Date: Sat, 27 Aug 2016 16:12:37 -0400 From: MGTBILL@aol.com Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter 3 Chapter 3 By Donny Mumford I'm thinking booze and egos had a lot to do with Ryan and Robby pretending to be buddies last night. The truth of the matter is they've never formed what could be called a real friendship. I'm not saying they hate each other, only that they're far from the buddy-buddy friends they pretended to be. It occurs to me that I'm pretty much the only common denominator of interest Robby and Ryan have. Sure, Ryan's the equipment manager for the baseball team, but that's very different from being a player on the team, so that's not a friendship connection. They did have a short sexual relationship way back at the beginning of freshman year, but it didn't last very long. Anyway, enough about that. I've recovered from yesterday's hangover and I'm feeling really good this morning. Poor Rob's not going to be able to say the same when he wakes-up, but hangovers are part of the college landscape for most of us. So-called experts claim college students' hangovers are the result of something they've labeled: binge drinking. That term, binge drinking, is ambiguous. When I Googled it I found a variety of definitions. One definition claims someone is a binge drinker if they consume alcoholic beverages three or more times per week, while another definition says five or more drinks on a single occasion constitutes binge drinking, and yet another claims that binge drinking is what they'd term 'heavy episodic drinking'. Most definitions include 'drinking with the purpose of getting drunk' ... and then there are various definitions of when someone is drunk. It's well established that drinking is an intricate part of the culture on America's college campuses; a ritual many students see as a vital part of their higher education. Some individuals come to college with an already established drinking problem in which case the college environment exacerbates the problem. It's my contention that no one I'm friends with has a drinking problem per se, although there's a couple of my acquaintances who very well could be problem drinkers. The term 'drinking problem' is another imprecise term though. For my purposes, an individual has a drinking problem if their drinking adversely affects their education. If a student takes care of his business as far as studying, finishing assignments and papers with an acceptable grades GPA, he probably doesn't have a drinking problem. I suppose there could be exceptions, but not many. There are times we all drink with the purpose of getting drunk, but more often it's only a beer or two, influenced somewhat by peer pressure. There are students who don't drink, or rarely drink and never to excess, but they're much more the exception than the rule. My friends, most of them anyway, prefer to be mainstream college students which includes drinking. Being twenty-one now is new territory for us, so will see how we handle that as time goes by. But, like I said, I'm feeling good and well rested this morning so I hop out of bed and get started on my day. Taking my time I do all the normal morning bathroom necessities, finishing with a long shower. When I'm in the kitchen scrambling a couple of eggs and sipping a mug of coffee I remember something else about last night: Robby promised to play ball this morning with Ryan to evaluate Ryan's hitting and fielding skills to evaluate his chances of making the Merrimack baseball team as a walk-on. Friends would follow through with those plans, but I bet it never happens. Like I said, Robby will be hungover when he gets up so I'm pretty sure he won't feel like playing baseball, plus I know he has a meeting with last year's team members. As for Ryan, I'm predicting he'll also be hungover and won't want to audition his baseball skills for Robby. So much for the hypocritical buddy-buddy plans those two made last night while inebriated. None of this makes me feel good, but they did act like jackasses last night. Having a second mug of coffee on the deck, reading the Globe's sports section, and having my first cigarette of the day I all of a sudden grin thinking about Chubby's long term program for giving up smoking. This month we're allowed no more than fifteen cigarettes per day, then next month fourteen and so forth. Fifteen is a total I rarely, if ever, reach anyway. It's more like eight to ten smokes per day for me so I won't notice any withdrawal symptoms for months. I text Chubby asking what he's doing today. He texts right back that he and John Beverly are taking a couple of girls into Boston to hang out there. Gee, the things he thinks are fun amazes me at times. I tell him to say 'hi' to Boston for me, and ask him if he plans on attending any of the orientation meetings tomorrow. He texts back, 'Unlikely, bro. Hey, do you wanna hang-out together tomorrow?" I tell him that we'll play it by ear and then invite him to have dinner at the apartment tonight, and John Beverly is invited as well. I'm pretty sure I won't be hanging out with my bro tomorrow though because Robby will want to be at the orientations, and I'll keep him company even though I'm not looking forward to it. Checking my watch I see it's a little after eleven o'clock which means Robby's had almost eleven hours sleep by now. Going inside I take a peek at him and see he's lying in bed with his eyes open looking pale and forlorn. Poor boy. I quietly ask, "Can I get