Date: Sun, 23 Oct 2016 21:35:21 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE  Chapter  12

DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  12


by  Donny Mumford


After parking  the Jeep near Merrimack's ballpark, I take a quick glance at
my  cellphone confirming there's been no text from Ryan. I didn't expect
one.  If I don't text him first he won't text me. That's the way it's been for
a  very long time now and that needs to change. I'd partially decided on
my own, even before Chubby's 'talk', that Ryan needs an  attitude adjustment
or he and I won't be spending much time together. With that  in mind, it's
unlikely I'll see him before the class we have together  Friday morning.

Maybe I'm being a prick about this, but I don't care. My latest  attempt to
pacify him only worked for one afternoon, and then he was  right back into his
moody act again. Well fuck that!  Marietta, Georgia was one thing, but we're
in an entirely different set of  circumstances now and we both need to
recognize it and act accordingly. I  admit if Chubby hadn't had the talk with me
it's possible I'd  eventually reach out to Ryan, like always, but that's not
gonna happen  this time. Not after I agreed with Chubby's analysis of
things. And,  between Chubby and Ryan it's no contest who I'm not disappointing,
so that's that. I still feel kinda bad for Ryan though.

As  Chubby and I walk through the entrance to the ballpark he points to the
 bleachers, asking, "Aren't those the girls you and Rob were with at  the
quad a couple of days ago." Looking to where he's pointing I  see Frankie and
Beth sitting with two other girls; all of them apparently  ogling the
ballplayers. Horney little creatures. I'm like, "Yeah, the  two girls in the
middle. They represent some bogus fan club for Rob, or  some such shit.  I think
he's flattered." Chubby mutters, "Oh yeah, I  remember now. Huh, they're,
um, kinda hot. Odd that they're both  single."

We  sit six rows behind the girls and silently watch the players' doing
their thing. That cool sound of aluminum bats connecting with hard balls,  the
muted shouting back and forth between the players, and the ball smacking
into baseball gloves makes for a pleasant and familiar atmosphere for those
who enjoy the game like I do. The leisurely pace of actual baseball  games
drives some people batty, but I like it.  After a while,  Chubby's like,
"There's that cool freshman dude, the one who was at your  place for dinner the
other night. The kid Rob's mentoring." There are about  thirty-five guys
either in the batting cage, fielding grounders, or  snagging fly balls in the
outfield, so I'm like, "Where, which  one?" Chubby goes, "In right field; the
kid with the long hair?" I tell  him, "Oh yeah, that's Golden Summers," and
Chubby chuckles, "Ha ha, he's  a good kid, but what a name, huh?" I go,
"Yeah, and he's really  good at barbering too, although he doesn't especially
like doing it."  I gotta admit, long hair and all, Golden looks sexy from
where I'm sitting.  He's clean shaven and his wavy long hair is flying around
below his  baseball cap as he runs down a fly ball. He's an infielder though,
so I guess  he's just having some fun shagging balls in the outfield. I
can't see it from  here, but in my humble opinion Golden's chin ruins what
otherwise would be  an almost cute face. Not that it matters since he's sexually
as straight as  an arrow. And there's Robby at shortstop smiling while
smoothly fielding a hard  hit grounder to his left, then he pivots, plants his
feet and makes a  long strong accurate throw to first base, beating the
runner by  three steps. It looks like Robby's having a lot of fun out there. Wish
I had the  talent to be on the team with him.

Instead  of watching the ball players, I take a minute to glance around the
 stands hoping to see Hoodie Boy, but he's not among the fifty or so
students in the stands. College students have so much free time on their hands
it's not uncommon to see them killing some of that free time watching
practice  for the various sport teams their friends are on. Or they're involved
with pranks like the microphone tiny penis prank. Oh, and there's my  kissing
buddy, Lawyer Ross, standing near first base talking with the first
baseman. Damn, he's a cool looking dude. I'm hoping Lawyer works up enough  courage
to ask me for further lessons in gay intimacy among buddies. Heh heh.

That's probably unlikely, but maybe if I get the chance to give him a haircut
the intimacy of that might lead to another kind of intimacy. It did with some
of  the ex-posse  boys,  so ya never know.

Frankie  stands up, probably going for soft drinks or snacks at the vending
 machines. Unfortunately for me she turns my way and sees me, then yells,
"What  are you doing hiding up there, Dylan? And is that your brother you're
sitting  with? It is, isn't it?" She was introduced to Chubby briefly in the
Quad  earlier in the week.  Frankie taps Beth's shoulder, saying, "Guess
who's here?" Beth turns around, then the other girls turns around, all  of
them gawking at us. Chubby smiles at them, saying, "What's up,  ladies?"

