Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2018 21:50:46 -0400
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER     Chapter 28

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter  28

by  Donny Mumford


Tonight didn't entirely suck, I had some fun at the Green Door Club,
especially with Tomas. Also, it was sort of fun fucking-around with that
pole-dancing bull-shit. It helped of course that I had no desire to win the
contest so no pressure except just finishing it. Now though, it's
approaching two o'clock in the morning and I'm assuming even Danny and
Hayden have had enough gay clubbing for one night. All three of us at some
point tonight washed our faces which removed varying amounts of the make-up
Hayden put on us some hours ago. What's left of the make-up leaves a
different odd-colored complexion on each of us.

I'm just inside the door leading to the courtyard standing against the wall
with J.J. Benintendi next to me. After a number of calls to car-services
I've finally arranged a ride home for us. Obviously, no one is anywhere
near sober enough to drive. The car service is on an all-night shift and
the guy seemed glad for the business. I could have saved myself some
trouble calling his service first, but of course it's always the last
person you call who turns-out to be the one you want. It's like when you're
looking for something and then you find it, and complain, "Fuck, it's
always at the last place I look. Well yeah, duh!

After informing J.J. about our ride I tell him we need to round up Danny
and Hayden pretty fast because the driver said he'd be at the front
entrance in fifteen-minutes. J.J. ignores my 'ride' information and pinches
my ass, saying, "Hey, Newman, did you ever think I'd end up dancing with
you for an hour and coming this close," as he holds his thumb and
forefinger an inch apart, "to fucking the bejesus gotta you." I'm trying to
be nice to this oddball, but he's not making it easy. I give him a
forced-smile ignoring his inane comment, mumbling, "We need to find the
other two guys." He looks puzzled, "What two guys?" Oh fuck! Taking a deep
breath, I wanna say, 'Who the fuck do you think I mean?'  but instead,
mutter, "Danny and Hayden, like I mentioned thirty-seconds ago."

As I walk outside to the courtyard again J.J. follows, saying, "Tomorrow
afternoon if you meet me at, um, let's say the high school, we can go to my
house. Every Sunday my folks visit my Great Grandmother in that nursing
home in Tewksbury. Do you know the one I mean?" Pulling him along with a
firm hold on his arm, I mutter, "No, I don't," and he goes, "Yeah, the
'rents are out of the house until like four o'clock in the afternoon." The
only reason I'm holding onto him is I don't want J.J. wandering off while
I'm locating the other two.

I'm dragging him along with me through the people in the courtyard as
J.J. continues babbling, he's like a mosquito buzzing in my ear, "Don't
worry," he says, "I'm short in stature but I can accommodate almost
anything sexually that turns you on. I'll top your ass like you've never
experienced before, but ya gotta keep your mouth shut about it. Ya can't
tell a soul! Do you got that, Newman?" and he giggles with me thinking: I
swear to God, I'm gonna tie his dick in a knot if he doesn't shut-up! He
grabs the arm I'm holding him with and asks too loudly, "Hey, you wouldn't
be into urination, would you? I've been looking for a hot piss-buddy. You
know, you get naked in the tub and I piss all over you like a golden stream
and then I fuck you doggy style as you slide on your hands and knees in my
urine." Glancing around, there doesn't appear to be anyone paying attention
to J.J.'s ramblings, but I still go, "Shhhh! You need to shut the fuck up
for a minute.... please, J.J.! We're looking for our guys." He goes,
'Looking for whose guys?" Oh Jesus, I've got a Guinness Book of World
Records' headache from listening to this nut case.

We walk on as he goes, "This guy, Arthur Berry, was deep into urine play
and, ha ha, to be honest I was too, but this is way back when we were
juniors in high school. His parents both worked and we'd go to his house
after school and..." I turn around and say close to his face, "Please stop
talking, J.J.." He goes, "Hey, you! What the fuck? I'm trying to arrange
something hot for you. Pissing in someone's mouth gives my big dick the
hardest boner you..." I go, "Thank God! There they are," and I walk around
some guys, one of whom is throwing-up as his 'friends' mock him. Guys are
heartless and generally speaking, we all suck!

Danny sees us coming and waves with a big smile on his face. I tell him,
"We need to get ourselves to the front entrance, Danny. A car service will
drive us home." Danny and Hayden frown at me like I'm speaking Greek. I
ask, "Do you guys have any money left? It's seventy-five-dollars to
Framingham and then he'll turn on the meter as he drives us to our separate
houses." Hayden says, "No, that's ridiculous! You can drive Danny's car,
Dylan! I'm not spending seventy-five-dollars to get home." Rubbing my face
with both hands, I calmly go, "It's not seventy-dollars for each of
us...obviously! That's the total for the four of us and, um, Danny can I
see your car keys for a second, please." He frowns, "My keys?" and he goes
through his pockets and, as if he can't believe it, he exclaims, "I lost
them!" I shrug, "There you go! We'll need that ride home that I've
arranged. We'll talk about the money tomorrow. Tonight I'll pay with my
debit card." Danny goes, "Well this really sucks," and J.J. says, "This
really sucks!" Danny looks over at J.J., and mumbles, "Hey, I thought you
left already." Fucking drunks!

J.J. and Danny babble at the same time trying to remember what said to each
other when they met earlier tonight, a mere hour ago. I get us moving out
of the courtyard and back into the airplane hanger and then in the
direction of the front entrance. I knew Danny wouldn't find his car keys
because Hayden has them in his pocket from when he drove us here a
hundred-years ago. Like the other night, I feel sober compared to these
three, but I know somewhere in my brain that I'm wicked drunk too, just not
as bad as them.

Hayden's whispering to Danny but he's doing it loud enough for twenty
people in all directions around us to hear. In a loud 'stage-whisper' he
says, "I'm not paying seventy-five-dollars for a fucking cab ride. What
should we do, Danny?" He turns to me, "Is it seventy-five-dollars each,
Dylan?" Trying to keep exasperation out of my tone of voice, I go, "No,
like I mentioned two-minutes ago, that's the total amount for all four of
us, and then in Framingham... well, never mind about that. It's
seventy-five-dollars, a flat fee, for the four of us." He nods his head and
tell Hayden what I just said. Hayden nods his head at each word like it's
the latest information, although he was looking at me when I said it to
Danny and Hayden heard every word.

There's a group of gay guys wearing motorcycle jackets with cut-off
sleeves. It's possible they've been in some kind of tattoo contest
considering the number of tattoos visible on all of them, and I don't even
want to think about where the tattoos are that I can't see. Anyway, they're
not moving and little asshole J.J. is saying, "Get the fuck out of our way
before someone gets trampled on." I grab him from behind and say to the
moon-faced gay biker who's looking like he might be going for his knife,
"Please ignore him. He's retarded. We try getting him out once
month. Sorry!" and then I tell Danny, "Walk the fuck around these guys."
Danny's ogling a guy without a shirt who can't possibly be any older than
sixteen and then frowns at me asking, "Walk around what guys, Dylan?"
Nodding my head at the biker-tattoo convention, Danny goes, "Oh, oh yeah,"
and leads us around the group as I make a solemn promise to myself that I'm
never coming here again. Hell, I may never go drinking anywhere with this
trio again in my life.

Walking a big circle around the glowering bikers, I hear one of them, the
one with a third eye. No, it's drawn on with an eyebrow pencil. He's saying
to moon-face, "What'd that twink say?" Fortunately they're drunk
too. J.J. says, "What about tomorrow, Newman? How are you gonna hook-up
with me?" Oh man, he's back on that kick. I've got a needle sticking in the
back of my neck now and it's entering my head. I try rubbing the back of my
neck with the fingers of both hands. It helps a little to get more blood
flowing back there, but this must be a long hat-pin because it's still
painful. I'd pay seventy-five dollars to send these three drunks home in a
separate cab and then pay another seventy-five-dollars for my own cab
except I don't have the time to arrange it.

Once I get the guys walking around the bikers, half the battle is won. A
small skirmish occurs passing 'our' bar as they all want another drink,
which is out of the fucking question! And anyway J.J. is carrying a
half-full bottle of beer with him. Pushing J.J. in the back gets us past
the bar as he goes, "HEY!" and then at the entrance the bouncer won't let
J.J. carry his beer bottle outside, but after a short wrestling match with
the bottle I get it from J.J. and hand it to the bouncer who looks at it
like it's a dog turd, and then we're outside.

While waiting for the driver I need to promise Danny, on my Mother's honor,
that I'll drive him back here for his car in the morning. And then
thankfully an SUV cab pulls up and the driver yells out, "You Newman?" I
nod and sort of urge the guys toward the car as Danny and J.J. begin
arguing about something, threatening each other they're gonna tell the
coach. They don't say what they'll tell the coach because neither one can
remember. Hayden pulls on my arm and when I look at him he nods his head at
Danny and J.J., saying, "Those two idiots were doing shoots." Yes, he
called them 'shoots'. I ask, "How many did you have?" and when he answers
he somehow combines the numbers 'three with four', "Throur,' he says,
adding, "I then slopped," meaning 'stopped', of course.

