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, in towns, cities, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. Sexual safety matters. This is fiction. Use protection in real life.
ROAD TRIP this is torture wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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By the time Anthony rummaged through the three drawer filing cabinet, there remained a fraction of a third of the cabinet filled. A matter of seven folders, five containing current track team members, Jayab Yousef, Aldo Yaccovino, David York, Kelan Windsor, Vitaly Igdalev, Brendan Quinn-Shaw and a new folder made out with Edwin Barredo's name at the top. On his desk were the necessary papers to be filled out by doctors, guardians and Edwin himself, regarding his participation with the track'n'field team.
"I know it's early Coach Torricelli, but I'm here!"
"Me too," Larry smiled, clinging to Edwin's side.
Anthony wasn't too sure about Larry Billington tagging along but decided it wouldn't harm the swimmer to get a glimpse of what is `supposed' to be going on with a track'n'field team member, something he wasn't sure other than what Doug Irvine presented at meetings. For sure he knew there wasn't any competition activities, frowning upon Irvine for not showing an interest in the job. Handing Edwin the papers, he said, "Well before you do anything, I need to have you fill out these papers by you, your doctor and your guardians."
"No problem with grandma," Edwin replied.
"Oh?" Anthony questioned.
However, Larry dove in, clearing the air, "Edwin lives with his grandmother."
Edwin jumped into the conversation, adding, "Back home. Here I live in the dorm."
Anthony got more of an explanation than asked for, when Larry elaborated, "Yeah, I asked my parents whether Edwin could sort of live with us, but they said we have enough at home with Barry and Gary." Larry left out the paramount meaning, his parents not keen on having a gay relationship under one roof.
"Gary? There's another Billington boy?" Anthony smiled as he said it.
"Yeah Gary. He's eighteen, a senior at Eskridge High. He'll be coming to Applegate next year," Larry offered.
"Any interest in sports?" Anthony asked, always scouting for recruits.
"I'm not sure. He likes basketball and beach volleyball."
Edwin giggled when Anthony said, "Beach volleyball? Up here in the mountains?"
"We once lived in Cali, except my dad got transferred to Eskridge."
"You didn't tell me that," Edwin said to Larry.
"You didn't ask!"
The three laughed, Edwin wanting to know, "Do any surfing?"
"A little. Gary was awesome at surfing."
"Hmm," Anthony threw a curve ball, "maybe we should start up a surfing team!"
"Yeah, right coach," Larry replies, upbeat. Scooping the papers up from Anthony's desk, Larry helped himself to them, saying to Edwin, "C'mon. Let's go have the doc take a look at your sexy bod!"
Shortly after leaving, another two guys stood in their places.
"Coach Torricelli?"
"That's me," Anthony smiled.
"I'm Kelan Windsor and this is," he points, "Brendan Quinn-Shaw. We're here for track?"
Reaching out, the two place papers in Anthony's hand.
"I've read your files. Pretty impressive," Anthony points out before dropping the bomb.
"Thanks," the two stood there, all smiles.
By their over-friendly attitudes, Anthony gets the feeling they sense he could be a push-over. Skimming over their paperwork, he mentions, "Well it looks like everything is in order. Now how about getting into your gear and taking twenty laps?"
Purposefully he turns to his desk, waiting for the lash of words upon his ears. Probably their faces would respond with a priceless reaction, but he got a jolt of comical relief from their responses.
From Kelan he gets, "Um, did I hear you correct Coach Torricelli? Twenty laps?"
Low-keyed Anthony replies, "For starters," shuffling papers on his desk, pretending not to pay attention too much.
"You mean all in one day?" Brendan tries gaining confirmation, too in shock.
"Why?" He questions, turning around, finally getting the whole wham-bam picture. Then, looking at his watch, "You gentlemen do realize you will be here for the next three hours?"
"Three hours?" Anthony hears from outside his door, another two track patrons in the wings.
"I thought," Brenday stutters, "practice was an hour, tops?"
Kelan remarks, "Yeah. Coach Irvine let us go early if we had someplace pressing to go."
"Like?"