anything for you, Rob?" Looking up at me, he mumbles, "I feel like shit and my head is killing me, plus I gotta piss like a race horse but can't make myself get out of this awesome bed. Is this a new mattress?" Oh my, he sounds so pathetic. I come over and pull back the covers, saying, "Yes, everything is new in this apartment except the walls, and they've been painted." Getting an arm under his shoulders I help him sit up, then he stands, mumbling, "Thanks," and walks into the bathroom. Watching him, my brain comes up with another pointless thought: Why the hell did some wordsmith coin the phrase 'piss like a race horse'? Do race horses piss more than regular horses? Yeah, well, whatever... To do something useful I get a bottle of Advil and a big glass of OJ, then bring both into the bedroom. I hear the electric toothbrush running so I step over to the bathroom door to say, "Rob, rinse out really well and don't use mouthwash." He looks at me a second, then mutters, "Why not?" I shrug, "You know, the orange juice will taste wicked funky after mouthwash." He waves a hand that he heard me and I watch him rinse his mouth out about ten times. Staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, I'm thinking, 'Damn, I wish I looked as good as Robby when I'm hungover!' His color looks better already and he's so fucking good looking its sick! I go over and hug his shoulders, asking, "Do you feel a little better?" He turns his head for a quick kiss on the lips, then mutters, "No, not really, babe, but thanks for asking." In the bedroom he takes the Advil and the glass of orange juice off the bureau, gulps it down, then sits on the edge of the bed, mumbling, "I need to lie down again," which is what he does. I pull the covers back over him, and he closes his eyes, muttering, "Thanks, Dylan," In the living room again I'm walking around feeling restless. I should be doing something. Taking out my class schedule, I read for the tenth time the lists of course titles I selected this year. The time and day for each course is listed, plus the building, room numbers and professor's names. Hmmm, I should probably scout-out these locations on campus so I know exactly where to go for orientation tomorrow. It's something to do anyway. After getting Robby's keys off the kitchen table, locating my sunglasses and wallet, I do a quick check on Robby and see that he's fallen asleep again, which is one way of defeating a hangover. Lastly I check myself out in the bathroom mirror paying special attention to my upper lip for any sign of a mustache, then gawk at my fucked-up hair. Huh, well I don't really care what it looks like now as long as it keeps growing. Maybe I do care a little though because I grab Ryan's Merrimack baseball cap on the way out the door and put it on covering most of my hair. On campus I park as close to each building I have a class in as I can, then walk around inside until I locate the correct room or lecture hall. Not as easy as it sounds because room numbers aren't always logically assigned. This year I've finally elected the mandatory humanities philosophy course, which will be in a big lecture hall, and that's always a good thing. With smaller classes the professors get to know everyone and they may grade on class participation, which I'm not good at. I'd rather be simply the 'unknown student, Newman, Dylan', on the professor's roster of one hundred other students. Let my test scores determine my grade, not how much of a brown-noser I am. Robby and I have three courses together and one apart. I don't know for a fact that Ryan's taking the same courses as me but I assume he is because he emailed me a month ago asking what courses I'd signed up for. Satisfied I'm on top of things,; I stop in at the Quad and drink a soda talking with Ears and Scott for fifteen minutes. It's amazing how normal the y both seem as compared to the way they were freshman year. On the way back to the Jeep I spot Ryan walking with a tall guy, who I'm guessing is his roommate. I don't recognize the guy even though Ryan says his roommate's attended Merrimack since freshman year. Yeah, well I only know about thirty guys out of the five thousand or so going to this college, so it's not a shocker I don't know that guy. Ryan doesn't see me and it's just as well; I don't feel like making introductory small talk with his new roommate. I'm getting in the pick-up when I hear Ryan call my name. Balls! Stepping out of the truck I glance in his direction and see Ryan waving. He's smiling, so I smile back. He shouts, "Would you tell Rob I can't do the baseball thing with him today. I need to see about a course change." He's like thirty feet away and from here his roommate appears to be Hispanic, or should I say Latino? I'm never sure what's proper, so sue me if I'm politically incorrect. I shout, "No problem, Ryan, I'll tell him. See you later." He waves, smiling again. Huh, he doesn't seem hungover. Driving back to the apartment I'm wondering why Ryan didn't simply text Robby? Well, my prediction that those two wouldn't get together today has been proven correct. At the apartment, for once, I actually find a half decent parking spot two rows down from the back door. As I'm going up the steps to the second floor I'm thinking I should have gotten something for our lunch. That's assuming Robby's even able to eat anything. Inside the apartment he's now laying on the sofa, just like I did yesterday recovering from my hangover. Robby looks