Date: Thu, 22 Feb 2018 22:17:08 -0500
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER     Chapter 25

DYLANS VACATION AFTER HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter 25

by Donny Mumford

Fridays are special because the weekend looms ahead and weekends in the
summer are as good as it gets for working stiffs like me. This Friday's
been okay at work. Today's were the last interviews for the month of June
and I happily hand Carl his monthly report at three-thirty as instructed,
so now I'm in the office twiddling my thumbs waiting for the end of the
work-day at four-thirty. Actually I'm not doing anything with my thumbs,
I'm sitting here thinking about tonight's baseball practice. Everyone else
at practice will have a fun catching, hitting, and throwing a baseball
around like they've been doing since they were little kids, but for me I'll
be wondering nervously if this is the practice I'll be found out as a
fraud.

Yeah, it's much more likely I'll make a fool of myself at practice than
make miracle catches like at Wednesday's practice. Letting that good
fortune go to my head I temporarily lost my mind getting excited about
continuing to try out for the team. Now I'm dealing with the reality of the
situation. I should have quit when I was ahead. It's nonsense thinking that
I can actually keep up with these talented players on a day to day
basis. Luck ain't gonna cut it for long. Danny's convinced I belong on the
team as a back-up player on the bench at least. I'm beginning to think he
believes all the bull-shit he told Coach Benintendi about my superstar
exploits as a high school second-baseman for Braintree High. I can't ever
recall ever being in Braintree.

I'm still sort of 'crushing' on Danny though so I suppose I want to impress
him, and certainly I'd like to impress Rob, but I'll apparently need
miracles to pull that off and miracles are usually in short supply. The
pats on my back and the players pointing their gloves at me in recognition
of the three miracles of me making those awesome plays though... wow! That
was a really good feeling. The opposite feeling is what I'm concerning
myself with at the moment. The moment where everyone is frowning at me,
like, 'What the fuck is that spastic doing now? when the ball bounces off
my head, or I throw the ball back to the infield twenty-feet short of the
second baseman, or trip over my own feet trying to field a grounder, or any
fucked-up thing I can think of. Jesus, why did I get myself into this? I
guess it was mostly Danny being persuasive. Hell, Robby left it up to
me. He didn't put any pressure on me to do it, or not do it.

Putting my feet up on my 'desk' and lacing my fingers behind my head I feel
my bristly hair and grin to myself. Yeah, Rob's haircut! Jesus though,
about eight of the interviewees today mentioned my new haircut and mostly
made positive remarks. A couple of others were more curious than impressed
but there were no overtly negative comments. They all seemed sincere unless
they all have an extremely subtle way of breaking balls that I didn't
pick-up on. Sure, those who commented were females of various ages. None of
the three guys I interviewed had anything to say about my haircut
whatsoever, or my awesome suit either which was another thing the ladies
liked. Jeez though, I've never seen Rob go on so much about a haircut in my
life; certainly not like he has about this one. Well, he was the barber and
he's justifiably proud of the results. Huh, if the haircut turned out to be
shit though, I wonder what his response would have been then?

Well it didn't turn out to be shit, and even if it did, it wouldn't change
the fact Rob and I are really as tight a loving-couple as there is. There's
a depth of completeness to our relationship that I've never felt
before. It's so solid as though we've found a comfort zone that works in
every way there is. Us sleeping together at his house has in a way been the
last piece of the puzzle for me.  His parents have blown me away with their
acceptance of me as Rob's boyfriend and lover. Mr. Dickers even said,
'Well, here are the Dickers boys now', when we came down for breakfast this
morning.  It's like I was part of the family. Maybe I'm projecting, but
when I marry Rob I think he parents assume I'll be taking his last name
too. Some gay married couples do that. Any paranoid thoughts I might have
that Mr. Dickers was being facetious, implying I'm always here so why don't
they adopt me, or something like that, doesn't seem realistic anymore. Not
when he's been so friendly, like the way he sincerely complimenting us on
not drinking and driving. I think he likes me and I know he thinks I'm
doing a good job at work.

And then there's Rob's Mom whose also been super accepting and
friendly. That's my biggest surprise of all! It's been almost unbelievable
how nice she's been!  Sure, she can be a bit of a manic/depressive at
times, she's way 'up' one day, very positive that everything is awesome,
and then other times she's like a grumpy walking-minus-sign when nothing
seems to suit her. The last two days with me she's been sort of in the
middle though; for of a normally pleasant person. Yeah, your normal
run-of-the-mill Mother-type... nothing to see here folks.

In my opinion Rob seems rude to his Mom, not that she appears to notice, or
care. They both seem fine with their relationship. I'm thinking Rob was
this star baseball pitcher in high school, and he was on the middle school
basketball team too, so his parents were proud of him and probably spoiled
him some and bragged about him to friends and relatives. His Mom was
probably always ready and able to take him where he needed to go for
practices or whatnot, and they just fell into this relationship were his
offish behavior was overlooked because he was their 'star'. Rob is
different around his father though. He works his ass off to impress him
while Rob's Mom is still catering to the star-son whom she likes to brag
about.

Yeah, in some ways she's apparently still bragging about him even though
he's gay, and why shouldn't she. Maybe she's a little bit proud of his
boyfriend too. That would seem the case since she took pictures of Rob and
me together this morning to send to her sister. This whole unexpected
developing thing with Rob's parents allows me to smile and relax a
little. Of course I'm aware that my amateur physiological analysis of the
situation concerning me and Rob's parents could be a pile of doody, but I'm
hoping it isn't.  I'm being optimistic that I've seen sincere progress with
Mr. and Mrs. Dickers, and me... from my point of view at least.

And then there's their other son, Dodger who was a star athlete himself. A
star diver and a swimmer with unique quickness. He has trophies too, but
let's face it, what's gonna get the most attention: swimming... or baseball
and basketball? Where's the majority of recognition going: to the baseball
or swimming star? Swimming's a niche sport, if it even is a sport in the
truest sense of the word 'sport', as in competitive team sports where
there's an offense and a defense. Swimming, like gymnastics, has mostly an
esoteric following of those who swim and dive or do gymnastics
themselves. I'm sure his Mom took Dodger to practices and whatnot, but
perhaps not with the same enthusiasms as for Rob's endeavors. Hope I'm
wrong but I'm probably not. Also Rob was the 'first' of the Dickers' boys
to appear on the scene, and by a long two-years, which is quite a head
start. Dodger was relegated to getting hand-me-down clothes and
hand-me-down pickup trucks from his big brother. He was the runt until he
got his growth spurt and passed Rob by an inch in height. Jeez, maybe
Dodger's outrageousness as a teenager was because he was trying to get
someone to notice him when everyone was noticing Rob. Well fuck, that's
sort of a 'downer', and I was so 'up' for a couple of minutes there.

While contemplating that with a frown on my face, my cell phone rings and I
jump in my chair, my feet coming off the desk. It was dead silent in here
for the longest time and the ring startled me. I'm like, "Um, hello!" and
hear, "Hi, Dylan, are you alright? This is Rob." "Oh yeah, I'm good. How ya
doing, Rob? What's up?" He says, "Ha ha, it's the end of the week, for
starters. Jeez though, I'm sorry but I'll be another
five-or-ten-minutes. Can you meet me at the spot I dropped you off at this
morning?" Hmmm, what the fuck time is it anyhow? I look at my watch:
four-thirty-eight! I been daydreaming for over an hour? I go, "Oh yeah,
absolutely, Robby. Take as much time as you need." He goes, "Thanks,
Dylan. See you soon."

Ha! Someone must be in the office with him or he would have called me,
babe' or 'baby'; his awesome terms of endearment for me. Yeah, terms of
endearment... that sounds so sweeeeet! Funny how those two words, 'babe'
and 'baby', coming out of Robby's mouth used to sound phony, creepy even,
but not anymore. I like when he calls me that and, shit, he does it in
front of his Mom too. Rob's really something the way he doesn't hide
anything about him and me from his parents. He acts the same way around me
whether his parents are around or it's Danny and Hayden who we're with, or
anybody else. He treats me with affection no matter who's there and it can
be a little awkward, but I still admire him for being open about our
relationship. That's ballsy of him if you ask me. I'm not saying he throws
our lover's status in anyone's face though. No, that's not it at all. Rob's
really become special and, is it my imagination or is he more, um, I don't
know, more mature and uber sure of himself? I don't necessarily mean he's
acting in-charge or being bossy because he's not. It's just everything he
does or says has such a calmness about it, a lightheartedness or casualness
like... 'No problem, I got this'.

I put some stuff in my backpack, drape my suit jacket over my arm and
carrying the golf umbrella under the same arm. Yep, I'm outta here for the
weekend. Outside it's stop drizzling, it's been drizzling on and off all
day. I lean the umbrella against one of the benches that sit on either side
of the back door thinking again that Fridays are awesome! Lighting a
cigarette and then while taking a drag my cellphone rings. It's Rob
again. "Hey Rob, what's up?" He goes, "That pain-in-the-ass, Max, was in
the office with me when I called last time, babe." I grin too myself
because I guessed someone was there with him during his last call.

Rob goes, "I've just got one more thing to do before I leave so I'm gonna
be an extra five minutes. Oh, and I wanted to tell you that after practice
tonight I'll have a beer with you guys but them I'm going to need to leave
early. I'm sorry but you'll need a ride home from practice, and then a ride
home from practice Saturday too." I go, "Why do you need to leave early
tonight?" He groans, "Because tomorrow, after Saturday's practice, I going
directly to Westborough. Tonight I need to get home to pack and get my shit
together for that trip. Maybe you could make a few phone calls and arrange
rides for tonight and tomorrow afternoon. I'll feel better knowing you're
all set." I go, "I'll get right on it. See you soon."

Picking up the umbrella I walk toward the spot Rob dropped me off thinking
I can maybe slip in some buddy sex in our tight little gay group while
Rob's away. Me and buddy-sex are becoming strangers this summer. Danny's in
favor of our group having buddy-sex and Rob's good with it too. So am I, by
the way... heh heh. I have to wonder though if our leader, Danny, has
stepped-ups his game yet? Yeah maybe, but then Hayden and I have been
champing at the bit to get it on, so to speak, from before he went to
California and yet we haven't done it even once since then. There's simply
been no opportunities for buddy-sex since his return from California. That
reminds me I haven't heard a word from Dodger who's now in California. I've
been over to his house only one time to get his mail. I emailed him telling
him about the packages but haven't heard back from him. Suspicious looking
packages I might add. Yeah, well I should get over there this weekend too.

Hmmm, Hayden rarely has wheels, so for a ride home tonight I call Danny and
he cheerfully answers after one ring, "Hi, Dylan. Is everything okay?" I
go, "Yep, it's is, except I was wondering if you could give me a ride home
after some beers tonight following practice?" I explain about Rob and he
goes, "You don't need to ask, feel free to assume that I'll give you a ride
wherever you need to go. I'll get you Saturday morning too and save Rob the
trouble what with his trip and all." I go, "Thank you, Danny, you're
awesome." he goes, "Thanks for saying that, but I'm not the awesome one,
you're the awesome one." No, actually he is but I don't want to get into a
thing where I go, 'No it's you, Danny' and he's like 'Un uh, it's you,
Dylan,' so I mutter, "We're both awesome. I'll see you at the high school."

That didn't settle a thing about buddy-sex but Rob asked me to be sure I
have a ride and that's what I did. Then I'm standing here for like
twenty-minutes before Rob shows up in his pickup and he's full of apologies
for being late. I poo-poo them as unnecessary and ask, half-jokingly, "Is
it okay to kiss you here?" He seriously shakes his head, saying, "At your
house, baby, and I'm hoping you'll let me do more than kiss you." Oh boy!
I'll put the buddy-sex concerns on the back burner now that I know the 'A'
team is stepping up to the plate. I wasn't expecting this because, I don't
know, I just didn't expect it. I go, "Damn, Rob, you sure make me feel
desirable. You said last night you're gonna take care of me but I didn't
think you meant this soon." He chuckles, "Seriously, I can't fucking
imagine anyone more desirable than you, and that's the truth for real. As
for taking care of you, you're the one taking care of me. I need to be
sexually intimate with you in hopes it'll hold me over until I'm with you
again Sunday... barely hold me over."

Damn, that makes me feel so good! I ask, "If you want I'll get the Jeep and
drive up Saturday night." He says, "I'd love that, but as I mentioned
before, Neal-asshole has it set up for us to be working Saturday
night. It's because I won't get there until two o'clock tomorrow. You know,
after practice." Oh fuck that's right, practice again Saturday morning
too. Balls!