I nod, and hold J.J. back as I get Danny and Hayden in the third row of
seats to separate J.J. from Danny. I'm stuck with J.J. now in the middle
row, but the thought of Danny and J.J. arguing all the way home and not
even knowing what they're arguing about. The driver says, "Is this all?" I
go, "Yeah," and he says, "I'll need the seventy-five-dollars before we
start. You boys are smashed." No shit, Sherlock! I give him my debit card
and he uses it as a credit card in his handheld gizmo that he swipes the
card through. It prints out a receipt that I sign in a scribble and off we
go with a big sigh from me.

J.J. obligingly falls asleep three-minutes later, although he does it
leaning against my shoulder. Three or four gentle nudges gets him falling
over to lie again the door. Reaching over him I push down the thing that
locks the door and then lay my head back on the seat. This is a super clean
'ride', which is a pleasant surprise. Now, please dear God, don't let any
of these drunken nincompoops throw-up in here. Pray to God, huh? Hmmm, what
came first, the Gods or the people who worship them?

If I wasn't here tonight these three drunks would probably somehow have
made it home safely. I mean, they've done it before. I am with them tonight
though and so why put a time-bomb on the road if ya don't need to.

Danny and Hayden are talking too loudly about incomprehensible things for
maybe ten-minutes with the driver doing huffy exhales of annoyance and me
turning around trying to get them to quiet down. Finally they fall asleep
and all is quiet. Of course, I need to concentrate my balls off on not
falling asleep myself because I need to direct the driver to four different
houses once we get to Framingham, and then I realize I don't know where
J.J. lives. Oh balls! Well after we drop off Hayden and Danny, who live two
blocks apart, J.J. will need to wake the fuck up and tell us where he
lives, if he's able. If not, I'll go through his wallet 'cause he's not
spending the night with me. Urination? I don't think so!

So, three guys sleeping and, thank the Lord, they're all doing it
silently. No snoring or talking in their sleep. Way to go guys!  I'm doing
okay staying awake and gratefully the driver isn't the talkative type. He
has the radio on low listening to opera music making me remember the Three
Tenor music Hayden had on the CD player when making-up my face. I can
barely hear the driver's opera music though, which suits me fine.

There's very little traffic this time of the morning obviously and we're
past Natick on route 9 in like thirty-five minutes. Awesome!  At a red
light, the driver says, "This is the Framingham/Natick line so I'm turning
on the meter." I wave my hand at him like, 'whatever', and then as he
drives on I watch the meter rack-up twenty-five-cent-fees, seemingly
constantly. By now though, I couldn't care less. He asks, "Are you going to
give me directions soon?" I do that and in ten-minutes we're at Hayden's
house. I undo my seatbelt and lean over the back of my seat to shake him,
"You're home, Hayden." He starts to say something and I go, "Shhh!' Please
just let yourself out and watch your step." He mumbles, "See ya, Dylan..."
and gets out.

The cab driver starts to pull away, but I go, "Wait! I wanna make sure he
gets in okay." Hayden lets himself in okay and two-minutes later I repeat
the same process with Danny, who says, "Fuck the 'shhh-ing'. What time are
you coming over in the morning? I need the car to take Mom to church by
nine-thirty." I go, 'Call me if I'm not at your place by eight." As he's
getting out he mutters, "Oh fuck, eight o'clock. That wicked early." My
face gets red and I want to scream, 'You just fucking said the car's gotta
be back so you can get home by nine-thirty and it's an-hour-and-a-half
round trip ya stupid....' but I don't. Instead I say, "See you then,
Danny," and shake J.J. who's still sleeping. He goes, "We there yet?" I
tell him we're at Danny's and he goes, "Where's that?" Oh fuck!

The driver calls back, sounding calm, "What's your address, kid?"
J.J. tells him and the guy puts it in his GPS. J.J. goes back to sleep and,
omigod, I can't wait for this night to be over. As it turns out J.J. lives
kinda close to me in a nice single house with a lot of ground around it. I
guess that's where the barbecue cookout he mention took place. He gets out,
muttering, "Thanks," and walks up his brick front walk and then spends a
minute, a full minute, at his front door while the driver and I watch. The
driver finally says, "Do you think you might need to help him," and just
then J.J. goes inside his house. I had a thought he might be at the wrong
house, but he wasn't.

Laying back against the seat I give directions to my condo and at the curb
below he snaps off the meter and says, "Another twenty-six-fifty." Handing
him my debit card I mumble, "You can add on twenty-five-dollars for a tip."
He doesn't even say 'thanks', just runs the card and gives me the slip of
paper to sign and I do some wiggly lines for my signature and get out,
saying, "Nice job," and then he says, "Thanks, sport." Without looking
back, I go up the steps and let myself in. It's five-minutes-of-three.

Like a robot, I go in the kitchen to take three Advil with a glass of water
and then into the bathroom for a piss. After washing my hands and face, I'm
brushing my teeth looking at myself in the mirror, staring at my purple
bangs for a few seconds... and then mutter, "Fuck!" splattering dots of
toothpaste on the mirror. In my bedroom off come my clothes and I get into
bed not thinking about anything.

It's lights-out and I fall into a deep sleep until I hear my cellphone
ringing. That's the first thing I'm aware of. The second thing I'm aware of
is how tired and hungover I am, although not as bad a hangover as I
expected. Getting out of bed I grab my phone, "Hello," and it's Danny of
course. How the hell did he get himself up at, and I look at my cellphone,
exclaiming, "Seven-thirty!" Danny goes, "I don't want to take a chance of
not having the car back here on time." I go, "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there in
fifteen-minutes," and hit 'end'. Mother-fucker!

And I never wanted to go to that damn club in the first place! Muttering
out-loud, "Four-and-a-half-hours sleep just doesn't cut it with me," I
stomp into the bathroom and do everything I did seemingly minutes ago. Plus
I try washing out the dye in my bangs and some purple-colored-water runs
down the drain. Encouraged by that I get dressed in sweatpants and a
T-shirt, put on socks and sneakers, and what's else? Oh yeah, putting my
wallet and my set of the Jeep's keys in my pocket, I'm muttering to myself
again, "Goddamn stupid Sunday morning driving to Quincy and back."

Very few people are up on a Sunday morning this early so I zip right over
to Danny's and see him waiting for me at the curb. Being rational, I gotta
admire his conscientiousness about getting his car back for his Mom. He
gets in and, defying all logic, leans over for his quick-as-a-wink kiss on
my lips as I'm wondering if my toothpaste-breath is as minty as his? Danny
asks, "Can we get coffee somewhere?" I go, "I think we better. Um, you have
keys for the car, right?" He holds them up, mumbling, "Spare set."

I stop at Dodger's Dunkin' Donuts off route 30 for our caffeine-fix.  Well
it's not actually Dodger's obviously, but close to his townhouse. I have a
passing thought about when he'll be coming back from California and about
what's in those little packages I take inside for him. At the drive-thru
window we both get a large coffee and a breakfast sandwich.  Driving around
to the parking lot, I gulp my sandwich down before beginning the drive to
Quincy. Hmmm, I'm not sure if the sandwich made me feel better... or worse.

Ya know, I've been trying to figure out why the hell five-hundred people
show-up at that club on a Saturday night, many of them doing it routinely.
To me it was more an experience to endure rather than embrace. It was
basically, starting at Hayden's house, a seven-hour ordeal by the time I
got home. Yeah, but why should I be a snob about it and think of the club
as something to be tolerated? I mean maybe it's me... my friends liked
it. Those three plus five-hundred others can't all be wrong. I was simply
out of my element because I've hardly any experience with gay clubs. It's a
natural human reaction to be a little offish about things we're intimidated
by.

I suppose the primary reason for the club's success is the reason it exists
in the first place, it's where 'single' guys go hoping to hook-up with a
sex partner. A gay club is where they're likely to have success with that
considering most everyone else has the same thing on their minds. Am I
conceited to think I don't need all that hullabaloo to bump into buddy-sex
partners? Nah, the truth is I'm not confident enough to be conceited about
anything, although I try to hide that fact. Frat parties used to intimidate
me too, although now I'm much more comfortable with them, and why wouldn't
I be after three-years' experience? To each his own probably covers the gay
club situation about as much as it needs covering.