over giving me a weak grin, "Where ya been?" I tell him and he goes, "Oh good thinking. We'll know where to go for our classes," and I give him Ryan's message. He mutters, "Good, there's no way I was doing that today anyway. I know he's your friend but, gawd, he talked my ear off last night mostly about him being some big deal in charge of a secret Hewlett-Packer project, or something like that." I go, "Oh, we were basically just unloading and logging in parts for some new bomb or something. I guess it was secret." It wasn't only Ryan doing the bragging though, I remember them both bragging about their jobs as 'bosses'. Just to tweak Robby, I ask, "You want me to text Ryan that you'll check out his chance for making the team tomorrow?" Robby makes a face, then mutters, "No, please do not do that. I'm hoping he'll forget the whole thing. He can try out on his own, or not," then he mutters, "Jesus, this fucking head of mine is killing me." I get the Advil from the bedroom and Robby takes two more with a glass of water, as I ask, "Can I fix you something to eat?" He shrugs, mumbling, "I don't feel hungry at all, but I suppose I should put something in my stomach. I need an anti-acid of some kind before I can handle, um, maybe soup." He lays his head back on the pillow he brought from the bedroom, and sighs. Like I said poor boy. Looking in the kitchen cabinet I find the box of Zantac 150 acid reducer I bought Saturday when shopping for apartment essentials. Robby takes one, then closes his eyes. It's almost two o'clock and I'm hungry but we don't have anything I feel like having for lunch here, and I don't want to abandon Robby. I'm apparently temporarily screwed. I cook up a quart of the boxed Lipton chicken noodle soup mix and when it's ready tell Robby to eat it at the table. He gets out from under the car blanket I was using yesterday, and I see he's only wearing boxer shorts. While he slurps the soup, I get him a shirt and a pair of khakis, thinking, 'Jesus! He's really into slurping that soup!' Slurping is something that would annoy the shit out of me if anybody but Robby was doing it. He slurps every single spoonful. I look at him for a minute, "Slurp, slurp, slurp," and finally say, "It's probably cooled off enough by now that you can take the spoonful without, ya know, slurping it." He glances over at me, muttering, "What?" and I go, "Oh, nothing. I'll be on the balcony having a smoke." Jeezus! After a cigarette helps relax my nerves, I go back inside and, between his slurps of soup, I help him get his shirt on, then he stands to pull on khakis. He's finishes off the entire quart of chicken broth, so I tell him, "I'll get your sandals and then you're coming outside with me to get some fresh air." He mutters, "Yes, mommy." We go down the steps and outside with Robby putting his hand over his eyes, complaining, "It's too fucking bright out here." Okay, so he can be a bit of a pain in my ass when he doesn't feel well. I mumble, "Yeah, it's called the sun," and hand him his sunglasses that I knew damn well he'd want. He goes, "Oh, you brought my shades with you. Thanks, Dylan." Putting them on, he asks, "Whaddaya wanna do?" I say, "I'm gonna drive your pickup to McDonalds and get some lunch for myself, then what time is your meeting at the baseball complex." He goes, "Holy shit! I forgot all about that. It's three-thirty." I go, "Good, we have time for McDonalds first." At McDonalds I use the drive-through to order my double cheeseburger, fries, and large Coke. Robby says, "Ya know what? I think I could eat a plain hamburger," so I tell the person on the other end of the speaker to add a plain hamburger to my order, and then drive one car length at a time to the pickup window. After paying for our order I drive to the campus and park in a shady spot under some trees. Robby's beginning to feel a little better, and while chewing his hamburger, he says, "I should have gotten two of these." I pass him my container of fries and he takes a fistful, mumbling, "Let me have some of your Coke." As he sucks on the straw I stare at him and, after a couple of seconds, he senses I'm staring, and asks, "What?" I go, "Am I going to need to take care of you all through married life?" He grins, then slurps more Coke before saying, "God-dammed right you are. After all, I am the head of the household." I go, "And a damn cute one too." He reaches over and pulls down the bill of my baseball cap, saying, "And I told you to get a haircut, or a trim around your ears, or some damn thing." I go, "That's right you did, but when did I have a chance to do that?" He says, "I'll do it for you. I've cut your hair before." I go, "Not recently, and not well either." He finishes my fries, mumbling, "That remark hurts my fucking feelings," but he said it in a joking way. We both know he has no aptitude for barbering. And I've never understood why I do have a natural aptitude for it, except maybe it's connected somehow to my silly haircut fetish. We dump the trash from our lunch in a trash receptacle and I drive Robby to the baseball complex. He gets out, saying, "Thanks for taking care of me, Dylan. I don't know how long this meeting gonna be. Mostly it'll be more like a bullshit session with teammates reconnecting. I'll text you when it' s over." I nod, "See ya later, Rob," and drive off not sure what I'm going to do now. I'm not 'feeling' the Quad and idle chit-chatting with some guys asking what I did last summer. I drive off campus