I tell him, "Danny offered to pick me up tomorrow morning if that'd be a
help to you." Rob goes, "Oh yeah, it would be a big help if you don't mind,
Dylan." I shrug, "I don't mind." We're quiet for a minute as Rob negotiates
his way through the Framingham circle at the center of town, and then I
ask, "What time do you think you'll be back on Sunday?" He looks at me for
a second and then gets his eyes back on the road as he says, "You look so
hot in that suit. Jesus! Oh, um, Sunday. Jeez, I'm actually not sure what
time I'll be home Sunday." Another quick glance at me, and then he mumbles,
"Um, Dylan, you've gotta do me a big favor, babe." I go, "A favor? Sure,
what is it?" He glances over, "Please stay with me Sunday night. I haven't
been as happy since our college apartment as I was Wednesday and Thursday
after you stayed with me at my house. It's been by far the best part of
this summer so far. The nights especially, but also the good feelings that
carried-over to the next day." I'm like, "Sunday night?" He nods, keeping
his eyes on the road now, saying, "Yeah, babe. The last two-night have been
very special having you sleeping with me again." Frowning I mutter, "For me
too of course, but I just slept over the last two nights." Fuck, that came
out of my mouth kind of whiny-sounding.

Is he fucking serious though? I go, "Robby, I don't want to overdo it and
screw up a good thing that's developing with your 'rents. It's been
excellent so let's not take advantage of your parents' generosity towards
me. You can stay with me at my house Sunday night." He says, "I will if
it's the only way I can be with you, but consider your twin bed. Oh man, no
offense, I've have some fabulous memories of that twin bed and I love it,
but we'd have no breakfast Monday morning and it's a twenty-minute longer
ride to work from your house so we'd need to get up earlier." I say, "I'll
make breakfast," and he says, "Okay then, we'll get up forty-minutes
earlier." Oh shit.

I don't say anything until we get to my condo where Rob knows to drive
around to the back. He turns off the engine and turns to me, "Don't be mad,
Dylan, I'd love to stay with you Sunday night, and I will. It's settled,
baby. You won't need to make breakfast we'll get breakfast sandwiches and
coffees at the drive-thru window at Dunkin' Donuts. I love you and just
want to see you smiling and happy." Oh balls though. My Mom never sees me
in the morning or at night, except on the weekends. Chubby's busy three or
four nights a week for dinner and I hardly see him when I sleep at home
anyway.

After thinking about it, still sitting in the truck, I ask, "Are you
absolutely positive your parents won't mind me staying with you again?" He
says, "I swear on my love for you they like having you there. They say I'm
easier to get along with when you're with me. You're a good influence on
me... according to Mom." I'm smelling the back of my hand listening and
staring at him trying to make sure he's being serious and not frivolously
bull shitting me. If he's lying he's a very good liar and I happen to know
the opposite is true. After a minute, he quietly prompts me, "Dylan?" and I
mutter, "I believe you. Sure, I'd love to spend Sunday night with you." He
wraps his arms around me and kisses the side of my face, murmuring, "Thank
you for believing and trusting in me. You'll always be able to trust me and
some day, I hope soon, you'll realize that fact. I love you, Dylan Newman."
I mutter, "I fucking trust you, whaddaya talking about?"

Huh, he was perfectly willing to stay at my house even though it really
doesn't make good sense at all. Rob has definitely matured or maybe just
decided to be relaxed and totally himself, or he gained a lot of
confidence, or some Goddammed-thing! He's even better than he was before
and I'm not sure when the 'before' ended and the 'better' began. All I know
is there isn't a single thing about him lately that I don't think is just
about perfect, and while nothing and no one is perfect, he's getting
close. And damn, I won't have a chance if he gets any more perfect. I'll be
simply going along with any and everything he says, or does, or wants from
me. What's wrong with that though? That'll be okay.

We're quiet for a few seconds as I'm looking at him. I'm amazed my
affection and love for him is higher than ever before. He finally grins,
asking, "What? Why are you staring at me like that?" I go, "Well, we're
just sitting here and I thought you were in a hurry? That you had stuff to
do."  He shrugs, "Well I don't know about being in a hurry, although I do
want to have some awesome tough and rough sex with you. After that I have a
few errands to run like taking your trousers to the tailors explaining what
I want done with them and then probably I'll need to argue about it needing
to be done overnight with the tailor, who speaks very little English. Then
I need to make a stop at the CVS pharmacy to wait in line to pick-up Dad's
high-blood-pressure medication, and then get a case of beer at the package
store so when the boys come over to join you and me in the pool house we'll
have beer for them. When I finally get home to change for baseball
practice, I'll need to eat dinner and then come back to pick you up for
practice. I'll need to do all those things in a little over an hour, but
other than that, no I'm not rushed." I go, "Oh, so we can take our time
with the sex?" Rob goes, "Um, sure, but like I said, it's gonna be more
like a rough, hard recreational fast fuck than making love." I go, "What
are we waiting for?" and we smile getting out of the pickup. I swear
there's nothing in this world better than being in love and having sex with
your lover!

Rob takes off his suit jacket and leaves it on the seat as I key in the
passcode and then we go in my condo through the garage door. Inside the
basement Rob grabs my/his tie, the tie I'm wearing and pulls me to him. We
do a one-minute mouth-moving kiss with our arms around each other hugging
tightly. Our lips make a wet smacking sound when we pull apart. Still
holding onto him I murmur, "Oh man, I love the way you taste and smell,
Robby," and we do another quick kiss, "You too, Dylan, you're actually
unbelievable delicious. C'mon," and we go up the stairs and right down to
my bedroom where Rob helps me off with my/his suit jacket and, as I'm
taking off my trousers, he takes off his pants and neatly folds them over
the desk chair. He throws his tie over his shoulder and, pulling his
underpants down, I hear, "Help me out here, will you babe." Turning around
I see he's holding his fat penis out.

Still wearing my dress shirt and tie I sit on the edge of the bed and take
hold of his slightly firm penis. It's already a big boy as I lean forward
to lick it up-and-down and then all around while holding it up with two
finger at the root, his pubic hairs covering the first knuckles of my
fingers. When his fat cock is dripping with my spit it goes in my mouth and
Rob shuffles his feet a little, grunting, "Umm, ummm, oooh." I suck his fat
cock into a hard boner with him changing his moans to, "Oou, oooh, oooh,
babe, that's good." He knows where the lube is and takes it from the
bedside table as I get up, turn around and lean on the bed with my ass
pushed out like I always do. This will be a fast and hard recreational fuck
and I'm in a good position for that. I love me some hard, fast anal sex,
recreational or otherwise.

Lube is rubbed around and in my asshole and, turning my head, I then watch
Rob circle his boner with the lube smeared in his fist. He's biting his
bottom lip because obviously it feels good doing that. He takes a deep
breath, grins at me, and mumbles, "I'm a little excited, babe, bear with
me, okay? You're so fucking sexy to me I need to be careful I don't have a
fucking heart attack one of these days." I'm a bit excited myself but don't
want to say anything which might delay matters. Moving my shoulders and
ass, getting loose and then nodding my head for Rob to do it.

He steps behind me as I lean over the bed, my hands on the mattress. Rob
gets between my legs slapping my ass hard, "SMACK!SMACK!" making my
buttocks quiver and sting and then the hard, fat head of his cock spreads
the lips of my asshole and tightly slides in with me going, "Ooof!" Robby
rubs his hands up and down my sides, kicks my legs out a little wider, and
then humps his boner up my ass cupping my shoulders and pulling me back
onto the last inch of that hard, fat pole. His pubic hairs tickle my
smacked ass and then they don't when a last jerk on my shoulders pulls me
back the last quarter-inch for a tight docking against his groin. Pain for
a minute as I move my head and then drop it down between my arms waiting
for the pain to fade which it starts doing right on schedule.

With his hold on my shoulders Rob keeps me tightly against his crotch as he
humps against my buttocks, moaning with arousal. I can only imagine how
fabulous his fat cock feels stretching my rectum to this degree. The
tightness on every-fraction-of-an-inch of his hard swollen cock must be
very arousing but he patiently and considerately waits for my ass to
stabilize and properly welcome its familiar guest. The pain is replaced by
the awesome feeling of being totally filled-up back there and my stretched
anus is now firing off those sexy pleasure vibes from the millions of nerve
endings situated there, plus the pressure on my prostate gland has it
sizzling and anticipating the stimulation it'll experience when Rob begins
fucking me in earnest. All of that has me shimmering with pleasure. It has
me gasping and looking back with my eyes pleading... do it, Rob! Nothing
compares to this for sheer sexual thrills, it's thrilling-excitement like
few other things in this world.

Rob brings his hands down to hold onto my hips now and then begins plowing
me a new asshole with fast, hard thrusts. "SLAPSLAPSLAP," sounds ringing
off the walls of my bedroom as his body slaps against my
ass. "Slapslapslap," and, "Oooh, ooh, ooh!" Such sensations! So many nerve
ending and his cock gets them all ringing out pleasure; Rob's boner isn't
missing any of them. Omigod, so much sexual pleasure to enjoy along with
the rough rustling of my body. Rob does 'rough' sex really good! He holds
nothing back; this is so different from last night's sex while at the same
time in many ways its similar.

"Slapslapslap," and grunt, grunt, grunt from Rob and, "Aah, aah, aah," from
me as the sexual pleasure trains roars down the tracks faster than last
night with its whistle blowing and me moaning as though I've never
experienced anything like this before. This is the full thrill ride of
sexual activity and it brings on a thrilling albeit fast hard orgasms that
flies up on us as Robby's making his whining sounds of desperation now and
humping extra hard against my buttocks as we shoot off together with a wall
of sparkling white spots covering my vision. The explosion of climax
spreads over me like fireworks. It's the initial burst of pleasure that
then spreads out and pops again. With me leaning over the bed my orgasm
explosion shoots out a mere eight-inches before splattering on my
bedspread. My throbbing boner is sizzling hot with the pee slit burning as
more creamy hot cum flies out, and then again. Rob's humping so hard he
flattens me against the bed with him on top of me, both of us moaning and
Rob still thrusting, me now lying on my cum and squeezing all the muscles
in my groin trying for one more stream of cum. I'm empty though and I go
limp after that beautiful violence known as 'CLIMAX'.

Quietly moaning I'm trying to grasp all the still sizzling sensations of
orgasm. The orgasm that reached a crescendo ten-seconds ago. It's the world
greatest thrill that approaches closely to human's endurance for sheer
pleasure and at its peak it's almost touching pain, backing off at the last
millisecond. It's fantastically amazing, except it just doesn't last very
long.

We're gasping and sort of chuckling and I suppose it's in amazement that
climaxes never disappoints and always shocks at how sexual hot and
exhilarating the latest one was. You think you know what to expect but that
second at the peak of the thrill, you're like, holy shit I forgot how
fantastic it can get. No wait, you don't think that until one second
later. At the peak, the very top of the pleasure mountain your eyes are
bulging out and there's a tiny fear you've finally slipped too far to the
other side of pleasure and you won't be able to get back, but you always
get back quivering and looking forward to the next ride that'll be so
intense it briefly touches its opposite sensation known as cold and
merciless pain.

Rob goes, "Oh sweet mother of pearl! How can it get any fucking better than
that?" He staggers back pulling his extraordinarily fat cock out of my ass
leaving my anus gaping open. Rob's patting my ass, mumbling "Sex will never
ever get old as long as you bring your ass with you, babe," and he leans
down to kiss my right butt cheek." I snicker, still feeling phantom
sizzling sensations in my rectum.

When pushing myself up off the bed the cum I'm lying in is sticky strings
for a second and then it pulls apart with some of my cum coming along with
me and the dress shirt of Rob's I'm wearing and the rest remaining on the
bed content to be fucking-up my bedspread. I mutter, "I knew I shouldn't
have made-up the bed whenever it was I last slept here. Now I need to throw
the bedspread in the wash." I get off the bed, asking, "Did I get any on
your tie I'm wearing?" Rob shakes his head, "Nope, I pulled it over your
shoulder. It would have been a casualty of your climax otherwise." I go,
"You're so smart, Robert," and he grins and then leans over for a kiss on
my lips. Sugar kisses, lips like candy!

We're both on our feet now, checking each other out. Rob nods his head
toward my bathroom and we troop in there, both of us still with our ties
over our shoulders and our shirttails hanging down covering our junk. I go,
"I hope cum comes out of your dress shirt at the cleaners." He mumbles,
"It's been my experience that it does." When I'm next to the sink Rob
pushes my shirttails up my back and wipes my ass and legs while I'm taking
my tie off and unbuttoning my shirt, saying, "If it's okay with you, I'll
take this dress shirt of yours along with my shirts to the cleaners and
return it to you in the condition you lent it to me in." He goes, "Could
you diagram that sentence, babe?" I go, "I couldn't in middle school so I
most likely still can't."