Driving along I glance at Danny and almost smile to myself because he's
doing it right. He doesn't slurp his coffee or eat the sandwich with his
mouth open making wet mouth sounds. What if he did do those things though?
In my hungover condition would I drive us into a tree? Maybe, but with
Danny, God bless his little heart, I don't need to. He swallows some
sandwich and asks, "What are you grinning about, babe? I feel like shit and
would have a wicked hard time working-up a grin myself." That from the king
of grins and smiles! I go, "That's because you had too many shots last
night. Hayden told me you were drinking shots of liquor with J.J., and you
and I both know you're not good at that." He goes, "Hayden had some too."
Tattle-tale! Ha ha. That discussion doesn't seem promising however so I try
forno conversation at all, which works fine even though normally I'm
uncomfortable being with someone silently. This is a special case
though. After eating his breakfast sandwich, and with half his coffee in
the cup-holder, Danny goes to sleep. He still looks sexy, and I mean even
though he's wickedly hungover and with green hair.

The drive goes without incidence and luckily, I remember the way because my
partner isn't any help. Bumping onto the parking lot I'm again amazed at
its size and the size of the building we were in last night. Driving up to
his car I see maybe a dozen other cars left parked here by other sensible
drunks who knew not to drive. Danny looks so peaceful sleeping, but we
gotta get a move on so I blow the horn and he jumps, "Wha...? Oh, we're
here, Dylan." I say, "Yes, we are. You okay to drive?" He nods his head
holding his fist over, saying, "Yeah, thanks for the ride." I bump his fist
wondering what I'd do if he said, 'Um, no, actually I'm still too drunk to
drive.' Ha ha, I guess I'd need to drive back and take him and his Mom to
church.

Danny gets out holding up keys, telling me again, "My spare keys," and I
tell him, "Hayden has your other set." He stops in his tracks, looking
confused for a second and then waves at me as he gets in his car. Guess he
remembered Hayden drove us here last night. We stay together driving back,
me in front until halfway back Danny gets stuck at a traffic light but no
problem because he knows his way.

Back home I take off my clothes and get right back to bed and sleep soundly
until Chubby jumps on my bed and rubs my hair, saying, "I want purple hair
too!" Groaning, I sit up, muttering, "Oh man, Chubby, what a fucked-up
night I had last night." He's bright eyes and alert this morning, mumbling,
"I wish I was there. I had a movie date last night and that ungrateful
bitc... well, never mind. Why'd you dye your bangs?" I sit-up, "Oh, um, to
go to a gay club last night. It's a boring story but the dye supposedly
washes-out with two shampoos. I'm about to test that right now in the
shower."

Chub stands as I get out of bed and then I sit on the edge of it waiting
for my head to stop spinning. Chub holds out a glass of orange juice and
three Advil, saying, "I squeezed this OJ two-minutes ago, bro." I nod,
"Thanks, Chub," and after drinking some of the cold, pure orange juice with
the Advil, I'm like, "Oh man, Chub, there's nothing like cold
freshly-squeezed OJ." He pats my shoulder, and as I'm drinking the rest of
the orange juice, he says, "I've prepped everything for the brunch. The
home fried are on low getting a slow crispy exterior, the cinnamon buns are
in the over, and a bowl of cut-up fresh fruit is in the refrigerator. All
you need to do is your magic with the omelets. The fixings for inside the
omelets are ready." I nod yawning, and then asks, "What'd you choose to go
inside?" He said, "Sautéed thinly sliced Chanterelles mushrooms and
Valhalla onion, red and yellow small-diced peppers, diced Virginia baked
ham, plus three kinds of cheese that obviously aren't being
sautéed. You're the chef who can do the omelets without browning
them, so it's all up to you now, bro."

Standing now, I jokingly mutter, "Why the hell do I need to do everything?"
He goes, "You da man, Dylan! That's why. I'm your sous-chef, and you're
the, um, other chef. Whatever they're called." I managed a chuckle,
mumbling, "You're the best, bro, period. That's who you are!" He pats my
back as we smirk at each other and I say, "Thanks for doing everything,
Chubby, I'll be out there cooking omelets in ten minutes. Um, is it just
the four of us?" He nods, "Yep, just the Moms and us this morning."
Mumbling, "Good," I go in the bathroom and do everything I need to in
there, reappearing in my bedroom twenty-minutes later. I'm clean, smelling
good and looking good on the outside, although my insides are still working
on getting back to normal.

Dressed in clean baggy shorts and baggy T-shirt I face the world again and
manage to make it to the kitchen at exactly noon. Chubby's at the stove
moving the home fried around in the frying pan and the Moms are sitting at
the kitchen bar laughing at whatever Chub's telling them while they drink
coffee. There are empty juice glasses next to their coffee mugs. My
brother's taken care of everything.

The Moms give me a big hello and then my Mom asks, "Is that purple dye I
see in your hair, sweetheart?" Fuck, I thought I shampooed it out. Looking
at myself in the mirror over the sofa I see a faint tint of it, saying,
"Yes, Mom, but it was supposed to wash-out. I went to a gay dance club last
night with some friends and we stupidly colored our hair. It'll come out in
the next shampoo. Before I go to work for sure!" Tris tells us about a girl
at the CVS register whose hair was dyed three colors; the brightest red for
the girl's ponytail, brightest blue she's ever seen for the hair on top of
the girl's head, and yellow for the hair she swept up in front with a ton
of hair gel." Chub off-handedly says, "That's Margo Rubinstein. She was in
my senior homeroom. Believe it or not she's a senior at MIT. She works part
time at CVS in the summer though. In high school she was a... well, never
mind what she was. She's a brainiac at MIT now."

After a moments silence thinking about what Margo was in high school, the
Moms talk about hair coloring and how flabbergasted they are that a smart
girl like Margo would think her hair looks good that way. Then my Mom asks,
"Which gay club, Dylan?" I tell her and then answer a few questions about
who I went with. Mom asks, "This Hayden Parks; do I know him?" and I give
the breakdown that Rob knows Danny from the high school sport's teams, and
Danny's a neighbor and friend of Hayden's, so I met him through Robby. Tris
asks, "So, Hayden's gay too then?" I nod, "So I hear," and Chub goes, "I
met him. Only once I think, but he seems like a nice kid. He talks with a
bit of a lisp, right?" I go, "Only when he thinks to do it." And then I go,
"Yeah, plus Hayden's on the summer league baseball team... and so am I, by
the way."

As I'm slowly cooking the omelets Chub's taking the cinnamon buns out of
the oven. Everyone congratulate me for making the summer league team and
then Tris tells a funny story about her and her fiancé, Tim, being
interviewed by a TV reporter on the street yesterday. The reporter wanted
to know what they liked best about the reporter's news station's, channel
4's, eleven o'clock news. Never having watched it, Tim went into five
points he thought would improve the broadcast, including getting rid of the
female news anchor, who turned-out to be the one interviewing them. Omigod
did they laugh at that! It was a good time at brunch. The omelets were
perfectly yellow-colored all-around; not a brown scorch mark on them.

Also, I was impressed with the casual questioning and short discussion
involving the 'gay topics' by the Moms. Obviously Chub's and my 'talk' got
back to the Moms who now feel more comfortable talking about things 'gay'
related. I can see their point of view. Those guys feeling the subject
maybe a tad awkward since they're not gay and therefore unfamiliar with
what's politically correct and being paranoid about not saying something
unintentionally offensive, and so forth. I feel bad they need to be awkward
when there's actually no need for it, not as far as I'm concerned, but
things are heading in the right direction with that thanks to Chubby...

After brunch, I take a four-hour 'nap' and get up late in the afternoon
feeling groggy but a lot better than earlier. The house is empty and very
quiet. The Moms are somewhere with their guys and Chubby's swimming at the
reservoir with a group of guys and girls. Nothing from Danny or Hayden and
that's good because I'm still annoyed with the difficulty they and that
J.J. bird, caused me getting them home last night. Neither of them hold
their booze very well, but I suppose it's a learning process for all of us
and we're in the first year of being legal age so we've obviously still got
a way to go learning how to handle it. I'm not dissing them especially
because they're not the only irresponsible drinkers I know. I can raise my
hand as another one too. We'll learn... if we live long enough.

My thoughts are about Rob now, and when he'll be back from
Westborough. There was another gay reference mentioned by me at brunch
regarding me sleeping at Robby's tonight and the only response was from
Chub who said he missed having dinners with me when I stay overnight at the
Dickers. I countered with, "Me too, Chub, but last week, for example, you
were available to have dinner with me exactly twice; the other three night
you ate out for various reasons." He goes, "Oh, last week, huh? Oh yeah, I
remember that. It was a total aberration though," and I go, "No, it really
wasn't." He grins at me, saying, "I love having dinner with you, bro! Last
week I sucked for not being available!" We both laugh and none of our
bantering is ever the least bit contentious. We were jokingly breaking
balls more than anything else, grinning and trying to one-up each
other. Actually Mrs. Dickers told me to invite Chub for dinner any night
I'm eating there. To that he says, "I'll need to think about that, but it's
an interesting invitation," and then he wanted to know how good a cook
Mrs. Dickers is.