thinking I'll chill out at the apartment, but at a traffic light I take my hat off and gawk at my hair in the rearview mirror. It does look like shit. SuperCuts is right there across the street, but after ragging on that franchise like forever I'm not going there. Instead I drive down North Andover's main street, not that it's much of a main street. I'm looking for a regular barbershop and find two that aren't far apart. Parking in the plaza parking lot where one barbershop is located, I plan to check it out. The other barbershop is right on main street almost directly across the street from the plaza. Competition! I'm casually walking down the sidewalk past a used book store, then a bakery, before glancing through the barbershop's window. Huh, there's a woman barber and a very old man barber. Neither one has a client which I take as a very bad sign, so continue on past the barbershop, then past a restaurant that advertises 'Third year running: The Phantom Gourmet's BEST CLAM CHOWER award'. Oh yeah, I'll have to try it sometime. Staying on this side of the street I look across at the other barbershop which appears to have customers at least. I'm about to cross the street when a guy walks out of the barbershop with a brand new cookie cutter haircut exactly like you get at SuperCuts. Same length short hair up the sides and back, with the hairs at his neck line bluntly cut straight across. No tapering and no style. It looks like a home haircut. What the fuck? Curious, I cross the street and walk past the barbershop and sure enough, two woman barbers. Huh! I wonder when women took over men's haircutting? That's no more puzzling I suppose than why all Italian pizza parlors are owned and run by people of the Greek persuasion. Of course, as far as I know woman have always been men's barbers. How would I know since I've rarely been inside a barbershop? Yeah, but anytime I see a barbershop scene in a movie there are men barbers; it just makes sense. Maybe it's just a weird coincidence for this town. Wait a second: when Willie took me for one of his spur of the moment haircuts there were always men barbers. And I recall Willie and me trying to find a barbershop for haircuts before our Key West trip. Yeah, and he rejected shops with woman barbers too. Way to go Willie! Anyway, I'm not paying twenty dollars for that butcher job of a haircut. I could do it myself except I can't see the back of my head. Fuck it, I don't feel like getting a haircut anyway. I'll tell Robby I tried but got scared off by the woman barbers. Without anything better to do, I drive back to the campus and park. Chilling out at the apartment seems too boring. Getting out I light either my second or third cigarette of the day, I forget which, then meander around the grounds to see if I bump into one of the thirty or so guys I know. One thing I notice is a lot of these twenty-one or twenty-two year old juniors and seniors look a hell of a lot older then they are. I'm glad I look young for my age, and I'll be even gladder when I'm older. Youthful appearance is strictly a gene thing. Your parents either had the youthful gene or they didn't. Tough shit for you if they didn't... heh heh. The real heart breaker is seeing guys with premature baldness. Oh my gawd, get a fucking hat, dude! Ahhh, it's a shame really, and I feel bad for the balding students. After ten minutes of walking past mostly strangers, and nodding at a few guys and girls I remember having a class with, I'm now looking for an unoccupied bench to sit my ass down on. There are benches scattered all around campus, but I don't want to sit on one that someone is already sitting on. They might want to make small talk with me and I'm not in the mood. I finally see a bench that's unoccupied and as soon as I sit down on it a girl comes over talking loudly on her cellphone and sits two feet away from me. BALLS! I can only tolerate ten seconds of torture listening to this stranger's conversation before casually getting up looking at my cellphone as if I'm reading a text message. She frowns at me like I've got some nerve implying her cellphone conversation is annoying. Or I may be projecting a little bit with my assumption of what her frown meant. Without looking where I'm going I bump into someone's back. It's Ryan! He turns around looking better than he should considering he must have a hangover and, huh,; his hair appears longer than it did last night. He says, "Well if it isn't Dylan Newman!" I smile at him, then he points at my hat, "Hey, you stole my fucking baseball cap! I was looking all over the house for that hat before I left home." I'm indignant, "I didn't steal it! You gave it to me after one of your specialty haircuts." Jeezus, I could bite my tongue for mentioning the word 'haircut'. Ryan goes, "Really, I gave you my favorite hat?" I make a face at his, like, 'I just told you that you did.' He goes, "Okay, I believe you, but I don't remember doing it." I say, "Well you did! Walk with me to the book store and I'll buy you a replacement cap." He goes, "Um, why don't you give me mine back and buy the new one for yourself?" It hits me then: he just let the word 'haircut' slide by without commenting on my hair. Surprise, surprise! And all the worrying I've done about him wanting to continue giving me haircuts! I even had that fuckin' dream about it. Apparently all for naught. I go, "No, I'm keeping this fuckin' hat! You gave it to me so forget about taking it back. C'mon and I'll