Balls! The four girls walk up the bleaches as Beth's saying to one  of her
friends, "Was I lying? Aren't they adorable!" Oh man, this is getting  fucking old...

 really old!
Beth  sits next to Chubby and wraps her arms around Chubby's left arm,
saying, "I'm  ready to smoke that joint with you now, Jeff." Chubby goes, "Oh,
yeah? Do you  have one on you? We can smoke it here, but um, first you gotta
let go of my  fuckin' arm?" She asks, "Why?" and Chubby goes, "This is a bit
 embarrassing for someone my age, but I have an artificial elbow and it
easily gets pulled out of it's socket."  She goes, "What?" as she lets go of
his arm, horrified, murmuring, "You poor  thing. I'm so sorry." Chubby's
pretending to twist his artificial elbow back in  place, as he mumbles, "Yeah,
well, I manage."  Frankie introduces  her friends to Chub and me. I give each
of them a half-hearted smile,  immediately forgetting their names. Chubby
gives both of the new girls a  nickname, but I'm not paying attention to
their bantering. I'm thinking  that neither of the two new girls has anything
special going for them,  unlike Beth and Frankie who at least have noteworthy
attributes,  appearance-wise. Beth's sexy with big jugs and Frankie is
cheerleader-cute  and perky. And, both of them are infuriatingly wearing our
baseball  caps: Beth's wearing mine and Frankie has Robby's on, wearing it
backwards. I'm getting my fucking hat back from Beth, and I mean  today. Huh,
one of the two new girls acts kinda butch and aloof, or maybe bored  or
uncomfortable. Who the fuck knows with girls? The other girl is  overweight and
shy, but smiley and  friendly. I like her, and feel kinda bad for her at the
same time. I'm guessing  she's the wallflower type, always ready to fetch
something or run an errand;  just happy to be allowed to hang-out with the
other girls. A boyfriend is too  much for her to hope for of course... she strikes
me as that kind of girl.  Hell, there are guys like that too. I always feel
bad for them as  well.

Of  course Chubby's entertaining the girls, calling each one by  the
nicknames he's assigned to them. He's telling them, among other  things, about the
tiny penis megaphone pranks. Then he goes into a  wildly impossible lie
about a trip he took last summer as a Boy Scout,  scaling the heights of the
Himalayas. At  least one of the girls appear to believe him; the heavy-set
girl. Chubby  can be a sincere and believable liar when he wants to. Frankie
sits down  next to me, whispering, "Your brother is so full of it, but
apparently Tootie is  believing every lie." I ask, "Which one is Tootie? I forget."

She goes,  "Tootie's wearing the turtle neck sweater." Oooh, she's the
large girl; the one  I feel bad for. I go, "She seems nice," and Frankie says,
"She's one of the  nicest girls I've ever known and one of my best friends.

Oh my God,  and she has this awesomely hunky sophomore boyfriend too." In
disbelief, I look at Frankie, muttering, "Really? You're kidding me,  right?"

and she goes, "Why do you find that hard to believe?" I  mutter, "No, no, of
course I believe you, I'm happy for her." Huh, I didn't  exactly analyze
Tootie's situation a hundred percent accurately. I was off  by about ninety
percent.  I got the part about her being overweight right. Frankie says,
"Aman,  that's Tootie's boyfriend, he's Jamaican. Anyway he says he likes his
women  oversized, and he's so romantic. Tootie loves him to death." I'll be
dammed. I  go, "Huh." Then my cellphone buzzes, and when I get it out of my
pocket I see a  text from Steve Church: 'Bro, can I get that haircut tomorrow
instead of  today?' I text back, 'No problem. Text me tomorrow.' Ha! I forgot
all  about that it. And no mention of Ryan, although there's no real reason
for Steve  to mention him.

The  conversation turns to a discussion about tonight's off-campus frat
party. To  hear the girls tell it, all five thousand Merrimack students, plus
half the  population of North Andover will be there. Grinning, Chubby asks
the aloof  standoffish girl for the first dance tonight, and she goes,
"Humph," then says,  "Not a chance in hell. You're way too, um, short... for one
thing, and I  could come up with a few other reasons as well." Without missing
a beat, Chubby  says, "Oh my God, you're so sweet to notice my handicaps."

The aloof  girl frowns, but Chubby's now complimenting Beth on her choice of
 sweatshirts as he taps her left tit with his index finger, saying, "This
color is perfect for you. It matches your eyes." I know Chubby was just
trying  to include the aloof girl in the conversation, and then she says  that
to him. What a cunt! And you know what? I've  definitely been in the company
of too many girls lately! I have  nothing against girls, except for the fact
they're not guys. It's like, when I'm  in the company of more than one girl
 I'm mostly on the alert that they might be having fun at my expense
somehow. Not  having detected that in these girls yet, but maybe that's because
I'm still  struggling to understand they're signals. It's hard to tell if
they're  joking or being serious. I'm out of my element and at a disadvantage
when a  number of girls are part of the conversation. Of course, if I spent
more time  with girls I'd probably eventually understand them better;
understand where  they're coming from and all that. It does seem like a lot of work
though.

Fortunately  Chubby and I got here late, so the light of day is already
fading and the  practice is just about over. I'll soon be able escape these
four girls,  and do it without being rude. And yes! Now the players are
beginning  to head inside, including Robby and Golden. Chubby abruptly stands,  and
says, "I hope to see you girls at the frat party, but my bro and I need to
quickly be someplace other than here." I go, "Yeah, see you all later," and
 slip around Frankie to follow Chubby down the bleachers with Beth yelling
after  us, "See if you guys can pick us up earlier then ten o'clock, Dylan?"

