anyone else know about it, just yet? I trust you to keep quiet. If the guy who's doing this to me found out, I don't know what he'd do.

"Please," he sobbed. "I need the pain to stop before I can even begin to think of what to do next." He sniffed, and nodded, responding to Doctor Layson's calm voice, answering his questions as best he could, then closed his phone, cutting the connection, and settled back in the shade to wait for the doctor.

'You've not heard the last of me . . . Coach,' he said aloud. 'You tell me that I have to accept the responsibilities of my actions. I have. It's you who have yet to accept yours!' Having taken the first step toward freedom, Randy smiled, even through his tears.

Marty threw his head back and laughed, as Phalen described his first and only attempt to cook a meal. The description was made all the more amusing by the fact that that it was, Phalen; Phalen, the star baseball player, who was waving his arms about, pretending to fight his way through dense smoke in an attempt to salvage Jeff's surprise birthday dinner, only to have it burst into flames in front of his face.

"Geez, Marty," he laughed. "It was sorta awesome, all that smoke n'all. But, if I thought the smoke was bad beforehand, when I dumped that sorry lump of meat into the sink and turned on the cold water, it really clouded up the house, setting off the fire alarm, which automatically notified the fire department . . . which arrived with sirens blaring and lights flashing." Of course, all this commotion freaked my father, who lives next door.

"It wouldn't have been so bad, if those fire guys looked like the ones you always see half-naked in the calendars and stuff. You know, all super macho, with a good tan, perfect smiles, and not a hair out of place. Those guys musta been sent to someone else's home, 'cause the ones who showed up here didn't have any skin showing, and their hair . . ." He shook his head. Anyhow, they practically tore down poor Jeff's courtyard gate, trying to get to the house. They were in such a friggin' hurry, it took 'em a while to think maybe they should try the latch instead of being all macho, and tear the thing off its hinges." He shook his head, remembering the commotion.

"Hell, I didn't even know the alarm was going off, 'cause Jeff was running around like a wild man, making so much noise, complaining that we'd only been in the house for a couple months, and already I was trying to burn it down." Phalen paused to take a fortifying breath, and glanced toward Jeff, who had crossed his arms and was leaning against the kitchen counter, recalling the events his partner was describing, enjoying the story, and Phalen's antics, as much as Marty.

"Then," Phalen continued, returning his attention to his friend sitting on the nearby bar stool, "Jeff opened the front door and, whoosh," Phalen flung his arms wide, "all that smoke billowed out into the courtyard, convincing the neighborhood and my poor father that the house really was on fire. Dad was hopping around out there in the courtyard, trying to get inside, but the firefighters wouldn't let a crazy man in his underwear near the house until they had things under control. Actually, I'm surprised someone didn't send Dad home. He wears pretty . . . brief . . . underwear, and he looks good in 'em too!" Phalen looked heavenward. "But, lavender! If he coulda heard me over all the racket caused by the fire guys, n'all, I would have yelled." Phalen put his hands to either side of his mouth, as if he was yelling. "Hey, Dad! Where the hell did'ya get lavender underwear!"

Phalen's dramatic rendition of the event, complete with expansive gestures and facial expressions, as well as contagious laughter, was causing even Jeff to smile. "So," the story continued, "so," Phalen flung out an arm and pointed to his partner, "there Jeff was, wearing a jock, trying to stop those firefighter guys, all dressed up in their flame-proof outfits, from hosing down the inside of his house. I don't think they coulda done it though, 'cause that big mother-of-a-hose they had snaked across the courtyard and aimed at the front door, only managed to drip instead of shoot." He paused, wearing an introspective look. "I've had that problem a couple times, huh Jeff?" Phalen shook his head, not waiting for a response. "What a scene!" He threw his head back and hooted a laugh. "The freaking dripping hose, and Dad, in his underwear harassing the firefighters outside, and Jeff, in a jock inside, were both acting like crazy men." Phalen lowered his voice and spoke, confidentially. "It was a remarkable scene, let me tell you."

"Oh, oh! I almost forgot!" Phalen was literally bouncing on the bar stool. "And there I was, friggin' naked when all this was going on! I singed my eyebrows, in fact, didn't I Jeff?" he asked, nodding a response when Jeff didn't immediately answer. "Hell, I could have irreparably injured myself, then where would Jeff be? For that matter, where would I be? I can't imagine not having my willy to keep me company." Phalen cupped his groin. "We've sorta grown close over the years. Well," he shrugged, "I've grown; Willy stopped growing when I was thirteen."

