Date: Fri, 30 Dec 2016 11:54:05 -0500
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter  22

DYLAN'S  JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  22


by  Donny Mumford


It is  surprising I'd recognized Markie's voice considering we only spent
about an hour  and a half together shooting pool, and that was six weeks ago.

He pulls off his  Porky Pig full-head mask showing a cute grin, asking,
"How the fuck did you know  it was me?" I shrug and we do the clasping
right-hand-greeting, our other  arm doing a fast one arm hug. It's done casually and
quickly, taking  about one second to complete. There are any number of
possible greetings for guys, and you've got like a split second  to recognize
which one you're going to do. Markie initiated our  greeting with his right
hand up slightly, palm out towards me. That's  either a hand slap or hand
clasp; definitely not a conventional hand shake.  Then there's the quick two
arm hugs for closer friends, or a chest-bump  greeting, or a hand shake with a
pat on the chest or back, and others. Different  guys get a different
greeting, and then that's the one you usually get  every time you two meet.

After  our quick greeting, Mark says, "Imagine meeting you here! I looked
for you  at the bar every time I was in the place." I'm like, "Yeah, I looked
for you  too, but I've only been back once since our pool-shooting night.

Did  we kick some ass on the pool table that night, or what?" He laughs,
"Yeah,  especially that one game when we only had five balls left on the table
when Driskel sunk the eight ball and won the game. They won that  game by
the skin of their bucked-teeth." Driskel must be one of the local guys.  I
don't remember the names of the guys from that night. Chubby organized  teams
when he sort of took over, but he can get away with stuff like that. Of
course it helped a lot that the local guys weren't assholes. Markie and I  were
partners but didn't win a single game. He goes, "Can I bum a smoke off
you?" and I go, "Does the tin man have a sheet-metal cock?" We laugh,
remembering the laughing-fits we had at the bar saying shit like  that.

I pass  him a cigarette and hold my Bic lighter, cupping my hand around it
to light the  cigarette for him, asking, "Would you like me to smoke it for
you too?" He  snickers, then mutters, "Thanks." The last time I saw him he
had longish  light-brown hair, but he's had a recent regular haircut, and by
the look  of it he got it at Super Cuts. It makes me grin to myself thinking
how we both  have the same haircut now, and how Markie, like most guys,
don't realize  what shitty haircuts we have. That's because he's one of this
generation's haircut-clueless guys who just assumes this is how we're
supposed to  look. I'm one of them too now, whoopee! He asks, "Do you mind if I
crowd you a  little bit in that alcove? It's freakin' freezing when the wind
whips up  out here." I move back against the wall and he steps in shoulder to
shoulder.  I'm glancing at his sexy lips, remembering the unexpected
drunken-kiss he  gave me that night. He wasn't roaring drunk; just drunk enough
that his normal  inhibitions were reduced considerably. He looks over at me
with those big shiny  brown eyes, grinning again, saying, "Freddy and I have
no fucking idea who's  throwing this party; do you know?" I tell him, and he
goes, "College guys, huh?"  I assume Freddy is the friend he crashed the
party with. I ask, "Where  is Freddy?" Markie shrugs, "He's a horn dog inside
hustling the  college chicks, where else?"

When I  met Markie at the bar some weeks ago he told me he's lived in
Haverhill his  whole life and he's been working at the Haverhill Rite Aid
drugstore since  graduating high school three years ago. He also said he's
contemplating enlisting in the Army. He's my size and weight, and I think  he has a
goofy-cute face, meaning he's only cute now because he's young. Ten  years
from now he'll just be a goofy looking full grown adult,  minus the 'cute'
part. Tonight, like that night at the bar, he's rocking a  scraggily
light-brown beard. I'm thinking it's not a fashion statement so much  as an, 'I'm
too lazy to shave and I basically don't give a  shit' statement. He should
have a t-shirt with that motto on the  front. Cool skimpy mustache and his
curly beard looks soft. The kiss he  gave me that night wasn't quick... oh no.

It lasted a few seconds and was  kinda hot; our tongues sliding together,
sucking lips with our fingers  in each other's hair. Totally unexpected kiss,
like I said, and we both  looked startled when our lips parted. He was all
apologetic then: ya  know, he doesn't know what made him do that and he's
never done that  before in his life, so forth and so on. I actually believed him
that he's  never done it before, but I don't believe he's never wanted to
kiss  a guy before. Prior to the kiss, while playing pool, Markie was big on
hugging. You know, after a good pool shot he'd hug me or give me a shoulder
 squeeze, and that kind of general bodily contact. Not that I minded any of
 it one bit.

He has  sort of a longish head, as opposed to one that's marginally round,
like most  heads. He reminds me of Willie in that regard, although Willie is
smoother  looking, even qualifying as handsome the last time I saw him.

Mark is a  little rough around the edges. To make small talk, I ask, "Are you
any  closer to a decision about joining the Army?" He shrugs, "Nah, I'm still
too  chicken to enlist, but I'm eventually going to. Can't piss away my
whole  life as a clerk in a fucking drugstore. Wish I could have gone to
college  like you rich guys." I mumble, "I'm not rich. I'm in debt up to my
eyeballs with  college loans." He nods, "Yeah, but you needed a cosigner for the
loans.  Someone with a credit history who can back up the borrowed amount." I
shrug, "I  don't know about that. My mom is a waitress and my dad died
before I was born."  He exhales some smoke, wistfully saying, "I gotta talk
Freddy into joining  the Army with me."

We  finish our smokes the same time we finish our beers. We got to laughing
again  about our altered versions of the, 'Does a bear shit in the woods'
retort. I'm like, "I need another beer," and Markie goes, "This beer tastes
like piss. We need a couple of shots, Dylan. It's a faster way to  a load;
faster than this  slow torture cup after cup of pissy beer." He's not
slurring his words, but  I can tell he's had a number of cups of this piss. I shrug
and we make  our way to the half-keg. As we pour ourselves cups of beers, I
tell him, "I  hate shots, man. They're gross, especially with the rot gut
booze that's on the  table over there." He looks at the table, asking, "How
do you know it's rot  gut?" I'm like, "The bottles are plastic. No
respectable brewery sells their  liquor in plastic bottles." He makes a face like who
cares, and says, "Fuck  it. I'm getting us a couple of shots anyway." Balls!

We  carry our beers to the hard liquor table and Mark reaches past a guy
for  the half-gallon of tequila, then snags some plastic shot-cups. I hold the
two  shot cups in my free hand and he pours approximately an ounce and a
half in  each cup, puts the half gallon bottle back on the table, and takes
one of  the cups from my hand. We tap the cups together and throw the tequila
into our mouths with both our heads going back. He makes a face swallowing
his,  then gulps some beer. As he turns around, reaching for the bottle
again, I  turn my head and spit my tequila out between my lips. It's a short
stream like a  guy spitting out chewing-tobacco juice. The tequila taste is
still horrible  because taste receptors are on my tongue, but there's no burn
in my throat  and no sense I'm going to puke. I didn't hit anyone with the
spit tequila, but a  couple of girls saw me spit it out and I saw one of them
mouth to the other,  'That pussy just spit out his shot'. Imagine a girl
saying  that!

Markie  says, "Here ya go, Dylan," as he holds the bottle of tequila ready
to pour me a  second shot. I go, "One shot is all I can handle," and he
says, "Don't be a  pussy! Hold out your cup." When did plastic cup companies
start making plastic  shot glasses anyway? I hold it out and he over-pours the
cup, tequila  running over my fingers, as he mumbles, "Oops, sorry." We tap
cups and throw it  down. This time he gasps, yelling, "Vial shit!" I've
still got a mouthful  of the vial shit as he puts his arm across my shoulders,
saying, "Let's see if  that alcove is still open. This wind sucks." I nod and
we start making our way  back across the yard as little by little I swallow
my mouthful of tequila. It's  awful, swallow after ghastly swallow. Less
painful to take in one big gulp, but  I was hoping to spit it out again.

