Date: Thu, 17 May 2018 21:21:06 -0400
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER     Chapter 37

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter  37

by  Donny Mumford


Entering the summer house through the backdoor I'm thinking, oh man, I'm
exhausted. What a fucking miserable night!  Trudging up the carpeted stairs
from the finished basement I admit I'm dealing with mental exhaustion, not
physical exhaustion. I walked maybe three-miles on the Boardwalk and that's
no big deal. Theodore Smiley's mind-games were a big deal through. At the
top of the stairs I see that someone's considerately left a courtesy light
on. Huh, that's the nicest thing anyone's done for me since I left the
house earlier tonight.

Standing in this awesome modern kitchen I listen for any sound that might
indicate someone's home, but the only thing I hear is the faint ambient
'white noise' of the central-air-conditioning cycling 'on'. There's no one
here except me and it's kind of eerie being alone in this mostly dark,
unfamiliar house. Not that I expected anyone would be home at one o'clock
in the morning on a vacation night.

Chubby certainly wouldn't be in this early and the Moms are at a night club
with their guys. Ha, the Moms and their guys have been known to party until
the wee-hours of the morning. They're used to doing that because at home
the Moms don't get off work until late, so the nights they do go 'out' they
stay out late and then sleep-in the next day. Ya know, thinking about those
guys partying at some club makes me happy! They still like having fun, none
of them have yet reached the grand-old-age of forty. Yeah, our Moms are
still in their thirties, although just barely.

Then tonight's activities flash past my mind again. Damn! This has been a
night like no other for me. A brand new experience and a challenge that I
was embarrassingly inapt at handling. I took Theodore way too seriously. I
should have called the asshole's bluff at the lavatory and that would have
been that, one way or another. He was all about mind games and humiliation
which I'm assuming has something to do with a 'grudge' against, um, guys
from his school-days apparently.

Yeah, it was most definitely a totally unpleasant experience and then late
in the game there was that very disappointing quick sex. And after that we
were right back into the mind games again, or more accurately Theodore
was. I'm trying not to be bitter about it although I probably should
be. I'm pretty fucking sure most guys in my place would be uber-bitter and
pissed and I'll bet that guy, Lee, is!  He was Theodore's other victim
tonight. And somehow, I got the distinct impression Lee is a 'straight'
dude which puts an entirely different slant on things for him obviously.

Theodore's comments tonight led me to believe this 'grudge' of his is like
a 'Rage Against the Machine' type thing; the 'machine' being school-days
when he came to dislike good-looking, popular guys, some of whom must have
treated him very badly. Him being a short, shinny, young guy with a
small-pointy nose that brings to mind a bird's beak. Guess he didn't
qualify for the 'in-crowd'.

Other than his beak-nose Theodore is an okay-looking guy I guess, if a bit
small. He has a sweet smile even though his front teeth are slightly
bucked. Oh, setting the record straight on that I gotta say he never once
smiled at me. He smiled when talking to his girlfriend on the phone. That's
the only reason I know about his smile.

Going upstairs to my bedroom I can't shake how disappointed I am in myself
for not reacting better to the Junior Auxiliary Policeman's behavior
tonight. Sure, he had the authority of the Wildwood Police behind him but I
shouldn't have allowed that bogus-threat of a night in jail to justify his
abuse of power over me. I say that now but all his lies were believed by
his accomplice, the Boardwalk Patrol cop, so I seriously don't know what
the hell I could have done differently? And, balls, I can't get over the
fact Theodore and I ran into each other a second, and then a third time;
that just blows my mind! How the hell is it possible with
twenty-to-thirty-thousand people on the Boardwalk that he and I would run
into one another three separate times?

Shaking my head slowly, I drop my clothes on the floor next to the bed and
walk naked into the bathroom. Trying to get tonight's abomination off my
mind I take a long-hot shower hoping to wash all the bad parts of tonight,
metaphorically speaking, down the drain with the swirling water and bath
gel suds.