When we're satisfied we've cleaned ourselves enough, we go back in the
bedroom where Rob's putting on his suit pants as I'm putting on clothes
I'll wear to baseball practice, saying, "Rob, please don't be disappointed
if I screw up at practice today. I was lucky Wednesday." He says, "Don't
think negatively, Dylan. Do your best, that's all any of us can do. Anyway,
you won't disappoint me no matter what. I've told you that over the years
like a hundred times." I go, "Okay. You're right, I'll do my best but I'm
out of my league." He looks at me grinning and muttering "What'd I just
say?" I go, "Oh, was that negative, what I just said?"

Dressed, we go back through the garage door to the pickup where Rob gets
his arms around me, saying, "That was so fucking awesome, Dylan! It was
exactly what I needed to hold me over till Sunday. Now I can't wait for
Sunday night in bed with you again." I go, "Don't forget to tell your
parents I'll be sleeping over again!" He goes, "I won't," and we do a quick
kiss. He lets me go, saying, "I'll pick you up for practice at six-thirty
tonight. Okay?" I nod, "Sure, see you then.' As he's getting in his pickup
I say too loudly, "Wow, that was a damn good fuck, Rob!" He laughs as his
eyes glances up at the closer balconies and then he goes, "Yeah, it was,
wasn't it! How do you like your haircut?" and we both laugh, and I go, "I
still love this haircut." He chuckles, nodding his head and mumbling,
"Lair," as he drives off. Oh man!

Upstairs, sitting on a kitchen bar stool, I call Chubby but it goes to his
voice mail. He probably doesn't even know where his cellphone is. Even with
evil baseball practice looming ahead of me I feel wonderful. Stupid of me
not expecting sex with Rob this afternoon. I mean it was our last realistic
chance until Sunday. While going up the steps to Chubby's condo I can't
stop smiling. This has been the best summer of my life so far.

Chubby answers the doorbell wearing only jockey shorts. He's drinking beer
from a bottle as his eyes open wide. Pointing at my head, he yells, "Bro,
that's a fucking cool haircut! I want one just like it! I love that fucking
cool look. It's the 'IN' look now, you know." Making a 'face' I step in and
he hugs me with one arm. Unfortunately, it's the one with his hand holding
the beer bottle and some beer spills on my shirt. "Oh fuck, Dylan, I'm
sorry." I kick the door closed behind me, saying, "That's okay," and I give
him one of those quick-as-a wink-kisses on his lips that doesn't faze him
at all. We've been kissing-brothers all our lives. He goes, 'What's for
dinner?" I go, "I don't know." Chubby has such a hot body, everything
perfectly proportioned and, like me, no body hair. I can see more muscle in
his chest and shoulders than I have, but both our bodies are pretty much
Mother Nature's choice. I mean neither of us has done serious body
building. We lifted some weights in college but mostly what we've got came
along compliments of our genes-package.

He's so good looking with the most wonderful smile, his brown eyes always
shining. I always have this overwhelming feeling that Chub couldn't be
happier seeing anyone else in the world as much as he is seeing me. What a
great thing it is to be Chub's brother! I grin to myself because it's our
running gag that he wants whatever I get. Not only does he want this
haircut I have but he gets everything I get. He got his two ears pierced
like mine and he has the tattoo like my small one with his name in it
exactly like mine. He had 'Chubby' tattooed stead of Jeffrey even though
I'm the only person who still calls him that. He did it to honor me,
although he'd never be so corny as to tell me that and then whenever we go
shopping he buys the clothes I buy and orders what I do in restaurants and
all kinds of stuff like that. He thinks it's fun doing that... I do too.

I ask, "Aren't you going to put some clothes on?" He goes, "Oh yeah," as if
he didn't realize he didn't have any on. He goes into his bedroom as I sit
at their kitchen bar looking around. Tris keeps their condo immaculate
except for Chubby's room. He comes out wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, baggy
shorts and flip-flops, but a different one on each foot. Chub doesn't do
shit like wear two different flip-flops on purpose to be eccentric or
cool. No, he simply doesn't know where the other one is for either set, and
more importantly he doesn't care. He has tons of friends and lots of
girlfriends although no one ever has meant much more to him than any of the
others. He once told me he's never been 'in love' and wonders if he ever
will be.

Chub goes, "How 'bout a beer, bro?" I nod, "Sure, thanks," figuring it
won't make a lot of different if I'm drunk or sober at practice. Un oh, Rob
will say I'm being negative if he hears me say something like that! Chub
plops an open bottle of Miller Lite on the bar in front of me, asking, "So,
can you do that haircut for me?" I explain about Rob being the only barber
who can do it, unless Chub wants to pay a hundred-dollars in Boston for the
haircut, one not quite as good as Rob can do. I tell him that during Rob's
convalescence he studied barbering tutorials and practiced the little quick
wrist flicks that's necessary, the one that looks simple but isn't. Chub
nods his head, "Damn, you've been my only barber for the last
fourteen-years, Dylan." I shrug, "Rob will be honored you asked for this
haircut." He goes, "Nope, I can't be disloyal to you, my brother." I
chuckle, "Gee, thanks, Chubby, but I swear to God it's okay. If you got a
haircut at some scalp-job barbershop in town, then my feelings would be
crushed, but not so with Rob as your barber."

He wipes his jaw and then reaches over the bar and holds my chin to move my
head this way and that, mumbling, "It's so cool looking. You know who has
this haircut?" He tells me about two guys we went to high school with who
have this type haircut, neither of the guys do I remember but I nod my head
like I do. Chub ran into the two guys in a bar downtown and now they're
best friends again. He goes, "Okay, I'm trusting you, Dylan. I trusting
that you're being honest with me and really don't mind if Robby gives me
that haircut." I go, "I sincerely don't mind and, hell, I'll set it up for
you, Chub. A guy I work with asks me to do the same thing for him." Chubby
points at me, and goes, "Grilled cheese sandwiches. I'll make us a batch
for dinner!" I go, "Do you have bacon?" He nods, "Yes! Even better, grilled
cheese and bacon!" He has so much energy and he makes mundane things seem
exciting!

Chub gets the stuff out to make grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches:
butter, bacon, white bread, American cheese, and a cast iron frying pan. I
watch him while feeling a warm happy sense in my heart for my brother. He
looks at me full of grins and then starts in by frying as much bacon as he
can fit in the pan. Looking up, he asks a non-sequitur question, intended
to be out of the blue like it's no big deal, but I know he's dead serious
about it. "Um, you and Robby getting along okay, bro?" I tell him that
we've never been better and then about me spending two nights sleeping at
the Dickers with Rob, and how his parents seem totally okay with
it. Meaning the gay part of it; us sleeping together. Chubby nods his head
but doesn't say anything, so I ask, "Are you still hesitant about Rob being
the right one for me to maybe marry?" Chubby goes, "Actually I'm much
better with that lately. Rob seems changed somehow. He seems calmer
recently and less, um, less like he's trying-too-hard about, um, about
everything. Ya know?" I go, "You're amazing to have recognized those things
from the few times you've seen him recently. I was thinking the exact same
thing today. I think what you said about him not trying so hard to be
perfect... that hits the nail on the head. He's more relaxed and it's like
he finally decided to just be himself." Chubby nods, "I agree, so I was
wrong about him not being good for you. I was right back then, but since
Robby's changed he's right for you now." I go, "Thanks, Chub, I think he is
too."

While the bacon cooks Chubby tells me a few stories about his date with, as
he puts it, 'that Wanda Blake bitch' and then a story about Jay James, his
co-worker who got so drunk last week he couldn't figure out how to unlock a
toilet stall in a bar and had to yell for help, and then a story about his
friend from college, John somebody, I forget his last name, getting him and
Chub a dormitory room in the new co-ed building at Merrimack. They decided
against an apartment because the quantity of babes to potentially hop in
bed with in a co-ed dormitory is too perfect to pass up. The new dormitory
rooms have been in such demand there was a lottery for them and John knew
someone in the office who was in charge who slipped John's name in as a
lottery winner and on and on.... Chubby always has lots of interesting shit
to tell me.

By then the first two grilled-cheese-and-bacon-sandwiches, perfectly made,
have been consumed and two more go in the pan. I listened and laugh along
with Chubby all through his stories but something is bothering me. All
those words without a single word about what I told him. I mean about the
Dickers being so accepting as me as their son's gay lover. Not a single
comment, just a head nod acknowledging he heard me. I'm only half done the
first bottle of beer as Chub opens another one for himself. We've both
wolfed down our first sandwich and I'm wiping the butter grease from my
fingers, asking, "Chubby, are you disappointed I'm gay?" He looks up with a
serious, maybe even an annoyed expression, saying, "Please don't insult me,
Dylan. We've had this talk five or six times already. In short and to the
point, no, I'm not disappointed you're gay."

I nod my head feeling a little choked-up, but persist. "I was wondering
because you didn't have anything to say about Rob's parents making me feel
comfortable that I'm Rob's boyfriend and lover, sleeping with him in their
house. And when I think about things I can't help but notice you never
personally mention my gayness unless I bring it up, and neither do our
Moms, so I don't know... it makes me wonder." He's looking at me with such
compassion in his eyes, his overall expression making me feel like
crying. He gently takes hold of my hands and holds them between his,
"Dylan, I'm guilty. Guilty of not knowing when or where you'd feel it
appropriate for me to say, 'Here's my gay brother who I love with a
passion', or when to ask you about what it's like being gay, or what
exactly I should do or say that would be the right thing in your eyes, in
your opinion. I want to say or do something, but I don't know what. I just
don't know how to do any of that the right way and I'm sorry."

I'm spellbound as he holds one of my hands against his chest, saying, "All
I know for sure in this world, and I swear I know it in the deepest places
in my heart, is that I don't care if you're gay or straight or have brown
hair or black or have tattoos all over your body or you have none at
all. None of that or a million other things matters to me, not about you
one fucking little bit. You could have all or none of those things or a
million other possibilities I can't think of right now, but none of it
would matter one twit to me... there still wouldn't be anyone on earth I
love as much as I love you. I bonded with you those first seventeen years
of our lives together in a way few, if anyone, ever bonded with another
human being before and nothing will ever break that bond. We were
inseparable doing everything imaginable together to help each other grow-up
and experience life. That was a hard-wire-bonding that's unbreakable and
will stand forever and maybe longer.  My love and devotion for you is as
total and comprehensive as any unconditional love that's ever existed since
time began, so whatever makes you happy I'm on the bandwagon leading that
parade. You are my number one concern in this life and while I don't ever
want to intrude into your life, I watch you all the time and when anything
doesn't seem right I will force myself into your situation until you tell
me not to and then I'll work behind the scene to make whatever's wrong,
right again. So, no, I don't care that you're gay. I'm so proud of you and
so proud to be your brother I don't know the words that would do my
feelings justice. And please don't ever ask me anything like that again!
It's heartbreaking you'd even think there's anything about you I'd
disapprove of."

I've got tears in my eyes and I don't dare try to talk. He puts my hands
gently back on the bar where he got them two minutes ago and then hands me
a Kleenex from a square box of then on the shelf behind him. Finally I
manage to say, "Oh, okay. I was just wondering, Chub, that's all." He flips
the next two grilled-cheese-sandwiches over and grins, "Well now you know,
my brother. And I know that you know that I know you already knew every
word and emotion I just expressed. You knew it all in your heart before I
started" I shrug, "Yeah, I did," and he goes, "Well, I liked saying the
words again anyway so thanks for giving me the opening to say that. It's
just that my heart would break if you stopped believing those words
somewhere along the line." I go, "I won't, Chub. I just needed to hear the
words. You know, hear them just once in a while because I need you to love
me." He nods his head slowly a few times as a tear comes down his cheek. He
croaks, "I know you do, Dylan. I'm sorry I haven't told you how much I love
you recently. We, meaning me, our Moms, and our future Step-Dads try to
think what's the right things to say. You're the best of all of us and we
struggle to find the best way to show our love and support for you. We
worry that you'll think we're being condescending if we say or do it
wrong."

We're both nodding our heads slightly, maybe not sure what to say next. I
finally go, "You know how much you mean to me and how I feel..." he holds
his hand up, "Yes, I do, Dylan, and thank you for feeling that way about
me. It's all I really need in the way of love in my life." Staring at him
for a few second, I then take a bite of my second sandwich, and say, "The
bottom's burned," and he shorts out a laugh, still with tears in his eyes,
and says, "Always the chronic complainer!" I go, "Well it is burnt." We
lighten up and have four grilled-cheese-and-bacon sandwiches each with only
a little more conversation about how I'd like the rest of my family to
react to my gayness. We finally decide everyone should continue doing
whatever they were doing before, plus feel free to mention my gayness
whenever they feel like it. Yeah, it's a 'smoke 'em if you've got 'em'
situation...