His hands saying speaking for him, Kelan looks for reasoning to followup on his statement.
Brendan jumps in with, "The student center... a guy's gotta eat!"
A pair of eyes glance down at Brendan, as the eighteen year old trackster-wannabe rubs his midsection through his muscle tee.
Even though Brendan's tee didn't show any type of a beefyness around the abs region, Anthony figured his gesture a good symbol for more humiliation, upon making an impression. "Oh really?"
He waited a coupla seconds for his comment to sink in. They didn't disappoint him.
"Looks to me like you've been slacking off on the crunches?"
"Nah," Kelan replies for Brendan, revealing more than facts surrounding Anthony's quest, "his bod is naturally fit. Why I don't think Brendan's done a crunch in his life."
"That's right," Brendan replies, lifting his muscle tee. "Check out these abs, coach!"
Both faces dropped from being proud to total shock when Anthony laughs out loud, pulls up his own polo shirt, states, "Abs? This is what I mean by rock hard abs!"
Shocked out of their gourds, Kelan and Brendan stood there looking down at Anthony's slightly hairy midsection, feasting their eyes on more than his sixpack, the dark trail embedded on his stomach, painting a darker brown trail, swirling around his deep bellyhole, disappearing under his belt. "Um, yeah," Kelan replies, dumbfounded, scratching the back of his head, "real nice Coach Torricelli."
"You must hit the gym for hours at a time," Brendan replies, no less than astounded by his defined abs.
Smiling, Anthony kept his secret hidden, the fact he had actually hit the gym for hours on end before he and Roberto headed home for Thanksgiving. Yet lately he could vouch for working out more outside the gym, many anight with either Nicholas or his stringbean lover.
"I've probably seen more action on the treadmill than you two put together." With two downtrodden faces showing in the doorway, Anthony bid them farewell, saying, "Well it looks like I've got two more willing victims. After your fifty crunches," he reduced the sentence from his original thoughts, "you can hit the track."
Anthony chuckled to himself, hearing the rebuttal pass back and forth between the two, as they walked away, gym bags slung over their shoulders. `Next victim!' he said to himself.
When Aldo, David and Vitaly showed, it was pretty much the same routine, except upon hearing David, the twenty-two year old snap to it, saying, "No sweat, Coach Torricelli!"
Aldo asked, "You Italian coach?"
Knowing the beginning of a con when her hears it. Using Brendan as an example, he snaps back with"No, I'm Japanese. Brendan can fill you in on the routine. See you gentlemen later!"
He might have considered himself a wiseguy, except for the badgering Aldo got from Vitaly and David when the three set on course for the lockerroom, Aldo cursing in Italian. Anthony smiled, doing a quick translation for himself.
"Coach have you seen Robbie?"
Turning in his chair, Anthony dropped the `nasty coach' attitude and gently answered Barry, "He was working out at the pool last I heard."
Coming closer, the cute blond confronted Anthony, "Coach, do you think I might be able to try out for the swim team next semester?" About ready to shoot him down, Barry threw in a last plea, "You know, not just folding towels and stuff? I mean being really on the swim team? Do some real diving? Be like the rest of the guys?"
"I'd like to Barry, but you know we need your doctor's go ahead?"
"I know," Barry replied, his last hope dashed to bits.
Feeling it too, Anthony tried conjuring up something of importance for Barry. "How would you like to be on two teams, Barry?"
"For real Coach Torricelli?" Barry's temperament jumped sky high. "How would that go?"
"You know, taking on the track'n'field team. With two teams to coach," he made up as he went along, "I'm going to be needing a righthand-man, somebody responsible to follow up on these lazy bums!"
"Cool! Like what would I have to do?" The nineteen year old asks, enthused.
Trying to phrase his words carefully, Anthony made it seem without Barry the track team would not be able to function. "Well, without hurdles, the runners wouldn't have anything to jump over. How strong are you Barry?"
"I'm pretty strong. Larry let Edwin show me some stuff at the gym," Barry replies.
Anthony took mental note, informing the blond, blue-eyed teen, "It's going to take some strong arms to pull the hurdle cart out to the field, set them up and them bring them back to the shed when we're done. Keep things organized. Which also means you'll have to stay for practice."