Being evil wasn't all of what Theodore represented to me though. No, in
some weird, minor way I sort of admired his confidence and, by the way, I
believe that he's mostly sexually-straight. Not
one-hundred-percent-straight like he said though. The reasons I think he's
basically straight are: one, he has a girlfriend and, two, no gay guy worth
his salt would perform anal-sex as poorly as he did. It was pretty bad sex
although it did result in climaxes. I don't know but I'm pretty sure any
pleasure from my orgasm was exaggerated because it's been over four-days
now since my last climax. And anyway, all climaxes feel good. Different
degrees of 'good' for sure, but none I've had felt bad.

There's a third reason I think Theodore's straight and it's my distinct
sense that he wasn't really into the sex. Of course, being a 'straight'
dude, he needed a justification for doing it and claimed it was because
he's missing sex with 'Nance', his girlfriend. I believe a more prominent
factor though is he simply likes to humiliate straight guys who he feels
are cooler than him. Ones he contends think themselves 'special', whatever
that means in his twisted mine. Yeah, he thinks I'm 'straight' although I
never claimed to be and he never asked, and it didn't occur to me to tell
him I'm gay. In fact, it never entered my mind one way or the other until
the night was almost over and by then what's the point of telling him?

The idiom, 'not worth your salt', by the way, is another odd one we all use
now and then, but this one I actually do know about. It goes back to
Ancient Roman times. I learned this from one of Chubby's factoids a few
years ago. Chubby claims that sodium choline, which is what salt is, had
been used as a commodity throughout early history as a form of
payment. Some Roman guy, for example, works his ass off all day and gets a
handful of salt as his 'pay'. Conversely a poor worker is, 'not worth his
salt'. Hey, that's what Chubby said anyway.

Yeah, but back to Theodore. Assuming I'm right and he is mostly straight,
he still is by no means the straightest guy I've ever known, like he
claimed. Not by a long shot or he wouldn't be fucking that kid, Lee, and
me. Theodore's anal sex technique is sort of a 'by-the-numbers' technique
where he pokes his dick in, "Ooooh,' and then thrust, thrust, thrust and
then, "Aaaah," taking maybe a grand-total of three-minutes from the first,
"Oooh!" to the last, "Aaaah!". So yeah I think I'm right, it's gotta be
that he's into humiliating straight guys, not the gay-sex per se.

After the shower and while brushing my teeth I'm wondering how Chubby's
date turned-out and if he was looking for me on the Boardwalk some time
tonight. Without his cellphone it was like we reverted back twenty-years to
the primitive way communication was done back then. I still have a hard
time imagining how people functioned without cellphones. Was everyone
running around all the time looking for a pay phone? And how'd they
communicate everything they seem to need communicating whenever they get
behind the wheel of an automobile? I mean nowadays every other driver on
the road is talking on their cellphone, or texting.

Walking back into the bedroom I realize something: it's a damn good thing
Chubby didn't find me tonight because that would have been a mess that
ended with lots of whistle-blowing and maybe both of us sharing a jail cell
with drunks. Oh well, at least that didn't happen. After putting on boxer
shorts I remove the six extra pillows on the bed wondering why they're
there, and then get in under the covers... sigh! Oh man, this is nice! This
queen-size bed is awesome and Chub and I both have our own bed for once.

Next thing I know I'm waking-up in a strange place. Oh wait! I tell myself:
you're in the Wildwood summer house, dummy! All of last night comes
flooding back into my head of course and I make a 'face'. Oh fuck, I was
such a 'dink' last night, such a dork! Still, what could I have done?
Honest to God I still don't know. At least I avoided spending the night in
jail and I sort of had my first side-sex of the vacation, such as it was.

Then I'm startled by seeing the top of Chubby's head above the covers
across from me. What the fuck is he doing in this bed? Ha ha. This is a
classy place that our future Step-Dads rented but Chub and I aren't used to
this level of luxury. He did the same thing I did which, after doing his
bathroom stuff, was get into the closest bed to the bathroom. We're
simple-tools, ya know? When Chub stumbled into bed I must have moved over
to this side of the mattress while sleeping.

Unfortunately, during the night Chub has rolled to the extreme edge of the
mattress and he's just about to fall off the bed entirely. He's on his
stomach and could break his nose falling out of bed like that. I slide over
to him and cup the shoulder that's off the bed and then pull him away from
the edge. Chub goes, "Cucu, sum, beeeethrorp" and goes back into a deep
sleep.