I found out all I needed to know from what Chubby said, but like he also
said, I already knew it before he said it. And who could want a stronger
endorsement of love and support than Chubby gave me? Well perhaps a
seriously deranged person might, but I'm not serious deranged enough I
guess because I'm totally content and a little bit thrilled to have
Chubby's love and support. If I was temporarily a little short in the
confidence tank about any of that, Chub filled me up again and I'm good to
go.

Good 'talk' but it's time I get my shit together for baseball
practice. When I'm leaving we don't do some kind of an emotional hugging
and kissing routine. I just say, "Thanks, Chubby. The sandwiches hit the
spot and I liked our 'talk'." He grins and goes, "Yeah, good 'talk'
bro. Hope you make the team!" I wave, " Thanks, Chub, although there's no
fucking chance of that," and the door closes behind me.

Some guys might feel like a pathetic weakling, or a sap for needing to hear
all that from his brother, but I don't. I feel much better than I did when
I was going up to Chubby's and I felt pretty good before then. I wasn't
planning, didn't have a hint I'd even mention the topic of Chub being
disappointed in me for being gay. Not an inkling until the second I brought
it up. It just happened organically because I guess subconsciously I needed
to hear what I already knew. Brothers can be competitive like Rob and
Dodger always were, or supportive and loving the way Chub and I have always
been. Actually, brothers can be a positive influence for each other like no
one else on earth can be. If you've got the right brother, you've got
something worth more than all the gold in Fort Knox, or wherever the fuck
they're keeping it now.

Okay, that was good. I wasn't really worried about my family's support, and
I'm not truly worried about failing at baseball practice tonight, not
really. It's not as those I have an anxiety disorder, and I'm not
paranoid... not really. A little reinforcement from Chubby about his
feelings was nice to hear and he threw in a bonus package by including that
the Moms' and our future Step-Dads' were thinking about that too, and in
every way, they know how they're all supporting me. None of them care that
I'm gay as long as I'm happy and I didn't think otherwise... not really.

I've got ten-minutes before Robby's due to pick me up so I do some bathroom
stuff including brushing my teeth. After getting my glove and putting on
Danny's summer league baseball hat, I go outside to wait for Rob in the
alley where we agreed to meet. Instead of my usual smoke I chew a piece of
Spearmint gum 'cause ballplayers always chew gum. Usually Double Bubble gum
but I don't have any of that at the moment. If the long-shot comes in and I
make the team I'll buy some. See, that's the kind of positive attitude Rob
wants me to have, and so why not have it. It's can't hurt and it might
actually help. And how about the way Chubby picked up on the same changes I
did about Robby? That impressed me and confirmed what I was thinking about
Rob; he's finally relaxed and being himself. Maybe he decided: 'World, this
is me, take me or not, it's who I am.' Or maybe something less dramatic
than that, that's something I'd think, not Rob. He definitely has changed
though. Ya know, it very possibly it wasn't even a conscious thing on his
part; the changes just fucking happened with age.

Between Rob's better and improved self, and his folks' apparent approval of
my relationship with their son, and Chubby's 'talk', well I'm kinda flying
high thinking my life's pretty fucking good. Oh, here comes Rob's pickup
now. I get in and we exchange smirks, both of us thinking about our sex
earlier I'm sure. "How ya feeling, Dylan?" I go, "Good, Rob, how 'bout
you?" Turning around in our driveway, he says, "How am I? Whoa, after our
recent bedroom experience together I'm feeling pretty fucking awesome!"
Yeah, life's good!

Driving up Center Street, he goes, "Damn, my trip to Westborough tomorrow
is hanging over my head like a big dark cloud. That fucking, Neil Trenton,
is the problem. Didn't I tell you he sucked even before this latest cluster
fuck he's created?" I go, "Yeah, you did, but get back in a positive mood,
Robby. Here's some interesting developments that'll help you with that. He
looks at me, "Oh yeah? Please tell me." I go, "First of all, from the
interviews I did today I got eight compliments of varying degrees about my
haircut. A haircut that a good friend of mine did for me. They were from
the younger female interviewees, but none of the interviewees had a single
negative thing to say." He chuckles and nods his head a few times,
muttering, "I can't say I'm shocked at that. Did any of them happen to
mention the skill level obviously involved in making that haircut perfect."
I go, "No one used the word 'perfect' that I recall, but they generally
liked the haircut." We both snort out a chuckle.

I let that sink in before saying, "But that's not the news I was referring
to however. It gets better." Rob goes, "More good news?" I go, "Yep, and
it's still about the haircut." He glances over, "No shit?" I chuckle again
at his smirking and then tell him, "Chubby, he's my brother ya know, and
Marty West, a guy from your company who I ate lunch with when you were
convalescing, both of those guys asked me at different times today to give
them a haircut exactly, not sorta like mine, but exactly like mine." He
goes, "Holy shit! Really? And you're going to do it?" I shake my head, "No
way! I'm not fucking up their hair trying to replicate this haircut. I told
them I'd ask you to give them haircuts." He glances over again with this
incredulous expression, asking, "Seriously?" I go, "Very seriously,
although with full transparency I gotta tell ya that neither of them
mentioned anything about paying for it." He laughs, "Fuck the money. I'm
flattered, Dylan, and you're so nice to refer them to me. I think doing
these haircuts is very cool. Gives me a nice feeling of accomplishment
outside of my regular job." I shrug, and he gets real serious, "I mean, if
you're okay with it, babe. Jeez, Jeff is your brother and I feel kinda bad
that..." I go, "Yes, I know he's my brother, and I want the best for him,
and for this haircut that means you, boss."

Rob's sort of nodding his head looking kinda shocked and kind of
excited. Pulling onto the parking lot near the baseball park, he goes, "If
you're really okay with it, um, when should I do their haircuts?" I go,
"I'm the middle man for this deal and I'll be expecting a kick-back from
you of at least twenty-percent. I'll contact my clients and arrange a time
for them to show up at the pool house." He laughs but I can tell he's
wicked pleased and feeling really good. That makes me feel good for
Rob. Damn, he looks pleased!

As we get out of the pickup, he says, "Thanks, Dylan... really!" Getting
his cleats from the backseat he adds, "That's cool but I guess we need to
think 'baseball' for the next hour though." After Rob changing shoes we
walk off the parking lot and across the outfield. Robby bumps fists with a
couple of acquaintances from his old high school baseball team as we go and
then Danny comes over followed by Hayden. No quick-as-a-wink-kiss here,
just quick one arm hugs and a pat on the chest, "How you guys doing?" from
Danny. I look at the almost nonexistence of hair on the sides and back of
Danny's head and unconsciously feel the side of my head hitting the hat
Danny gave me and almost knocking it off my head. I guess I can call it my
hat now just like Rob's tan khaki suit is mine now too. Guys keep giving me
their leftover shit like I'm a homeless person, not that I mind.

Hayden pats my ass, saying, "Hey Dylan, guess what?" I go, "I can't guess,"
and he goes, "The coach left a message in my voicemail saying I made the
team as a relief pitcher." I smile and do a high five, saying,
"Congratulations!" He goes, "Thanks. Now it's up to you to complete our
foursome. You need to make the team too." I go, "How nice of you to remind
me of that. I really needed that extra pressure!" He goes, "I'm
sorry. You'll do great," and then whistles start blowing. I hug Hayden's
shoulders, "No, it's me who's sorry for snapping at you, Hayden. I'm kinda
tense, kinda nervous." He says, "Ahh, that's alright. Good luck!"

As we're jogging to our group Danny awkwardly gets his arm around the back
of my neck hugging me against his side, saying, "After attendance stick
with me like glue again, okay?" I nod, "Sure." Ya know, with all the
touching Danny does to me, and everybody else, it's never sexual
touching. Never grabs my ass or hits my junk with the back of his
hand. Nothing like that, it's all, um, buddy-touching. Like I've thought
before, all the physical touching Danny does must annoy some guys
tremendously although it's never bothered me. Then my name is the last one
called, "Newman?" "Here" I say, and I raise my hand. Coach says to me,
"Stick with Monday until further notice." I yell back, 'No shit, Coach, how
many times are you numb-nuts gonna tell me that?' No I don't yell that, I
don't yell anything. I feel conspicuous enough as it is with guys looking
over at me wondering who the fuck I am to get a special try-out. I ignore
them all until I see the second baseman, the one who slapped hands with me
after my unbelievable miracle catch and throw to him from way the fuck over
in the outfield. He sees me look at him and smiles giving me a little hand
wave. I nod my head at him noticing for the first time his eyes are much
too close together. Jesus, he must be cross-eyed half the time.

Danny and I are starting this practice in the infield which has poor
footing because of all the rain; it's kinda muddy and slick. Two of the
guys heading for outfield slip in the wet grass and fall on their asses,
cursing and getting up wiping wet grass off their shorts and legs. Guess
the grass was cut recently. Yeah, all this rain we've been having has
fucked-up field conditions something terrible. Then I hear the "PING!
PING!" sounds as balls start flying off aluminum fungo bats to the
outfielders. I pay zero attention to the outfielders though. My eyes are
glued to the infield Coach's grounders and popups to us infielders. Danny's
joking around with the shortstop and then he casually walks over to squeeze
the guy's shoulder and say something to him that they both laugh at with
the shortstop saying, "you wish, Monday!" Whatever...

This will only be a fifteen-minute drill although I bet it'll seems much
longer to me. Danny fields a towering popup with a basket catch at his
waist getting the Coach yelling, "No more fucking showboating, Monday! Join
the Globetrotters if you wanna show off." Danny yells, "Yes, coach!" and
some of the guys exchange smirks with Danny. He's popular. I field a
wet-ball grounder that runs up my arm and another one goes right under my
glove. Coach yells, "Get your glove down, dummy!" No miracles happen
until... ta da, five-minutes into the infield practice all kinds of
whistles are blowing. Oh, what's this?

Well, what it is actually to me is sort of a miracle. Coach Benintendi
waves his arms for everyone to come in. When everyone's clustered around
him, most of the guys full of so much energy they can't stand still going
from one foot to the other, Coach says, "This fucking field's a
disaster. Somebody's gonna slip and split open their ass, so no more field
work today. We'll have extended batting practice and I'll see you boys
tomorrow at noon." Mumbled agreements about the wet condition and then
"PING" batting practice starts.

The order we'll bat in is posted on the batting cage. Danny checks it out
as Robby says to me, "I didn't even get a chance to make some pitches
before coach called practice off." I go, "Oh, that sucks," not really sure
if he's happy or disappointed about that. Watching batting practice, it
seems the guys are hitting the shit out of the ball, much more so than
Wednesday. I've got that wicked nervous feeling in my stomach again
anticipating my turn in the batting cage. I don't know but it's sort of
feels like I want to throw up. How long ago did I tell myself not to worry
about shit like this? An hour ago maybe. It's easy to scoff at my
nervousness hypothetically, but then when I need to do it in real life it's
not so easy to scoff off. How can all these guys be so relaxed? They're
grab-assing and laughing while waiting their turn and I'm about to pee my
pants, my hands sweaty and... this blows!

Hayden and Rob are talking pitching with Rob again trying to help with
Hayden's change-up. And of course, I don't know where Danny is. He's always
rubbing someone's back, or jumping on someone's back for that matter. He's
like a Mexican jumping bean all over the place. It's like he knows maybe
two-thirds of the guys on the team personally and is on a first name basis
with the rest. Man, the energy he has and always with his great cute smile!
I heard some nasty comments about his haircut, but that's not unusual. A
lot of the guy's comments are of the ball-busting variety which is typical
among guys in a group, but atypical when having a one-on-one
discussion. That's just the way of the world with young guys. None of the
guys know me well enough to rag on my haircut though. That's the thing
about ball busting; you mostly do it with guys you know and like. And of
course, there are a number of guys who already have variations of the same
haircut Danny and I have and they naturally think this haircut rocks. I did
hear one of the guys sort of refer to me. He said to Danny, 'You and your
shadow go to the same butcher for haircuts, didn't ya?" Danny laughed and
told him Rob did our haircuts but I don't think the guy believed him.