Anyway, that was four-hours ago and now I'm wandering around the apartment
drinking a Coke and telling myself I need to get my shit together, meaning
the stuff I'll bring with me to wear to work tomorrow plus toiletry items
and, what else? I think that's it except for my baseball glove in case Rob
wants to practice his pitching. Hmmm, I'm also thinking that Tuesday
morning I want to take the bus to work and see if my straight bus-buddy,
Ryan, is still taking the same bus. Oh man, can I believe I actually
remembered his name!

Yeah, he's fun to joke around with and there's no reason he wouldn't still
be taking the same bus. Then Robby calls and even though it's only been
a-day-and-a-half it's so good to hear his voice as he tells me, "Dylan,
it's great hearing your voice, babe." I chuckle. "I just thought the same
thing about your musical voice." He goes, "Musical, my ass. How ya doing,
babe?" I say, "Good except for missing you. It felt odd going out last
night with Danny and Hayden and you not being there." He goes, "I shouldn't
have told you not to call me while I'm working this weekend." I go, "Well,
how are you?" He tells me he's okay but he's up to his eyeballs in
frustration from straightening out the mess that dip-shit, Neal Trenton,
caused. "They might fire him, Dylan, which I hope they don't because I
definitely do not want to spend the rest of the summer living in that
crappy hotel working in hick-town, Westborough!" I don't mention that's
where the townhouse is located that he's used his life savings, $40.000, as
a down payment.

He vents a little about the tedious nature of the job he had to do there. I
listen and then say, "I'm sorry you had a sucky weekend, Rob. Mine wasn't
nearly as bad, but not great. When are you coming home?" He tells me he'll
be over to pick me up around six-thirty for dinner at his house, and then
after dinner we'll play some ping pong. We both chuckle at that because
we'll probably do something other than play ping pong. After telling him a
little about last night and him telling me some more about his night, he
says, "I gotta get back to work, babe. See you soon though." Yeah, he will
see me soon since it's almost five o'clock already. I slept most of the day
away.

After organizing what I'll bring with me, I flop on the sofa and watch some
of the Red Sox game from the West Coast. Jeez, and I'm surprisingly
beginning to feel more like myself too. See, I only had the two shots of
hard liquor last night which was a more mature approach to drinking than my
companions demonstrated. Consequently, I've recovered by now where I'll bet
dollars to donuts they're still moaning. Wait a minute: donuts cost more
than dollars now, so it should be, 'bet donuts to dollars', right?

Getting antsy at twenty-of-seven because Rob's not here yet, I text him but
get no response. That tells me he's driving. Rob always responds to a text,
usually right away... unless he's driving. With my beloved brother, when I
don't get a response to a text, it could mean any number of things although
the most common reasons are: he lost his cellphone, he knows where it is
but forgot to bring it with him, he thinks he knows where it is but it's
not charged anyway, he dropped it in the toilet, or lent it to anyone who
asked to borrow it but now forgets who that was... etc. I love him!

Robby knocks on the door at six-forty-five and when I open it there he is
with that special smile and a few apologies for being late. I interrupt his
apologies to give him a hug and a kiss 'hello'. It's not some dramatic hug
and kiss as if we haven't seen each other for months, but it's more than
the quick-as-a-wink-kiss, and then I tell him, "You're actually early if I
go by my brother's philosophy about being some place at a certain time." He
smiles, "How is Jeff holding up this summer?" I go, "He's holding up
spectacularly, as usual. So, you finally straightened out that mess in
Westborough, huh?" He goes, "Not entirely, but fuck that. The more
important question is: is anyone in your bedroom?" I grin, "I don't believe
so. Let's check." As I've thought many times, Rob's as much of a horn-job
as moi. We're a good match!

In my bedroom, it's another couple of hugs and kisses with the intensity
level definitely on the rise and then, holding me in his arms, Rob says,
"I've been thinking about this since I left the ballpark Saturday
afternoon," and we do another big open-mouth kiss rubbing our hands up and
down each other's back and ass. "Hmmm," Robby moans, "You feel and taste so
good, baby," and he pulls down my shorts, mumbling, 'Can you get your
underpants down?" He unzips his fly and pulls out his already boned-up fat
cock. Holy shit, Rob sprung a boner quicker than me for maybe the first
time ever. He is a horny boy! Guess Neal Trenton wasn't any help in that
regard. Good! I haven't exactly been hitting the jackpot myself since Rob
left. Sure, that exciting experience with Tomas, but it was in a toilet
stall, for chrissakes! That hardly counts even though that Island-boy did
pack a lot in his shorts; eleven-inches of tan thrills.

Robby's obviously hungry for some recreational sex but then we're both
pretty much always 'up' for that. With the pretense of being separated, if
in this case only for about thirty-hours, it's seems like a more intense
desire somehow. Recently we've come to our senses and began using sexual
lubricant whenever possible. In this case the lubricant is in my bedside
table as Robby knows very well and he already has it out. I'm not going
anywhere but he keeps his arm around my waist anyhow. He's doing everything
fast. First the tube of lube is in front of me 'cause he needs the fingers
of both hands unscrewing the lid, and then he's quickly pushing lube up and
around my asshole and then spreads it on his boner by twisting his
lubed-hand around that stubby fat boner of his. We're extra aroused. It's
because when something you crave is unavailable for even a relatively short
time you miss it more. Every-fucking-body knows that, right? So we're
hornier than normal which is so totally understandable I'm not sure why I
even mentioned it.

Finished lubing us up and still standing behind me, we stretch our necks to
connect our mouths for some sloppy kisses. I'm feeling his slippery, hard
boner sliding on my buttocks and that adds a certain implied something to
my arousal. My boner quickly catches up with Rob's and gets really hard
moving up against my belly feeling really fuckin' good. Hell the boners I
get from riding on a bus feel good but with a sexy boyfriend, well that
takes it way up many notches and I'm soon panting and gasping as Robby
keeps that arm around me while he positions his boner at my asshole and,
"Aaaah, Rob..." as he pokes it in past my sphincter, stretching the lips of
my anus greatly. The pain soars, but it's more of a thrilling temporary
pain, the kind associated with sex. Initially the two go together, pain and
sexual pleasure or the promise of it... they almost complement one another.

I'm sucking air in between closed lips absorbing the pain and concentrating
on the scintillating sensations from nerve ending by the thousand around
the lips of my asshole. The nerve endings are all familiar with this event
and scrambling to get over their initial negative response to this very big
intrusion. It takes a minute or so and Rob, being a considerate lover,
gives my rectum the time it needs while he kisses the back of my neck
murmuring sweet words of love and affection and hugging me with both arms
now. My back is tightly against his chest as his lips on my neck sending
shivers of pleasure down my spine so it's a mixed bag for the moment;
shivers of arousal and the pain in my ass.

"I missed you so much, Dylan. Especially last night! I spent last night
looking over at that loser, Neal, thinking, ugh!" Stretching our necks
again we lick tongues and he murmurs, " "Ooooh, and you taste so good too,"
and he slips his cock in another inch making my back arch against his body
for a few seconds before settling down as the pain begins transitioning to
pleasure. Millions of additional nerve ending are now involved because the
swollen hard head of his boner is pressing against my prostate gland. If
that fat head moves just a little on that super-sensitive gland I'm afraid
I'll climax. I always think that, but it never happens that way.

All pain of entry is receding now, in complete retreat, and I realize how
tense my body was as it begins relaxing. My backs against Robby's chest,
which is sexy by itself, and now I can concentrate on the unique sense of
being filled up inside by Rob... oh man does that feel good. I lay my head
back on his shoulder and he moves an arm down so his fingers can get
between my belly and my boner. Ooh, the touch of his fingers on my boner
makes my shoulders do their shuddering as Rob's pulling my hard cock away
from my belly so he can get his fist around it. Squeezing it, he snuggles
his face against the side of my neck and does little licks as he begins to
stroke, stroke, stroke my hard boner and I go up on my toes leaning back
against him moaning, "Mmmmm, ooooh, oooh, noooo, don't, Rob, I'll cum."

While stroking my boner he's pushed the rest of his cock up my ass and now
he humps against my buttocks making a grunting sound, "Ummph, aaah, feels
so good," and he lets go of my cock to wrap both his arm around my belly
just above the head of my boner that's flopped up against my belly
again. With his arms around me he pulls my ass very tightly against his
groin and breathes deeply, almost gasping right next to my right ear.