"Same here," Marty laughed. "What'cha think might have caused it?"

Phalen leaned on the counter and turned to Marty, wearing a serious expression. "Well, obviously I was responsible for all the friggin' smoke, if that's what you're asking. If you're asking about the mini meat I've got hanging between my legs, I have strong suspicions about that," he went on. "M'mother was a friggin' vegetarian. Piles of leaves on a plate for three meals a day does not result in a large wanger. I'm sure of it," he concluded, ignoring Jeff's snort of amusement. "Was your Mom a vegetarian, too?" He turned an ingenuous expression in Marty's direction.

"Nope." Marty shook his head, captivated by Phalen's blue eyes. "I blame Dad's sperm. All my brothers have nice sized . . . wangers." He looked at Phalen from beneath lowered eyelids. "Instead of the strongest sperm, with the DNA which would have given me a big . . . willy," he cleared his throat, "the wimpy sperm, with the wrong DNA, got through, and zap," he snapped his fingers, "here I am. What there is of me," he amended."

"Neither of you guys is small." Jeff leaned on the counter opposite them. "I don't know what you're talking about. Neither of you is a large-framed guy. If you had a monster dick, it'd look out of place, on either of you."

"Oh, don't go looking so serious, Jeff. Marty and I know we're not smaaalll; we're average."

"I'm a bit above average," Marty interrupted. He nodded toward Phalen, wearing a smile. "You're average. He then turned toward Jeff, and shrugged, "we don't talk about him."

"But, the thing is, we don't like being average, do we, Marty?" Phalen asked, nudging Marty's leg with a bare foot.

"You're average, remember?" Marty muttered, as he raised his glass of orange juice to his mouth.

"Me . . ."

"You're above average," Jeff supplied, his lips twitching.

"Yep," Marty grinned. "If I say it often enough, maybe people will grow to believe it."

"I didn't know your size bothered you so much, Phalen." Jeff seemed genuinely concerned. "I think it's perfect . . . just like you. You wouldn't look right with . . . anything else."

Marty held up a warning hand. "We've heard all those theories that claim it's not how much you have, but how you use it."

"Well? There you have it!" Phalen laughed, holding his arms out to his sides. "You and I are the same size, and Jeff certainly seems to be happy when I'm on top of him! So, the old saying must be right."

"You mean, that Jeff'd be happy if I were on top of him?" Marty asked, with a mischievous smile.

Phalen slapped Marty's knee. "That's not what I meant!"

Jeff looked at the ceiling and rolled his eyes. "Why don't you guys find something else to talk about? None of us can change what we've got, so complaining is a waste of time."

"Well," Phalen went on. "It's natural to be talking about our dicks. After all, we're sitting around all naked. The only other thing we could talk about would be how cute your butt is, but I know how easily you're embarrassed . . . even though you put on quite a show back at the gym. So . . . instead of embarrassing you, we talk about but our weenies and how we use 'em, huh, Marty?"

Marty studied the man sitting close-by as a helpless puff of a laugh escaped his lips. "You are not at all what I expected, Phalen." Marty shook his head. "Not at all."

Phalen stared at some point half-way across the room, with a serious expression, then made a dismissive gesture with a slight movement of a hand. "You mean I'm different from how I behave on the field, or the image all those newspaper and television folks have created?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "This is the real me. I love to laugh, talk, and have fun with my friends; hanging out naked, watching my lover cook. That guy who plays baseball, and the one that most people see, in school and stuff, is almost like someone else. He's like a suit of clothes I put on whenever I have to be in public. Sometimes, I wish I could get him to lighten up, just a little bit." He pointed to his chest. "Deep down, even when I'm acting serious, there's a part of me that's laughing and having a good time. Phalen grinned. "I enjoy sitting around with you'n Jeff, just like we are, and shootin' the bull."

"Hello, Larry," Greg spoke into his cell phone as he drove across town to pick up Randy. "I'm going to have to cancel our gym appointment. I've got an injured player on my hands." He paused. "No, it's not Phalen, but I do think it would be good if you meet with us, and at least listen to what he has to say. I've only heard part of it, but it's serious, and I'm thinking the young man may need legal advice, whether from your firm or someone else's. You'll be able to guide him. In addition to being in physical pain, he's mentally stressed . . . almost to the breaking point." He paused while Larry spoke. "Yeah, it is that serious."