"Cool! I can do it coach! Wait til I tell Robbie! When do I start?" Barry jumped at the opportunity.
"The team is out there now doing twenty laps, as soon as..."
"Twenty laps?" Barry exclaims. "That'd kill me!"
Giggling, Anthony tells him, "You don't have to do twenty Barry. Ready to go out and get started?"
Doing an imaginative wiping of his brow, Barry caught a peripheral glimpse of Robbie, hair wet, running back to the lockerroom. Excitedly he returned, "Sure, but can I tell Robbie first?"
Anthony didn't see any point in rushing him, being he would have to familiarize himself with the layout of the track shed first. However, as ecstatic as he was to tell the world of his new appointment, Barry lingered, asking Coach tons of questions for which he didn't have immediate answers. Finally, another trackster showed up, cutting off their conversing.
"Robbie, you in here?" Barry yelled at the top of his lungs, entering the lockerroom.
"Back here," came the reply.
Switching directions, Barry turned from entering the lockers and sped towards the shower area. "What gives?" he asked, seeing Jayab lying out on the towel table, Robbie standing over him with a razor, carving the hair from Jayab's pecs.
"Who is this little runt?" Jayab asks Robbie, not a clue to what they mean to each other.
Perhaps a mental suggestion from Miguel's bdsm party, Barry reacts.
"Uggggggh! Oh sheet!" Jayab responds to Barry's palm coming down, slapping him full force onto his stomach.
"You almost fuckin' cut yourself!" Robbie says to Jayab. Then to Barry he says, "He could've gotten hurt, babe."
"The little baby can't even take a little slap on the stomach?" Barry responded with audacity, not a care in the world Jayab could have snapped him in two.
At first it looked like the six foot three track'n'field star readied to take Barry out, but then changed his tune, sitting on the edge of the metal table, saying, "So you are the boyfriend, eh?"
Standing there with his hands on his hips, Barry replies, "What's it to you?"
With his left pec still covered in shave cream, Jayab looks to Robbie, then Barry, asking, "Are you as good a shaver as your boyfriend?"
The grin, plus more or less the offer put Barry in a new spin, making him smile.
Robbie cautioned, "I don't know Jayab. He's never shaven anybody. Except himself, that is. I don't know if...."
"Sure I can and guess what else?"
Neither were sure whom Barry asked, so both answered, "What?"
"I'm going to be on the track team. Coach Torricelli says!"
"Congratulations," Jayab comments, gobbling up Barry's hand with his large grip.
"Oh?" Robbie questions.
"Sure. Now Barry can be in charge of keeping me smooth," Jayab replied, a big toothy grin flirting with Robbie's gorgeous blond boyfriend.
Both Barry and Jayab were smiling, but Robbie wasn't too keen on handing the razor over to his boyfriend. That is until his hand was forced.
"C'mon babe, if you need me to finish up. Coach `needs' me out at the track."
More taking, than giving up the razor, soon it was in Barry's hand. Jayab lay down on the towel table, part of his legs hanging over the edge, arms stretched far above his head.
Robbie became a little embarrassed by Barry's comment, "You sure got a big one, Jayab. How long does it get?"
"Um," Robbie proceeded to enlighten his boyfriend, "Jayab isn't gay."
"Don't matter. He still gets hard. Don't you Jayab?"
"When the mood hits me," Jayab replies, not used to talking about himself in this way with two gay or whatnot guys.
"It looks like it could get really big," Barry says, scraping the lather from Jayab's other pec.
"Anybody know what time it is?" Robbie asks, looking for a way to change the subject.
"When I was at Coach Torricelli's office it was 3:15. It can't be more than ten minutes after that, babe."
"I guess I better get myself together and get over to the high school," Robbie replied.
It took all of two minutes, answering Jayab's question regarding Robbie tutoring high school students in an `after-after school' program, designed to help out students needing the extra help, plus providing teaching experience for the instructor.
"You're good with the razor."