Holding me tightly like that he humps upward against my buttocks, his boner
moving slightly up inside me as I go, "Oooh, mmmm, ooh." Then he's
withdrawing his hard, fat cock giving me the shudders again, my whole body
shuddering this time. When he's pulled his boner back far enough the lips
of my asshole need to grip around the neck holding his cock inside me, his
foreskin pulled forward covering a little of the head, and Rob lets out a
low, "Ooooh," and then pushes his hard throbbing cock back up my ass with
his foreskin pulling back and off the head to help his rock-hard cock slide
very tightly back up inside me with incredible sensations bursting every
fraction of an inch it goes in and then Rob's tight against my butt cheeks
again. He waits three-seconds before starting a hot and wild thrusting
with, "Slapslapslap," sounds filling our ears from each fast, hard slap
against my ass, "Slapslapslap!" Grunting from Rob as I'm squirming in his
arms I'm trying to process all the fantastic pleasure sensation percolating
from uncountable nerve endings in and around my rectum and those that are
sizzling off my super-sensitized hard penis.

Perspiration builds up between his arms and my belly as he continues
holding me tightly against him, his hips flying in a smooth fast rhythm
sending that slippery with lube and pre-cum fat, hard boner back and forth
in my ass on a thrill ride to the promise land, the one that's known as
sexual climax. There's simply nothing else like it known to mankind. A
wild, sexual thrill-ride to get our 'rocks' off together, pleasure like no
other although it's too quick and the eventual explosion of pleasure is too
short, which maybe is why we do this so often.

Rob's grunting now and he's lost some rhythm in his desperate need to
climax, "Slap-slap--slap, " and from me, "Ah, ah, ah, ah, oooh," and it's
on me now. No mistaking the roaring climax that I want so badly! I'm trying
to hump back into that thundering fat cock but he has me too tightly
against him, his arms hugging my belly so tightly I can hardly breath as
sensations soar and, "Eeeeeiii!" with cum shooting up from my quivering
boner to arc and come dropping down on the side of my bed's comforter even
as another stream of cum, smaller but still creating a fantastic ache of
pleasure and I struggle in Rob's arms tightening my groin muscles squeezing
out pleasure drools of cum and then, just like that, I'm done. Pleasure
screams for a second longer but immediately backs off like, 'that's all for
this ride... cum back again soon, y'all.'

I'm limp in Rob's arms now as I usual am after the explosion of
pleasure-energy of climax. Rob's continued thrusting, jostling me a little
but not for long as now he's tight against my butt cheeks gasping a high
whining sound and firing-off his load of spunk creating a momentary sloppy
wet and warn feeling inside me that last only a second. That represents
Rob's orgasm to me but to him it was a crescendo of sexual pleasure that
probably took his breath away, and then another stream shooting out no
doubt, and maybe a third squirt of cum is shooting up inside me. I can't
tell as mostly I'm imagining phantom climax vibrations that were here
for-real a few seconds ago, but aren't now.

How fantastically wonderful it feels to climax! No words can do it
justice. Is it nature's gift to humans? Nah, Nature doesn't intentionally
give gifts, and certainly not to us humans. Nature's mainly a dangerous
bitch that cares not a twit about the aberration us humans represent. The
unparalleled thrill of climax is Nature's way of keeping all creatures
coming back for more to insure procreation because Nature, for whatever
fucking reason, is hell-bent on insuring the survival of all species and
we're just one of them. If there weren't procreation Nature wouldn't have
anyone to torture with incredible volcanic eruptions, or hurricanes, or
tsunamis, or the other fun things Nature likes to do, like new bacterial
diseases and bacteria mutations. Yeah, just when humans think they have an
antibiotic to deal with a virus, nope! The virus mutates giving the finger
to the antibiotic. Still, with all my bitching about Nature, climax is
still pretty fucking awesome and we're not even procreating although we do
still come back for more. How do you like that, bitch? Oh yeah, and that's
right, Nature provided that fucking chimpanzee, the source of HIV-1. That
dumb-ass chimp that ate two smaller species of monkeys, both infected with
different stains of virus that combined to form a third virus that could be
passed on to innocent humans. Yeah, those dumb-ass humans who eat monkeys,
monkeys of all things. Ain't Mother Nature grand!

Robby hugs me as he's savoring his climax and then with a sigh he pulls his
softening penis from my ass and, as always, there's that weird feeling of a
gaping opening behind me. It'll close up but for now Rob's cum is drooling
out. He says, "Oh, baby, that was so sweet! Jesus, I needed that!" He has
tissues wiping his cum off my ass. I stand-still as he's doing that,
telling him, "It felt fantastic as always, boyfriend," and then, "Hey,
let's go in the bathroom to finish cleaning up." He pokes a Kleenex inside
my ass with his finger, and as we walk into the bathroom, he asks, "Do you
have everything together you'll need for tomorrow morning?" See, with
recreational sex, even with your lover you move on to other matters pretty
quickly. It's a fast, sexual thrill making both parties feel really good
for the moment, but we both know it can't compare to lover's sex which is
the only kind that really counts.

After cleaning up, Rob puts some folded tissues in my jockey shorts to be
sure no leakage appears at the back of my pants. He and I carry my clothes
for tomorrow morning, plus my toiletry stuff, plus my backpack with work
papers, and my laptop; everything gets carried down cellar and then outside
to go in the backseat of the pickup. It's parked outside the garage. Rob
get in to starts the truck, but I go, "Let me check one last time that I
have everything I'll need and that the house is locked up." He nods, "Sure,
go ahead, babe." I go in through the garage and do a quick walk-through the
house before writing a quick note to my Mom: 'Hi Mom, hope you had an
awesome day! As you know, I'm with Rob. Love you!'

The front door locks automatically but I check it anyway and then the
balcony door. Then back down to the basement locking the garage door after
going through it. Spending more and more time at the Dickers' is starting
to seem routine and sort of like the beginning of me leaving home for
good. In a way, I feel guilty about that, like I'm choosing an alternative
to living at home after almost twenty-two years. Like I'm abandoning my
unusual family of two Moms and two sons, but in reality that process
started three-years-ago moving out to have my own place with roommates in a
college apartment. And the last year without even my brother in the
apartment. It feels weird and kinda scary but so did many other things
while growing up, like going away to school every day starting with
kindergarten. In a way the Moms are preparing to move on with their lives
too. They're getting married and living with their, um, husbands; Tim and
Tom, AKA, Bud and Rider. It's the way of life, Dylan... deal with it ya big
baby!

When I'm in the passenger seat Rob asks, "You okay, Dylan?" I'm like,
"Yeah, why'd you ask that?" He puts the truck in gear and pulls away,
mumbling, "You had a concerned 'look' just now and, I don't know, but maybe
I feel your emotions somehow." Is he reading my mind again? I shrug and he
stops the pickup at the end of the alley, saying, "I don't know, but maybe
you're feeling it's unfair that we stay at my house all the time." I guess
I had a strange expression when thinking about leaving home. He did read my
mind. Rob touches my shoulder, saying, "Let's stay at your house
tonight. I'm more than fine with that, Dylan, really! We'll take turns." I
look at him, and he says, "I'm all for it, babe, honestly." I go, "Liar,
but thanks for offering. No, it makes no sense staying at my place for the
reasons you gave a week or two ago: it's twenty-minutes further from the
office, we'd need to stop for breakfast adding more time to the trip, my
bed's a twin bed... plus no one would know if we sleep there or not. Your
house makes all the sense in the world, assuming your parents are honestly
okay with it."

Rob drives on, saying, "You know damn well my parents think you're part of
the family already. You should know though that I will stay at your place
any time you want... if you should change your mind for any reason." I
mumble, "Thanks, but there's no sense in doing that. Your 'rents have done
everything possible to make me feel comfortable there and in time I'll
probably actually feel comfortable too." He goes, "Oh, c'mon, Dylan, why
don't you feel comfortable now?" I shrug again, "I will, Rob, I will! Give
me a little more time." He snickers, "It's that fucking hall bathroom,
isn't it?" I snort a laugh, and then ask, "Does your condo have a master
bath?" He goes, "Our condo, and you know it does. It has a hall bath too
for when we have sleep-over company." I mutter, "God, help 'em." Rob
laughs, saying, "Most houses have hall bathrooms." Fuck hall bathrooms!

We get to Rob's at seven o'clock. His family normally eats dinner later on
Sundays for some reason. Mostly dinner at the Dickers is at six
o'clock. Chub and I for most of our lives ate dinner whenever we felt like
it; sometimes at nine o'clock at night or five o'clock in the
afternoon. That's an example of a freedom that neither of us will likely
ever fully experience again. Things change though and we need to be
flexible enough to change with them, to a reasonable degree at least, or
get left behind. Whatever getting left behind even means.