I  yell over my shoulder, "I'll get back to you about that, okay?" And
dammit, I  didn't get my hat back! Outside the ballpark, Chubby goes, "That one
bitch, the  tall one with a ring through her nostril. " I go, "The one you
asked for a dance  tonight?" He nods, "Uh huh, that twat. I gave a fleeting
thought to  punching her right in her bee-stung lips and maybe dislodging a
tooth or  two." I don't know what bee-stung lips means, but I say, "Yeah,
well lets walk  faster so they don't catch up with us." We're not especially
hurrying in  the direction of the Jeep, with Chubby chuckling and telling me,
"Beth, on  the other hand, is a definite maybe." I don't know what that
means either. At  the Jeep we light a cigarette and share it as I'm texting
Robby, 'Chub  and I will see you at the apartment. What do you want to do
tonight before  the frat party?'
Robby  has the pickup, so I drive the Jeep to the apartment. Inside the
apartment Chubby and I grab a beer and sit on stools at the kitchen bar. He
says, "I'd kinda like to see a movie tonight. We could catch a seven  o'clock
show if there's anything good playing." That doesn't sound like a
realistic idea to me considering we're going to the frat party later.  Chubby's
looking at his iPhone for movies playing at the Loews  Theater in  Methuen.

There are twenty screens and twenty different movies at Loews.  None of the
movies with a seven o'clock starting times seems especially  interesting.

Halfway through our beers, Robby comes in and gives me a  quick kiss, then says,
"My apologies, Jeff, but your brother looks so cute  I couldn't help myself.

I had to give him a kiss." Chubby, still scrolling down  the movie listings,
mumbles, "No problem, I kiss him too." Then he looks  over at me, grinning,
and says, "Don't I, bro?" I say, "Yes, and it  only took me most of my life
getting you to do that. I used Rob and Dodger  as a perfect example of
kissing brothers." Robby gets a beer and pulls the  last stool over, saying, "Ya
know, when we were youngsters Dodger and I  thought all brothers were as
affectionate with brotherly kisses as we were. Not  so of course, as we found
out from other boys who made fun of us  back when we were young and innocent
and clueless. Brotherly, and even  manly kissing is not unusual in other
parts of the world." Left unsaid by  Robby is the incest he and Dodger
frequently participated in, which isn't  an acceptable custom anywhere in the world
I'm aware of. That's best left  unsaid by me as well because Chubby and I
aren't exactly innocent in that  regard. With us though it was an extremely
infrequent anomaly, but not so  for Dodger and Robby. Obviously they haven't
had many incest opportunities  since Dodger joined the Army. Fact is, incest
between the brothers had just  about fizzled-out by the time Robby and I
became boyfriends. But, yeah, we  were a sexy group of lads in our early days.

Now I don't even have a side-sex  buddy, assuming Ryan continues his
paranoia, or whatever his problem is. Things  change, ya know?
The  three of us veto going to the the movies and decide to eat dinner out
instead. We'll eat at Bertucci's again tonight, then after dinner we'll
have some beers at a bar in Haverhill Chubby and John Beverly frequented
earlier in the week. It's a sports bar with flat screen televisions on all the
walls, a couple of pool tables and  a shuffleboard. Not the electronic kind
of shuffleboard, a real shuffle  board. Robby asks, "Hey, should we invite
the girls?" Chubby's like, "Sure, why  not," and I look at Robby with an
expression of incredulousness on my  face, and he goes, "Ahh, c'mon Dylan,
they're kinda fun, don'cha think?" I  say, "We're going to the fucking frat party
with the girls later tonight.  How about if this part of tonight is a boy's
night  out, at least until the frat party?" Chubby says, "Oh yeah,
absolutely! Dylan's totally right about that." Chubby would back me up  if I
suggested we go skinny dipping while it's snowing. Robby shrugs,  "Sure, okay,"

and he asks about inviting Golden for dinner, but we don't do  that because
Golden's underage and couldn't go to the bar with us later.  Robby and I are
picking up the girls, so Robby arranges for Chubby to  pick Golden up on the
way to the frat party. I say, "Robby, why don'cha ask  Danny if he wants to
join us for dinner?  That way, later on we can have teams playing pool." He
has a surprised look on  his face for a second, then says, "Yeah, okay, I'll
text him," which he  does and a minute later Robby's cellphone pings.

Robby looks at his  cellphone, and says, "Danny says he'd be delighted to join
us, if  we'll pick him up." Chubby chuckles, mumbling, "Delighted, really?"

Earlier  today Robby texted Frankie that we'd pick her and Beth up at ten
o'clock for the  frat party. Beth tried to get us to go earlier naturally, but
things don't  start popping until ten o'clock at most college parties.

Everyone's  busy front-loading before showing up.

We  all have a second beer on the balcony, smoking cigarettes. Halfway
finished his  beer, Chubby says, "I'd better take this beer and get back to my
dorm to  shower. I'll pick Danny up first, then  come here for you guys. Does
seven o'clock sound okay to you?" We  nod, mumbling, "See you then." We
goofily wave at Chubby when he comes out  the back door underneath our balcony.