"Thanks," Barry replies, leaning in to get at the mid section of Jayab's chest. "Oops! Got some on my shirt. Be right back."
Jayab sat there, hands behind his head, looking down at his chest, half shaven, clouds of puffy shaving covering his right pec. Thinking over their conversation of a few moments ago, he withdrew one hand from behind his head, finding it's way down to his pubes. A question never arising, the twenty-one year old held up his cock, grabbing onto the head. He thought to himself out loud, "It's gotta get to at least six inches."
From out of nowhere, he hears, "Oh I bet much more than six!"
Quickly he drops his cock back into the bed of black hair, it bouncing a few times against his big balls, his hand returning to his neck. "Yeah, I guess," is all he said about his cock, which he felt embarrassed about even mentioning, his hand playing a part in the measurement.
"Well six when it's deflated. I bet you're about a ten when it's hard."
Jayab was glad when Barry didn't press the issue, taking up the razor once again.
"Where's your shirt?"
"Drying. I had to wash the shaving soap out. I've got another one in my locker for track practice."
Unintentionally, Barry made Jayab moan out loud when he grasped onto his nip, pulling it away from Jayab's chest, mowing down the shave creamed follicles, from the outer reaches of his nip.
"Yeah, Robbie says the same thing when I pinch his nips, only I do that on purpose."
"Pinch his nips, huh?"
"I can see you like it too, Jayab."
"Huh?"
"You're getting hard," was Barry's explanation, his attention returning once again to Jayab's pubes.
"I am?" Jayab asked, doing a crunch to look. "Oh yeah. I guess I am," the mideastern man replied, more fire to add to his flaming red embarrassment, tinting his already medium brown skin.
"I bet I can get you as hard as Robbie!"
It was the two and two Jayab never put together. Sure he knew every guy had his feel-good spots, but he thought between his legs was it. Now Barry was presenting something which couldn't extinguish his curiosity. As Barry shaved on, more and more did he think about the challenge.
"Do you think it will really make me hard?"
"Only one way of finding out," Barry told him.
Not exactly sure on how to respond, Jayab could only think of, "If you have the time?"
Bluntly, Barry put it to Jayab, "I don't. I've gotta get going. I'm supposed to be out on the track field now. Coach Torricelli needs me. You can shower off now."
"But you didn't do my stomach?" He pressed halfway up from the table to see the black fur, more crowded in the middle, striped down his stomach.
"Another time," Barry yelled back from his locker.
"When?" Jayab quizzed him, while he was running out the back door.
"I dunno," Barry replied and that was it.
Lying back down, Jayab felt abandoned and rather horny from some certain thoughts. At the same time he noticed the slight rise above his taut stomach, subsided. Not thinking about it, then thinking about it, he found himself touching the same nip Barry had held up to shave down the side of his chest. "Ooooooh," he moaned to himself, lightly pulverising his right nip in his hand. Next he figured if one nip teased, felt great, how would two feel? The sensation at pube level was intensifying. Down below some help was needed, as if his cock was crying out. His right hand went to the rescue, his left hand crossing his chest to his right pec. One helped the other as his stroking made him want to mash his nip more. It heightened the pleasure and pain he was feeling. In turn, his hand filled up quick with his cockmeat, his hips bucking as if wanting it to grow more. The muscles in his legs tensed as he got to the apex of his strumming. After shooting ropes of cum onto his stomach, Jayab allowed his nip to be free, realising it, it wasn't his fingertips as much as his fingernails keeping him in a heightened state until he released his pent up load. He said to himself, "That boy sure know'what he's talking `bout!"
"That's it. Very good Barry. Keep it straight. There ya go. Now you're home free," Anthony talked Barry through the angled movements, in order to haul the wide flatbed cart full of hurdles, out from the track shed.
"So you think I'm going to be okay Coach Torricelli?"
"So far," Anthony sweetly put it, with a smile.
"Is track practice the same amount of time as swimming practice?" Barry asked, using his weight to pull the cart along the stretches of the track.
"Depends."
"On?" Barry asks.
"On how long it takes me to run these jocks into the ground!"