Bringing my clothes and things inside through the backdoor to the kitchen,
Mrs. Dickers says, "Well, my long lost. son and perhaps future son-in-law!
How are you boys doing?" and she leans away from the kitchen counter where
she was breaking up lettuce for salad to exchange kisses on the cheek with
Rob, adding, "Welcome home, boys. And, Dylan, you look so clean-cut with
your new haircut. It's very, um, modern-looking..." Did she actually say,
future son-in-law? What has Rob told her? Rob goes, "I gave Dylan that
haircut last Thursday night." His Mom's like, "Get outta here! You were his
barber?" Rob goes, "Yeah, chrissakes Mom, you knew that." She shrugs, "You
should have Dylan give you that haircut." Rob mutters, "I love you, but
mind your own business, okay?"

Jeez, the way he talks to his Mother! She says, "Well, I think you look
very spiffy with that haircut, Dylan." Spiffy? I say, "Thank you,
Mrs. Dickers, hope I'm not overdoing my welcome by staying here again
tonight." She goes, "Don't fret about that, Dylan, you're not even close to
overdoing your anything. We enjoy your company and anyway Rob's less grumpy
when you're here." Jesus, I wonder how grumpy he is normally? He goes, "I'm
not eff-ing grumpy!! Jesus, Mom, the things you say." She's unfazed by
anything Rob says apparently. Maybe she's so used to it, it doesn't even
register.

Rob says, "You can take your stuff upstairs, babe." I'm happy to do that
and up I go. When I come back in the kitchen I see Mrs. Dickers chuckling
about something Rob said and Rob's grinning and then asks his Mom, "Anyway,
what the hell am I smelling from the oven?" She says, "Roast leg of lamb,"
and he asks, "What else we having?" She says, "The usual, Rob, oven-browned
potatoes, corn on the cob, a salad and maybe some freshly baked rolls if I
get to them in time." He's looking in the refrigerator again, saying, "You
better have mint jelly with that lamb because I'm not eating lamb without
mint jelly." She says nothing and Rob looks at me, "Do you, Dylan?" I go,
"Do I what?" and he says, "Eat lamb without mint jelly." I shrug, "I've
never eaten lamb." Rob goes, "Baaaaa! What was that nursery rhyme about a
lamb that got killed or something?" His mother says, "Why don't you wash up
for dinner, honey?" Translation: why don't you two go anywhere but
here. Rob goes, "Ya want a beer or a mixed drink, babe?" I shake my head,
"No thanks," and he closes the refrigerator door without taking anything
from it, asking, "How long until dinner, Mom?" She says, "A half-hour, your
father was golfing today and just got home from the nineteen-hole a little
while ago, he's showering." Rob says, "Get your glove, Dylan, I need to
practice my change-up."

We go out to the back yard with our baseball gloves and Rob pitches some
decent change-ups to me for fifteen-minutes and then some not-so-successful
curve balls before getting bored, saying, "Goddammit! Last time my curve
ball was working but not my change-up, and today it's the exact
opposite. It's because I haven't pitched for three years; that's what it
is." He has sweat on his face and some hairs are stuck in it. I think he
looks so sexy I'd like to suck his dick right here in the backyard.

We sit at the outdoor table with him saying, "I could go for an alcoholic
beverage, babe. I did zero drinking this weekend. Neal, of course doesn't
drink. That guy is weird and I don't know how the fuck he fooled the
manager up there into thinking he was perfect for that job. They found out
different though. I could `a told them and actually I did tell them he
sucked." I nod, muttering, "I don't need anything to drink. I had too much
last night. Um, do think you'll need to go back to Westborough?" He goes,
"I'm not sure. Maybe next weekend but that'd be it, and maybe not even next
weekend." I grin, saying, "Well, you stood me up on our Saturday night date
and I ended up in a gay nightclub. I sure as shit hope this coming Saturday
turns out differently." He chuckles, "I didn't stand you up. We're still
doing dinner in Boston and I mean this Saturday night too unless, you know,
I get called back to Westborough. Hey, you sure you don't want anything to
drink." Well fuck, I don't want to be lumped-in with Neal, so I say, "I
guess I could have a beer except your Mom said we'll have dinner in like a
half-hour, and that was some time ago." He makes a face, "She always says a
half-hour. It'll be longer." I go, "Okay, I'll have a beer to keep you
company." He jumps up, "Yes! You're right, no one likes drinking alone."

He goes inside and comes out three-minutes later with a Miller Lite for me
and a dark-colored liquor drink in what I think is called a low-ball
glass. I go, "What's that?" and Rob says, "I made a Manhattan for
myself. Taste it," and he holds the glass over. Taking a sip, I go, "Holy
shit! That tastes like straight bourbon, and it's like
six-or-eight-ounces." He goes, "Yeah? I Googled it. Two-parts whiskey to
one-part sweet vermouth. I omitted the dash of bitters, although I did
include this Maraschino cherry." I say, "I think they meant one-ounce of
this and two-ounces of that. You have a ten-ounce glass full of
liquor. Shouldn't you have at least shaken it in one of those metal
containers bartenders use? You know, with lots of ice to maybe dilute it a
little?" He tastes his drink and makes a face, "Yeah, this is too fucking
strong! I've got two ice cubes in there but they're not helping."

He goes inside again and five-minutes later comes out with a lighter drink
in a stemmed glass, saying, "Dad showed me how to make it correctly. This
is much better," and he holds the glass over for me to sip. It still tastes
strong, but it's at least drinkable now. I go, "Yeah, that's better. What'd
your Dad do with the rest of the liquor?" Rob tastes his drink making
another 'face', mumbling, "Made himself a drink with it."

My beer's going down okay so I guess I've recovered from my hangover. I go,
"Um, your Mom called me her future son-in-law. That's a little weird." He
looks puzzled, "When'd she call you that?" I go, "When we first got
here. Didn't you hear her?" He shakes his head, "No, but you are her future
son-in-law, right?" Fuck, am I the only person who finds this odd? I say,
"Nothing's cast in stone, Rob. We agreed to do away with all our old plans
and timetables although I am marrying you, but that's not really the
point. She called me her future son-in-law! Who says something like that?"
He shrugs, "I don't see why you're upset. And yeah, we did do away with
timetables and nothing is cast in stone or anything, but you are marrying
me, so...?" I go, "Yeah, but we're not married yet, and..." And, he
mutters, "That's why she said 'future'". Oh fuck, I don't know what else to
say, it seems so obvious that you don't call anyone that. It was awkward
for me...

Taking another swallow of his drink, he goes, "This drink isn't tasting any
better yet, but I'm still hopeful... heh heh." I go, 'So you don't see
anything unusual about your mom..." He goes, "Alright already! I'll tell
Mom not to call you that." I go, "NO! Don't say anything, Jesus! Just, um,
don't say anything! This is you and me talking among ourselves." He grins,
"In about thirty-seconds I'm coming over there and kissing the shit out of
you. I can't believe how fucking cute you are!" I go, "Don't even think
about coming over here, Robby. Remember our pact to not flaunt our gayness
in front of anyone, and especially not your parents! Jeezus!" He lights a
cigarette and immediately his Mom yells out the screen door, "Robert, no
smoking near the house!" He grins and gets up motioning for me to come down
to the pool with him. Bringing my beer I feel my face getting red and
hot. She must have heard every word of our conversation. I mean, if she
knew immediately that Rob lit a cigarette she had to have heard me. Balls!

Rob plops down in a beach-type chair as he exhales and goes, "Hey, did you
see that smoke ring!?" I pull my chair next to his, saying in a low voice,
"Your Mom heard our conversation about the son-in-law comment, plus
whatever the fuck else we said back there." He goes, "So what?" I'm like,
"So what? She heard me criticize her for calling me son-in-law and, um,
what else did we say?" He goes, "I don't know, but oh good, now I won't
need to tell her not to do that since she already heard that you don't like
it," and then he touches my hair in front, frowning, "Is your hair purple?"
And louder as he looks closer, " And why'd you cut your fucking bangs?
Jesus, Dylan!" I go, "I didn't fucking do it! The purple dye will shampoo
out. Or it's supposed to. I've tried it twice so far." He's staring at my
hair, "Who cut your bangs if you didn't?" I mutter, "Hayden. Well, it was
his Mom's suggestion." Rob goes, 'Well he can be your barber then." I say,
in a goofy voice, "Oh, are you pouting because someone else had the nerve
to cut my hair?" Rob asks, "Are we fighting?" I go, "I don't know. Can't
remember ever arguing or fighting with you, so it's hard to tell."