He gives us the finger as he's  getting in the Jeep, then and  a big grin
and a small wave as he drives past us.  Robby  asks me,  "I'm curious. Um,
what made you think to ask Danny to join us?" I  go, "Why not? He's a good
guy, right?" Robby nods his head, "He is, although he  sure screwed-up my work
crew last summer when he quit during the first  week." On a bit of a fishing
expedition for information about those  two, I'm like, "Jesus, that was
months ago! You guys have patched  things up by now, right?" Robby tells me, "

Well yeah, of course we have,  but I'd be hard pressed trusting him again
with anything important. He used  the excuse that he was messed-up in the head
about his parent's  divorce." I'm like, "That's kinda understandable,
wouldn't you say?" He mumbles,  "Well, there was more to it than that, but yeah
that part was understandable."  Probing further would be too obvious, so I
just go, "Huh." Hmmm, maybe I'll  get back to that topic later; probably
getting Danny's version of their  temporary break-up. I'm just curious, no big
deal.

We  finish our beers and go inside to warm up. New England weather gets
colder  the closer to October we get. Robby goes, "I'm almost afraid to ask,
but how  come you didn't suggest inviting Ryan?" Ah ha, Robby's on a bit of a
fishing  trip himself. Casually shrugging, I tell him, "It's weirdly
complicated, Rob.  Ah, the short version makes both Ryan and me seem petty." He's
smirking, saying, "Come on, baby, tell your head of the household what that
means." I shrug again, "Oh fuck, um, it's like I always need to be the one
who initiates doing things together. I need to text him or call because
he'd never ask me first. It's stupid I guess, but that's the bottom line."

Robby  goes, "Jesus, that is petty," and I go, "Yeah, um, and I need to let him
be the  boss or he gets moody. Things like that don't bode well for us
continuing much  of a friendship." Then I recall just the other day when I
called Ryan  my best friend, but I was basically trying to get him in a better
mood, and even  that didn't work for very long. Robby's raising his eyebrows,
"Really?  You two aren't on the best of terms, huh?" I say, "It's more like
I don't know  what terms we're on, if any. Lets leave it at that, if it's
okay with you, Rob."  He comes over and gives me a hug, "Sure it's okay,
Dylan. I'm sorry you two are,  um, having whatever problems you're having. That's
all I'll say, except  this: I'm glad you're... no! Now's not the time. I'll
complete that thought some  other time." Duh, as if I don't know what he was
going to say. Not the exact  words, but with the same meaning as Chubby's
message during our  talk at Rolf's Bar, to wit: Ryan's not good for me.

Robby's  still got his arms around me so I drop my head to his shoulder and
lean against  him. His body feels good against mine. He tightens his hug,
quietly asking,  "You okay, babe?" I nod my head against his shoulder,
although I'm not sure how  okay I am. It's like Ryan and I had something  sexually
special; a unique special relationship that I'm being told isn't a  healthy
one. Sadly, I'm beginning to believe it's true. The problem is I'm gonna
miss that side sex with Ryan something terrible. And even as I say that to
myself, it proves Chubby's point. My first Ryan-thought was  not about how
much I'll miss our time talking about stuff, or  simply hanging out together.

Nope, my first thought was about our sex  together. Hell, our conversations
were usually more of a lecture from  him than anything else. Even golfing
together he was mostly pissed off at  one thing or another, and our time at
the waterfall pond was only a prelude to  sex. He's been nice too though, but
being honest about it, his niceness was more  in the form of him being
condescendingly nice to a younger brother or  underling. That how he saw himself;
someone who needed to look out for me.  I don't want that anymore, not from
him anyway. Oh man, I gotta get out of  this thought pattern. Luckily Robby
gets me out of it by asking, "Do you  wanna shower together? Or, how about
a nice hot bath together." I give him a  little smile, murmuring, "I'm good
with either, as long as you're doing it with  me." He goes, "Oooh, that's
sweet," and he kisses under my jaw giving me  shivers.

It's  becoming almost routine; us showering together. Robby's fingers
shampooing my hair leaves my scalp tingling and I like the hard scrubbing  he
does on my body with the bath sponge filled with lots of bath gel, especially
on my back. I return the favor and then our slippery clean bodies slide
together and we have a hot make-out under the pouring almost-too-hot water.

It's  very sensuous and, later stepping out of the shower; we have sex without
 drying off. I'm leaning over, holding onto the rim of the sink, water
dripping off my head, as Robby's pounding his hard cock back and forth in  my
ass. It's a fast rush to climax and in three or four minutes my  orgasm
splatters off the front of the sink while Robby is pumping his load  of semen up
my ass. We're both shaking from the intensity of our climaxes,  breathing
deeply and noisily, gasping for air. My heart's pounding like a drum  and it
takes a full minute for it to calm down. The experience is magical  and
leaves us both limp and hanging onto one another. Gulping in air, I  mumble,
"Awesome sex, Rob. Unbelievable that it continues getting  better." Squeezing my
arms around him, I murmur, "You fuck the best and I  can't imagine living
without you." He smothers me with kisses, his body  seemingly touching every
part of mine. This love affair with Robby gives me the  sense that we're
special somehow. I don't believe anyone could possibly  enjoy sex more than I
do with Robby. No way to measure that of course, but I can  measure who's the
best sex partner for me, and it's this strong, cutely-handsome  boyish
young man who's hugging me right this second.