get you a new one." He shakes his head, "Nah, don't waste your money, I'll get one from the team. Mostly I'm flattered you want to keep the cap because it's mine." Weird that I didn't realize that myself. Heh heh, that makes my dick tighten up a little and I feel funny in my tummy just looking at Ryan. And even weirder, I'm almost disappointed he didn't say anything about giving me a haircut? To tempt fate I take the hat off and run my fingers through my hair, then put the cap back on. Ryan grins, "I saw your hair last night, Dylan. Remember?" I go, "Yeah, of course, but so what? And I see you waited until you got here before getting your haircut." He laughs, then squeezes the back of my neck a little, murmuring, "Um, I actually got a haircut just before leaving home. It's styled. The guy said it was a layer cut." I'm frowning, "It doesn't even look like you had a haircut." He shrugs, "The hair stylist used a straight razor for most of it." I'm like, "Why didn't you wait until you got here? You know I like giving haircuts." He shrugs again, "Oh, I don't know, I guess I wasn't sure how you felt about things, felt about me and everything." Damn, he looks sexy, and now that he told me about it I can see his hair has been styled. It's sort of a seventies hair style covering part of his ears and it's over the shirt collar in back. I don't like it at all. Ryan lights a cigarette, as I ask, "What'd you mean by, how I felt about you?" He exhales smoke, saying, "I was worried you were mad at me, or didn't like me anymore. You hardly said two words to me last night leaving me stuck talking to your boring boyfriend all night when I'd much rather talk to you." Last night was a fucked up night, but I don't see how it was my fault. I put my arm around the back of his neck pulling his head over, saying, "I'm not the least bit mad at you, Ryan. I've missed you, um, a lot... really," and I squeeze the side of his head against mine. My dick firms up some more as I inhale his very familiar scent. Letting go of him I blush a little realizing he didn't reciprocate my hug. He rubs the back of his neck, mumbling, "I'm suffering a little from being over-served last night." We chuckle at that excuse. Claiming we were 'over served' is our way of passing the blame onto someone else when we drink so much we have a hangover. You know, someone over-served us. Walking slowly around campus on this gorgeous fall day we pass lots of guys and girls approximately our age, but pay no more attention to them then they pay to us. For something to say, I go, "Well, I expect you'll let me do your next haircut," and he goes, "Of course I will, and thanks." That would have been the perfect time for him to say something about giving me a haircut. I would have said, 'No', of course, but that would have settled the matter once and for all. I ask, "Was that your roommate I saw you with earlier today?" Ryan goes, "Nooo! Steve's coming in tomorrow. Steven Church is his full name. That tall guy was Tomas Diego, he's Mexican. I know him from us being in the same dormitory last year. Tomas is a very straight macho man, and a real nice guy. Very tall too! Heh heh, I always imagine anyone seeing Tomas and me together will think 'Mutt and Jeff'." I ask, "Yeah, who are Mutt and Jeff anyway?" He shrugs, "Fuck if I know. One was tall and one's short I suppose. That's how I always interpret it when I hear it." As he's silently finishing his cigarette, I'm stealing glances at him gauging my attraction level for him. It appears to be significant,; although I still can't put my finger on why it is exactly I think he's so fucking sexy. Whoa, thinking that thought makes it kinda hard taking a breath for a second there; it caught in my throat. I reach over and rub Ryan's shoulder just to feel his tight body, asking, "Didn't you have a hangover this morning?" He smiles, "Yeah, of course, but since you bumped into me it's much improved." I nod my head a little and let out a held breath slowly and quietly, as he says, "You know I missed you terribly, right? After having you almost exclusively to myself for nine weeks it was a wicked shock the day you left. And then the next day, Saturday, I was in a funk all day. Actually I think all my bad moods after you left had something to do with me breaking up with Mike, or him breaking up with me would be more like it." I go, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Ryan," and he chuckles, "That's so like you, Dylan. It's wasn't your fault at all, but you say you're sorry anyway." I go, "Well I am sorry you and Mike broke up. You guys seemed hit it off great I thought." He shrugs, "And I was ignoring you while Mike and I were bonding, so to speak... as you always say." And he looks at me smiling, then adds, "What a jackass I was! Ignoring you for anyone else is sooo dumb of me!" I'm smelling the back of my hand, not sure what to say to that. Ryan grins as he's slowly pulling my hand away from my face, asking, "Have you forgotten everything I taught you already, Dylan?" I look at him, "What?" and he says, "You look funny smelling the back of your hand." I mutters, "Oh yeah, um, it's a habit," and he holds onto the hand he pulled away from my face. He stops walking still holding my hand, then pulls on my arm so I stop walking too and look at him. In a joking manner, he says sternly, "And don't slump, Dylan!" I grin, standing up stupidly straight and he squeezes my hand pulling me against him, saying seriously, "Didn't