So I'm standing here with my glove under my arm when someone pokes me in
the ribs. I look over and see the little second baseman. Huh, and his eyes
are definitely too close together. He says, "Hi, I heard about you from my
Uncle and I think I saw you play for that power-house Braintree team a few
years back when I was a junior." I very much doubt that. I do my automatic
smile, saying, "Hi, I'm Dylan, how ya doing?" and hold out my fist to be
bumped. He bumps it as a reflex action, saying, "Yeah, I know who you are
in more ways than one. I'm J. J. Benintendi." I look over at Coach
Benintendi and sort of half-point at the Coach as J. J. goes, "Yeah, he's
the Uncle I mentioned, but I made the team on my own talent. I was on, well
I am on the Swarthmore College team. I'll be a junior next year and get a
chance to be the full time second or third baseman. This year I'm the
infield utility player." Hmmm, Coach Benintendi's nephew huh. I'll try
Danny's friendly touchy/feely technique. I give J. J's shoulders a quick
squeeze, saying, "Well good luck this year. It's nice to meet you, J.J. Is
that two capital letters 'J's?" He nods, "Yes, for John Joseph."

He's smaller than I thought when he ran past me and slapped hands at last
practice. I ask, "How'd you hit last year for Swarthmore?" He shakes his
head, "I didn't pay attention to my batting average." Which means it was
low. He goes, "Ya know, Uncle says he'd have made you a starting outfielder
if you were here for the original try-outs, but by now guys have been
promised starting spots." Oh Jesus, would Coach be wickedly disappointed if
he made me a starter! I go, "No, problem, I'm just here to have fun." He
pokes my side with his hand again, "I can't fucking believe how good
looking you are. I thought, whoa, what a good looking guy when you made
that miraculous catch and throw to me. And now seeing you up close like
this, holy shit! Have you modeled or, um, anything like that...?" Do I want
to make the team this bad? I guess I do for Danny's and Rob's sake if not
mine, sooo... I go, "Thank you, J.J. but no, I've never even thought of
doing something like modeling." Is this guy gay? No straight guy would say
what he just said about me being good looking, and then that modeling bull
shit!

He's staring at me and, no, amazingly his eyes don't cross, but how the
hell they don't I can't imagine. It's like each eyeball must see the other
eyeball whenever he moves his head. J.J. has a nose like the beak on a
large bird. Yeah, it's pointy although looks aren't everything and I guess
he seems like an okay kid; gay or straight. He also has big hands for his
size so that helps him athletically I imagine. He's only Hayden's height
but with a solid build. J.J. probably weighs as much as I do. He has sort
of a hard square body. Normal mouth but ears that stick out as much as
Sonny's, only Sonny looks cute with those ears and J.J. looks like he might
fly away with his beak.

Thinking about Sonny make me grin, and J.J. asks, "What's so funny?" I
shake my head thinking about all the things I could say to him about
'what's so funny?' Instead I mutter, "Nothing, why?"  J.J. asks, "Do ya
ever go clubbing, Dylan?" I'm trying to be very pleasant and keep a nice
little smile on my face, as I ask, "Clubbing? Um, hardly ever. Mostly just
local bars although I like to dance." Oh my gawd, did I just say that? I
don't know, I guess I'm thinking maybe he's gay.

He laughs, "That's an odd thing to say, Dylan. You like to dance, huh?" He
pokes me in my side again and then he looks serious, asking, "Have you ever
heard of the club, Machine Nightclub?" He didn't ask that tentatively
either; it was a bold question. Machine Nightclub is a Boston gay
club. Holy fuck, he is gay! How do they know to come around me though? I've
heard it's my eyes, but he didn't see my eyes until just a few minutes ago,
that's if he can actually see out of those eyes of his in the first
place. I look confuse and repeat the name, "Machine Nightclub. Funny name
but, no, I don't believe I've heard of it."

He pokes my side smirking right in my face, asking, "Are you sure?" What
the fuck is it with him? I go, "Um, yeah, I'm sure, but some friends and I
are going to a club tonight called the Green House. I think that's the name
of it. I've never been there before myself. Like I said I'm not really into
the club scene." He grins and rubs low on my back, close to my ass, saying,
"It's Green Door, nor Green House. If you like to dance you'll enjoy
yourself at the Green Door. It's in Quincy." I shrug, "Like I said I'm
going with a couple of friends. They nagged me to get out of Framingham
once in a while, ya know... heh, heh. Mostly I've always been just a jock."
Oh man, one lie after another!

He's sort of smirking again and sucking on his lips, still staring at me
until he says, "That's a super cool haircut ya got there," and he reaches
up and brazenly takes my hat off and puts it under his arm, saying, "Let me
feel," and he runs his fingers all around my head with me pulling my head
away, giving him a pissed-off expression so he immediately stops and says,
"My bad! Sorry." He put my hat back on my head, but backwards. I say
nothing but don't give him a smile either. He takes his hat off, grinning
and saying, "Mess-up my hair, if you want to get even." Now I'm looking at
him like he's from another galaxy.

He's short but he certainly doesn't lack balls, and he's adopted mostly an
arrogant manner. Nothing like I expected when he first approached me. He
has pale red hair that looks like doll hair. It's not dyed though and it's
cut in sort of a nondescript Supercut haircut. I finally respond to his,
'I'm sorry... mess my hair up to get even' bull crap, muttering, "No,
that's okay, J.J." I don't say, I'd rather not touch doll hair! Then I
hear, "Monday" you're at the on-deck circle. J.J. goes, "That's your guy,
huh? I know Danny." I nod, ignoring that, muttering, "It was nice to meet
you," and turn toward the front of the batting cage figuring I'll get there
first. Danny will want me batting before him to make sure Coach knows I'm
still trying out.

I've lost total interest in sucking up to J.J. and fuck I don't care if his
Uncle puts me on the team or not. As I'm walking away J.J. says, "Yeah,
maybe I'll see you at the Green Door." I go, "Um, ah," but Danny appears
out of nowhere to pat my back. saying, "Hey, J.J. wassup?" and, patting
J.J. on the shoulder, he tells me, "We gotta go, Dylan, we're up next." I
go, "Um, I need to get a bat, Danny."  He holds up the bat of his that I
used last time, saying, "What's this look like. C'mon, babe, you're
next. I'll bat after you." J.J. heard Danny call me 'babe' and his
close-together-eyes open as wide as they can, which isn't a lot. It's like
he's shocked that maybe, 'Danny Monday's gay?!'

Fuck J.J., my balls are the size of acorns from worrying I'll screw-up in
the batting cage. Wednesday, I had the accolades going for me due to my
miracles, but today I made an error on both balls I tried fielding. The
only saving grace is Coach Benintendi was watching the outfielders when I
screwed-up, and my apparent gay admirer, J.J., was in the outfield. We walk
up to the batting cage and Coach says, "Get in there, Monday!" Danny
saunters over to the coach explaining about me and the Coach mutters, 'Oh,
yeah, the special case'. That's what the batting coach called me on
Wednesday too... the special case. If only they knew.

Danny motions for me to get in the cage as if I wouldn't know to do it
without his help. I take his thirty-two-inch bat and stand at the plate
telling myself to swing only at strikes this time. First pitch comes in and
I swing so hard my hat comes off and the ball connects somehow and it goes
over the short fence in right. Coach says, "Home run to right" and writes
something on his clipboard. Looking up I see Coach Benintendi nodding at me
as he's walking by. Thank God he walked away after my lucky home run
because I have three swings and misses after that, with Coach saying,
"You're swinging for the fences, Monday, um, Newman. Dial it down a notch."
He thinks I'm a home run hitter. Ha! The next pitch I try to hold-up my
swing but the ball hits my bat anyway and pops over shortstop. Coach says,
"Single over shortstop" and, while making a notation on his clipboard he
says, "That's the idea, Newman." Fuck, I was trying to hold-up my
swing. Hmmm, so there are some miracles left. Last two pitches are swings
and misses and then I make contact with the rest but no hits or home
runs. Coach says, "Ya can't hit 'em all gotta the park, kid."

Jesus, I'm sweating as Danny steps in. I had five swings and misses, a few
harmless grounder 'outs' and one accidental single to go with the miracle
homer. It was probably the only home run I'd hit if I had a hundred
swings. Oh fuck, at least practice is over for me until tomorrow. How the
fuck can I get out of this without disappointing Rob and Danny? I hear,
"PING" PING" "PING" as Danny hammers the batting practice balls all over
the field. Hayden and Rob bat last so when Danny's done batting we walk
over and get bottles of water. He says, "You were over-swinging like a
mother-fucker in the batting cage, babe." I go, "Didn't you see my homer?"
He shakes his head, "No," and I go, "First pitch I hit over the right field
fence." He's swallowing half the bottle of water doing it the same way he
drinks everything, gulp, gulp, gulp, and then says, "Oh, that explains the
over-swinging. Ya got homer-happy." He doesn't get it! He thinks I'm
talented like him and the others when I'm not! I seem to be the only one
here who realizes that. Maybe it's that they just assume I'm good because
of Danny's lies about me, and therefore they see what the wanna see no
matter what.

Finished the bottle of water, Danny says, "Let's get out of the sun," and
we walk to the overhang at the front of the refreshment stand where he
asks, "What are you doing after practice tomorrow? Rob will be heading out
to Westborough." I shrug, "I don't know. What are you doing?" and in the
back of my mind I'm thinking maybe he's going to suggest some buddy-
sex. He says, "Hayden and I are driving to Sherborne where there's this
awesome pizzeria. They make this thin crusted pizza you'll love, ya wanna
come with us?" Oh fuck, pizza! Well I'll need lunch, so I'm like, "Yeah,
thanks, Danny. Pizza for lunch." He goes, "They don't sell beer, I'm sorry
to say, but they have really good fountain sodas," and he grins at me
rubbing his hand up the back of any head knocking my hat off. He goes,
"Oops, sorry," and catches the hat without taking his grinning eyes off me,
asking, "Isn't this haircut Rob gave us awesome?" I shrug, "Yeah, I
guess... especially for the summer." I'm getting pissed about all this
fucking haircut-fuss! I've been doing guys' haircuts for years and just
because Rob does this one... oh fuck it! It's not that important.

After practice about half the players walk down a block to that big old bar
that's loud and smells like draft beer. It's raucous and rowdy inside on
this Friday night. Huh, I feel like getting drunk for some reason. That's
unlikely however because I don't know these guys except for Rob, who's only
having one beer because he needs to leave soon to get his shit ready for
the weekend and Danny, who can't drink for shit. That leaves the only other
guy I know here, Hayden, who isn't even drinking beer; he's got a mixed
drink. I like, "What's that you're drinking?" Hayden says, "It's just
sparkling water. All of a sudden my stomach's upset." Oh jeez, what a fun
group I'm with tonight. Where's Chubby when I need a drinking partner.

A game of liars poker starts but I don't know the guys so I'm not
interested in joining. Well fuck, I'd just as soon leave when Rob does, but
that would add over a half-hour of driving for him taking me home and then
basically passing this bar on his way home. I'm not asking him to do
that. Sure to his word, after one beer Rob and I do a quick guy-hug
'goodbye' and I remind him, "Danny will pick me up for Saturday practice,
Rob, I'll see you at the high school." He nods, pats my shoulder and
leaves, but he's not a happy camper because of the Westborough trip ahead
of him after tomorrow's practice.

Damn, I wish I knew some of these other guys. I'd even settle for J.J. but
he didn't join our group at the bar. Hayden's feeling sick and Danny's
apparently intent on patting every single guy on the back and generally
being the life of the party. Ya know what? I'm actually gonna order a shot
just to get a buzz on. When the bartender's in front of me I order a shot
of bourbon just like it's something I routinely do. Before my shot arrives,
Danny comes up behind me to squeeze the back of my neck, saying, "Damn, I'm
sorry, but Hayden threw up and we should get him home. Do you mind leaving
now?" I shake my head, muttering, "Nope," but the bartended is putting the
shot in front of me. He gives me a dollar and a few quarters change from my
five-dollar-bill which I leave as a tip. Flashing the shot down, without
gagging for once, I mutter, "Well then, let's go, boss."

We make our way through the guys near the door with Danny doing high-fives
and exchanging laughs with many of them. Right outside the door we find
Hayden leaning against the building looking green. I ask, "What's wrong,
Hayden?" He says, "Fuck if I know. I got really sick in like three
minutes. One minute I'm okay and the next I try drinking seltzer thinking I
have indigestion and the next minute I'm heaving my guts up."