Robby  rubs noses with me, then with our faces are touching, his soft
scraggily  beard tickling my chin, his lips moving against mine, he murmurs, "I
love you and I always will. You're my fantasy come true, Dylan; a real  life
reality dream." We walk into the bedroom with an arm around each  other's
waist and then start kissing again falling on the bed with me on the  bottom,
my back on the mattress as we do a silent slow make-out.  Five then ten
minutes with the heat rising between us. I wrap my legs around his  waist, and
his cock, hard as steel once again, slides tightly up my ass. The cum
remaining in my rectum from our after-shower sex makes it a more slippery  trip
for his iron penis this time. It's slow penetrations minute  after minute
until we're gasping moist breath into each other's face. Robby's  face is red
with tiny perspiration bubbles on his forehead as we stare into each  other's
eyes concentrating on the sensations Robby's hard organ is creating in
both of us. Steady slow thrusts until time loses meaning and it's like we're
going to do  this forever. Then a point is reached where something turns-on
in my  brain, and it can't be turned off.  I begin struggling and humping
back as  another climax takes hold of me; the second one in less then a half
hour. Then it latches on Robby too, and he begins moving his hips with faster
 and harder thrusts.  Both our eyes shut tightly as my head goes back
stretching my neck, my back arching off the mattress and, oh my God,  it feels
so good. My normal squeal gets strangled in my throat as cum pumps  out of my
hard throbbing cock in little squirts; little squirts that feels  like long
strings of creamy cum. A last hump up against Robby's thrusting hips  and
then I'm limp as a dishrag and overcome with spectacular  pleasure sensations
that one second ago exploded and now the after affect  sensations are
swarming  all over my body. Intense pleasure  for another couple of seconds
before retreating into tiny electric buzzing here  and there around my groin...

then they all blink out. Robby gasps, collapsing  on me for the heart-pounding
minute following his orgasm blast off; my  heart's pounding against his
chest too. Our breathing is loud and raspy,  then it all slowly calms down and
with a final exhale we lay together a  little sweaty and a little sticky, and
slightly exhaust, but sighing with  contentment.

We  don't move, just breath for five minutes or so before Robby lifts off
me, giving  me his special smile. I can't help but blurt out with a laugh;
everything  is so perfect it's almost absurd.  Robby takes my hand, pulling me
up  and I'm like, "I think you're right, Rob, we are going to fuck
ourselves to  death one of these days." With his arm across my shoulders we walk
back into the  bathroom as Robby tells me, "I hope we do fuck ourselves to
death, but not for  another sixty years or so." Getting back in the shower stall
we lean against one  another letting the water pour down on us again, then
use the sponge and some  bath gel going over part of our bodies that need
re-cleaning. Rinsing off and  getting out of the shower stall, we dry
ourselves this time. Robby exclaims,  "Damn, I feel good! So fucking good!" I nod,
grinning, "Good doesn't cover it  for me, Rob; I feel fantastic!" Fact is,
I'm so happy it's sick. As we walk  into the bedroom, Robby goes, "Tonight
before bed we gotta do something similar,  don'cha think, baby?" I'm putting
jockey shorts on, saying, "That's not a bad  idea, and then there's the rest
of our sexy lives  together after that." We smirk at each other feeling so
smug it borders  on obnoxious. Good thing we're the only ones who see how smug
and pleased  we are with ourselves. Dressed in cargo khakis, a long-sleeve
polo shirt,  and my new black Converse high top sneakers, I'm looking good.

Robby and I stand  side by side looking in the mirror on the wall over the
chest of drawers,  combing our hair. Robby asks, "Shall we go for a small
pompadour tonight?" I  have to laugh, "Jesus, this is the first time in my life
I've been able to think  about a pompadour," then I comb one in front,  and
Robby mutters, "Hmmm,  that looks a little faggy, babe." I go, "Hey!"

We've  got hoodie sweatshirts on over our long sleeve shirts standing out
here on  the balcony having a smoke after sex. Feeling awesome, we're
watching for  Chubby and Danny Monday to drive up in the Jeep. Chubby's not a slave
to  punctuality so I'm surprised to see the Jeep pull onto our parking lot
at five  after seven. Only five minutes late is like arriving early for my
brother. He  sees us on the balcony, but toots the horn anyway. Going down
the steps to the  back door, Robby says, "I'm thinking about ordering that
lemon chicken  piccata I had the other night with the girls." That sounds so
odd, him saying  'the other night with the girls'. I say, "I'm hoping someone
will  share a pizza with me." Down on the parking lot, Robby and I bump fist
with  Danny, then pat Chubby's shoulder as we get in the back seat. Chubby
says,  "We gotta go back to Danny's dorm; numb-nuts forgot his ID." Robby
reaches up  and playfully smacks the back of Danny head, muttering, "Dummy."