Sucking in air after the last few drops go  down my throat, then gulping some of
my beer as perspiration breaks out on my  forehead, and my mouth waters like
I'm going to hurl. I bend over gagging, but  no vomit comes up. "What's
wrong, Dylan? Did it go down the wrong pipe or  something?" I straighten up
shaking my head, "No, Markie, I just can't handle  shots very well." Mumbling,
"Pussy," he's grinning again, pulling on my arm  getting us past a group of
hysterically laughing muppets. We snuggle back in our  alcove. I'd have gone
inside to warm up if I didn't need a cigarette  after that horrendous shot
of tequila.

Passing  Mark another smoke, then lighting my own, I take a drag while
lighting Mark's  cigarette, asking him, "Do you ever, um, buy your own
cigarettes?" He drags  on his cigarette and, as he's exhaling and shaking his head,
he says,  "Trying hard to quit, but I can't resist begging a smoke when a bud
of mine  lights one up." So now we're buds, I guess. I'm noticing there's
something  different about his demeanor tonight. I mean as compared to the
only other time  I was with him. Can't put my finger on it though. Something
about the way he  looks at me, like he knows something I don't.

When he  grins I see little spaces between each of his smallish very white
front teeth. That's a cute look right there, for a young guy I mean. Most
middle class families would have taken Mark to an orthodontist as soon as he
 lost his twelve year molars, but Mark doesn't come from a middle  income
family.  I mumble, "Quitting cigarettes is a good idea," and he  nods, then
grins, saying, "My other nickname, besides, Markie, is Moocher," and  he
laughs, adding, "Fuckin' ball-busting friends of mine!" Like the other time I
was with him, I think there's something very likable about Mark. There's
something rough about him too, but something sweet as well. He's got a  tough
guy swagger in his walk, and yet there's a gentleness in his  eyes.

We  smoke and drink and shiver a little, until Markie says, "We need to
share some  warmth, dude." He steps in front of me and sort of lays against me,
chest to  chest, pushing my back against the outside of the house. When he
lifts his arm  to take a drag off his cigarette the back of his hand rubs
against the back  of my hand as I pull it away from my face. Exhaling smoke in
his face, grinning  at him, I mumble, "Cozy, huh?" Waving his hand at my
exhaled smoke, he looks  down, mumbling, "Remember what happened outside the
bar?" I go, "Yeah, you  kissed me," and he says, "And I'm going to do it
again." His head moves to mine  and our lips meet. He exhales the last of the
drag off his  cigarette into my mouth as his tongue slides against mine. Our
teeth scrape  together, then our lips kiss. It's quite a kiss with us holding
our cigarettes  and cups of beer in one hand to the side. While kissing
we're rubbing the  back of each other's neck with our free hand. After ten
seconds he pulls  his head back and does a nervous giggle, muttering, "I didn't
think I've have  the balls to do that again." He isn't at all upset or
trying to explain  himself liked the other time.

I'm  trying for cool too, like the kiss was no big deal, as I mumble,
"Kissing isn't  usually the way a novice gay guy starts out. Mostly it's the last
thing they  try." I'm thinking about Lawyer Ross who, without any gay
experience, tried kissing another guy as his first slightly-gay  action, and I
was the other guy. Mark chuckles and says,  "You're an extremely sexy young
man, and so fucking good looking it almost  doesn't count as kissing a guy."

I go, "Bull shit!" He shrugs, "You said  you liked it last time, so that's
why I did it again. That, plus the fact I just  had two shots of whiskey." I
go, "Well, I did like it last time, and this time  was better, but then I'm
gay. What's your story?" He smirks, "I knew you  were gay. That's the third
reason I blatantly kissed you just now. To give you a  thrill, you know?"

Naturally I ask, "How'd you know I was gay?" He chuckles,  exhaling smoke,
then asks, "Do you know Tyler Ramsey?" I shake my head,  muttering, "No, I
don't think so. Why?" He's smiling, "I can tell you want  another kiss,
don'cha?" The fucking nerve! Yeah, but he's a cute fucker, so I  put my hand on the
back of his head and we do a sloppy kiss with me keeping my  eyes open
looking over his shoulder at the crowd of drunks and pot heads;  primarily the
ones to the left of the alcove. Even this close to them, I  don't believe
anyone can see us. The outdoor lights don't reach this  alcove.

It's a  damn good kiss and I would have continued it except Mark pulls his
head  away, muttering, "Jesus! You gave me a fuckin' boner in my shorts,
dude." I say,  "Kissing isn't your last foray into gay experimentation, is it,
Mark? It's the  last thing you've tried." He laughs, "Yeah, I never said
otherwise.  You're a hottie, Dylan, so who better to do my first gay kiss
with?" I ask, "Who  is Reilly?  what's-his-name,  that knows I'm gay?" He goes,
"It's Tyler Ramsey, and he's a senior on  Merrimack's baseball team as the
fourth option out of the bullpen, and he's my  cousin, twice removed." I'm
like, "Oh yeah?" Obviously, I see where this is  going. Markie reaches to my
forehead and brushes my bangs over with his fingers,  smirking and saying,
"You're the gay boyfriend of the team's starting  shortstop." I go, "Yeah, I
know that," and he says, "And now, so do I.  After that night with you
shooting pool, and then kissing you, I had like this  major fucking crush on you. I
Googled your name thinking of stalking you, went  to the bar almost every
night just to look in and see if you were there. I had  no luck learning
anything about you until, lo and behold, I overheard Tyler  talking to my
brother just this past week. He was saying how the team's  shortstop is gay, and
has a boyfriend named, Dylan! Ha!" I go, "There are a  dozen guys' named
Dylan currently attending Merrimack College." He goes, "Well, I butted into
their conversation mentioning I played pool with someone name, Dylan, and he
checked it out. Then just yesterday he texted me that the  shortstop's
boyfriend is Dylan Newman, which you told me that night is  your name." Jesus,
Rob and I are becoming fodder for the college rumor  mill. Markie pats my
cheek, saying, "And then I run into you here. Life's  funny, ain't it, dude?"

Smelling  the back of my hand, shaking my head slowly, I  take a last drag
off my smoke and drop the butt on the ground, saying, "That  sounds like a
preposterous coincidence, Mark." He shrugs, "And yet it's true."  I'm like,
"Yeah, so you say. Um, are you 'out' as a gay  twenty-one-year old?  Your
family knows you're gay, right?" He shakes his head, muttering, "Jesus, I  hope
not. No, no one knows except you." I go, "I'm telling everybody I run
into," and he laughs, "Don't do that or I won't kiss you anymore."  We make  our
way to the half-keg again, as I ask, "Wasn't your cousin curious why  you
were so interested in this Dylan guy?" He says, "No, because  naturally I
lied. I told him about shooting pool with a guy named,  Dylan, and I wanted to
be sure I wasn't (not out)  hanging out with a fag." I go, "Oh, that's
nice!" When he said the word  'fag' two guys looked over, frowning. I'm not sure
if they're PC  police, or maybe gays who don't care for the pejorative term,
fag. Words  don't bother me like they used to, although I know they're
hurtful to  others.

It's  funny that I never gave a thought that Mark might be gay; even after
the kiss  outside the bar. I mean, I thought he was maybe submerging his gay
tendencies,  but not that he'd accepted and admitted to himself he's gay.

It's a weird  feeling knowing something about someone, Markie in this case,
that no one else  in the world knows. Very weird feeling, but sometimes
people find it's easier  to tell strangers the most personal things about
themselves. Like my plane  ride to Key West that time when Willie and I were
sitting in different sections  of the plane. The guy sitting next to me told me an
incredibly personal  experience of his that he'd never told another soul,
and he cried telling me  about it. He had this friend since kindergarten who
turned into a nerd in  seventh grade, so they started hanging with different
groups. Even so,  the nerd was always there when his long-time friend
needed anything. They were  both in college when the nerd texted this guy asking
him to text back,  but the guy ignored it and the next day his friend was
dead. He hung  himself. If only the guy on the plane had answered the text
maybe he  could have talked his friend out of offing himself. The guy with the
guilty  conscience, and me, are the only two people on earth who knew that
story.  The plane guy wanted to confess to someone, and I was it. So yeah, it
makes me  feel funny to be chosen to know these secrets.