Barry had never really seen Coach Torricelli run, at least across the oval, grassy field. Of course he's seen Anthony swim in the pool at his home, but never any long distance sprinting. He was amazed at how versatile he could be at either cutting across the grass or churning through a wavy pool. Maybe wishful thinking, as a child would think, Barry said to himself, `I want to grow up to be just like you, coach!' Suddenly he was distracted, pulling the cart up in front of the bleechers.
"You were right. Felt so hot jerking off and teasing my nip at the same time. Had tons of cum explode out of my cock. Awesome feeling!"
"Is that so?"
This topped the cake, Jayab standing there, telling of his orgasmic nip-play-cock-eruption and to have his track coach overhearing.
"Um, ah...."
"Why don't we see some hotter action, like your feet exploding on the track?"
"Yes, sir!" Jayab said, getting his ass in gear and heading out towards the gang of tracksters.
"How can you be like that coach?"
"Like what Barry?" Anthony asks, smiling when he noticed Barry taking the initiative to start unloading the cart.
"You're nice to me, but then you're different with the track-guys, yelling at them."
He put it to Barry this way, "Why do you think we have one of the top college swim teams?"
Barry thought about it a second, then replying, "Oh yeah. I forgot. You scream at the swim team a lot too." Then thinking about it some more, "But you don't scream at them as much as you did in the beginning, coach."
Anthony wasn't counting, but figured the group were on their fourth or fifth lap, showing signs of deterioration. "C'mon! Pick up the pace ladies!" he shouted when they passed by.
Both Barry and Anthony mutually giggled when they heard Jayab mention to the others, "This is torture!"
Barry continued giggling, chilling out as he said, "Remember Robbie's reaction when you said that to the swim team, coach?"
A smile slowly forming on Anthony's lips, he said, "Yeah I do. I thought for sure he was ready to haul off and punch my lights out."
"Robbie wouldn't do that you know?"
Anthony well knew the answer, but figured hearing it from Barry would give it new meaning. "Is that so?"
"Yup. He treats me real nice and you know what?"
"What?" Anthony asked, giving Barry the opportunity to remove the last hurdle.
"I'm still trying to figure out why he picked me."
"Picked you for what?" Anthony asks, kind of knowing what bothered Barry.
"A boyfriend. He's like the most incredible looking guy on campus. He's got these big muscles," Barry tries imitating a strong man with his puny biceps, "and he's soooooo macho. How do you figure he picked me to be his boyfriend?"
"How do you know he picked you?"
"Because I didn't pick him!"
Barry watched as Anthony stepped up to one of the runners, comparing him to a tortoise, then falling back into their conversation with, "Before you met Robbie, what were your prerequisites on meeting the perfect man, in your own opinion?"
Sitting on the side of the hurdle cart, Barry thought about it, coming up with, "I didn't think I'd ever find him, but a guy who's got looks to die for and a bod to go along with it, plus maybe some brains."
"And you found him," Anthony simply put it.
"I suppose," Barry said, not sure if he was getting the connection.
"Excuse me a minute," Anthony said, leaving Barry and hightailing it across the field again, mouth flapping out some words close to obcenity status.
Sitting there, Barry stared across the field, a few hurdles getting stuck in his vision. It's then he switched from looking at the animated, to the fixtures standing still. Standing up, he took one and placed it out all by itself on the track. He backed up about ten feet and studied it. Then he walked back another five, then six. "I can do this!" he said to himself. What Barry hadn't realized is the hurdles were of four heights, six, twelve, eighteen and twenty-four inches. He had chosen the tallest. Starting where he felt he thought was the advantage point, he took his run. He stopped when almost ready to make his jump, analysing the situation. Looking behind him, he backed up further than before. Running at full steam, he leapt up. For sure he hadn't gauged the jump, his shins beating against the brunt of the hurdle. Fortunately, his hands were above his head, maybe imitating a winner at victory point. It aided him from falling flat on his face, cushioning the fall. But he didn't escape injury.
In the lead, Jayab cut across the green, Anthony and the others lagging behind. "Ohmigosh Barry! You alright?" he asked, looking straight down at the ground, Barry splayed out on it.