Danny turns his  head to look back at Robby, grinning and mumbling, "Jeez,
I'm sorry." He's  another rare example of a guy who's retained some boyish
cuteness into his  twenties. Danny's a very nice looking young man. And, the
way he  looked back at Robby for that split second just now told me he and
Robby still have something sexy going on between them, and  that Danny's the
submissive bottom whether he and Robby call it  that or not. Neither
participant needs to acknowledge, or even realize  they're doing sub/dom sex, but
that's basically what those two  are probably doing. Yeah, it's obvious to me
that Robby's the  head honcho in that twosome. Huh, and I'm not even all
that jealous about it.  Whatever Danny means to Robby is insignificant compared
to what I mean to him.  That's something I'm positive of now, and without a
hint of doubt about it. I  couldn't say that with this much conviction a
year ago.

After  driving back on campus for Danny's ID, we're inside Bertucci's this
Saturday  night standing in a crowd reevaluating choosing this restaurant.

It  took us a few minutes to even get inside and, when Robby puts his name in
on the  waiting list, we're told we have at least a half hour wait. No, not
 really... we file out of there, as I'm asking, "Where should we try now?"

We  have a brief discussion about that and decide we'll get something  to
eat at the sports bar; the one we planned on going to after dinner. The  bar
is in Haverhill. 'Butch's Sports Bar and Eats' and it's a  twenty minute
drive from here. As Chubby's pulling into the bar's parking  lot I'm thinking
that this place looks too new to qualify as a 'dive'.  Then inside, the
interior is fairly new too. Okay, it's not a dive, but  there's a beery smell to
the place, with a touch of disinfectant and  a fried-food scent in the air.

After two minutes I don't notice the smell.  This is obviously more a bar
than a restaurant. Eight tables with seating  for four are along one wall, and
opposite the tables is a long  bar with stool-seating for at least thirty,
plus a big game room  to the left of the bar. Only one cocktail waitress in
front of the bar but  two bartenders behind it. Half the tables and
two-thirds of the bar stools are  occupied. We sit at the bar with one or two empty
stools on either side of us.  This place is Chubby's recommendation, so I
have his back, saying, "Really nice  place, Chub," as I take a twenty dollar
bill out of my pocket to put on the bar.  He says, "No, Dylan, they run a tab
here."

Danny  asks Chubby, "Do they have menus or is that all the food they
offer?" and he  points to a high-gloss teepee shaped advertisement for tacos and
chicken wings on the bar in front of us. Chubby picks up the teepee,
saying, "These are specials. Fifty cents each for any kind of chicken  wing:
barbecued, plain crispy, or the red hot Buffalo kind.  Also all kinds of tacos
for a buck each. We could fill up on appetizers for  under six dollars." I
hear, "ID fellows," and look up to see a burly  bartender, who looks about
twenty-five. He doesn't give a name or a  smile,;  it's just routine bar
business for him. He adds, "And yeah, we have  menus." Danny and Robby already have
their licenses out and while  burly-bartender checks those, Chubby and I
get ours out. Without  commenting, the bartender puts the first two licenses
down in front of the guys  and looks at Chubby's and mine, then, "What'll it
be fellows?" We all say draft  beer, and the bartender asks, "Sam Adams
okay?" Robby says, "Yeah, sure."  Fuck! I don't like Sam Adams because it's
bitter, but Burly already  has the Sam Adams tap running. He pours two at a
time, then two more and somehow  carries the four beers, two in each hand,
setting them down in front of us  without spilling a drop, asking, "Run a tab for
you guys?" Chubby goes, "Yes,  we'll be here a while. Can we see the
menus?" Burly nods, reaches under the  bar and plops four sticky menus in front of
Chubby, then he walks down to  the middle of the bar and refill drinks for
five guys wearing ties. They  probably came here right after work, which
means they've been drinking for  almost two hours. Mixed drinks for the guys in
the ties.

The  bartender goes about his business in a routine way, not especially
grumpy,  or jolly. Drinking in bars is still basically new to me and I need to
suppress a  grin because it's so cool. I feel cool sitting here at the bar,
finally a member  of the twenty-one and over club. Chubby passes the menus
down. He's on one end  of our foursome with me on his left next to Robby, and
Danny's on the  other end. It's a limited menu, basically subs and tacos,
plus hamburgers done a  few different ways, French fires and the chicken
wings as pictured on the  bar teepees. Glancing around I see that the people
sitting at the  tables are eating and drinking, while the people at the bar are
just  drinking. Maybe we should have sat at a table. While it's cool
sitting at the  bar, I still feel an uneasiness in bars, not quite sure what's the
right  thing to do.