With  full cups of beer we  go inside to warm-up. It's really jumping in
here now and almost everyone  is dancing, so we find a spot in a corner and I
ask him, "So, do you have a  secret boyfriend?" Swallowing some beer, he
goes, "Hell no, nothing like that.  Kissing you is the closest thing to sex
I've had in over a year. Last sex for me  was random sex on the beach during a
vacation in  Falmouth last summer. On the beach after dark, no less." I
mutter, "Shitty beach  in Falmouth," and Markie says, "I didn't notice. At the
time I was  being fucked by an overweight stranger. What happened was: I was
smoking a joint walking the beach when I see this guy. He nodded and one
thing led to another and we walked together shooting the shit. He said he
just graduated from some prep school, so I assumed he was eighteen. I wasn't
even thinking about sex with the guy. Not even a passing thought. Anyway we
smoked two joints and all of a sudden he's kissing me. I was so out of it
by then I went with the flow. That was some good shit; the weed I mean, not
the  overweight kid." I nod, telling Mark, "Yeah, I've had a couple of bad
pot experiences myself." He shrugs, "Actually I didn't consider  it all that
bad of an experience. The guy fucked me really good. I was  walking
bowlegged afterward. A fat kid three years younger than me, totally  dominated my
ass. Awesome climax too, but it was unexpected." I'm like,  "Sounds like you
prefer being a 'bottom', huh?" He nods, "Yeah, it's okay.  Myron, that's the
kid's name, had a condom and he showed it to me. I didn't say  'no', so he
tells he'll fuck me if I sucked his dick first. Here I was the  older guy
but he just sort of took the fuck over. Heh heh, smacked my bare  ass too.

Spanked me and I loved it." Rubbing my nose, I'm really interested in  hearing
a little more, but don't press it. It's sort of like Daryl's previous  sex
prior to meeting me. I feel bad for guys like Pony and Mark;  gay guys who
haven't been lucky enough to hook-up with a steady sex buddy  and so need to
depend on random encounters with strangers.

We  drink in silence for a minute, then he points out guys who are just
jumping on  the dance floor, totally out of it and thinking they're dancing. We
laugh about  it and do a little jumping ourselves mocking the dancers and
laughing  pretty hard.  Then Mark, maybe relieved to have me to talk  to
about his gayness, brings it up again, saying, "My other gay experience  was
years earlier, when I was in high school. There was this openly gay kid  who
kept whispering to me about his excellent gaydar, and how  he knew I was
secretly gay. How he knew I couldn't tell you; nobody  else ever accused me of
being queer. Anyway he tells me he won't 'out'  me if I'd meet him after
school." I say, "Let me guess, Mark. You met him after  school and beat the shit
out of him." Markie goes, "Nooo! What do you think  I am? I met him and we
walked and talked. He was in one of my junior  classes, and an alright
looking kid. Of course if anyone saw us talking  they'd probably assume I was
queer too, but I didn't care. I was so hungry, so  desperate to do something
with another guy. His name was Sam." To say  something, I go, "Yeah, my junior
year of high school was my first gay sex  too. With a senior." He says,
"Well, Sam, was my age, but like I said, he was  openly queer." I go, "So that
was a turn-off, huh?" He shrugs, shaking his head.  I'm not sure what the
head-shake means.

We  drink our beer for a minute with me wondering why I don't have a
stronger urge  to do something sexy with Mark. What the fuck's wrong with me? Even
a year ago I  would have already found some place for us to fuck. Of course
it'd be nice  if he were a little more forward with some signal that he
wanted to do it with  me. Mostly though, I feel bad for him. Mark takes a  deep
breath, and says, "No, strangely, Sam being openly queer wasn't a
turn-off. Actually I fell in love with the kid everyone knew was queer. He  was such
a good kid and, while not cute compared to you, he was kinda cute and  he
had the prettiest fucking eyes and the sexiest mouth. I wanted to  make out
with him so much my stomach hurt, but I never did." Mark looks at  me, doing
his cute grin, saying, "I saved my first kiss for you." I go, "How  sweet!"

He goes, "Yeah, but Sam... Jesus, I fantasized about him while  jerking off
about fifty times. Man, I loved him with a passion! Then  finally he asked me,
after like two weeks of secretly meeting and hanging-out  together, if he
could blow me. It was my first gay orgasm. I was so scared too,  but it felt
so fucking good! We started sucking each other cocks and he  finally fucked
me. He did it so gently at first. I loved him even more for being  gentle.

Later he was fucking me four or five times a week, and I mean that  guy was
fucking  me hard! That's still the best three months of my life. Then summer
vacation came and I didn't see him. Then senior year I was shocked to  see
he'd gotten wicked swishy wearing eyeliner and was all  gay-pride, yada yada
yada. During the summer he became radicalized or  something. I don't know
what happened, but he was like a different person.  He told me our fling was
over and he hoped I wouldn't be broken-hearted, but he  just couldn't abide
gays in the closet, and I was deep in the closet. Then,  instead of loving
him with a passion, I hated him as much as I used to love  him." He laughs,
but there's tears in his eyes. Balls!!

It's an  awkward moment or two, and I don't know what the right thing to do
or  say is except pat his shoulder, mumbling, "Love hurts, Mark." He
shrugs,  "Hate seemed to hurt more. Anyway, I've just confessed to you the  entire
extent of my gay sex life." I'm rubbing my nose with the back of my  hand,
then exhaling noisily, commiserating with him, like... 'Yeah,  life's a
bitch,' or something like that. He goes, "Lets get another beer and  I'll tell
you about flunking my first driver's test." Assuming he's being
self-deprecating, I laugh, muttering, "Can't wait for that." It'd be too obvious  of me
now to say I'd be happy to fuck him. Or, I don't know, it might seem  to him
like I'm taking advantage of him. He'll need to give some indication  he'd
like to do it with me; that's if he even wants to do it with  me.

Outside,  while filling our cups, Daryl comes up behind me and taps me on
the shoulder. I  look around and he goes, "No matter how well you try to hide
from me,  Dylan, I'll still find you. Ha ha, where ya been, dude?" Then  he
realizes I know the guy next to me and he blushes. I'm not sure why  except
maybe he's blushing because he thinks what he said sounded  too gay.

Whatever, I introduce Daryl and Markie and the three of us  share a joint Pony got
from one of his sophomore buddies. It'd be more accurate  to say Mark and
Pony shared the joint because I had almost none of it, which was  still more
than I wanted. We find out Mark was on the swim team in  high school like
Pony, so those two have something in common to talk about,  which means I can
relax. They're both gay, but don't know the other guy is,  so I'm wondering,
'How can I suggest, without being obvious about it, that  these two guys
get together?'
As I'm  thinking about that, Daryl asks  me, "Hey, Dylan, Markie tells me
he's a poker player. Think he could join  one of our Friday poker games?" I'm
like, "Sure, why not?" and Mark asks,  "Is it okay if my bud, Freddy, comes
too?" I nod, "Of course," and Markie's face  lights up as he looks over my
shoulder, saying, "Speaking of the devil."  Then he does the same
hand-clasping, one arm quick-hug greeting with a  thuggish looking guy who walked up
behind me. Mark says, "This is my main  man, Freddy Sloan." Pony and I bump
fist with Freddy, mumbling our first names  along with, "Wassup?" There's
nothing the slightest bit gay about Freddy.  Markie asks, "Where ya been,
Freddy?" and Freddy points towards the table  with the half-gallon plastic
bottles of liquor, saying, "I ran into Chicken Boy and Ralphie over  there doing
shots." Mark's like, "Chicken Boy's here?" Freddy mutters, "Yeah,  with
Ralph, like I just fuckin' told you. They snuck in about forty minutes  ago
without paying, obviously, and they're already hammered."  Time  for me to slip
away, but Mark wants to tell Freddy about him and I shooting  pool.