we have a special time together?" I nod, feeling that awesome squirmy submissive trance-like sense again. He adds, "The best nine weeks of my life, and I say that knowing Rob's your choice even though I don't get that at all. I mean he's gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but he doesn't seem to have that spark to set you on fire like I have. At least I don't see it in Rob." We look into each other's eyes for a second. I gulp, swallowing noisily, then mumble, "He has a spark, it's just different than yours," and lean against him holding my breath. Ryan's other hand rubs up the back of my head, his fingers in my hair and his face close to mine, as he murmurs, "I miss all those times you and me were together, just the two of us. Remember?" I nod, not sure what to say. He shrugs, and says, "I wanted to tell you that, um, in case you didn't know it already," and after squeezing the back of my neck, giving me shivers up and down my spine, he lets go of me. I mumble, "No, I remember, and me too, Ryan, but I already told you that." I'm mad at myself for being so attracted to him and for feeling submissive like this, but I can't help it. It was the way he held my hand and pulled me to a stop. I'm hoping there's no way he could possibly know how aroused he got me just now though. He looks sexy, smiling and being so friendly. I don't know, but it's so enticing the way he assumes he can just touch me however he feels like, and he gets in my personal space like he owns it. I freeze up, and it's his scent too, and that awesome confident way he speaks even when saying how much he missed me. It's uncanny the effect he has on me, and his eyes are so beautiful and expressive. I'm taking quiet deep breaths as we start walking again. Clearing my throat, I do a fake cough, then ask, "What courses did you sign up for this semester?" He tells me, and surprisingly only one of his courses is the same as mine. I go, "Oh, ya know, I thought we'd be in more classes together." He goes, "I thought about it and really wanted to take the same courses as you, but then I figured Rob would be in them too and, you know." Puzzled, I look at him, "No, I don't know. Whaddaya mean?" He says, "It's simple, Dylan. It hurts too much seeing you with Rob, and then him acting like your boss. I'm better at that than he'll ever be. And, oh I don't know, it just seemed better that we have different classes." I go, "Well, I'm disappointed! Um, we're only in, what... um, the same philosophy course. Just that one, right?" He nods, grinning, "Yeah, the only one Rob's not in." I go, "What? You like Rob, don't you?" He says, "Sure, he's okay I guess, but we've never been friends exactly. Anyway, when it's the three of us, Rob and I spend most of our time hovering around you like bees around flowers, after the nectar." I frown, "Don't be ridiculous! Nobody hovers around anybody." We're walking too close together, mostly because of me. It pisses me off I'm acting like this, not that Ryan seems to mind. I notice a few guys and girls glancing at us now, but so what. Gays on campus aren't that much of a novelty. They probably think we're boyfriends. Ryan says, "Well, here we are," and I look over and see his dormitory. I didn't realize that's where we were going. I'm like, "Oh, are you going in now? It's a nice day out here." He turns to face me, putting a hand on each of my shoulders, saying, "Please don't tease me, Dylan. You know how I feel about you and when I'm with you it hurts that you tease and play with my emotions." I'm a little pissed-off again, but at him this time. "Ryan, what in the fuck are you talking about? I'm not teasing you, or playing with anything. I'm being sincere that I enjoy being with you. We're best friends and buddies, fer chrissakes!" He nods, then says, "Okay, why don't you and I go to my room and, for old times' sake, we'll be Danny and Albert for an hour or two." I just stare at him unable to think what to say to that. I finally manage to mumble, "Whaddaya mean be Danny and Albert?" He shakes his head and, with a cute grin, says, "I'm joking with you, Dylan." I don't think he was, so I've got to watch what I say. Mumbling, I go, "I knew you we're joking." He goes, "Yeah well, I really haven't done anything about unpacking the boxes of clothes and stuff UPS delivered, so I should get things put away before Steve gets here tomorrow with all his stuff." I nod, asking, "Do you need to do it now? I mean, we could hang out some more." Jeez, he just gave me the perfect exit line; but fuck it, I don't want to exit yet. He shrugs, "Sure, okay since you put it that way. Um, ya wanna head over to the Quad for a Coke or something?" I nod and we walk back the way we came with me bumping Ryan's side, then keeping it casual, I say, "Ya know, we're still buddies, right?" He goes, "Like gay sex buddies? Is that what you mean?" I shrug, "Yeah, sure, I mean if you're still interested in me, ha ha. Ya know?" We walk a couple of steps without him saying anything so I glance over and see Ryan's expression, like: 'Are you shitting me?' Then he stops walking just outside the Quad and, looking me in the eyes, seriously says, "You've been giving me all these little subtle signals, ones I don't think I'm misinterpreting. Um, so I'll come right out and ask you point blank: Are you hinting that you want me to take charge of our situation right now and get you sitting in my dorm room with your shirt off while I give you a Marietta haircut, and