"It's totally against rules, but I'm taking him to our place to see what I can do. He wants to keep things quiet from everyone, at least until he's figured out how to proceed. Somehow . . . later, I'll have to speak to my supervisor and enter everything into a medical chart." He sighed. "I don't have a clue how I'm going to accomplish that. The chart isn't on my immediate list of priorities though. The injured player is. He told me on the phone that his injuries aren't life threatening, but I need to examine him myself. I've met with him a couple times, just like I have with all the players. He seems like a nice guy . . . a little cocky, but many athletes are. Well, today, he's anything but cocky. He needs medical attention, but I think he mostly needs a friend with whom he feels safe. I'm driving over to pick him up."

Greg listened to what Larry had to say, absently nodding his agreement while doing his best to navigate evening rush-hour traffic as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, I agree. The bastard who did this should be hung up by his nuts." He slowed as he approached the correct address. "I've got to go; I'm pulling into the parking lot." He paused a moment. "Good God, Larry! The poor boy looks to be a wreck. I'll meet you at home. Love you," he concluded, as he pushed the end button on his phone and pulled alongside Randy, who fell into his arms with a sob.

Marty sucked on the pouch of Phalen's 'strap, as he turned onto his stomach and thrust his erection against the coolness of the bed sheets. In the past few hours, he felt as if his life had turned a corner. 'I've been asked to practice with Phalen,' he sighed. 'The best man on the team remembered playing against me!' Marty felt a thrill surge through his body that had nothing to do with the fantasies he was having.

'The guy's cast a spell over me,' he grinned, continuing to slowly stimulate himself, 'just as he casts a spell over everyone.' Marty looked at himself in the mirrored closet door. 'Nice body,' he thought, paying special attention to his round, firm, "baseball player butt," as the muscles flexed with every forward thrust. 'Compact body, nicely muscled.' He knelt, facing away from the mirror, and wrapped a hand around his erection.

'Shorter dick than I would like,' he thought, 'though I do like how thick it is.' He looked over his shoulder at his reflection, at the way his ass cheeks parted, displaying his hairless pucker and the prominent bulge of his perineum, culminating in a firm, hairless, scrotum.

'Fuuuck,' he groaned, as he slid his hand up and down the slick penis and sucked on the mesh pouch, which was still damp with the combined loads of Phalen, Jeff's, and his sperm. The three of them had had a wonderful meal. Then he and Phalen had cleaned up while Jeff supervised, making playful comments about their lack of domestic skills. In order to make him be quiet, Phalen had handed his dish towel to Marty, and had taken Jeff in his arms for a passionate kiss . . . and a continuation of the show begun in the locker room, earlier in the afternoon.

He was sitting on the edge of one of the large chaise lounges on the patio of Jeff's house, masturbating himself as Jeff and Phalen did the same. Jeff had suddenly ordered him to run inside and get the 'straps' he'd been given back in the locker room. He'd scrambled through the house and searched in his gym bag, draping the jocks around his neck as he came back onto the patio, his erection bouncing before him as he ran.

Jeff gestured for him to retake his seat on the chaise. Then he and Phalen had stood close by and had begun masturbating themselves. He was eye-level with both men's erections. Jeff's was . . . long . . . and straight, with a prominent head and piss slit. Each stroke of his hand caused it to open and close, forcing out thick strands of clear pre-cum, which served as a lube. Phalen's shorter cock was, like his own, thick and straight, with a smooth, glistening head. Phalen masturbated slowly, pausing every few strokes to give extra stimulation to the head, running a fingertip over the end, smearing his pre-cum.

"Aw, fuuuuck," Phalen exhaled, as Jeff moved closer to Marty, his strokes becoming faster.

"Do it, Jeff," Phalen urged, masturbating himself with his right hand, while toying with his partner's butt cheeks with his other. "Give Marty a souvenir to take home with him." Marty could do nothing but watch in fascination as Jeff moved closer, the opening and closing piss slit hypnotizing him as much as the squishy sounds of the two men stroking themselves, using their own pre-cum as lube.

Jeff's legs trembled a moment before he groaned, and the first jet of sperm splashed against Marty's cheek, causing him to flinch. The second and third sprays were aimed at the fabric pouches.

The moment Jeff was finished, Phalen stepped closer and intentionally splashed his first jet of sperm against Marty's other cheek, imitating Jeff's actions. Phalen's concluding shots were deposited on top of Jeff's.

"Fuuuuck," Marty exhaled, unable to move.

Jeff reached out and ran a finger over Marty's cheek, directing as much of his sperm as he could in the direction of Marty's astonished mouth. "Never waste it," Jeff said, in his wonderfully accented voice. Marty licked Jeff's finger, then the side of his own mouth, savoring the slightly salty taste of Jeff's sperm . . . the first, other than his own, that he'd ever tasted. A moment later, Phalen gathered as much of his own sperm from Marty's other cheek, and ran the slimy finger over Marty's lips, teasing his tongue long enough for the finger to be licked clean.