Apparently we were shooting pool with guys Freddy knows, but whose names  I've
forgotten.

So we  talk a little bit about that, then Freddy asks me about Merrimack.

He  looks thuggish, but hearing him talk for a bit I get the distinct
impression he's quite intelligent. He's majoring in computer engineering, which
Freddy explains, "Encompasses disciplines that integrates several fields of
electrical and computer science. You know, to develop computer hardware and
software." Pony and I nod our heads, not sure what that means as Markie
says to  us, "I don't understand half the things he's talking about either. I
need  to carry a pocket dictionary around with me to look up words Freddy
uses." They  chuckle bumping against each other, the way goods friends do, then
Freddy goes,  "Stop busting my balls, Moocher, you know what computer
software is."  Then he looks at his cellphone, saying to Mark, "Jesus! We gotta
get going,  Mooch. I've got an eight-thirty class tomorrow morning." Mark
pats my shoulder,  saying, "See you at the bar, Dylan. We'll partner-up and
kick some  ass shooting pool," then, "Hey, can I get your cell number. I'll
give  you a call about the next poker night." We do that, then everyone says,
"Good  ta meet you," and those two walk around the side of house to  where
Freddie's car is parked on the street.

Pony  says, "Good guy, that Markie kid. The other guy was scary," and he
leans against me with an arm around my waist, saying, "You need to protect
me from scary looking guys, Dylan." I go, "You big pussy, you're the same
size I  am." He goes, "Yeah, but you seem so much more mature and smarter than
me." I  go, "Bull shit alert!" and he asks, "Can I bum a smoke?" I laugh
because if it's  not Mark, it's Daryl bumming cigarettes off me. I give him
one, saying,  "Hey, I'll bet you don't even know how much these things cost?"

He  goes, "Do ya got a light?" I laugh again lighting his cigarette. Looking
at  his buzzed head I'm thinking how I'd like to fuck him tonight, but why
didn't I feel that way about Mark? Daryl says, "I don't need to know what
cigarettes cost. I only have a cigarette when drinking, which I don't like
to do in the first place, and I only smoke if I'm with someone who's nice
enough  to give me one... like you." I mutter, "Happy to oblige, Pony," and he
goes, "Wasn't that weed we just had some good shit?" Shrugging, "I  guess,"

then, "I'm sick of this Halloween party." He looks down at his  costume,
mumbling, "What the fuck, Batman, don't ya think I look cool as Robin."  I
snort out a laugh, "You're adorable, Robin."

Careful  not to get it on anyone, Pony pours out a half cup of beer,
asking, "Can we  do it someplace?" The 'it' meaning sex, obviously. Looking around
quickly, I go,  "Sure, buddy, but probably not here. Do you have a condom?"

He shakes his head,  "No, I'm out, but we don't need one." I go, "We at
least need lubricant." He  mumbles, "Not really," and I'm like, "Yes, really!

It's much rougher without a  lubed condom, or at least lube. I wouldn't try
barebacking with you. You've  never experienced it." He groans, "I can take
it," and I just shake my head,  "Not from me you won't," then I ask, "Do you
have your roommate's car?" He goes,  "No, I came with you, remember?" I
snort a laugh, "Oh yeah, you did, didn't ya?"  He looks around, mumbling, "My
roomie drove himself and two girls here  before you and I left from your
place." Oh great, we don't have a car... again.  We go inside and wander around
among the overheated dancers with  Pony whining, "Let's get outta here, Dylan."

I snap at him, "We don't have a  fucking car!" He goes, "Well you don't
have to yell at me." Nodding, I give the  back of his neck a squeeze,
muttering, "Sorry."

We're  making our way around the outskirts of the dancing throng looking
for  Chubby, then I see him with a girl. Huh, that girl doesn't look very
cute to me. They're in a corner wrestling, or doing something like that.

Grinning, I make my way over, asking, "Are you two supposed to be dancing?"

Chubby looks at me with a big smile, saying, "Hey, Bro! Dancing? No, I'm  trying
to get Becka's bra unhooked." She says, "Don't believe a word he says."

Then, looking at me, she goes, "Oh, you're his brother, aren't you?" I go,
"How'd you know?" She goes, "Jeff showed me every picture on his cellphone
trying to prove he's trustworthy." I go, "Oh, he's trustworthy alright.

Probably the most trustworthy person here." She goes, "Yeah, one of the brother
lies and the other one swears to it." I ask Chubby, "Can you get a ride,
Chub?  I'd like to use the Jeep. I wanna get outta here before they pass out
the prize for best costume. I don't have an acceptance speech prepared." He
goes, "Hee hee, yeah, I can get a ride," and, as he's handing me the keys,
he asks the girl, "You'll give me a ride back to campus, won't ya,
Rebecca?" She goes, "Yeah, if you'll drive. I'm smashed." I go, "Text me, bro,  if
you need a ride. I'll come back for you." He hugs me, then kisses my cheek,
saying, "I won't need a ride. If Becka  lets  me down, John Beverly's with
Stoney Barns somewhere hustling the Davidson  twins. I'll get a ride with
him." Whoever Stoney Barns and the Davidson  twins might be. I pat his
shoulder, "Thanks, Chub."

Daryl  and I make our way outside again. I get one more cup of beer for the
ride, then  text Rob that I'm taking off. Frankie, not Rob, texts me back,
'Hi Dylan! I'm  holding Rob's cellphone for him. He's in the little boy's
room.  We're waiting for the prizes to be announced.' I text, 'Let him see  my
message, so he'll know I left.' Fuckin' Frankie! Why does she have  Rob's
cellphone? Is she afraid he'll drop it in the toilet? Pony and I walk  around
the side of the house, and up onto the sidewalk. I know the Jeep's parked
three blocks away because we had a three-car convoy coming here over here a
few  hours ago.

As we  walk toward the Jeep, Pony's bumping into my side every few steps. I
glance at  him, saying, "Don't pretend you're drunk, Daryl, you probably
didn't have three  cups of beer." He says, "I didn't finish any of them, and
I'm not  pretending I'm drunk. I'm trying to annoy you to see that cool look
you have  when you're irritated." I mumble, "I have no idea what to say to
that." He bumps  my side again and I snort out a laugh. When we've walked
three blocks,  Pony points, saying, "There's the Jeep, Dylan." I force myself
not to say, 'No  shit', then chuckle that I'd even think of saying that to
Pony Boy. It's about a  twenty-minute drive  back to the apartment and during
the ride I try counting the beers I had  tonight. And, thankfully, only that
one disgusting peer-pressure shot of  tequila. Consuming two beers an hour
is about right, so six or seven beers  during the last three-plus hours, and
the tequila shot. Huh, that'd be  okay except I had two or three beers
before we left the apartment. I'm  drunker than I think I am, and certainly way
over the legal limit for driving.  Halfway to the apartment I ask Pony,
"How's my driving?" He goes, 'Whaddaya  mean?" I say, "You're sober, so do you
think I'm driving like a sober  person?" He's like, "Oh yeah, you're fine."

Good to know. I mumble, "You should  be driving," and he goes, "I never drive
other people's cars." I ask, "Oh, so  you have your own car?" and he says,
"Well, no." I just shake my  head.

Parking  in a no parking zone near the apartment building's back door, I
turn off the  engine figuring I'll take a chance that no one will mind me
parking illegally.  It won't be too long before I'll be back out to give Daryl a
ride to his dorm.  I'm kinda up for this buddy sex because the chance of
Rob and I doing anything  sexy later is pretty much zero. He's doesn't handle
drinking real  well. Pony's jabbering about sex toys again, so I tell him
I'll ask someone  if I can borrow one or two, meaning from Ryan, of course. Of
course I  probably won't see him until Friday. We go in through the back
door with Daryl  asking, "Can we try something different tonight, Dylan?"