We slowly walk back to the high school and then across the ball field to
the parking lot, as Hayden adds, "It might have been that fucking nacho-dip
I took when Kramer offered me one from his basket." Danny goes, "Is he
sick?" Hayden shrugs, "Probably. Do ya think I can sue?" We have nothing to
say to that. I get in the backseat of the pickup and Danny drives Hayden
home. At Hayden's house, they don't even do their normal quick kiss
'goodbye'. Yeah well, that's perfectly understandable considering Hayden
threw up fifteen-minutes ago. Danny offered to stay with him or drop me off
and come back to see how he's doing, but Hayden claims his Mom's home and
she's good at taking care of him. We watch him go up his front walk with
Danny looking concerned. I mumble, "You offered to stay with him, or check
in on him later. What else can you do?" Danny nods his head, muttering,
"Poor kid," then he looks at me, "Will you have a couple of beers with me?"
Kinda surprised he wants to go drinking, I go, "Yeah, sure, I guess... it's
early on a Friday night, so..."

He drives us to their neighborhood bar, Mac's Bar. It's the one Hayden
brought me to; the one with the pinball machine. Not an especially large
bar; just a U-shaped bar and no tables. The bar is half full plus
five-or-sex guys clustered around the pinball machine shouting like maybe
they're playing for money. We get two barstools at the 'U' end of the
'U-shaped' bar with no one within three bar stools of us. It's mostly men
over thirty with no women, but it's definitely not a gay bar. After the
cursory check of ID, Danny orders two drafts of Bud and two VO shooters."
My eyes open wide, "Danny, you're ordering shots?" He goes, "You had one at
Mike's Tavern so I thought you might...." I go, "Yeah, and I was the most
surprised person in the bar that I ordered it." He shrugs, "I need to get
used to drinking these shots like everyone else." Peer pressure, ya know?
Dumb, but we're all susceptible to that powerful force.

The shots and beers are put in front of us with the bartender saying,
"Enjoy, boys," and then taking Danny's twenty-dollar-bill with him to get
change. We both drink some beer and then look at the shots, but don't touch
them. We're leaning forward, our forearms are on the bar as I look at Danny
who moves his arm so the side of his arm is touching mine. I glance at
that, not at all sure he even realizes he did it. It's in his nature to
make bodily contact no matter how small apparently.  He asks, "Have you
noticed a difference in Hayden since he came back from California?" I go,
"No, not really, but then I don't really know him that well, um, yet."
Danny grins and pats my arm, "The four of us are becoming close friends,
aren't we?" I shrug at that, thinking it's kind of a creepy thing to say,
but I finally mutter, "Yeah... I guess." He says, "And last night there was
some bonding between Rob and my boyfriend." Well that's true, and I was
really surprised to see it, so I nod again, "Yes, after all those years,
huh?"

We drink silently for a minute as I'm getting the feeling Danny has
something he wants to say to me. He finally takes a deep breath, looks at
me, and goes, "Like I told you before, I find talking about someone's
private sex life an uncomfortable thing to do. It's fucking awkward, ya
know?" I look sideways at him as I drink some beer and he goes, "Funny
though that I feel comfortable with you, Dylan, like I can confide in you
and it'll stay between us. Right?" I go, "Sure, absolutely," and it
actually will too!

The bartender brings back Danny's change and that must have reminded him we
have shots. He says, "Oh fuck, let's drink these shots first, babe," and he
picks his up, so I do too. Danny says, "To new friendships," and he taps my
shot glass. Down the hatch go the VO shots with both of us making a 'face'
and gulping down some beer right after swallowing the burning liquor. He
says, "Whew, that wasn't bad at all. Um, what I want to say is... well,
Hayden and you both know Rob and I are long-time side-sex buddies and
Hayden accepts it's what us gay guys do, ya know. I'm concerned though that
Hayden is maybe getting jealous now that you're a steady side-sex buddy of
mine too." Steady? We're barely side-sex buddies, but I don't say anything
because I'm curious where he's going with this.

Twirling the empty shot glass on the bar, Danny looks at me again grinning
and mumbling, "This is awkward, isn't it?" Well no, not so far it isn't,
but I just do a little noncommittal shrug.  He clears his throat and goes,
"Here's what I'm trying to say: I think Hayden jealous that as the leader
of our little group I now need to, um, well servicing you too, so to
speak." Oh fuck, he couldn't possibly mean that the way it
sounded. Servicing me? Oh please! He forges on, "Ya know, Hayden might be
worried I'll cutback on him." What, cutback to zero? Danny mumbles, "Of
course, I wouldn't do that to Hayden because, well, I don't want to. He's
my boyfriend and I love him. Not in love, but you and I talked about that
already, didn't we?" I don't remember if we did or not, although Hayden and
I had a conversation about it. I mumble, "Uh huh, I guess," and sort of
make a 'face', as if I'm trying to remember if we did.

Danny finishes the rest of his beer. He does it the way he drinks
everything, gulp, gulp, gulp. I get the bartender's attention and sort of
twirl my finger around our glasses only realizing too late that he'll bring
another shot too. Fuck, but I don't know where Danny's 'talk' was headed
and I wasn't thinking straight. Oh well, I chug the rest of my beer. Anyway
these beers are only like eight ounces.

We get two more shots and beers as Danny looks at the new drinks, grinning
and saying, "Holy shit, this is so awesome of you to buy us a shot and
beer, Dylan. Thank you!" Is he fucking serious? I snort out a laugh
thinking he's being factitious considering he just bought the first round,
but he frowns at my laugh, asking, "What?" Oh, he was serious. I mumble,
"Nothing. Um, what were you saying?" Looking up I see my twenty-dollar-bill
going with the fat bartender. Danny goes on, "Oh yeah. Well, I assured
Hayden that he's my number one concern and nothing has changed in that
regard, you know, um, sexually between us," and his face blushes a pale
pink. Clearing his throat again, he says, "Hayden seemed okay with my
explanation knowing we'll still find someplace to, you know, someplace for
me to fuck him as often as three times a week, if we get really lucky."
Ding, ding, ding... news flash! If they're lucky... three times a week,
huh? That's not bad! It's not good, but it's not totally bad either. I bet
there are lots of gay and straight guys who's be happy to have sex three
times a week.

Danny takes two big swallows of his new beer, looking at me, "You know,
Dylan, drinking with you makes this conversation easier than I thought it
would be. You're awesome company, babe!" and he hugs me with both arms
around my shoulder right here at the bar. Awkward! Didn't he say something
was awkward for him a minute ago?

The side of his face brushes against mine and his short light-beard feels
just as sexy-good as I imagined it would. After the five-second hug, which
seemed much longer, he sits back, saying, "It's fun being with you. Rob was
always telling me that same thing, that it was fun being with you, and now
I see what he means." What? I haven't said five words or done anything
since we sat down. Jeez, Danny's a sweet and sexily unique guy. Very
unique, which I never knew until a few weeks ago. I wasted all that time
being oblivious to him and in the process probably squandered, ha ha, as
many as two-or-three side-sex experiences in those three-years. Ha ha, he's
not a prolific side-sex buddy. Not yet he isn't, but we'll see.

Really though, Danny has an innocent and caring outlook on life and it's
fucking endearing. Who knew? Robby never talked about Danny to me, or about
me to Danny. That's obvious. Incongruously, Danny now reaches over and
gently brushes across my cheek with the pad of his finger once, twice, and
then, frowning and mumbling, "I'll get it this time," and a third swipe at
my face. I'm using all my willpower not to pull my head away, but I can't
help moving it back a little. Then he mumbles, like it's a normal thing to
touch someone's face, "There was a loose eyelash, babe, I got it for you."
Almost anyone, if they'd even bother, would point, saying, 'There's some
shit there near your left eye' and I'd brush it away myself. Glancing
around I see we've attracted some casual 'looks' from the men at the end of
the 'U' shaped bar.

Danny's oblivious naturally. He drinks some more beer and then says, " So
I'm dealing with Hayden's jealousy fears. That's one thing. The other is I
need to admit I'm disappointing you. I just know I am, but I'm gonna get
better! This is primarily why I wanted to talk with you tonight. As our
leader, I need to reassure you I haven't forgotten my responsibility with
you." Danny's even more clueless when drinking apparently, but I think he's
going to be talking about side-sex between him and me, so talk away Danny.

But no, he wants to explain about him and Hayden having problems with
finding convenient places to have sex, and it's almost never in a bed. Poor
fellows. Trying to get him back on track talking about him and me, I go,
"Gee, I'm sorry you and Hayden often having a problem finding a place for
good sex. That won't be a problem though because my place is almost always
available." He goes, "Holy shit! That's awesome! And you wouldn't mind if
Hayden and I use your bedroom? I mean if we give you advance notice." I go,
"What? Um, huh? I'm talking about you and me." He goes, "Oh, of
course. Your bedroom!" I nod, "Yeah, you were getting around to discussing
our buddy-sex. Remember, you said you're letting me down, or something..."
He says, "That's right! I admit I've been ignoring you but I'm gonna 'up'
my game and make sure I save some time for you and me, um, not tonight
though."

It takes my mammoth willpower not to ask, 'Why the fuck not?' Instead I
say, "I wasn't hinting about tonight. Jeez, Danny! You brought it up; not
me." He goes, "I'm sorry! I guess I've been talking in circles but this
Hayden thing has me upset. I'm missing his bubbly personality and the way
he used to be all over me too, hugging and kissing me. I'm a big fan of
bodily contact, ya know, like the foreplay I do for you." Jesus, foreplay?
I can hardly remember it, it's been so long ago now. I go, "Oh yeah! You do
that as good as anyone, Danny." His eyes get big, "Really? Thanks! You're
the nicest guy!"

It's finally too much, and I have to ask, "Just curious, but why can't you
and I do it at my place in like a half-hour?" He shrugs, "We're drinking,"
I nod, "Yeah, so?" and he goes, "I like to be sober and at my best, and we
have another shot of VO sitting right in front of us." I go, "We don't need
to drink it. Seriously, Danny, I kinda miss our buddy-sex." Oh what
willpower I have! Not really... gee, why don't I get on one knee and beg
him? Danny's nodding his head and then he says, "Really? Okay, yes, why
not? Let's do it! And I can have the shot too. I don't want you to think
I'm a pussy." I go, "I don't! The thought never entered my mind. You and
pussy do not compute. Not in my brain." He grabs the back of my neck and
squeezes, saying, "You'd be an easy person to love. Do you know that?" and
he pulls my head over against his for a second. Holy shit, he's not going
to kiss me in here, is he?

He doesn't. He sits back but at least it's settled that we'll finally have
buddy-sex at my place... maybe. He goes, "Another thing, Hayden used to
make me laugh with all his exaggerated gay mannerisms and, um, swishing
stuff, but he hardly does it at all now which is to say he's not being
himself and I know why. You, me, and Rob are just naturally straight-acting
as much as the straight guys I know. Not because we plan it this way, it's
just how we roll, ya know?" Damn, he's back on Hayden-talk again. Oh well
they are boyfriends so I nod and drink some more beer thinking I'm gonna
probably need that second shot pretty soon, or is it the third one for me?
I mean, all the stalling he does!

Danny takes hold of my arm, the one that's innocently just resting on the
bar. I look at him and he goes, "Hayden doesn't feel he can be himself, ya
know? So what I wanna know is, would you mind if I encouraged him to be
more like himself? That's the other thing I wanted to ask you." What was
the first thing?  I go, "Frankly speaking, if you mean Hayden's outlandish
act at the airport, it'd be hard for me to pretend it wasn't annoying. I'm
sorry, but that was over-the-fucking-top, um, to be honest with you." He
says, "You're always honest as far as I can tell," and he squeezes my arm
again. Glancing at the side of Danny's series expression and damn, he does
look cool with that haircut. Or maybe the booze is making my little crush
on him get bigger. His light beard felt so sexy against my face. Oh man,
how about the way it would feel against the inside of my thighs? Oh shit,
that thought makes me tighten my stomach and groin muscles. I do a little
fake cough like I'm clearing my throat covering up a possible quiet moan.

One-track-mind-Danny, says, "I don't mean Hayden acting crazy like he was
at the airport. He was nervous about our reunions and just trying to make
me laugh. I mean if he acts himself, like he was at the movies the night he
met you. Would that annoy you?" I shake my head, "Not really I guess, but
it would annoy Rob quite a bit." He finishes his beer gulp, gulp, gulp. For
a guy who doesn't drink much, he sure drinks fast. He does a quiet burp and
says, "That's what I think too." Meaning I assume that Rob would be annoyed
at Hayden's gay act. Danny orders another round and I go, "Hold off on the
shots, Danny!" Naturally my mind is on Danny and me in bed for that
buddy-sex we agreed to do tonight. And, no I'm not horny, or no more than
usual, but I have a crush on him. I'm talking about Danny and I having fun
recreational buddy-sex, ya know, the way Danny does buddy-sex.