We  drink our bitter beers as Chubby and I talk about what we're going to
order  for dinner, settling on a hamburger platter for me and a cheesesteak
for him.  Robby asks, "Did you try the food the other time you we're here,
Jeff?" and Chubby's like, "No, but I saw what was being served to others and
it  looked okay." Chubby gets the bartender's attention by holding his menu
up and  the bartender nods at him, then calls to the waitress, "Tina!" and
when she  looks up he points at us. Tina comes over to us five minutes later
with a big forced smile on her face. She's the opposite of Burly,  smiling
like mad and uber cheerful, every bit  as sincere as an undertaker, "What
can I get for you handsome young men?"  Oh brother, I'm gonna barf!!  We give
her our orders and she tells us  to be patient, "It could take a half hour,
boys. The kitchen's working behind  tonight." We all nod or shrug as I'm
thinking we should have waited the half  hour at Bertucci's. At first the
conversation is about Frankie and Beth  stealing Robby's and my baseball caps,
then we talk about tonight's frat  party, and then Chubby's trying to make-up
his mind whether to hustle Beth  or play the field. I mention to Chubby that
Beth's interested in Golden,  and he shrugs, "I'm pretty sure they'll be a
couple of single girls there too."  When it's time for another round I think
about changing my beer to Bud, but  our bartender is quick, already doing
the two-at-a--time pour  from the Sam Adams tap, so what the fuck.

Our  food arrives while we're ordering our third beers. The meals are
served on wax  paper in plastic baskets that I'm guessing do not get washed in
between  servings, so that's on my mind as I pick up my hamburger. The food is
hot and  the French fries obviously came directly from the hot grease to
us. So that's  good, and so is everything else we ordered. Most everything on
the menu is  priced between $7 and $8 dollars so it's not much of a rip-off,
and no  complaints except from Chubby who, with his winning smile, motions
for  the waitress to come over, and then he says, "You forgot the napkins,
Tina, and I'm sorry to say but that could have a negative  effect on the
size of your tip." She laughs, saying, "Oh, you're too sweet to do that to me,
 darling. I'll get you a big handful of napkins." Tina's probably on the
other  side of forty years old, and I'm guessing she's been at this
waitressing profession a lot of those years. She makes me think of Chubby's and  my
mom. It can't be easy everyday being smiley and cheerful no matter what
problems they might have on their minds, or how big of an asshole they need to
be nice to.

After  eating, we order a forth beer and by now I don't care what brand I'm
drinking.  We settle up the bill and leave an appropriate tip, then carry
our beers to the  game room. Both pool tables are in use by guys about our
age. There's a  sign stating 'House rules: challenge winners by putting a coin
on  railing'. After watching the guys shoot pool for a minute, Chubby puts
a quarter on the railing of the table with the worst pool players, saying,
"We  got the winners." It's $1.25 per game and the pool tables only takes
quarters.  Fortunately there's a coin-changing machine that Danny puts a five
dollar  bill in and out come twenty quarters. We discuss who the best pool
shooters are  among the four of us and decide on Chubby and Danny, not that
they're much  better than Robby and me; none of us are all that good.

Nevertheless, we hope  Chubby and Danny win the table so the four of us can play
each other. As  they starts their game against the winners of the previous
game, I'm  trying to think back to the pool lessons Ryan's friend, Felix, gave
me  freshman year.

Robby  and I play a game on the shuffleboard deciding we like the
electronic game  better than this authentic shuffleboard. Times flies when drinking
and shootings  pool, or watching. The beers flow down our throats  faster the
more we drink. Happily none of the strangers we shoot pool with  is an
asshole, and there's no tense moments. During the first game Chubby  somehow
organizes everything for us and the other eight guys shooting  pool at the two
tables, calling the guys by their names. Funny how he can  do that seemingly
effortlessly. I end up partners  with a guy named, Markie, who's kind of a
funny looking kid, but by  nine o'clock, after drinking beers for almost two
hours, I could definitely see  some cuteness in the guy. He's goofy cute,
and about my height with kind  of a long face, reminding me a little of
Willie. Markie has too-long,  light-brown hair and a sexy short scraggily beard
with a thin, soft-looking  mustache. An awesome grin too and a very likable
disposition. He's almost  certainly straight of course, although he's big on
hugs and chest bumps with  me for anything approaching a good shot by either
of us. He has  the shiniest brown eyes too. After Markie and I lose our
game, we're  standing near the shuffleboard with bottles of Bud in our fist.

Finally Markie  asks "Dylan, do you smoke?" I go, "Do I smoke? Does the tin
man have a  sheet-metal cock?" Markie hangs on me, laughing his nuts off, then
sputters,  "Does the Pope shit in the woods?" and we're both laughing so
hard we're bent  over, hands on our knees with the sides of our heads bumping
together.