then a hard dominant fucking like we did for nine weeks this summer? We can call it buddy sex if it makes you feel better." All the muscles in my body tense as a spurt of wetness shoots out in my underpants. I gawk at him like he's speaking a foreign language. Now my knees feel weak because I want to yell, 'YES! Why haven't you taken charge yet?!' Instead I gasp, sputtering, "Nah, um, no. Ha, that's what you think? No, no, I'm good, no haircut, thank you very much. I can't believe you'd think that." He says, "Okay, I'll take your word for it. I just wanted to be clear about that because you need only say the word and I'll take it from there, no problem. I'd be happy to do it for you anytime you work up the nerve to ask me. Think about it, Dylan, but for now let's get a soda." Oh fuck! That was close... my friggin' dream almost happened. I'm sweating all of a sudden, trying to catch my breath and unconsciously smelling the back of my hand again. The way he said that has me feeling nervous and squirmy, and wanting him to do everything he just said. I need to experience that again so badly it hurts. But I know I'm not going to do it though, and that thought allows me to breathe easier. Ryan grins and smacks my hand lightly. I drop my hand away from my face, mumbling, "Oh yeah, sorry," and then get pissed at myself for saying, 'sorry'. We don't say anything else as I follow him up the steps into the busy, noisy, congested Quad. Ryan has a sexy ass. He buys two Cokes and without thinking about doing it I hug him really tightly up against the Coke machine, pinning his arms to his side, a can of Coke in each of his hands. Kissing his cheek, then letting go of him, I say to his startled face, "Thank you for offering that trip down memory lane though. I loved those times we had together, just so you know." He nods his head passing a can of Coke to me, saying, "I know very well how much you were into all of it, Dylan. I know you better than anyone, and I know you wanted to say 'yes' in the worst way because nobody gives you sexual thrills like I can." All I can do is pop the top of the soda can while feeling my groin tighten. He pops the tab on his can, takes a swallow of Coke, then pats my shoulder, saying, "Seeing how aroused I can get you is such a rush for me too." I mutter, "Yeah, I guess." I've found that certain things in hindsight often seem better when remembered then they actually were originally. I don't think that applies to my memories of my red hot haircut fetish though, or Ryan's delicious dominant manner during and after those absurd haircuts. The memories of those experiences are too recent to be altered by time. Sexy hot, submissively juicy experiences. Just thinking about it with Ryan right here, is arousing. I need to adjust my junk before sitting across from him at the end of a long table where maybe fifteen other students are sitting, all of them loudly laughing and jabbering away. We drink our Cokes looking at one another without talking. Finally, Ryan mumbles, "C'mon, let's grab a smoke outside." Carrying half full cans of Coke, we're walking outside when my cellphone pings. Looking at it I see a text from Robby, 'Anytime you're ready, Dylan'. The meeting's over.' Nodding at the cellphone, I go, "That's from Rob. He needs a ride." We stand at the bottom of the steps not knowing exactly what we should do now, so I give him another hug and a quick brother's type kiss on his lips, and of course some incredibly unoriginal asshole yells, "Get a room!" Ryan and I walk a few steps away, then he says, "That was really sweet of you, Dylan. I'll taste your lips as I'm unpacking all my stuff. Thanks for that." I nod, "You taste good too," and he goes, "It's was the Coke probably," and I go, "No, it's a Ryan taste and I liked it." He ignores the compliment, and instead looks at my hat, saying, "Bye-bye favorite baseball cap. You have a new owner now," then he does what Robby likes to do and pulls the bill of the cap down to my eyebrows. I readjust the hat, asking, "Do you wanna come for dinner at the apartment tonight?" He says, "Oh, I probably shouldn't. Rob surely would rather have you all to himself. I know I would if I were him." I go, "Oh, c'mon, Ryan. Rob doesn't mind that I'm inviting you and there'll be other guys there too." Taking a deep breath, he goes, "Another time, okay? I have a lot of shit I gotta do to get the dorm room in shape." I go, "Alright, but how about if you return that hug and kiss I just gave you." He grins, "I better not. I'd probably make a fool of myself if I did that." He pats my arm, saying, "See you soon, I hope." Not wanting him to go just yet, I grab his arm, then run my fingers through his longish hair messing it up, saying, "That's a shitty haircut ya got there, Ryan," and he grins, saying, "I know it is! I should have waited until you could cut it for me." Pulling his hair, I say, "Okay, but next time I'm doing it, right?" He nods his head a little, smiling, then saying, "I love you, Dylan." He turns then and walks away. I watch him go for a minute until he turns around, yelling, "I felt you watching me," and then he goes left around the library towards his dormitory. Wow, he still does it for me, and I'm still not sure why. Jogging across the lawn towards the parking lot I'm fantasizing about Ryan's scenario of his specialty haircut and then a hard dominant fucking. Oh man! It's a strange feeling knowing I'll never experience that again. I read a ton of