I can't get him to leave the bar or stop talking about Hayden so we have
more rounds, omitting the shots whenever I can get the bartenders attention
in time. Danny's not good with 'bar details' like informing the bartender
exactly what we're requesting. When he's not talking about Hayden he talks
about a lot of things in a stream of consciousness manner and while most of
it is about guys and incidences I don't know or care about, I still enjoy
looking at him while he talks. He has the sexiest mouth.

I'm nodding my head as if I'm listening to what he's saying as he goes off
on this long-winded story while holding onto my wrist the whole time. And
then he lets go of my wrist and holds my hand as he's talking. He does it
routinely and without it meaning anything, but others in here don't know
that. I soon drop my arm below the bar so it isn't so obvious. This has no
effect on Danny as he's apparently just as content to hold my hand below
the bar as on top of it. Realizing this, I pull my hand away and as he does
most of the taking we have three-or-four more rounds of beers along with an
occasional shot of VO. He keeps buying a round because I bought the last
round and I try explaining since he bought the first round I buy the last
one so we're even. This concept alludes him however and the rounds keep
coming. Danny's very animated when he speaks and with total eye contact
that's so continuous it's giving me a headache. His sincerity about
everything is off the charts so I resist the urge to cover his mouth with
mine and stick my tongue in there. 'Crushing' on Danny is fun, but it can
be frustrating too.

And here comes the bartender with two more shots and beers. Again I think,
for someone who doesn't like to drink, and who doesn't do it often, this
boy must have a hollow fucking leg. He's getting very drunk though. He
goes, "Oh, " when he sees the shots and raises his arm, saying, "Excuse
me," as the bartended is walking away with another one of our
twenty-dollar-bills. There's quite a lot of dollar-bills and change in
front of us from the twenties. I take hold of Danny's arm, saying, "Forget
it Danny. He can't put the shots back in the bottle. We just won't drink
them. We've got to get out of here!" He blinks, "What's that, Dylan?" I go,
"Let me deal with the bartender." He nods, "Yeah, fuck, I should have
thought of that. You're kinda smart, huh? You probably do good in college."
I go, "Not really. Rob and I study our balls off to earn our 3.0 GPA. All
through high school I had like a 2.0 GPA or something like that. I'm
average." He says, "You're modest is what you are."

I drop the subject. He was talking last about his Mom buying a car, and to
fill the time while we finish off the last of there the booze, I return to
a topic I at least know something about, saying, "This is our last round of
drinks. So let's decide what we can do to help Hayden be his old self?"
Danny goes, "Omigod, do you know how few guys in this world would even
care? You not only care, you want to help." I shrug, "Yeah, well.., most
guys in the world don't know Hayden, or you, or me." He goes, Huh?"  and he
chugs half his beer and then says, "When just you me and Hayden are
together, minus my awesome friend, Rob, um, then you need to do, um,
something. Hmmm?" I roll my eyes as he slurs, "Oh yeah, you need to tell
Hayden, um, something like, hmmm? Let's see, what could you tell him? Oh,
you could tell him you miss some of his shenanigans with the gay-acting
stuff and he should feel free to be himself around you. That's it! I know
he reaaaaally likes you a lot and if it came from you he'd believe you."
I'm like, "Look, I'm drunk, and I might even do what you're suggesting
except you need to coach him about not taking his exaggerated swishing-self
above the level he had it at when we met." Danny nods, "We met as freshman,
right." I go, "When Hayden and I met, Danny, not when you and I met." He
nods his head and then finishes his beer, gulp, gulp, gulp and holds up his
glass to the bartender. Hmmm, kind of a crass move there. I guess this
wasn't our last round. At least the two shots are still in front of us, so
unless the bartender's an idiot he'll know not to bring two more.

Danny gets a fresh glass of beer and I get backed-up, not having finished
my last glass. I tell the bartender, "Please, take that round out of here,"
pointing at the money in front of me." He moves the pile of bills around
and takes four-ones. Huh, two-bucks a beer. Danny goes, "Okay, that's great
and thank you very much, Dylan. Now that I got my Hayden situation settled,
um, tomorrow night before the club we'll do some front-loading, as they
call it at Merrimack. It'll be at Hayden's. His mother is the nicest
woman. While we drink our front-loading, um," and he's patting the back of
my hand, asking, "What was I saying?" I go, "Front loading," and he nods,
"Yes, that's it. Hayden is gonna make-up each of our faces. Not ridiculous
amounts," sounding like,'reechilous'... Clarifying further, he goes, "Just
light make-up that Hayden's a master at it. The three of us can let
ourselves go and be as gay as we want at the club. Oh and I've got the
first dance with you and, definitely most of the slow dances."

I'm looking at him like he just dropped in through the roof. "Make-up?
Whaddaya talking about?" He goes, "Yeah, some of the guys at the Green Door
will be in drag, but not us. We just go with Hayden's expert make-up. Well,
Hayden's allowed to get flamboyant at the Green Door, right? Omigod, I
almost peed my pants laughing at him the last time we were there." I go,
"What about this make-up?" He shrugs, "The usual, eyebrow pencil, eye
shadow, and fuck, you'll need to ask Hayden what all else. Tell 'em what
you like and he can do it. Sparkles on your nail polish, no fucking
problem, um... other stuff too." I'm speechless as he looks at me and pats
my cheek, saying, "I'm kinda drunk so I can't recall everything that Hayden
can do with make-up. Anyway, ha ha, babe, you're gonna look fucking
beautiful. Well ha, you already are, and oh fuck, I'm drunk."

I go, "Huh, sparkles in my nail polish, ya say? I don't want to be a wet
blanket but I'm not gonna wear make-up in public. Hayden did some make-up
on me once but I just washed it off before leaving his house." He gives me
an old 'look' asking, "When were you at Hayden's house?" I go, "I forget."
He does the arm behind my neck thing, squeezing and saying, "It's just a
little make-up and we, you and me want Hayden to have a good time. At least
on Saturday night at least." Two 'at least's', one in the front and one at
the end of his sentence. No use trying to talk sense to Danny now and I'm
thinking our side-sex tonight could be seriously in jeopardy as well. Ha
ha! It's very possible Danny hasn't had a chance to 'up' his 'game' yet. I
take my shot and flash it down and finish the rest of the beer. Pulling
over the backed-up beer, I go, "Sure, whatever, Danny. We'll talk more
tomorrow."

He's still got his arm around the back of my neck with his cute face close
to mine, slurring, "You're fucking awesome and one of a kind, baby.' I'm
glancing around, saying, "Keep it down a little, Danny. Please!" There's
some grumbling over in the corner and some 'looks' are still shooting our
way so I drink half the beer and then pull Danny off the stool. "Let's go,
Danny. I've had enough to drink." He shrugs, "You're awesome anyway,
Dylan." I'm going through his loose change on the bar, putting all but
three-bucks in his pocket and then looking at the money in front of me,
almost five-bucks. I decide to leave it in case we need the bartender on
our side as we leave. The door's right across from where we were sitting so
I drag Danny, without being too obvious about it, out the door,

It's so wonderful inhaling the cool fresh air out here tonight, that is
until a tractor-trailer goes nosily roaring by leaving a terrible smell of
its exhaust in its wake. Danny says, "What's that smell?" He leans on me
staggering to the car, and I'm like, "Would you like me to drive, Danny?"
He says, "Hold my hand, Dylan," as he grabs my hand, then bends over and
vomits. I look away, basically holding him up. He vomits again, straightens
up and says, "Yes, you drive." I didn't think he even heard me. Jesus, I
never throw-up that easily. Danny did it almost like spitting. When I
throw-up my stomach lurches violently and then it doesn't happen right
away. First, I suffer knowing it's coming and all this sort of water runs
out of my mouth from somewhere, stomach bile probably, and then my forehead
breaks out in sweat and then I feel cold and then it's a violent vomit,
straining the muscles in my stomach so they ache for a couple of
days. Danny says hold my hand and he throws up twice and then says, "Yes,
you drive."

I get him in the passenger seat, put his seat belt on, and go around to get
in the driver's seat trying to remember how to get to his house from
here. It's not too far, I know that much. Turning the engine over in his
Volkswagen, I ask, "Do you think you'll need to throw-up again?" He goes,
"Oh, no, I'm good now. Thanks for holding my hand. That helped a lot."
Sarcasm? No, what am I thinking? This is Danny Monday and he doesn't do
sarcasm. Instead he's now babbling on about how much it means to Hayden and
him that I'm so awesome to them, and he says he's admired me from afar and
now we're best friends... and on and on. I say nothing, concentrating my
balls off on driving the speed limit and trying to figure out where I am.

Danny interrupts his monologue about how awesome I am to, out of the blue,
say, "Turn here." I almost laugh out loud, but I like him so much I
don't. He'd misinterpret it as me laughing at him when I prefer to think
I'd be sort of laughing with him. I get him to his house and he says,
"Would you like to come in for a beer or something?" I do laugh a little at
that, and mumble, "No thank you, Danny. Let me help you get inside?"  He
can't get his seatbelt unhooked so I take mine off, lean over him and
unlatch his seatbelt. He kisses me on my cheek as I'm doing that and all I
can think of is the sound of him throwing up ten-minutes ago.

To be safe, I walk him to the door where, after he fumbles with the key for
a bit, I take the key from him, "Let me try, Danny. Locks can be
problematic at times," He goes, "That's the problem with locks." I look at
the lock and ask, "Is this the right key?" He blinks, "No, you'll never get
in with that key," and his hand goes in his pocket and he comes out with
two more keys. I choose the one that looks like it belongs to this lock and
unlock the door wondering what the other keys are for. "Thanks for helping
me, Dylan." Yeah, well oh fuck, I better go in with him.

Inside there's a night light on but it's quiet as a tomb in here. I
whisper, "Upstairs?" He nods and I help him stagger up the stairs. He goes
to the left and into his bedroom fumbling around on the wall until an
over-head light comes on. He says, "Thank you," and goes to sit on the bed
but misses it and sit on the floor, giggling. Oh balls! Getting him up, I
undress him, with little assistance from him, and when I have him down to
his boxer shorts I give a slight push and he falls lengthwise on his bed as
I'm pulling the cover down, and then up over him. Patting his shoulder, I
whisper, "I'll text you in the morning about bringing your car back." He
grabs my arm and says, "Stay with me, Dylan," and he moves over in his
double bed, whispering and slurring, "and sleep with me." 'and sheeps with
me.' Tempting, but I'm way more than a little leary of explaining all this
to his Mom tomorrow morning. I pat his head whispering, "Nice haircut," but
he's asleep.

Making my way as quietly as a mouse down the stairs, I'm out the door only
now realizing I'm roaring drunk myself. Compared to Danny I felt almost
sober, but without him to compare myself to I feel drunk. The ride home
takes longer than it should because in the dark I make a wrong turn and get
lost in a web of connecting roads that takes me deeper and deeper into this
development and when I do find a main road I drive right past Rob's house
almost stopping to sleep there. All the lights are out but I could knock on
the backdoor until someone, probably Mr. Dickers, opens it and I could
explain how I don't want to drink and drive, so... Of course, he might ask
how I got there if I didn't drive.

That's not the only reason I keep driving, but it gives me a chuckle
thinking about it. Oh man though, I'm very tired and it's not even twelve
o'clock yet. At least I know my way home from Robby's and I make it there
safely although I'm pretty sure Mr. Dickers wouldn't approve. Parking down
below at the curb I'm so happy to be going up these steps to my condo and
safety... and sleep. Inside I take three Advil with a big glass of some
kind of juice my Mom likes, definitely not OJ, and then I'm in the bathroom
for a long piss. Washing my face and hands, brushing my teeth, and then
stripping to my underpants... and what a wonderful feeling getting under
the covers with my head on my pillow. Without thinking about anything I'm
asleep very quickly.

Saturday morning, I wake-up with a wicked hangover but less of one than I
expected. Praise the Lord! I'm afraid Danny won't be as lucky, although he
did throw up what amounted to the last hour's worth of beer and VO shots,
so maybe he won't be so bad off after all. It's ten-thirty and normally I
wouldn't even consider getting out of bed feeling the way I do on a
Saturday morning except there's that fucking twelve o'clock baseball
practice! I force myself to get up and after I do all my bathroom
requirements, including a wonderful ten-minute hot shower, I pad into the
kitchen wearing underpants and baggy shorts that hang low on my skinny
hips, the legs of the shorts reaching my knees. It's the cool way to wear
shorts, obviously.