Gasping  to catch our breath, we straighten up still snickering at those
silly  imitations of the off-color rhetorical question, 'Does a bear shit in
the woods?' Heading for our sweatshirts that  are draped over a bar stool, I
blurt out another laugh and  Markie picks up on that and we both starts
laughing all over again.  Sometimes it happens where something silly strikes me
so funny  that every time I think of it I burst out laughing. We both get
our laughing under control putting on our sweatshirts, and then walk
outside for a smoke. Right outside the door are three girls and two guys
shivering while having a smoke, so we walk down to the left of them and turn the
corner of the building before lighting our cigarettes. Taking a  drag, then
exhaling, he asks, "Where you from, Dylan?" and we do that  question and
answer nonsense for a minute or two while dragging on  our cigarettes and
exhaling smoke into the chilly breeze. He's a  local lad who works in the downtown
Haverhill Rite Aid  drugstore as a clerk. He's had the same job since
graduating Haverhill High  School three years ago, and he's now thinking seriously
about joining the  Army. I give him my brief partially-true personal
background, without mentioning  I'm gay. We smoke for a minute without saying
anything, until he mutters,  "Getting fuckin' cold, huh, Dylan?" I nod; then,
for comic-relief,  I purposely mix-up the words to the rhetorical question we
screwed-up  earlier, mumbling, "How 'bout that fuckin' sheet-metal cock on
the Pope," and he  coughs on his inhaled cigarette smoke and we're off to the
races laughing  our asses off again with tears in our eyes. It's so stupid
but we can't stop  laughing and hanging on one another, and then somehow our
lips come  together and we do the sexiest kiss, our fingers in each other's
 hair. After like ten seconds we both move our heads back and look at one
another with matching startled expressions on our faces. He sputters, "I'm
sorry! I don't know why I did that. Um.... I've never done that with a guy
before  in my life. I, um..." I'm shaking my head, muttering, "It's the beers,
Markie. Don't worry about it. C'mon, lets go inside... fuckin' cold, huh,
dude?"  It was so unexpected, so surreal, I can hardly believe it  actually
happened.

Markie  says, "Let me buy you a beer. I... um, I really didn't..." I pat his
shoulder, "It's totally cool, Markie. Hey, I liked it, okay?" He nods his
head, then glances at me, nods his head again, then orders the beers. The
kiss  isn't mentioned again. We challenge another game of pool and play two of
the guys whose names I've forgotten, but most of the hugs  and chest bumps
of our earlier games are replaced with fist bumps and  subdued 'Nice shot'
as we lose another game. By now Chubby, Danny, Robby,  and I are all legally
drunk, but not seriously drunk  or incapacitated, and that's because we
didn't do any shots. It's  almost ten o'clock when we decide we've got to pick
up the girls. As I'm  putting on my sweatshirt, I'm looking around to say
goodbye to Markie, but he  must be in the men's room,  or maybe he left after
our last lost pool game. Whatever the reason, I  don't get to say goodbye.

Walking  to the Jeep I'm thinking that since he's a local guy, Markie
probably  frequents this bar on some kind of a regular basis, and I'll probably
see him  again. That was an intensely hungry kiss he gave me now that I've
had  time to think about it. And, damn, that scraggily beard of his was as
soft as  the hair on his head. Yeah, I'd like to see him again although he's
probably so  humiliated for initiating our kiss that he won't be happy seeing
me; not if he's  sober anyway. We pile into the Jeep with Chubby insisting
I'm the  designated driver. Robby and I will switch to the pickup at the
apartment and then Chubby can take over driving the  Jeep with Danny riding
shotgun on their way to pick up John Beverly  and Golden Summers. We'll meet up
with them at the frat party. I have  no problem driving down route 125 to
route 114, although twice Robby said,  "Yo, slow the fuck down, Dylan,
please." The first time he said it I heard  the clicking of seat belts from Danny
and Chubby in the  backseat.

Safely  back at the apartment's parking lot, there's fist bumps and general
agreement  of, "Good time. Lets do that again," then, "See you at the
party." Chubby  drives away with Danny in the Jeep and we get in the pickup.

Robby  drives us to the girl's dormitory, saying, "Sorry about my backseat
driving  earlier, Dylan." I go, "No problem," and he adds, "Ya know, maybe if you
 could keep it under sixty when driving on route 125 where the speed  limit
is thirty-five; that'd be good." I glance over because that's  bullshit, I
wasn't going sixty! He grins at me, which makes me grin back at him  as I
flash my middle finger at him.

Robby  parks at the curb in front of Frankie's and Beth's dormitory. The
girls are  sitting on the steps and they get up, saying, "We thought you stood
us up!"  Robby goes, "Never! We're extremely dependable, although
occasionally  late." Beth says, "That's a contradiction, sweetheart." then, "C'mon,
Dylan, sit  in the back with me." I'm like, "No, you two get in the back,"
and Frankie says,  "Robert?" making it a question. Robby says, "Oh jeez, go
ahead, Dylan, hop  in the back." Dammit! I get out and get in the back with
Beth following me. I  tell her, "Golden will be at the party ya know," and she
raises her eyebrows,  "Really? I might need to dump you when we get there
if that's the case,"  and I mumble under my breath, "If there's a God in
heaven..." Frankie's  getting in the front, then slides over on the bench seat
right next to  Robby, asking, 'What have you bad boys been doing all this
time?" Robby goes,  "We went out to dinner with a couple of guys," and Beth says,
"Dylan, smells  like a brewery back here," and she rummages in her small
purse,  then passes me a breath mint. Frankie says, "Rob needs one too."  He
chuckles, asking, "What? You detect beer on our breath after we've had a
mere two beers?" Frankie says, "Two beer beers? Get serious. It's settled
then, Beth and I will need to do a few of shots to catch up with you two."  Oh
fuck!


to be  continued...    Donny Mumford   thinat20@yahoo.com


donnymumford@yahoo.com

========================================================

Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine  published
and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them  for
next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They  are about a 19
year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And
there is  a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out
by  typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books
can  be found in some detail there. Thank you.

Donny  Mumford

========================================================

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