"I told you you might get a show," Phalen chuckled, before squatting down and giving Marty a brief kiss on the lips. "In case you're wondering, we've never done anything like this with anyone else."

"Uh . . . ah." Marty blinked, overwhelmed by what was happening.

Jeff urged the unresisting man to lay back on the chaise, as he and Phalen took positions on either side. "Masturbate for us," Jeff ordered, again, in his soft voice. He began toying with one of Marty's firm nipples, as Phalen teased the other, and Marty began to furiously stroke himself.

Phalen placed his hand on top of Marty's. "Slow down," he murmured. "Make it last. We're in no hurry."

"This may never happen again," Jeff added. "Enjoy yourself, and let Phalen and I enjoy watching you."

"Really?" Marty croaked in a suddenly tight throat. He nodded, answering his own question, and resumed stroking himself, this time going at his normal . . . deliberately slow pace. He closed his eyes, abandoning himself to the sensations he was experiencing, but when a dollop of one of the guy's jiz dropped from one of the 'straps around his neck onto his skin, it was more than he could take. His entire body stiffened as he arched his back. He growled as his cock swelled in his hand, and the first strand of sperm shot past his shoulder, landing on the chaise. The second and third, shorter than the first, left a liquid line over his chest and belly, while the fourth ran down his erection to form a puddle on the bare skin at the base of his penis.

The scene at Phalen and Jeff's was not enough. Marty was now back in his apartment, reliving the amazing evening. He rolled to his side on the bed, then onto his back, and wiped the damp pouch of Phalen's 'strap over his face with one hand, as the beginnings of his orgasm caused a tingle deep in his hole. His prostate was sending him a not-so-subtle message that it wanted to have someone's cock sliding over it, coaxing out a massive load, which the person would shoot deep inside him. He'd never been fucked, but his imagination confirmed what his body wanted to happen.

"Ahhhh, sweet," he murmured, almost able to feel the weight of the unseen man. The imaginary guy would tenderly kiss him as they made love. "Phalen kissed me!" Marty said, aloud. 'So did Jeff.' Marty tightened his grasp and slowed each stroke, imagining the brief taste he had of both men's tongues, as well as their sperm. 'My first kiss, and it was from Phalen!'

Marty pressed the 'strap's pouch against his face and inhaled the scent of Phalen's crotch, as well as the combined loads. The tingling had spread from his prostate to his balls, which contracted as they prepared to push out a load. 'Before today, I'd never spoken to him. Now . . . now . . . he's kissed me and . . . damn, he let me suck the sperm off his finger.' Marty inhaled a ragged breath. 'Phalen's sperm!'

Marty bit his lip, inhaled deeply through the mesh pouch, and paused stroking himself, perfectly timing his movements to the first contraction deep inside him, pulsing three strong streams of sperm from the head of his dick onto his chest and belly, his body jerking with each shot.

"Totally awesome," he murmured, as he began to relax and run his fingers through the thick puddles. He gathered up as much as he could, then licked his fingers clean, one by one, imagining he was once again sucking on Phalen's finger.

Marty looked up at the sound of his brother's voice. Brad waved from where he and another person sat at the edge of a group of umbrella-shaded tables outside the Student Union Building.

"How'd the workout go?" Brad asked, motioning his brother to take the vacant seat between him and his friend.

"Really well! It was so good to be in a uniform again." Marty sat, genially nodding at his brother's table companion.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Brad said. "Marty, this is Eric Mori, a good friend of mine. Eric, this is my brother, Marty."

Eric's smile was broad, and carefree, showing off perfect teeth. "Eh, howzit?" He extended a hand, encompassing Marty's in a firm grip.

"Um," Marty paused. "Okay, I guess." He cast an uncertain look in his brother's direction. Brad however was engrossed in finishing his meal and didn't see Marty's questioning look.

Meanwhile, Eric leaned back, and smiled as he patted his stomach. "Dat meal brok' da mout."

By now, Marty was totally confused. 'Where's this guy from?' he asked himself. 'He certainly looks normal . . . in a wonderfully exotic way. He obviously had some Asian ancestry. His dark eyes sparkled as he smiled brightly, as if he could read Marty's thoughts. His thick, jet-black hair was artfully arranged to achieve a 'I-just-got-out-of-bed' appearance. 'At least I think that look is intentional,' Marty grinned, loving Eric's full lips, his wonderful voice, long-fingered hands, and smooth, well-muscled legs. 'He must be about my height,' Marty thought. Since his encounter with Jeff and Phalen, a few days earlier, he thought of little else than men, and what it would be like to actually have sex with one.