He says, "Well, whatever we're doing, let's stop it. Tell me about Hayden
cutting your hair." I fill him in on the make-up routine with Hayden and
the dyed hair and he mumbles, "Yeah, I heard them talking about that. You
did it too, huh?" I shrug, "I didn't want to be a wet blanket and ruin
their evening, and then you weren't there to protect me." As I adjust my
bangs with my fingers, Rob says, "Awww, it's so sweet you need me there to
protect you, boyfriend, And I will too, seriously!" Ignoring that because
it was a joke to begin with, I ask, "Don't ya think the hair in front look
better this way?" He goes, "No, I don't!"

We drink a little and then he says, "Tell me about that Green Door Club and
what you guys did in there." Shrugging, I tell him some of the funny stuff,
like me being in the pole-dancing contest and he gets a good laugh out of
that. He goes, "We have to go sometimes just to see if you get chosen to do
that again." I'm shaking my head telling him about what a pain-in-the-ass
it was getting the guys rounded-up for our ride home. That turns into a
funny story like most pain-in-the-ass-things tend to do once they're been
dealt with and everything turns out okay. The worst experiences often
become the funniest later on. Rob goes, "You still need to collect some
money from those guys. Whatever their share of the ride home was." I shrug,
"I'm not going to make a big deal out of it because none of them asked me
to get them a ride home. It was all my idea." We get called to dinner while
further discussing that.

Never finishing my beer I casually pour it out on the lawn as we walk to
the house. Rob finished his Manhattan though and is pleasantly mellow
because of it. After washing-up quickly in their half-bath off the foyer we
sit down to dinner. They don't say grace but instead start right in passing
serving dishes around. Huh, lamb taste very different that any meat I've
had, although it's not terrible. I do agree with Rob though that mint jelly
is a nice addition. His Mom says, "You two are eating more jelly than
lamb." Rob goes, "It's very good, Mom." A rare instance of him saying
something nice to his Mom, helped along greatly by the Manhattan I
think. Rob's not one of those guys who turns into a complete asshole from
drinking; quite the opposite actually. Not that he's drunk now.

The roasted garlic potatoes with butter are truly delicious although
Mrs. Dickers severely overcooked the corn on the cob. Chub and I always
chose ears of corn with small kernels and then drop them in a pot of
boiling water for no more than four-minutes and usually less. Slather on
butter and salt and the kernels have a slight snap when you bite them off
the cob. Mrs. Dickers cobs were big and so were the kernels. It's what Chub
and I refer to as 'horse corn'. I had to eat the mushy corn off the cob
though; eating it was easier than explaining why I didn't want to. The
salad was good with a sort of sweet dressing I'm not familiar with and I
had three crusty rolls with butter that Mrs. Dickers made from
scratch. They were excellent. I would have had more except Mr. Dickers was
eating them like gum drops, one after another while talking about his golf
game with someone named Dwayne who Mrs. Dickers knew. I gave a thought
about asking for her salad dressing recipe but decided against it for fear
it would sound like a brown-nose move to Rob; hell, to all of them
probably. Brown-nosing with my future Mother-In-Law.

Dessert's a store-bought pound cake that Mrs. Dickers apologizes for
although I thought it was very good. Mr. Dickers said, "Not as light as
your pound cake, Em," and she goes, "I was rushed today and took the
short-cut of a store-bought pound cake." Rob and I frown at each other
because it was deliciously covered with fresh dark-red, very-ripe
strawberries plus the strawberry juice from a package of frozen
strawberries. A clever addition to fresh strawberries that I'll use the
next time I make this dessert. And then on top was whipped cream in a
can. Another short-cut but not the regular whipped-topping that's not
really whipped cream, like Cool Whip. That's a non-dairy product that some
misguided individuals think is actually whipped cream. We had Land O Lakes
aerosol real heavy-whipped-cream that Rob and I went back to for
seconds. Overall I was able to say, "Thank you, Mrs. Dickers, that was
delicious and I learned a new, um, meat." She chuckled, "I'm so glad you
liked it, Dylan. See that Rob!" He goes, "See what?" She says, "A
compliment for the cook is always appreciated." Rob goes, "I agree with
everything Dylan said and, Dad, thanks for showing me how to make a perfect
Manhattan." His father looks startled and his Mom says, "It's Dylan's
influence, Robert. Our son's finally learning manners." His Dad says, "Is
there enough pound cake for another helping of that dessert, Em?"

Rob says to me, "Let's go, babe," and to his parents, he adds, "Dylan and I
are gonna watch TV in my room, take a shower, and get to bed. This is my
official: good night, folks!" I say, "Thanks for the dinner and letting me
stay over." Rob gets a couple of fingers in the waistline of my baggy
shorts pulling me with him, mumbling, "Let's go brown-noser," both his
parents say, "You're welcome, Dylan," and his Mom adds, "Any time you want
you can stay over with our grumpy son you're welcome to." Rob and I go
upstairs with me trying to figure-out if that dinner was a comfortable
experience, quickly deciding... not really, not yet.

In Rob's bedroom he turns on the TV and gets on his bed with a pillow
propped-up behind him, saying, "Kick off your sneakers, Dylan, and join
me." I do that and Robby gets his arm around the back of my neck holding me
against him as he mumbles, "Let's see what's on cable." As he's scrolling
the channels one after the other I fall asleep against Rob's side. He
doesn't wake me until he's done watching the latest episode of Fargo on
FX. Then he gentle shakes me until my eyes pop open. He grins, saying, "I
need a shower. Do you wanna join me?" Shaking my head, I go, "I had one
around four o'clock." He goes, 'Well come in and do what you need to in the
bathroom and then get in bed, but do not go to sleep!" Grinning he asks,
"Okay?" Nodding, I get off the bed stretching and yawning.

With my toiletry kit in hand I follow him to the hall bath, listening very
closely to the TV in the family room downstairs. They're still up and
watching TV, so that's good! I do my bathroom stuff with Rob, who's in a
good mood chattering about tomorrow's baseball practice and then hugging my
waist and kissing the side of my head, saying, "This is so fucking awesome
having you staying with me." I go, "Yeah, I think it is too, mister
head-of-the-household," and get another hug. He turns the shower on, saying
again, "Don't fall asleep, Dylan, okay?" I nod and, with my toiletry kid
under my arm, I crack the door and see an empty hall. I've only got jockey
shorts on, which was dumb! I should have worn my flimsy shorts too. Okay,
empty hall means make a dash for the bedroom, which I do and then, with the
door closed, get under the covers and pull Rob's pillow over to smell his
scent. He's right, this is awesome.

Ten-minutes later Rob comes in the bedroom with a towel around his
waist. He grins at me as he takes off the towel and folds it before putting
it on the desk chair. Smelling like bath gel and shampoo he gets under the
covers with me and we snuggle together. Rob murmurs, "I wonder why sleeping
together seems more special than it did at college, babe?" I go, "We took
it for granted then, I guess." Rob goes, "No more. I'm gonna appreciate
every night we're together in bed next year in our apartment." Grinning, I
say, "Should we ask Danny to share the apartment with us senior year?" He
goes, "No!" and we kiss a sweet lover's kiss with Rob moving over partially
on top of me, as I'm lying on my back. My arms go around the back of his
neck. We moan quietly as we make-out and move our bodies together until
Robby takes a hand away and pushes my underwear down past my ass.

He squeezes my right butt cheek as his tongue licks my lips and then slides
into my mouth. Pushing my head back he licks down under my chin and does
little kisses there on my neck. He's up on an elbow with his other arm on
my chest as he kisses all over my face, his hand goes underneath me poking
my anus making me shudder and moan. After a four-or-five-minute make-out,
Rob murmurs, "Get the lube, baby," and he slides over me so I can get to
his bedside table and take the lube from the drawer. Kicking the covers
back Rob lays on his back with his hands behind his head, saying, "You lube
us up, Dylan." Looking at his naked body lying there with his fat,
firm-looking cock I find it hard to catch my breath as I squeeze KY jelly
in my hand and then lean over to stroke, stroke, stroke Rob's hardening
penis. My slippery stroking fist turns his dick into a stone-hard
boner. Damn, why didn't I go down on it before spreading the lube?!

Rob groans and squirms on the bed so I reach back and lube up my ass as he
murmurs, "On your side, baby, facing away." I do that and Robby gets behind
me and slowly pushes his cock inside my ass stretching my anus greatly
causing mucho pain but I grit my teeth and bare it. He leaves just the head
of his very fat cock inside me waiting for my ass to accommodate the
intrusion. In the meantime his arm comes over my side, his fingers playing
with my nip ring getting my nipple ridiculously hard as he kisses the side
of my neck and then lifts his hand to my chin pulling my head around, and
we're stretching our neck until our lips can meet. From then on it's a
beautiful lover's sex act with Rob doing everything slow while whispering
the sweetest words of love and affection and that goes on for quite a while
with his fat boner stimulating millions of pleasure nerve endings until I'm
in ecstasy and ready to burst. It can't go on forever though and we both
get overly aroused and it ends in a fast and furious, "Slapslapslap," and
then whining sounds from both of us as Rob humps against my butt cheeks and
cums hard inside me. My orgasm comes out like a hard piss making me shake
as my pee slit burns but feels fantastic at the same time, and then another
long steam of cum flies out as my eyelids flutter and I try to squeal but
only air hisses out of my throat with me trembling in deep sexual
pleasure. Both shots of cum landed over the side of the bed, in Rob's
slippers perhaps. They land out of sight is all I'm sure of.