Two more Advil go down with a glass of what turns out to be a peach/orange
juice concoction that Mom likes, and it's quite tasty
actually. Unfortunately, I drank the last of the quart from the carton so
Mom will need to have something else this morning. I grab our note tablet
and write, 'I'm sorry Mom, I selfishly drank all your juice because it's
delicious. Love you! Dylan' For a Mom that'll be an 'Awww' moment. Moms
mostly love their sons and we mostly take advantage of it.

Not feeling well enough for solid food, I make a K-cup of coffee and while
sipping on it I think how much better Mrs. Dickers' coffee taste than this
K-cup of coffee. Carrying the mug of inferior coffee back to my bedroom
and, with a sigh, I put on a baggy T-shirt. It'd have to be baggy since all
my T-shirts are size large or XL size. I should wear a medium but how
uncool is it to wear the correct size! Get real!

When I think of it I text Danny, 'Did you make it through the night?' He
texts right back, surprising me he's even out of bed, 'Yes, quite well
although I have a blackout situation from about ten o'clock on.' It's
twenty-after-eleven so that was thirteen-hours ago. I text, 'I'm on my way
to get you.'  With his keys in my hand I pat my pocket verifying I have the
three vital necessities: my wallet, my cellphone and my cigarettes although
the cigarettes won't be even thought about until much later
today. Secondarily I like to have a handkerchief in my other back pocket to
sneeze into should I need to do that. I'm opposed to guys sneezing loudly
into the air in front of them sharing all their tiny mucus droplets with
all of us in the vicinity. Opposed to the degree if I had a gun I'd shoot
the person twice in their kneecaps... bang, bang.

Danny comes out at the toot of his Volkswagen's little horn and he says to
me as he passes by the driver's window, "Best if you still drive, babe. I'm
slightly shaky." He gets in, leans over and kisses my lips and then says,
"Thank you for taking care of me last night. I owe you one." Or two or
three, but who's counting? His breath smelled minty fresh this
morning. Danny's breath always either smells fresh and clean or, after a
day of eating subs or whatnot, it smells neutral. I don't know how that
happens, but it's fact, not opinion. The exception being last night after
throwing up, but I'd rather not think about that.

As Danny lies his head back on the seat, I drive away from the curb, asking
him, "So, it was a black-out situation last night, huh?" He goes, "Yeah,
but I remember all the good parts about you." Hmmm, maybe he's forgotten
all that shit about Hayden wanting to be himself. It's a short drive to the
high school. He, Hayden, and Robby all live in the same general area on the
right side of Framingham Center much closer to the high school than from
where I live.

While parking, I go, "Just a heads-up for you, Danny, that kid J.J. is
as-gay-as-a-May-pole." His head comes up, " Whaaaat? J.J. Benintendi?" I
go, "The very one," and Danny's like, "Are you shitting me?" I tell him
about J.J. coming on to me last night at practice with the back rub and
talk of gay clubs. We're parked in the lot next to the ballpark still
sitting in the car. I go, "And he's coming to the Green Cottage, or
whatever it's called Saturday night which, as you may remember, is
tonight." Danny's horrified, "How'd this happen? How'd he know you're gay?"
I shrug, "Fuck if I know. I didn't ask him and neither of us said the word,
'gay' but we both knew."

We get out wearing our baseball caps and carrying our gloves. He leans
against the car changing into his baseball cleats. Danny's gift to me of
barely used batting gloves are dangling out my back pocket; the pocket with
my wallet. I wouldn't want to put the gloves in the pocket with my
handkerchief because that could pull out when I pull out the gloves and
everyone would make fun of me for carry a handkerchief, the barbarians.

Danny's baffled and very concerned about gay J.J. He goes, "What'll we do,
Dylan? No one knows I'm gay and he'll see me at the club tonight. His
fucking uncle is Coach Benintendi!" I go, "No shit. I didn't think there'd
be two Benintendi's without them being related somehow." He's frantic,
asking again, "What'll be do? Not go clubbing tonight?" There's an idea I
could embrace!!  But no, they can't go the rest of their lives avoiding gay
clubs, not if they like gay clubs! I ask, "What are the chances J.J. is out
of the closest?" Danny holds onto my arm, so I stop, but he didn't want us
to stop, he just wanted to hold my arm, so we go on. I haven't learned all
his touching-signals yet.

He goes, "There's no chance J.J. is openly gay or I'd know about him." I
shrug, "So we confront him, that's if we see him at the Green House. We'll
form a pack of secrecy with him, basically for you and him. You won't tell
he's gay and he won't mention about you. Me, I don't give a shit if he outs
me or not." Danny squeezes my arm, "You are one smart mother-fucker, babe!"
I go, "Wrong on both counts," and he asks, "Whadaaya mean?" I shake my
head, "Nothing. So, we go to the club tonight, and fuck with J.J.!" Danny
looks at me, "Both of us?" I shake my head, "Not literally fuck him,
Danny. We fuck him over with the threat to 'out' him if he says anything
about you. Actually, considering his hard-ass uncle, your friend J.J. has
more to lose than you do."

Hayden comes over all bright eyed and bushy tailed. What the fuck does that
mean anyway? Hayden doesn't have a tail. He goes, "Hi, guys!" and Danny
lets go of my arm to do a guy hug with Hayden. Then he tells Hayden about
J.J. and Hayden goes, "That short guy with the weird eyes?" I go, "Yes,
that J.J." Both Danny and Hayden now seem jumpy and nervous, but I have no
fucking idea what Hayden's problem is. Every-fucking-body already knows
he's gay. Danny's in the closet and I mean not only to his mother, but to
the whole world, except for Rob, Hayden, and me. Well, there's also the guy
who pays Danny, or used to, twenty-bucks to let him blow Danny.

Rob comes over looking very well rested, but not happy. We do a quick hug
'hello' and he grumps, "Fucking Westborough is hanging over my head like a
hangman's noose. Damn, I hate wasting the weekend there." I go,
"Double-time pay. Don't forget that." Robby grins, "Hey, my positive
thinking is finally wearing off on you, babe." Yours or Danny's positive
thinking. I go, "You've got no realistic option anyway, ya gotta go to
Westborough, so fuck it. Make the best of it and you also need to make up
to me for breaking our dinner date in Boston tonight." He goes, "Holy shit!
I forgot about that. Yeah, spending some of Dodger's thousand-dollars. Next
Saturday, Dylan... that's a date! Definitely and I'm sorry I forgot." I go,
"Oh Christ, forget it. You've got other things to think about."

The baseball practice this morning is a full one, meaning it'll last at
least an hour. The Coaches taking attendance, that's the first thing on the
agenda, and then we break-up into infielders and outfielders and the "PING!
PING!  sounds mean we're off and running. In the outfield, I over run a fly
and it drops behind me, and another ball is over my head but then I do
catch one after a kinda long run and that's the one Coach Benintendi
happens to be looking up at. The other two he was looking in another
direction. Then when Danny and I are in the infield fielding grounders and
pop-ups, Coach is walking by when I back-hand a hot grounder headed for the
hole between me and the first baseman. Coach mumbled, "Nice stop, Newman,"
and he's on his way to observe as many players as he can. After my good
catch, I looked over at Danny who's grinning at me, mouthing, 'and you say
you're not good enough''. The Coaches aren't seeing my fuck-ups so I guess
my guardian angel is still with me. In the first place, it's not like I
suck at baseball. For sandlot games, I'm one of the first two or three
players picked when choosing sides. I'm just not consistently good enough
for organized high school teams, never mind college teams. It's not about
one good play after three bad ones. Ya gotta make them all, or almost all.

Waiting for my turn at the batting cage J.J., who I avoided until now,
comes up behind me and pokes my side like he did last night. I turn and
say, "Yo, J.J. what's up, dude?" He goes, "Hi Dylan. I wanted to apologize
for being a bit too, um, obnoxious yesterday. I guess that's as good a word
as any for how I acted." I raise my eyebrows questioning, like, 'Yeah,
and...?' He goes on, "My neighbor, Teddy Tesdavery, and I had a discussion
last summer about the best looking gay guys we'd ever seen. Teddy's bi, and
he described you. I never forgot your name, Dylan, and when I heard someone
call you by that name and then saw you up close aI I thought you've gotta
be that fucker Teddy was boasting about."

My mind is going a mile a minute... Teddy Tesdavery? Who the fuck's that?
Until, oh no, Theodore Tesdavery the III. Fucking Stringbean! I mutter,
"Bean?" and he's like, "Yeah, Bean, he was fucking you on a regular basis a
few summers back and he couldn't say enough good things about you. I should
have come right and said I knew him instead of jerking you around. So I
apologize for that, okay?" I nod, "Yeah, sure, but Bean wasn't fucking
anybody routinely, never mind me... just for the record." He shrugs like he
couldn't give a shit either way and then his name is called for the on-deck
circle. The infielders are batting before the outfielders today. J.J. takes
off saying over his shoulder, "Hey, Dylan, I saw that wicked line-drive
homer you hit yesterday, dude, that was awe inspiring!" Jesus, all these
assholes have me mixed-up with someone else!

Huh! That fucking Bean has always been like an old lady addicted to
gossip. Mother-fucker! Danny is of course off doing his Mexican jumping
bean routine seeing how many guys he can be cheerful to and pat their back
or hug their shoulders, or usually both. He magically appears though when
it's our turn to bat, and he tells be to bat before him. In the batting
cage, I'm thinking about the J.J. and Bean situation and not thinking about
batting. Consequently, I swing free and easy not worrying about it and
"BING!" The Coach mutters, "Double in the gap", and notes something on his
clipboard. Then "BING' and Coach's monotones," Single up the middle," and
another "BING!" with Coach saying, "That ball is fucking outta here," and I
look up and see the ball fly over the left field fence this time. Holy
shit!

Okay, now I get invested in my hitting and my next three swings are, "No
contact. Strike one" and "Easy out to second," and, "Another swing and
miss." I'm frowning and scratching my ass as the Coach says, "C'mere,
Newman. What'd the fuck I tell you about swinging for the fence all the
time? You're obviously a power hitter, but not every fucking swing, son!"
He pats my shoulder, adding, "Don't make me tell you every fucking
practice. Okay?" I go, "Sorry Coach," and he goes, "No sweat, good batting
practice today." Ha ha, this is so un-fucking-believable!

Danny takes his swings and we're soon walking back to his car with him
saying, "The fresh air has done wonders for me, Dylan. I'll drive!" He's
been back to being the smiling, happy-go-lucky touchy/feely Danny Monday
during most of practice, and I've got no problem with that. Rob waves at me
and we come together for a regular-guy-hug with him saying, "I'll miss you,
Dylan, but don't call or anything, okay? Let me get this Westborough shit
done as quickly as I can. I'll text when I'm done and then we'll be
together Sunday night, right, Dylan?" I nod, "Right, boss. I'll miss you
too. Hey, here's another silver lining: you get to avoid the gay club
tonight." He laughs, "Yeah, but Danny will get us all there eventually. I
can't wait to hear your version of tonight's activities. I know it'll be
different from what I hear from Danny-boy. Try to have fun, Dylan." We do
another quick hug and I turn away, crazily wishing I could go with him to
Westborough. A night in Westborough though? Maybe the Green Lawn Club is a
better option after all.

Danny calls over to Hayden, who we see walking to his car, "Yo, Hayden,
wha'cha gonna do now?" Hayden says, "A fucking dentist appointment. Clean
my awesome teeth." Danny grins at him, "Ya better text me later, ya hot
shit you." Hayden nods, smiling and saying, "Yeah, of course. See you
later, Dylan." I wave still thinking about my first three swings in the
batting cage. Damn, I almost got a boner hitting the ball like that... and
I wasn't even paying attention. Hey! Maybe that's the secret to batting! At
least for me... have something else on my mind. This might work after all.

I get in the car and Danny goes, "I haven't thanked you yet for agreeing to
help me with Hayden. Get him back to his old self, feeling good about
himself." Oh fuck, all my good feelings about discovering the secret of
hitting are replaced by... 'Danny remembers our Hayden 'talk' from last
night. Oh fuck, yeah but what did I promise to do, anyway? Damn!' I'll deal
with that later. For now, I mutter, "I thought we were going for pizza
someplace," and Danny goes, "That was my plan but I didn't know about
Hayden's dentist appointment. Do you still want to go?" I shrug,
"Sherborne's a long ride for a pizza, and since Hayden can't go let's do it
another time." Danny's like, "You got it, babe." I ask, "Can you do me a
favor and stop at my friend's house? It's not far from my place and I
promised him I'd get his mail while he's away." Danny goes, "I'd love to do
you a favor, Dylan. Never hesitate to ask me for one anytime." Hmmm, I
wonder if that includes buddy-sex. Yeah, we definitely have unfinished
business from last night...

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

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

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