He watched as Eric twisted in his chair, and raising an arm, greeting a friend of his. 'This guy'd be perfect.' He couldn't stop himself from smiling, as Eric became the unseen man of his imagination, lying on top of him. 'Love the eyes.' He blinked as Eric turned back to him, 'and those lips! I wonder what getting a kiss from him would be like.' Marty returned his attention to his brother, as Brad spoke.

"Eric's from Hawaii," Brad filled in, sensing his brother's confusion, but not the erotic turn his thoughts were taking. "He can turn it off, if he wishes. The way of speaking, I mean." Brad grinned at his friend, then looked at Marty. "Brok' da mout, means the meal was great!"

"Fo' shua!" Eric laughed, his dark eyes dancing as he smiled brightly, turning back to Marty and Brad.

"C'mon, Eric. Go easy on the poor man, Brad laughed. You don't want to scare him off. Besides, Marty's never been good at foreign languages.

"Hey, brah, I'm speaking perfectly respectable pidgin. Everyone in Hawaii would understand."

"Well, in Phoenix, we speak a different version of English. Just go easy. Break him in a little at a time! He's a good guy. I think the two of you would get along well together." He leaned forward, locking eyes with his friend. "Un-der-stand?" he dragged out the word. The corners of Eric's mouth twitched upward.

"I'm sorry, Marty," Eric spoke slowly, turning toward him and enunciating each word, "it's . . . nice . . . to . . . meet . . . you. My name is Eric . . . Hideo . . . Mori." He held out his hands to each side of his body, turning an ingenuous expression in Brad's direction, then turning back to Marty, whom he examined closely, with comically lowered brows. "See Brad, he's not confused; he just thinks I'm crazy."

"Proves he's no dummy."

"Hey," Eric said, suddenly motioning to Marty. "Stand up!" Marty cast another uncertain glance at his brother, then stood. Eric studied him for a moment, then gestured to the recently vacated seat. "Okay, you can sit down." Eric turned to Brad, tilting his head in Marty's direction. "Here's a man I could love."

"Huh?" Marty laughed. "Love? We just met! Besides, how do you know I'm into guys?" Eric dismissed the questions with an almost imperceptible shake of his head accompanying an 'are you kidding?' expression, then went on to explain.

"You're my height! Do you have any idea how tough it is to find anyone to kiss around here?" He gestured broadly toward the surrounding campus, barely missing a passing woman, whose irritated glare went unnoticed. "So far, I haven't found a single one. I get all warmed up, then the guy stands up and, whoa, there I am, looking at his neck. I don't want to have to stand on a stool just to kiss a guy, let me tell you. Since coming to the Mainland, I look up so much of the time to see people's faces, that I've got a crick in my neck!" He put his hand behind his neck and rotated his head, as if working out a cramp.

"Back in Hawaii, you know, the legal age to drink is twenty-one. The legal height is 5'-1. I'm 5'-8. That's why I like Hawaii so much. I can look over everyone's head, and when I go to kiss a guy, back home, he's looking at my neck!" He leaned closer to Marty and tilted his head back slightly, while pointing to a place on his neck. "If you look close, you can see the lip marks!" He sat back and laughed uninhibitedly. "You're the perfect height, finally! I love it!" He smacked the tabletop with his open palm.

"Are you asking him to marry you, or what?" Brad laughed, pleased with the flush of his brother's cheeks.

Eric brushed the question aside and cast a flick of amusement in Marty's direction. "Nah brah, not til afta da first date."

Jackson Cline stood next to his uncle, with crossed arms, silently studying the group of men, outside in the heat, run through a series of exercises, normally used to test the skills of a newcomer. Looking at them from a coach's point of view, Jackson thought they were all good, and would make valuable additions to any team. From the viewpoint of a man whose hormones seemed to be working overtime, however, only one of the men on the field caught his eye.

"What's our assistant trainer doing out there?" he asked the head coach. "That is him, isn't it?"

Ed Bowen nodded, entirely engrossed in what was happening on the field. "Yes, that's him. An old friend of mine asked that I take a personal look at his abilities."