Grinning to myself I stare at the side of his cutely-handsome face and
think what a shit-storm Theodore would have found himself in if he tried
pulling his shit on my brother. Omigod, what a mess that would have
been. Well, I'm pretty sure the Junior Auxiliary Policeman wouldn't have
his buck front teeth to worry about anymore. Chubby would have done free
dental work on those buck teeth. And that might have been the least of
Theodore's problems with my brother. But, yeah, then the police... not
good.

In spite of everything, I don't hate Theodore. Like I said, I actually
think in some distorted way there's something to admire about him. Oh sure,
he's definitely fucked-up in the head with his 'grudge' thingie, but I saw
one or two positive aspects in his make-up. Not that he demonstrated any of
them with me, but he has a girlfriend and he's apparently liked by the
other guys I saw him talking with on the Boardwalk. I guess I'll have to
assume there's another side to him. His friends actually appeared to be
deferential to him which doesn't surprise me. Confidence like Theodore's
often lends itself to good leadership qualities. With me of course he was a
prick of the first order, but then he has that grudge against certain guys
and, as misguided as it was, he was extracting revenge on me as a
convenient substitute for whoever it is he really hates. That's not one of
the 'good' qualities I'm referring to, by the way.

Yeah, and the earlier victim, Lee, is another unknown factor in last
night's drama. I'd like to know more about that situation. I only saw the
kid for a few minutes in the insufficient lighting outside the public
lavatory. I saw him mostly in the shadows and when he walked right past me
going up the steps to the Boardwalk I was looking at Theodore mistakenly
thinking I was in the process of breaking his balls a little. You know, in
retaliation for him trying to break mine earlier, but then he turned the
tables on me.

Anyway, back to this kid, Lee. From my quick glance at him he didn't appear
much taller than Theodore, although he looked heavier as in stocky or
pudgy, but not a fattie. He had what looked like longish dark hair and a
deep voice. I remember that, but that's about all I remember. Hell, I'll
probably never see him again anyway so what's the difference what he looks
like?

Theodore though, hmmm... am I gonna see him again? Well yeah, I guess I am
since he still has my driver's license. The correct question to ask myself
should have been: do I 'want' to see him again? I guess the answer is
still, yeah, I think I do. His amateurish anal sex, while not good by any
stretch of the imagination, did prime me to want more and currently he's my
only option in that regard. Beggars can't be choosy. That's what I've heard
anyway.

The fact he 'ordered' me to get in touch with him today is a problem though
and I need to adjust his thinking somehow in that regard. I mean, now that
last night's bull-shit is in the past. The fact is I'd be searching for him
whether he 'ordered' me to or not because he has something of mine that I
want back. And now that his threat of a night in jail is no longer in play
I'm over my timid-dorky act with him. He's lost that big edge over me, and
forget about him physically being a problem! Jesus, I could tie his dick in
a knot if I wanted to. Unfortunately, that would bring 'jail' back into
play so I probably won't do that.

Okay, yeah I admit I initially disrespected him a tiny bit when we first
met by mocking his position as an officious Junior Auxiliary Policeman. I
was like, oh wow, whoop-de-doo to that hokey position! Ha ha, so I can
understand a normal need in him for some payback. If I wanted to be petty
about it though, and split-hairs a little, I could mention he basically
started everything by rudely telling me to get away from the new Boardwalk
ramp when it's obviously finished and ready to be used. Someone simply
forgot to take the 'Do Not Enter' tape away. And, what the fuck, I'll be a
tad petty by mentioning he was calling me 'Sir' with the word dripping with
sarcasm the way cops say it. So Theodore needs to take some of the blame
for us getting off on the wrong foot.

What I'm kinda hoping, and it's a long-shot I know, but maybe his dominant
routine eventually can get put to something useful like good
sub-dom-sex. Obviously, he needs to eliminate his propensity for
humiliating me 'cause I'm not gonna take any more of that shit. Just be
dominant, Theodore, and carry through with a lot better sex. Is that too
much to expect?

And yep, he has plenty of 'prick' in him so he can pull off the dominant
part with no problem, unlike Marty West, for example. The best I can
probably hope for from Theodore won't be close to the level of side-sex
I've experienced before in Wildwood, but if a miracle happens and we work
something out it might be the entire-extent of my sexual activity all
summer vacation. That would be embarrassing considering my previous
vacations here. In past years it was more an embarrassment of a different
kind; an embarrassment of riches, side-sex-wise.