stuff online and one article applies in this exact situation; well, not exactly. The article claims a scientific study was done about people depriving themselves of something they really like. The example in the study was depriving themselves of chocolate, but in my case I'll be depriving myself of Ryan's dominant haircut and sex. Anyway, the study was conducted with a thousand or so participants and results showed that depriving yourself of a favorite thing heightens the brain's awareness of that one thing, and many of the participants became obsessed with desire for anything chocolate. The strangest aspect of what I desire is that I basically hated Ryan's weekly haircuts, but yet craved them at the same time and reveled in it while it was happening. Now that I'm depriving myself of the experience I apparently need to be careful it doesn't turn into an obsession. Our damn brains have a mind of their own, but I've know that, like forever. While driving to the other side of the campus to pick up Robby I decide it's not like I can never again experience Ryan's haircut and sex. In Marietta he did the wickedly short haircuts as a unique way of reminding me who's boss. We don't need to be in Marietta though, and it doesn't necessarily need to have anything to do with who's the boss. Sometime in the future, like he said, all I need to do is ask him to do it and he can turn on his devilishly and pleasurable dominance and do it all. And, oh man, have I ever gotten helplessly submissive to him at times when he really took charge. For now I like the idea of having longer hair. Ryan is really something though... mysteriously. Somehow I feel he and I are going to be life-long friends though. We like each other too much, and have too much in common to not remain friends long after we graduate. So I guess we just had our reunion after two months. Huh, it was nothing like I thought it would be, and I don't know what I was worried about anyway. When I'm parking the pickup I see Robby coming out of the building talking to three of his teammates. I'm feeling invigorated for some reason. Maybe just seeing Robby makes me feel good. I toot the horn and everyone looks up. Robby says something to the guys; then, after two guys bump fist with Robby and he gets a pat on the shoulder from the black guy, Robby jogs the ten yards to the Jeep. He's all smiles so I'm guessing his hangover is mostly gone. Standing outside the driver's window, he asks, "Are you ever going to let me drive my pickup again " I mumble, "No, now get in." Getting in, he says, "That was so much fun seeing all the guys. What'd you do the last two hours?" Driving away I tell him, "Nothing much. I almost got a haircut, but there are too many woman barbers in town and I am not spending twenty bucks for what amounts to a home haircut that any mom could give her kid." Robby laughs, and goes, "You and your phobia about woman barbers." I snort out a laugh, then say, "Yeah, weird, huh?" Robby goes, "Well, I'm cutting your hair for you as soon as we get home." Huh, it seems odd calling the apartment 'home'. Ignoring his haircut comment, I say, "Wasn't it a beautiful fall day, Rob? People on the west coast never get to see the leaves change from green to orange, red, and yellow." Pointing at a maple tree," I go, "Look at the colors on that tree!" "He ignores my enthusiasm for fall foliage and reaches over to pull the hair growing over the tops of my ear, saying, "I'll at least cut the hairs around your ears." I grin at him, shrugging, and he goes, "Jessuz, you're in a good mood this afternoon," and I say, "Yeah, I am... and why shouldn't I be on a day like this?" He asks, "What else did you do today?" I briefly tell him what I've been up to, including spending time with Ryan. Then I go, "Listen to this, Rob: Ryan thinks you don't want him to come for dinner. Can you believe that?" Robby mutters, "Huh, he's more perceptive than I gave him credit for," and I punch his shoulder, yelling, "Hey! He's my friend!" Robby chuckles, saying, "Yeah, yeah, I know he is. Hell, he can come. Text him and say I'm inviting him too." I'm like, "Thanks, Rob!" and he goes, "You're a very perky boy today, I must say." As I drive into the main entrance of our apartment complex, Robby goes, "I guess I should probably invite my freshman teammate for dinner. Oh, I didn't tell you yet, did I? The team voted me co-captain of the infielders." I go, "Congratulations! You're my hero." He goes, "Yeah, but it's good and bad. I mean it's cool being a co-captain, but the captains get a freshman teammate assigned to them. We're supposed to mentor the baseball scholarship freshman." I mumble, "Well lucky him!" Robby glances over at me, and smirks, saying, "Wait'll you see him." Pretending I couldn't care less about this freshman asshole, I say, "I invited Chubby too, plus probably John Beverly, if he wants to come." Robby goes, "We've barely moved into the apartment and you're having a dinner party already. You are feeling fuckin' frisky today, aren't you, boyfriend?" Again I find a place to park in our parking lot, as I say, "Yep, that's me, mister fuckin' frisky." Robby chuckles, shaking his head slowly, asking, "What are we having for dinner, frisky?" I shrug, "I haven't thought about it yet. I'll need to go shopping." Robby rubs my shoulder, "I'm feeling amorous. How about you?" I look at him, murmuring, "Oh boy, yeah, now that you mention it..." 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