"To what end? We've got a full roster." His attention shifted as Marty walked to home plate, his bat poised, in perfect stance. The uniform's pants hugged his buttocks and cupped his groin, as he calmly faced Ross McCree, the team's power pitcher. Without warning, Ross quickly rotated and threw the ball to the first baseman. There were no runners, so the move must have been intended to disrupt the batter's concentration and test the first baseman's skills. "What form," Jackson couldn't help saying in admiration, watching the trainer's movements. "There are guys who'd never be able to learn what seems intuitive to him."

The two coaches watched in silence as the pitcher threw what he knew to be a very difficult pitch. Marty swung and missed. He adjusted his cap and rubbed his hands over his thighs, prepared for the second of a possible three pitches. This time, it was easy to see that he was even more focused, prepared for anything. The ball flew in a curving line, connecting with Marty's powerful left-handed swing with a loud crack, sending it into far right field. The player, whose job it was to catch any ball which made it that far, could do nothing but watch, as the ball sailed both over his head, and the fence surrounding the field. Marty held up his cap for the briefest of moments, and smiled, as the other players applauded, then walked away, his brows drawn down, still focused on what had just happened.

"Why didn't I investigate this young man's scholarship application further?" Ed Bowen asked aloud, speaking to himself. He looked over his shoulder and caught his nephew's eyes. "That's the third home run he's made today. One of his hits, that wasn't a homer, even made it past Phalen!"

"What are you thinking?" Jackson asked, wondering what it would be like to be lying on top of the young man and have him beg to be released.

'He's only a trainer,' Jackson told himself. 'There's no room for him on the team. Ol' Uncle has a soft spot for hard luck stories. Me, I have a hard spot for a muscular ass.' He smiled to himself, as a plan began to take shape. 'I'll have that man. I'm tiring of that wimp, Randy, though it is fun to watch him squirm as I shove into him!' Jackson squeezed his erection. 'Yes, Marty is mine. Randy can drag himself off to a cave someplace; I don't care. He's used merchandise, as far as I'm concerned.

"Thanks for dinner, Brad." Dani Aarons hugged his friend, seemingly unwilling to let go. "And, for caring," he added, as he moved away. "Everyone seems . . . afraid of me," he said, with a crooked smile. "They don't know what to say, so they stay away to keep from having to say anything."

"Everyone cares, Dani. Really." Dani nodded once, and looked away.

"Yeah, I know. It's just that, with Denis gone, and my folks dealing with their own depression, I feel the absence of my friends even more." He shrugged a twisted smile. "I'm just not accustomed to being alone, that's all. It's barely been six months. I don't know how to handle it yet."

Brad guided his friend to the sofa, and the large windows overlooking the city of Tempe in the distance. The setting sun was painting the horizon with streaks translucent yellow and orange, a typical desert sunset, as the two men sat side-by-side. "Have you heard anything about the . . ." Brad hesitated, "reason?"

Dani accepted Brad's hand, with a silent hint of a shrug. "No, and I'm told it's not likely I ever will." He leaned his head against the back of the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him. "I've told 'em everything I know, which isn't a whole hell of a lot. It's just as if Denis suddenly . . . gave up. He stopped eating, working, going to class . . . everything. He'd hold me at night, and tremble, but he wouldn't tell me what was happening to him." Dani wiped a hand across his face. "I felt so damn helpless.

Then my mom called and told me they'd found him . . ." Dani swallowed, "like that. He did it himself, no doubt," the police told Mom and Dad, but no one knows why." He heaved a sigh. "I've not been able to go through any of his stuff. I don't know . . ." He swallowed. "I just . . . can't."

Both men looked up as the apartment's doorbell rang. "Oh, geez, I forgot," Brad said, as he stepped over Dani's legs, and headed for the door. "That must be my brother. I hope you don't mind." Dani made an effort to grin.

"Eh, brah," Marty smiled, as his brother swung the apartment door open. "Ya wanna kau kau? My pidgin's ono, huh?"

Brad laughed, wondering what Dani was thinking. "I can see Eric's been working on you. As far as I can tell, you're pidgin's great, and no, I've already eaten." He patted his brother on the back. "A friend's here I'd like you to meet."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd have anyone over. Marty gave his brother a puzzled look, at the squeeze of his shoulder, then smiled as they entered the living room and the slender man stood and extended his hand in greeting.

"Marty, this is my good friend, Dani. Dani, this is Marty, my brother, who is in the process of trying out his newly acquired pidgin English skills. I'm afraid I introduced him to a guy who is having a bad influence on him." Brad grinned and offered his brother something to drink.

"Y'sure I'm not interrupting, or anything?" he asked, as Brad disappeared into the kitchen. Dani shook his head. "Nah, your brother invited me over for dinner. I was just getting ready to leave." Dani seemed to focus on something not in the room.