Going up the steps, I'm  like, 'What do you have in mind?" and he's like, "I
don't know. You're my sex  mentor, what do you suggest?" Stopping on the steps,
I look at him and say  seriously. "I'm not your mentor, or anything like
that. We're buddies doing  buddy sex." Starting up the steps again, he goes,
"You told me fat Carl called  himself your sex mentor," and I say, "That's
why I'm not your  mentor. I don't want to do anything the way he did it with
me."

Inside  the apartment, he tells me, "Well I feel safe with you." He's
joking I think,  but maybe he's remembering the older man in the lavatory who
fucked him that  time, and only realized later how lucky he was that the guy
used a  condom and only spanked him. So yeah, compared to that man, Daryl
would feel  safe with me. The lavatory man could have been one of those real
sickos Ryan's run into at times. We go in the bedroom where I grab Rob's  tube
of lubricant, then head right for the bathroom. First order of  business:
we both take a long piss, going, "Aaaaah, yeaaaah." Nothing like  a good
piss. At the party it was almost impossible to get in the bathroom. Girls  were
lined up against the wall waiting their turn while the guys mostly watered
the hedges. Well, Pony and I did have a piss on evergreen bushes about two
hours  ago, but felt it was too cold out to do it again. So this piss is
awesome  relief.

We both  wash our face and hands, which always feels refreshing. I turn
around and Pony's  already got his pants down. I go, "So you want a little
something  different, huh. Kick off your jeans  and underwear." He pulls them
off over his sneakers, as I drop my pants to  my ankles and sit on the toilet
seat's lid. "Come over here and I'll return  the favor you so obligingly do
for me. I'll suck that cute cock of yours." He  shuffles over, mumbling,
"I'll probably shoot off in your mouth in thirty  seconds." Picking up his
penis, I mutter, "Try not to," and lean forward to  lick from his nuts up to the
head of his cock, then suck the head in on my  tongue. He goes, "Oooh,
ooh," and grabs hold of my shoulders, a hand on each  side, pushing his crotch
forward and lightly humping his hips. That's almost an  involuntary reaction
when your penis is being stimulated. Sucking and  licking it slowly, I feel
my own cock getting aroused, like it always does  when I'm sucking a young
guy's cock. I don't know why I included the words  'young guy's cock' when
they're the only cocks I ever suck.  Young, meaning around my age, give or
take a couple of years.

Nice  clean scent coming off Pony, but I guess his pheromones aren't the
type that  register in my subconscious mind because I'm not sensing extra
arousal, other than having his cock in my mouth. He's never mentioned  my
bodily scent so our pheromones aren't especially compatible. Obviously  all of us
are wired differently; probably more differently then we can  imagine. So
many different social, economic, and happenstance of environmental
influences, and such. Those factors all combine to mold us from birth into  who we
are without us even realizing it. How's that for a random deep  thought while
sucking a five-inch cock,  or almost five inches anyway. Ha ha.

In  short order Pony's cock gets really hard, while mine is just firm. I'm
tasting precum and Pony's grunting and groaning, moving his feet and
squeezing  my shoulders, so I take his cock out of my mouth before he blows his
load.  A long string of precum hangs off the head. He gasps, "I  willed myself
not to spunk in your mouth, Dylan." I mutter, "Awesome display of
willpower, Daryl."  He nods, "Whoa, but that felt so  fuckin' good! Oh my God!" I
go, "I'm glad it felt good for you, Pony. Um,  now how about if you lean over
and do some magic on my pecker. Little Dylan  isn't as quick to action as
yours." He smirks as if i just gave him a  compliment. Bending down, then
getting on his knees between my legs, he  slides my firm cock into his mouth
scrapping the underside on his  sharp incisors. I do his hissing sound by
inhaling air between closed  teeth. He grins around my cock, takes it out and
holds it in his fingers to look  up at me, saying, "You love to make fun of me,
don't you?" He's not upset, plus  I wasn't making fun of him in the first
place. I say, "Daryl, I wasn't imitating  your hissing sound on purpose; it
just happened." He goes, "Hey, it's  okay, I like you kidding around with me.

Don't be so sensitive." I'm  sensitive?! Puffing my cheeks out, I exhale,
then says, "Good advice, Daryl." He  puts my cock back in his mouth, missing
most of his lower teeth this time, and  I'm actually a little disappointed.

He's  doing some good sucking and licking, so in short order I'm pushing on
his head,  saying, "That's good, I'm good. Okay, Pony, that's enough." He
pulls his head  back with a string of my precum stretching from his lips to
my cock.  It breaks off to slide down his chin making me grin. Heh heh, that
usually  happens to me. Pony says, "I got you hard pretty fast this time.

Guess I'm  getting the knack of it." I mutter, "For sure." He's stands-up in
front of me,  both of us with a nice  looking boner. I'm stroking some
slippery shiny lubricant on my boner,  as Pony asks, "What now, Dylan?" I wiggle
my fingers like,  move closer to me, saying, "Come here and put your legs on
either  side of the toilet seat." I should do this sitting in a chair, but
we're here  now so we'll make the best of it. He shuffles forward, asking,
"Why,  aren't you  gonna try making-out with me?" I go, "No! Although I'd
enjoy it, but since  you wouldn't, we won't do it. It's all about you, Pony. I'm
here to make you  happy." He grins saying what he's heard me say a few
times, "Bull-shit  alert."

I'm  like, "You're going to basically fuck yourself, in only the nicest way
of  course, on my boner by sitting up and down on my lap. I need you facing
me  so I can see your cute face get all scrunched-up as your orgasm comes
rushing on  you." He asks, "Will this really work?" I nod, "Yes, it will
really work for  both of us. You'll be in-charge though. In-charge of how hard
and fast you  want to fuck yourself," and I can't help but laugh at that, so
he laughs too.  I'm like, "This is the only time that when someone says go
fuck yourself, it's  meant in a nice way." He mutters, "You're crazy, you
know that?  Um,  do you really think I'm cute?" I go, "Yes, very. Now get
closer," and he  shuffles forward until his cock, that's now very hard and tight
up against his belly, is close to my face. It's just about the right
height, so I fight off the urge to take it in my mouth again.

I take  hold of his boner, pulling it away from his stomach... precum
rolling down the  outside of my fingers. Pulling him two inches closer to me, I
tell  him, "I'll guide my boner to your anus and you sit on it a little at a
time, or as fast as you want. Like I said, you're in-charge." He grins, "Oh
boy!  This sounds weird, but very cool too." I say, "Steady  yourself by
holding onto my massive shoulders." He laughs again because his shoulders
are noticeably more developed than mine. I say, "With all the running you do,
your legs shouldn't get tired lifting and lowering yourself on my slippery
pole." He nods with a smirk on his face, putting his hands on my shoulders.

I  pull on his cock getting him another inch closer, the head of his cock
in my  fist is now almost touching my chin. When I let go of it, it flops
tightly  back up against his belly. I've got my cock in my fist now, saying,
"Squat  down, um, that is lower your ass until it touches something." Another
nod  as he rests his  forehead on mine while lowering his hips. His left
butt cheek makes contact with  the head of my cock. I'm sliding the head of my
boner across his butt cheek  until it hits his anus, and Pony goes, "Ooh!"

He very  slowly drops down  on my boner, and I say, "Go ahead, Pony, sit
down a tiny bit more." My  boner's head has just spread the lips of his
asshole slightly. He's docked  though, so everything is go, Houston. He drops his
ass maybe two inches,  blasting past my sphincter muscle and we both make
his a hissing  sound, then he laughs, yelling, "Stop that!" then, "That hurt a
little, but  whoa, it feels good now!" We must have similar asses because I
know exactly what  he means. It hurt, but that makes the pleasure more
intense. Pony asks, "Should  I continue?" I mumble, "It's up to you," and he
sits down on my boner another  three inches making a louder hissing sound as
I'm holding my breath because the  sensations coming off my penis are intense.