There's murmurs of love from the both of us as Rob pulls me over and we hug
and kiss and rub our faces together and kiss some more before just lying in
each other's arms, the sides of our faces together and our scent in each
other's heads. Rob rocks me gently and hugs tighter, our bodies squirmy
against one another's again, just because it feels so good.

Oh my God, how many times have I acknowledged to myself how much more
lusciously delicious true lover's sex with Rob is as compared to any other
sex I ever have. Sex with my beautiful boy/man lover isn't really
comparable to any other sex I've known.  I've had that thought a hundred
times perhaps and yet it still is a shock to realize it all over again,
every time! The feel of him and the way he smells so subtly sexy, and
fresh, and new. His touch and his murmured words of affection and love
create like an aura all around us, like we're the only true lovers in the
world. It's intermingled, love and the sex is. Probably like Nature
intended, or almost like Nature intended... I suppose that's more
accurate. The shivers of contentment at being together isn't just felt by
me because his touch and the affection he expresses tell me that the
feelings I have for Rob are transferred right back to me. It's almost a
religious experience, and very possible more meaningful.

Saying that doesn't demean casual recreational buddy-sex because that's
appreciated too, but it's like comparing a steak dinner at the 99
Restaurant with a steak dinner at a high-end restaurant like Mooo or The
Bancroft Restaurant in Boston. The 99 Restaurant gives you a nice steak
dinner but it can't compare with either of the Boston restaurants; not even
a close facsimile of the same experience. Not only the food but the
service, side dishes... nothing is comparable really. Yes, and yet I've
enjoyed dinners at the 99 Restaurant and other local restaurants, just
nothing at all like I've enjoyed rare dinners at the high-end Boston
restaurants. The experiences are so different there's simply no comparing
the two. Oh yes, the price differential for the extremes is significant
too, the Ninety-Nine is inexpensive but on occasions I'm willing to pay
extra for the best, just like I'm always willing and anxious to pay/give
more of myself for lover's sex with Rob. He gets my undivided attention,
affection, love and every part of me he wants. It's the fullest price I can
pay emotionally and every other way for Rob's lover's sex.

I like Stop & Shop Brand chocolate covered ice cream bars, but I absolutely
love a Haagen-Dazs chocolate covered ice cream bar that cost almost
three-times as much, so I don't have it as often as the Stop & Shop Brand
bars. Rob and I don't do lover's sex all the time either. We have fun
recreational sex a lot too and there's love involved with that as well, but
primarily we're having sex because we like it. It's a lot quicker and
requires less commitment, but it's still awfully good!

Rob's asleep now so I slide my pillow over and get comfortable next to him
and wait for the mysteries of sleep to overtake me. In the meantime I'm
wondering again about the similarities in the lover's-type foreplay that
Danny and Rob do with me, and I suppose Danny does with Rob too. I can't
imagine why it'd be different. What came first though, the chicken or the
egg. Rob doing the lover's foreplay with me, or Danny doing it with
Rob. Logic dictates the latter. Danny's definitely not in love with me
though and so it's conceivable he's not in love with Rob either, and he
told me he's not in love with Hayden. So, he just does lover's foreplay
without being in love and there's a real possibility he doesn't even know
he's doing lover's foreplay.

Like Chubby, Danny's not in love with anyone apparently, which doesn't mean
he doesn't love anyone. He told me he loves Hayden as his best friend and
he probably loves Rob as his second-best friend. And then Hayden wondered
if he was in love with me which is ridiculous although I meant to have a
serious discussion about that with him, but now it may not be necessary. I
mean, we haven't even had buddy-sex since before he went to California. So
talking him out of the notion he might be in love with me seems totally
unnecessary at this point. He was overwhelmed momentarily by the sexual
heat at the Dairy Queen a couple of nights ago, but that's all I think it
was.

Hmmm, and Danny's foreplay with me unmistakably has a dominant aspect to
it, but mild when compared to dominance I've experienced in the past. My
past dominant sex partners could bring on submissiveness to a hugely
greater degree than I feel with Danny. He's dominant in a very sweet manner
though, much the way Robby gets some times with our foreplay during lover's
sex, or the slightly dominant way he dictated our earlier horny-sex this
afternoon. That kind of nice take-charge dominance is just that... nice. It
doesn't elicit extremes of submissiveness in me, it's more like a pleasant
dreamy submissive feeling with both of them that's only a shadow of the
submissive trances I've experienced in my younger days. Oh sure, Hayden
with his hypnotizing voice and the unlikeness that he'd be a dominant 'top'
for me, as well as for reasons unknown, can get me into a deeper submissive
trance during sex than most, but only for minutes and then the slightest
thing will make the trance evaporate as if it wasn't ever there. Nah, true
submissiveness during sub/dom sex doesn't happen for me like it used to;
not even close.

Oh man though, Willie could induce deep submissiveness in me, but then I
was seventeen at the time and he was not only my first boyfriend but my
first friend. Prior to seventeen it was exclusively Chubby and me against
the world. We did virtually everything together. Yep, where you'd find one
of us, the other wasn't more than a couple of feet away. We both had
acquaintances at school of course and maybe they even thought we were
friends, but until the end of high school's junior year it was basically
only Chubby and me. Then everything changed.

Yeah, it started when fat Carl 'outed' me to myself and through him I met
Willie, who was a few months younger than me but a hundred years more
experienced with gay sex. He was strictly a submissive 'bottom' when we
met. Ha, he jumped at the opportunity to turn the tables on that and made
naive me his submissive 'bottom'. So, through me Willie finally got to be a
dominant 'top' instead of the reverse. We both reveled in it and loved it!
I thought I was in love with Willie until I met Robby and discovered true
love. It took some time for me to understand the difference between
Willie's idea of being in love and Rob's, but I managed to sort it out,
although not quickly.

But why am I going over these memories now? I guess to understand my
reaction to sex nowadays, Hell, Willie and I made love in a truly sub/dom
manner and in earnest five-years-ago and even with him my submissive trance
lasted, at the longest, two days. And it was just a couple of summers ago
that Ray Reeves dominated my ass in a significant manner, but only for
short periods, like minutes, and our 'affair' was over entirely after
three-or-four-weeks. After three-or-four-weeks I was like Nelson Mandela
thinking, "I can take any more of this shit!'  Ha ha! Ray's still sexy-hot
though. It pains me to say that, but he is. And I've got to admit I seldom
experience hotter, more extreme orgasms that the ones Ray could fuck out of
me. Holy shit, I wouldn't mind feeling that again. The price is too high
though. Ray's a lot to put up with.

Then there's Ryan Wilcox who remains the champion as far as dominating me
and making me grovel in submissiveness to him. And for long periods of time
too. It's another one of those situations where I never exactly figured out
what it was about Ryan that he could turn me into, at times, almost his sex
slave. Of course he was an extremely submissive sex slave to others in his
earlier days so he knew every trick there was to know about that, and he
used them on me. He's another one who claimed to be in love with me and I
almost thought I was in love with him that summer. That didn't last long
either.

It's like Ryan has some anger in him and a mean streak, probably because of
the cruel treatment he put up with from sadistic dominant 'tops', and that
came out occasionally and I think he'd take it out on me. That was
especially true in our freshman year when he'd get so dominant he could
regress me into feeling as though I was his much younger 'bottom' who
worshiped my older, more experienced dominant 'top'. Again, I was much too
young and inexperienced to know better and it hasn't happened like that
since then. Ryan always eventually fucked something up though by taking
things too far and I'd be like, 'Fuck this!'

So, none of the weaker submissive trances I feel during Danny's foreplay,
or Rob's, or Hayden's, or anyone's nowadays, none of them can compare to my
heydays of submissive trances. Do I miss those deep delicious submissive
trances? I'm not sure actually. I know I'm in love with Robby and I like
the shadow trances with him the best. Hell, I still like being submissive
during sex and I probably always will, but apparently my wild west days
regarding those submissive trances are over. Getting older and more mature
isn't all its built-up to be.

That's the last I remember before Rob's saying, "Up and at 'em, babe. Get
ready to conquer another Monday morning!" Already? Oh balls!

to be continued...

     Donny Mumford     thinat20@yahoo.com    donnymumfod@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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