Marty turned a puzzled expression on his brother, as Brad handed him a cold drink.

"Leave?" Brad asked, sitting at Dani's side and gesturing for Marty to have a seat on the opposite side. "I thought you might like to stay longer, to visit . . . y'know? I mean it. Dani, you don't get out enough." Marty's gaze flicked from one man to the other, in an attempt to understand the unspoken conversation lying just below the surface.

"Not tonight, Brad, though I do thank you." He looked at his watch. "Besides, I have just enough time to make it to the transit station to catch the next train." Both Brad and Marty joined him as he heaved himself off the sofa.

"I can give you a ride home," Marty offered. "I just stopped by tonight to show off my new language skills, and I exhausted those in the first thirty seconds. May I?" he asked, handing his drink to his brother.

Dani sadly grinned, then nodded. "Sure. Thanks." He gave Brad a brief, but tight hug, thanking him for dinner, then walked to the apartment's door, Marty, trailing behind, wondering what Brad's pat on the back was for.

Marty and Dani took the elevator to the underground parking garage, then crossed the large space in silence before Dani finally spoke. "I'm sorry I'm not better company, Marty," he said, without looking up. "Y'see . . ." he gulped a swallow, "my brother just died, and . . . well . . . it's hard."

"Oh, damn," Marty murmured, quickly moving to Dani's side and rubbing a hand over his back. "I'm sorry to hear that. I . . . I . . . I know I'm not much more than a stranger, but would you like to walk along the promenade and talk . . . or not talk . . . either is fine. But, I can't help but think that it's not good for you to go home and not have anyone to talk to." He squeezed Dani's shoulder. "Please. The night's great." He grinned encouragingly."

Dani considered the offer, then nodded once. "Alright. Sure. You're right." He briefly took Marty's hand and squeezed his appreciation, before quickly releasing it, appearing stung. "I'm sorry. I just do that sort of thing automatically. I don't even know if . . ." his eyes took on a slightly panicked look, as he tried to think of words that might not offend a heterosexual man.

"I am," Marty supplied. "Brad is, as are my two other older brothers, and my younger brother." He smiled. "As far as I know, Dad and Mom aren't gay, but . . ." he shrugged. "The rest of the Kelly family is though."

Dani bowed his head, allowing himself to be led out of the garage and up the broad flight of flower pot-laden stairs to the broad brick-paved promenade lining Tempe Lake. Brad and Curt's apartment was many stories overhead. The music of a mandolin from a nearby restaurant, and a burst of laughter, drifted on the air, joining the faint fragrance of night-blooming flowers and savory food.

Marty paused. "Dani," he said, putting a hand on the back of the man next to him. "Look at me." Dani slowly raised his eyes to meet Marty's. "Now, inhale . . . deeply." When Dani seemed puzzled, Marty added, "do it." Dani inhaled slowly, then exhaled as slowly, once, then twice.

"Why?" he asked, his voice low, his face less troubled.

Marty smiled. "Because, no matter the pain you're going through right now, you are not alone. When you've taken a moment to look around yourself and inhale deeply like you just did, you'll realize that the world is a beautiful place, full of wonderful sights, and sounds . . . and smells. Your brother may not be here to share these things with you, but I can't help but think that he would think it's wonderful that you can still enjoy them." Marty squeezed Dani's shoulder. "Don't abandon the world, Dani, just because your brother is no longer with you. Don't shut the rest of us out. Okay?"

Dani nodded once, as he bit his lower lip.

Marty patted him on the shoulder, wearing a crooked smile. "Good. I wouldn't want to lose a friend I'm just beginning to know." His smile faded. "Dani, don't be afraid to talk about your brother, or what's going through your mind. I want to hear." He nodded toward the brick-paved promenade. "Let's walk for a while, okay?"

They strolled past the twinkle-light festooned restaurants, joining others who slowly strolled past the large palms which followed the curve of the lake, the leafy crown of each lighted from beneath, creating a gilded, leafy canopy far overhead. Antique street lamps cast pale yellow puddles of light along the entire length of the walkway, while, steps farther away, the barely moving waters of the lake reflected the surroundings, and cooled the desert air.

"Tell me about yourself," Marty asked. "Your name, for instance."

"You mean, why it sounds like a girl's name?" Dani asked, accustomed to the question, and the teasing which usually accompanied the comments. "It's short for Danillo, a common enough name in the Mediterranean, where my father's family comes from. I use Dani because my brother was named Denis." Dani spelled the name for Marty. "The names sort of made us stand out as we were growing up.