My shoulders do a little shudder,  and Pony, who has a hand on each side of
my shoulders, says, "How'd you do  that?" Letting my held-breath out
quietly, I go, "It's your rectum, Daryl, it  squeezes my boner and my shoulders
shudder on their own." He lifts his feet  off the floor and plops all the way
down on my lap with his eyes opening  wide. We look into each other's eyes
and he  says a quiet, "Ow." I grin and squirm a little on the toilet seat's
lid, then a  moan slips out, and I murmur, "Mmmm, yeah, feels good, don't
it?"

Pony  goes, "Yeah, it does, ummm, oooh. It's insane how good this feels.

Jesus!" and  he wiggles his ass and leans against me with him forehand on my
right shoulder, his arms around the back of my neck. Nice!  He grunts,  "Is
this okay?" I nod, "Uh huh. Now ride it up and down a few times." He
murmurs, "Wait. I think I'm gonna cum." So he sits on my legs, sort of hugging
around my neck for fifteen seconds or so, then mumbles, "You smell good." Huh,
I  was thinking about our scents just a couple of minutes ago. Still in the
same  position; his forehead on my shoulder and his arms around the back of
my neck,  he lifts his ass five or six inches and gasps, his moist breath
against my  sweatshirt, then dropping down again, and lifting right up as we
both go,  "Aaah, aaah," and he does it five more times creating immense
sensations  coming off my cock. I already feel the beginnings of a  climax.

Three more ups and downs gets his body stiff, his arms  tighten around my neck,
hugging like crazy. After a pause, he does little four  inch lifts and sits,
then he gasps as his hips hump and his cock, now  sticking straight out
from his stomach, shoots a fast flying string of cum that  splatters on my
chest. He goes, "Awwwww, ooh," and another stream of cum goes  'Splat' on my
shirt as the first shot begins wetting through to my skin.  I'm holding my
breath, almost climaxing myself.

My arms  loosely around his back, Pony sits on my legs again moaning
quietly, and  hugging my neck. I let out my held-breath again and hump my hips
moving my  boner inside him. The tightness all around my throbbing boner feels
incredibly good, and I give him a hug. His body is shaking a little as he
moves his head so his face is against the side of my neck. He murmurs, "Too
fast. Sorry I climaxed so fast," then a sigh and his body relaxes. I rub my
hand  up and down his shirt in back, and he sighs again, very relaxed and
laying  against me taking a few deep breaths. After a minute or so, I gently
push him up  with a hand on each of his upper arms, saying, "How about
lifting off me and  I'll fuck you standing up. See if you can have another little
orgasm." Nodding  his head, his feet on the floor, he lifts his ass off my
boner making a face  and going, "Ooooh, mmm," as my cock pops out of his
ass. I bite my bottom  lip at the intense sensations coming off the head on my
boned-up  penis.

My  boner is really hard and throbbing as I stand up and turn him around,
then  guide my cock to his opened-up asshole and slide it tightly back up
inside him.  We both go, "Aaaah." With both my arms around his stomach, I
start moving my hips humping my boner back and forth in his ass fast  and hard.

My eyes close as sensations fly off my cock's head. The tightness of  his
rectum all around my hard shaft feels so good I'm gritting my teeth. Oh  God
this feels good and I go faster driving my cock back and forth in his  ass,
not really caring if he cums again or not. My cock has taken over my  brain
and it's, "SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP," sounds dinging off the walls of the bathroom
along with my desperate sounding, "Umpt!" with each 'Slap' sound of my crotch
 smacking against his firm buttocks. It's a rush to the finish line and
it's  coming up fast. Pony's making a whining sound with each thrust up his ass
as he  strokes his latest boner. Lightning is flashing inside my head as
my climax is on me awesomely now. I join in with Daryl's  whining moans for
five seconds before, "Eeeeee, aaah," humping against  his butt cheeks, firing
a long stream of cum into his bowels, then another good  streak and I'm
gasping for air with millions of delicious nerve endings doing  their job. Then
another deep gasp and I slowly thrust back and forth in his  spunk-filled
slippery rectum while resting my forehead on the back of his head.  Thrust...

thrust.. thrust with a quiet sigh as the sensations of climax  fizzle out.

I  wasn't aware of what Daryl was doing or saying for the last thirty
seconds, but his words register now. Something, something I don't process,
then, ".... I think it was anyway. Maybe another minute or so."  Whatever, that
was a damn good climax. I move my hips back dragging my cock from  his ass,
then look at how open his anus is as I watch my jism drooling out  of him.

It's fascinating to see and I feel some bonding with Daryl, sharing  our bodies
like this tends to do some bonding. I can't imagine hetero sex  being is as
good. Ha, that's a one-side prejudiced opinion if there  ever was one.

Pony  turns around,  "I loved that, Dylan, and like I said, I think I'd
have cum again  in another minute. Ya know, if you could have just..." I put my
fingers to my  lips, "Shhh, I'm coming down off my high." He looks serious,
"Oh, okay, I didn't  know." Snorting out a laugh, I say, "I'm just being
selfish. So, you say you  could have had a second orgasm if I fucked you another
minute?" He's trying to  look behind him, mumbling, "Yeah, but look at your
cum drooling down the  back of my legs." I go, "Well don't run out of
condoms next time and this  sort of thing can  be avoided." Grabbing a hand
towel, I swipe at his ass, then hand the  towel to him. I'm feeling tired all of
a sudden. Tired, but there's still that  wonderful after climax sense about
me. I feel good all over my body after an  orgasm.

With  warm water and a washcloth I wash my dick, then help Pony clean his
ass, saying,  "A drawback to going in bareback  is it's a little messy for
the bottom guy." He goes, "Ya know, I think I felt  you shoot off. I
definitely felt the extra wetness and it felt good!  This felt more like real
fucking. Without a condom I mean." Nothing better  than a satisfied sex buddy. I
tell him again, "Never do it without a  condom except with me." He goes,
"Okay," and I add, "You've got  a special rectum for sex, Daryl. You'll make some
boyfriend a  very grateful and satisfied young man." He gives up on the
drooling cum  coming out of his ass and dumps the towel in the hamper, saying,
"How  do I find this mysterious boyfriend then? It's frustrating." We're
pulling  up our underwear, but I stop him until I can put some tissues in his
jockey  short, say, "Jeezus, it's hard to believe a good looking fellow like
yourself,  who likes to 'bottom', doesn't have a boyfriend already. Any
chance Freddy might  be interested." He goes, "Absolutely none."

We've  got ourselves put back together and I check the time: it's almost
one  o'clock. I mumble, "Let's get  our coats and I'll give you a ride back to
your dorm." As we're going down to  the parking lot level, he says, "So,
any suggestions how I find a boyfriend?" I  shrug, "It's extra hard when
you're deep in the closet, Pony. Mostly you need to  depend on luck. Some
happenstance or situation where you get a vibe,  like someone giving you a 'look'
or maybe a smile when you don't expect  one. You need to check guys out more
carefully; the guys you know I mean. They  say one out of ten guys are gay,
and I believe it's higher than that, so someone  you know is probably
secretly the 'one'.  Make the first move by  striking up a conversation. Like the
guys at poker night, for example. Um, like  what's-his-name,  Markie. I mean
you mentioned to me was a good guy. Chat him up and see if maybe  he
returns your interest. Shit like that. Be proactive in other words." In  the Jeep
he asks, "You think Markie might be gay?" I do an elaborate shrug, "How  the
fuck would I know? I've already got a boyfriend so I wasn't paying  a lot
of attention to Mark. You should pay attention to him though."  He nods, "He
isn't very cute. Do ya think?" I go, "Huh, now that you mention it,  yeah, I
do think he's cute, but in a kind of goofy way. That counts as cute
though, so yeah I do."