"I think," Barry replied, as Jayab helped stand him up.
But Barry wasn't alright. Blood dripped down his chin, his palms and arms scraped, both knees showing deep lacerations.
"Somebody get an ambulance!" Jayab yelled, seemingly into Anthony's face when he approached.
"Barry, what did you do to yourself?"
"I think I forgot to jump high enough, coach," is all he could say between the pain.
Making a quick decision, Anthony got on his cell and dialed 911. This wasn't the moment for body-watching, as Jayab pulled his shirt from overhead, telling his teammates to do likewise.
"I'm no doctor," Jayab said.
Anthony, not meaning to be comical says, "Yeah, I can tell. Here, put pressure on..." he took Jayab's team tank top, grabbing Kelan's offered shirt, "on... on wherever it's bleeding."
Face, arms, legs, there wasn't many places Barry wasn't bleeding. Sitting down on the cart, Anthony took Barry's head into his lap, pinching his nose, hoping the blood would clot.
In a nasaly tone, Barry tried saying, "I'm sorry coach," then proceeded to cough.
"You're going to be alright," Anthony assured him.
Running faster than the wind, Jayab ran back to the gym, alerting the EMT's, leading them to the injured victim. Wondering what the big `to do' was about, soon the track became lined with spectators, as if a competition in progress. Several came running over to the bleechers, some swim team members or others who knew Barry and Larry. Word spread fast. In their group of caring individuals, stood Dean Harriot. Adam Steel and another security guard kept the crowd from using up too much of Barry's breathing space. On his cell phone, Edwin spoke, "C'mon Larry... be there!"
"He gonna be alright?" Jayab questioned the EMT's.
The guy working on Barry's nose seemed to give Jayab the once over before cracking a smile and answering, "We'll have to wait til we get him to the hospital." What nobody but the EMT noticed, is the sloppy shave job somebody had given Jayab!
"I think he's ready," the other EMT said, both EMT's carefully lifting Barry to a gurney, Anthony offering some assistance with Barry's arm.
Jayab butt in, "Need some help?" his hands going for `the lift'.
The dark-haired, stached EMT sarcastically said to Jayab, a wicked grin on his face, "Not right now, cowboy."
"Enough excitement for one day," Anthony stated when the gurney was extended to it's full height, making it simpler to wheel down the track. "Gentlemen, you're excused for the day."
Aldo mentions to Brendan, "Well at least we're upgraded from ladies' to gentlemen'!"
With the crowd thinning out, Adam walks over to Anthony, asking "Do me a favor. We got a call out. I'll be doing a double shift tonight, if you can relay the message to Sep?"
Anthony assured him it wouldn't be a problem. As they chatted, they walked behind the slow procession, Barry strapped to the gurney, being taken over some rough terrain between the track and the backside of the Applegate gymnasium.
"Easy, Jill," the other EMT cautioned his colleague when she stepped backwards, her foot taking on a rock.
In place of Jill, Jayab stood, his hands effortlessly taking on the task of holding the end of the gurney at Barry's head.
In a weary, subtle voice, Barry said, "Thanks."
"Yeah thanks," Jayab shifted his head upwards, catching the other EMT looking at him, giving him a wink as he thanked him.
With intersecting thoughts, those of Barry's introduction of feeling-good-spots and now looking upon a fairly good looking man, winking at him, Jayab sensed a tingling between his legs, maybe something more driving him into a horny mood.
Running ahead, Jill had the ambulance doors wide open, ready to accept Barry. It took little effort for Jayab and his mystery man to lift the gurney into the back of the emergency vehicle.
Just before the doors closed, Anthony yelled to Barry he would see him at the hospital. At the same time, Anthony witnessed the EMT shoving something into Jayab's hand. To a gay man it wasn't any secret, Anthony catching the EMT checking Jayab out more than once.
"Barry... he's going to be okay, right coach?" Jayab asks.
"I'm sure he'll pull through. What about you?" Anthony inquired, nodding to whatever was stabbed into Jayab's hand, now crushed by closely knit fingers.
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2B continued...
Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection without prior written permission, by the author.