"Actually," he continued, becoming more relaxed. "Denis and I are pretty much every-day middle-class guys. We were the only children, and were doted on by our parents." Dani bent to pick up a fallen flower, brought it to his nose, and inhaled its scent. "There's nothing unusual about Denis and me, other than we were lovers." His smile twisted.

"Dad and Mom took . . . quite a while . . . to resign themselves to the fact." He snorted a silent laugh. "Things were a bit rough around the Aarons' household a few times, but, eventually, Denis and I relented a little and became less," he grinned, "affectionate, in front of the parents. They, in turn, grew to be more understanding." He turned to Marty.

"Brad's told me that you're with the University baseball team! That's cool. Denis had a job in the athletics center. You know . . . the big one for athletes?" Marty nodded. Dani continued. "Neither Denis nor I are very athletic. I mean, we swim and stuff, but we've never gone in for team sports. Denis got a job over at the Athletics Center because he's always had a soft spot for hunky athletes," Dani grinned, "such as yourself. I'll have to intro . . ." His face fell.

Marty rested a comforting hand on Dani's shoulder. For a while there, Dani had opened up.

"It's hard," he swallowed. "It hasn't really sunken in yet that I can't tell him about stuff . . . like meeting you. He would have liked you as much as I do." Dani tried to smile. "You and Brad are nice guys. Many of my friends don't know how to treat me, now that Denis is . . . gone. They're afraid they'll say the wrong thing, or something. I understand their feelings, but . . ." he shrugged, "it makes things harder." He squeezed Marty's hand in thanks. "Now, tell me a little about yourself. You play baseball . . ."

Marty smiled. "Actually, I don't play baseball now, other than working out with a few guys from the team. I played my entire life, but wasn't offered a scholarship for the University's team. I work as one of the team trainers though, just so I can stay around the guys who do get to play."

Dani turned to him. "Isn't it hard, being that close to the thing you love, yet are not able to play?"

Marty nodded. "Yeah, sometimes it's pretty rough." He snorted a laugh. "In fact, most of the time it's pretty rough, but . . ." he shrugged, "I enjoy the guys, and . . ." he grinned, "the locker room, and all the naked flesh."

Dani's laugh was wonderful. For a brief moment, thoughts of his brother were banished. His eyes sparkled and he seemed . . . alive. "That's what Denis always says . . . I mean, said."

"My brothers and I have been a real challenge for our parents," Marty grinned, "what with the parade of changing boyfriends and things. They've complained that they begin bonding with someone, only to find that the guy has been replaced by someone new." Marty laughed, recalling his folks asking his oldest brothers, "is this the one."

"Dad always tells them that he's not trying to hurry anyone, but he thought his sons were more decisive than it appears. Mom, bless her heart, jokes that it's a good thing the Kelly boys are all gay, otherwise the sperm samples they're leaving all over the city would surely have resulted in a whole slew of little baby Kellys." Dani joined Marty's laughter.

"And do you have a boyfriend?" Dani asked.

Marty shrugged. "Sorta. We're just getting to know one another. He's a fun guy. I like him a lot, and he likes me. At least, I think he likes me. But, maybe he hangs around my office at the Athletics Center so much, just so he can learn how to tape up a guy's ankle."

"Or, to be around all that naked flesh," Dani grinned.

Marty's lips formed an, "O," and his eyes widened. "Y'think?" He smiled.

Dani and Marty began retracing their steps. "Thank you, Marty," Dani murmured, managing to smile. He didn't look nearly so washed out as he had when they began their little walk. "Your friend is a lucky guy. Hell, I am a lucky guy, for knowing you. Thanks for not letting me go home, just so I could sit around and be depressed."

"Do you still live at home?"

Dani shook his head. "No . . . I live by myself." He bowed his head and swallowed, then glanced in Marty's direction with a crooked grin. "My folks have asked if I'd like to come back home, but, as much as I love them both, their good intentions would still make me feel as if they're trying to control my life. Now that Denis is . . . gone, I'm afraid they'd think I'm now free to find some nice girl to settle down with and carry on the family name." He huffed a soft laugh. "Fat chance of that ever happening. Still . . . I am going to start thinking about moving. I'm not gonna be able to afford Denis' and my place much longer. It's nothing fancy, but . . ." he shrugged, wearing a twisted smile.

He glanced at Marty, then gave him a brief hug, as they entered the parking garage beneath Brad's building. "Thank you, . . . for being a friend . . . for actually talking to me, and for listening."

~ 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. roynm@mac.com