He  squirms on the seat, mumbling, "Your cum  is still coming out of my
ass." I go, "Yeah, that's what cum does when someone  shoots it up your ass. It
eventually comes out. It's called gravity." As  he's getting out of the
Jeep in front of this dorm, he asks, "Um, when's  the next poker night? I think
you're right about Markie being cute. Wouldn't it  be fantastic if he were
gay?" I go, "Jeez, yeah, you two would make a cute  couple." He stands there
nodding his head, thinking about that, then  asks, "How old is he?" I go,
"He's gotta be twenty-one because we met one  night shooting  pool in a bar."

Pony's thinking, getting his hopes up maybe. I go, "I've gotta  get going
Pony, but it was a nice night, buddy." He grins, "Right back at  you, buddy."

Backing the Jeep up, I wave at him and then get  moving forward, thinking,
'I hope this doesn't backfire on me.  Matchmaking is a perilous endeavor.'
Then back at the parking lot I  find a close parking spot near the back
door. Miracles do happen! Feeling  tired but good, I go inside half expecting
Robby to be there, but he's not.  That fucking Frankie is a night owl. I wish
they'd try getting fucked so  Rob will find out he doesn't like it, or
better yet, he can't even do it.  Then Frankie can go off looking for a straight
boyfriend and leave mind the  fuck alone.

After  taking three Advil, I do all the bathroom stuff and, too tired for a
shower, get  in bed and fall asleep so soundly I never knew when Rob got in
bed. He's  there when I wake up though, and not looking well at all. I need
to wake  him though, quietly saying, "We better get moving, Rob, or we'll
be late for  class." He moans, "I'm sick, Dylan. Those fucking shots of
tequila." I get this  pissed-off feeling! That cunt Frankie peer-pressuring Rob
into doing shots  again. Trying to sound calm, I say, "You shouldn't do
shots, Rob. Neither of us  should." His eyes close, as he mumbles, "I know. I
know, Dylan. Please don't  lecture me. Oh fuck, I'm staying in bed today." The
dumb-ass! That's what  he gets hanging around with that bitch! I ask, 'What
can I get you that might  help?" He sighs, "Help me up, I gotta take a
wicked piss." I help him up and as  he's pissing, I get a glass of OJ and three
Advil for him. Back in the bedroom  he sits on the edge of the bed, on my old
side of the bed. I switched sides with  him last week. He drinks the OJ and
takes the pills, then hands me the half  glass of juice, and says, "I need
a lot more sleep. I'm cutting classes today."  Mister Responsibility is
cutting classes? I say, "I'll take good notes, Rob." He  waves his hand a little
while getting under the covers, murmuring, "Thanks,  Dylan," and closes his
eyes. Serves him right! That damn Frankie!

Driving  the Jeep to campus means I'll need to walk back this afternoon
after last class.  No biggie, I can handle that. I text Chub the exact location
of where the  Jeep is parked, telling him the keys are on top of the left
front wheel. Looking around to be sure I'm unobserved I reach under the
fender and place the keys where I told Chubby they'd be. Putting on my
backpack, I head for first class. The two morning classes go as expected.  Huh,
time goes by seemingly quicker when I'm taking copious notes. I text  Chub and
eat lunch with him and John Beverly in their favorite dining hall.  John
borrowed a meal card for me from a friend. They assured me the  cashiers never
checks for matching Merrimack ID. Still, I was nervous until  we're sitting
down with our trays of food. Meatloaf, browned potatoes, a salad,  plus a
big slice of chocolate cake and a large fountain Coke. Sounds  like dinner,
don't it? After all that beer last night I have a bit of a hangover  myself
and this solid food seems like a good idea. It's not all that tasty  though. I
keep that opinion to myself as Chub and John Beverly are trying  to
convince themselves this is an awesome dining hall. Not!

The  three of us are low-keying it during lunch, all of us nursing various
degrees of a hangover; not an uncommon condition for college students.

After lunch I have my final class of the day and then walk to the  apartment.

Later I'll change into running attire and drive the pickup  to Pony's dorm
for our run, which should run the rest of my hangover  off. Inside I find
Robby's on the sofa watching ESPN and looking a little  better. After a quick
kiss on the lips, without noticing lipstick, I ask,  "Did you eat anything,
Rob?" He shrugs, "Yeah, I had coffee and a pack of  Hostess Twinkie's." I'm
like, "Uh huh, and are you hungry?" He says,  "I was hoping you'd make the
boxed Lipton Chicken soup for me." I go, "Sure,"  and while making it I'm
thinking to myself, 'Difficult preparation:  empty the package into a three cups
of water and bring to a boil.'  But actually I like that Rob's  so dependent
on me. I serve him the soup in a big bowl with a soup spoon  and some
Saltine crackers, plus a big glass of ice and Coke. Putting it on a  tray, then
setting the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa.  Rob's acting
extra weak and pathetic, quietly mumbling, "Thank you, Dylan." He's  hoping this
hungover sickly-act will keep me from quizzing him on various  topics like
what time he got in last night, how many shots did that  witch make him
drink, and questions of that nature. And it works too. I lean  down and hug him
around the shoulders, kissing the side of his forehead. He  looks as forlorn
as possible, so I asks, "Can I get you anything else?" He  shakes his head,
"No, I'm going back to bed after I eat." I almost laugh, but  instead
stifle a grin, saying, "Feel better. I'm off to run three  miles backwards at
seven minutes a mile." He looks up frowning, 'What..?" I  rub his head, "Just
kidding. I'm gonna do my regular run with,  Daryl." I'll check in with you
after that. Text me in case of emergency." He  murmurs, "Thanks, babe. The
soup is good," as if I made it from scratch.  Grinning, I go down the steps
happy it's not me with the big  hangover.

During  the drive to Daryl's I'm thinking about last night with Markie;
specifically  about our two kisses. He initiates the  first kiss, but never
took it beyond that even though he openly admits he's  a closeted gay with some
sexual history. Not a very extensive history, the  last incident being last
summer on vacation, a one-timer with a stranger.  Interesting that he likes
being a 'bottom' too, like Pony... and me too for  that matter. I'm getting
my kicks topping Pony though, and I  gotta wonder if maybe Mark is waiting
for me to suggest he and I do it.  Then a different concern: I hope I didn't
break Markie's trust by hinting  that Pony strike up a conversation with
him. That's if Markie plays poker  with us some Friday. Don't know why I'm
stressing over this since  I'm actually trying to do both of them a favor.

Pony  and I do our run with minimal conversation and when we do talk  it's
about the Halloween party, but not about our sex afterwards. It's  Wednesday
so after working out at the fitness center we've got no good place to
finish our workout with buddy sex, so we slap hands and go our separate ways. I
stay in with Rob on Wednesday night, both of us having a light dinner of
tomato  soup and egg salad sandwiches with iced tea. Thursday morning Rob's
feeling  a lot better. Our classes go as expected and we do our homework at
the  apartment, then Rob drops me off at Daryl's for the run and exercise.

Rob,  Golden, Beth, and Frankie are bowling this afternoon, and who knows what
else.

After Pony  and I finish our workout today, we do our buddy sex in his dorm
room since  his roommate has a late class Tuesdays and Thursdays. Pony
wants to try our  lap fuck again, but asks for a hard bare-ass spanking first.

My hand stings by  the time Pony's yelling, "That's enough! Stop, okay?" I
get a kick out of him  yelping during the spanking, and afterwards him
laughing at  himself and claiming it turns him on getting a spanking from me. He
asked  for it; it's never my idea. Then he wants to suck my cock and scrape it
 with his teeth, before riding my boner for almost three minutes. We both
get off really good!  He shot me close range with his load, but this  time
it landed on a hand-towel I was smart enough to lay across my stomach. We
screw around talking about why he doesn't like making out, and I get him to
agree to doing  a short make-out. Afterwards he goes, "Not bad at all." Later
he rides my  cock, for four minutes this time getting another boner that he
 stroked, hoping for a follow up climax that never happened for either of
us.  Before I leave his dorm he asked about sex toys again, which reminds me
to  check with Ryan tomorrow after our morning class together.

Rob and  I have lover's sex before going to sleep Thursday night, and the
difference  between that and buddy sex with Pony is so different I can't
think of what to  compare it to.  Maybe a hotdog at the ballpark as compared to
a gourmet  dinner at the Ritz Carlton. There's a big difference which isn't
to say a  ballpark hotdog isn't good in its place.  Then it's Friday morning
and I'm on my way to Ryan's dorm, again forty-five  minutes before our
class. He lets me in wearing only a towel around his  waist and his hair is
still wet from a shower he just returned from. He  gives me a kiss, saying,
"Steve's taking a shower." I plop on his bed, asking,  "Do you have any sex toys
with you here at college?" He looks at me smirking,  and I say, "Not for
me. There's this gay sophomore kid I jog with who asked if I  had any. I guess
he's into kinky sex or something." Ryan folds the towel neatly,  saying,
"Do you expect me to believe you and this kinky sophomore aren't  fucking each
other?" I say, "No, of course not; we've had buddy sex a few  times. You
should get out more and find a sophomore for some buddy sex  yourself." He's
got boxer shorts on now, and is rubbing deodorant under his  arms, muttering,
"It all seems like too much trouble. I'll stick with you here  once or
twice a week, and then Jeff mucho times every week after I transfer."

Whoop-dee-do for you, Ryan!

Laying  back on his pillow, I go, "By the way, I've gotta break my word
about  getting your specialty haircut before you leave. I'm in this stupid deal
with  Rob about not hurting his freshman's  feelings; the kid he mentors on
the baseball team is our barber," and I make a  face like it's all such a
drag, but I gotta do it. Nothing from Ryan  so, pointing at my head, I
mutter, "And you see what that's got me." I'm  shocked he isn't protesting. He
merely mumbles, "You mean that haircut? That's  what it got you?" I say, "Yeah,
this haircut that's the exact style I've  been ridiculing for years, and
now it's my fate to wear it. At least as long as  Rob's mentoring the kid."

Ryan's dressed, saying, "Well you're an asshole for  backing-out on your word,
but I've sort of lost interest in doing it anyway." He  points at the
haircutting toiletry kit, saying, "Put that in your  backpack." I nod, "Sure,"

and he sternly says, "Now!"  What an asshole! I  get off the bed and grab the
toiletry kit to put in my backpack, saying, "You're  taking this very well,
Ryan." He mutters, "Yeah, well I'm taking my  meds again. I started last
Friday after you left." I frown at him, but  don't say anything. What
medication would that be, I wonder? He adds, "I've  given up fighting it. I feel dull
when I take that shit, but overall it does  make things seem more rational
and manageable. I should have been taking  them all along, but I thought I
knew better." I'm trying for casual,  asking. "Oh yeah, what medication is
that?" He goes, "It's not  important."

Hmmm,  this is something new to me. Meds, huh? Ryan has a pleasant
expression on his  face, asking, "What was that you said about sex toys?" I go, "Oh
yeah, this kid  would like to borrow a couple, if you don't mind." He
shrugs, "Hell, I'm not  using them. They're ones I used with Jeff, who, heh heh,
wasn't all  that crazy about them." He goes in his closet and lugs out a
sports satchel  from which he pulls out a ball-gag, saying, "Let me put this on
you, and  then you can borrow it for the sophomore." I'm like, "Nah, that's
okay. I don't  need to try it out. In the past I've wore a ball gag, butt
plugs, penis  guard, you name it. Between you and Worthington I've had them
all on. Not that I  minded most of them, I must say." He goes, "Worthington.
Yeah, your boy  Willie, right?" I go, "He was my first boyfriend, yeah."

Ryan  brings the ball gag over, "C'mon, Dylan, try it on. Open wide." I'm st
aring at  the ball gag, and with an incredulously expression on my face,
I'm like,  "There's dried stuff on that thing. Didn't you clean it after Jeff
used it?" He  shrugs, "Nah, you don't clean sex toys." I go, "Yes you do! Of
all  the things in the world, you clean sex toys." He says, "For chissakes,
it's  only Jeff's saliva, mostly; with well I don't know what the red stuff
is. You  and Jeff fucked plenty anyway, so what's wrong with a little of
his  saliva?" I go, "I've told you before, we only fucked once. We fucked
while we  were both drunker than shit! Once!" He chuckles, "Just checking.

That's what  Jeffy says too. Open wide!" Oh balls! I open my mouth wide and he
pushes the  ball in past my teeth, but just barely. As long as it's Jeff I
won't hurl having  it in my mouth. I like that guy. The ball presses down on my
tongue and  it's pressed tightly to the roof of my mouth. Ryan tightly
secures the  Velcro straps around the back of my head, muttering, "I don't see
what's so  wrong with your haircut." Another clueless haircut observer.

There's  a bigger ball on this gag then I'm used to, and I'm trying
uselessly to tell  Ryan to take it out, while pointing at it. Ryan says, "I can't
understand you,"  and now I feel a touch of claustrophobia sliding over my
brain so I reach  behind my head and pull the straps apart with Ryan trying to
redo them. He's too  late as, with some difficulty, I get the ball out,
yelling, "This fucking ball  is too big." Ryan goes, "Yeah, it is the large
size. Heh heh, I've got to  get Jeff in handcuffs before I can force it in his
mouth." I go, "That a tad  sadistic don't ya think?" He says, "He gets a
boner as he's bitching about  it. Anyway we only use the fucking toys when he
suggests it."  That's a lie right there, but why bother to argue? And,
weirdly, there's no  emotion behind Ryan's protests. It's like he doesn't care
that much to start  with. I'm like, "Well, no thanks, I don't want to borrow
this thing." He shrugs,  "There's a couple other toys you can fuck around with
after class, but I  gotta take a piss right now. We'll walk over to class
when I get back, and  you can get us a couple of coffees to drink on the
way." I nod as he leaves the  room.

What's  with him? I plop down on his desk chair and tap the space bar on
his computer.  The screen lights up, but it's password protected. Then the
word, meds flashes in my head. He said he's taking his  meds again. Meds as in
pills? Hmmm, I look in his desk drawer,  then see his toiletry kit on the
closet shelf. First, opening the door and  looking down the corridor, no Ryan
in sight, then I take the five steps to  the closet and pull the toiletry
kit off the shelve and unzip it. Regular stuff;  toothpaste, toothbrush in a
case, deodorant, razor and some other stuff, plus  three pill bottles.

Jesus, I can't even pronounce the names on these  bottle.: Librium, Risperidone,
and Benzodiazepines for Albert Ryan  Wilcox. Huh.  I'll never remember the
names of all three. The first one though, Librium; it  almost sounds
familiar. I spell it in my head twice, then zip up the kit and  place it back where
I found it.

I'm  lying on  his bed with his scent off the pillow in my head. It's sexy,
but am I losing a  little of the aphrodisiac effect his scent has had on me
in the past?  Things change, I know that, but do I want it to change where
Ryan's concerned?  Maybe I do and maybe I'm already in the process of
changing without  realizing it. He comes in, saying, "The fucking childish
horseplay in the  lavatory is getting old! I'll have an apartment at the Georgia
University so I  won't need to put up with this sophomoric shit." He's
grumpily putting on his  back pack, as I'm thinking, 'Well what is it Ryan,
childish or  sophomoric shit? Seems one would be more advanced then the other. No?'
Ryan looks at me as he does a breathy exhale of annoyance, like he read  my
mind, then says, "You're lying on  my bed after I made it up." I get off
the bed patting the bedspread, muttering,  "I didn't ruin it." He says, "Lets
go. I'll redo it after class." Yeah, it's his  meds med's. Kinda creepy.


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

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

Please consider a tax deductible donation of any size to
nonprofit Nifty to help with the expense of maintaining this ginormous
free story site. Thank you very much.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html