Still, I gotta say Theodore's unparalleled take on dominance and
humiliation is already a noteworthy Wildwood memory on par with my Mohawk
Man memory. Definitely different for sure, and I'm not saying they're
pleasant memories either, but both are on par for bizarreness. Heh heh, I
know I'm crazy for not hating shit like that but I find it interesting, so
sue me if you don't 'get' it.

What the hell time is it anyway? Looking at my wristwatch I see it's
ten-minutes-of-nine. Holy shit, that's awesome! I got a good eight-hours of
sleep last night. No one else in this house can say the same though so I
don't want to do anything to wake them. Being conscientiously quiet I slip
out of bed, do my normal bathroom routine, pull on clean shorts and a
T-shirt, and then step into sandals. Checking-out Chubby again, I can't
help but grin 'cause he's so perfect. Next I collect my money, wallet, and
cellphone from the top of the bureau and then tiptoe downstairs. Jesus,
how'd I do all that without waking Chub? Heh heh... good job!

I continue going right on down the basement stairs and out through the door
next to the garage and then step out into a really nice summer day in
August. Sweet!  Damn, I feel surprisingly good considering last night's
disaster. With every waking minute I feel better too.

Yeah well, last night had its moments. I met a weirdly unique guy who
reminded me of something I already knew. Sure, he was one mean
mother-fucker but it made me realize again that trying to do some friendly
ball-busting with guys you don't know doesn't usually come off very
well. It comes off as criticism or 'dissing' which leads to mean-spirited
confrontations. That's unless the stranger is a cool, hot-shit-type-guy,
one who can send the ball-busting right back at you in a good-natured
manner. Theodore wasn't that type of guy though. Guys I know break other
guys' balls all the time, but in good fun. That's fact, not opinion, but
un-fun Theodore interpreted it as 'mocking' and then all the rest of the
bad behavior followed. Bottom line, he didn't like me because he perceived
me as being a clique type guy, or an in-crowd sort of person when nothing
could be further from the truth.

I guess it was my appearance, my college status, his misconception that I
thought I was too cool for words; all that, and other things I can't even
imaging must be what ignited Theodore's negative memories from high school
and he went on a tirade getting what he perceived as revenge for old
insults. The fact I wasn't in school with him didn't appear to matter. I'm
guessing Theodore was not a member of the 'in-crowd' in school, but I'll
bet he was the leader of the 'outcasts'.

Omigod! Enough over-anylyzing that head-case! I want to enjoy my
first-morning-walk on the Boardwalk this year and... there it is, the
Boardwalk. Yep, it's as imposing as ever... even at my advanced age. Huh,
the new ramp where all my troubles began last night is the closet ramp to
the summer house, so fuck it, I go up the ramp, duck under the 'Do Not
Enter' tape and begin walking down the length of the two-mile Boardwalk.

Early in the morning there's always a lot of activity on the Boardwalk,
assuming you think nine-thirty is early. On the land-side of the Boardwalk
there are the shops, booths, restaurants, and stores selling almost
everything. The food establishments are the most prevalent by a large
margin and you can find anything you want at a Wildwood restaurant. Wait a
minute, that's a song isn't it?

While the volume of people on the Boardwalk isn't presently as intense as
it will be at night, there are still a lot of people here. Many are walking
like me, but there are also joggers, tram-cars, and bicycle riders. They
each have their special lanes but they don't always stay in them. Kids
being pushed in strollers are another concern. Mothers can be aggressive
using their toddler's stroller as a weapon to get other walkers out of
their way.

I don't expect to see Theodore here but that's not why I'm on the Boardwalk
anyway. My primary mission is to have breakfast. I also want a Taylor Pork
Roll sandwich on a hamburger bun. Not because it's delicious especially,
although I like it okay, but mostly it's become sort of a tradition for me,
and as far as I know it's available only in New Jersey.

Taylor Pork roll is a processed pork product made with a mix of spices,
salt, with a sugar cure and of course, 'preservatives'. It's smoked before
being packaged in a tube and then sliced and lightly fried. You won't find
it included on any health-food-diet, but then very few tasty foods are part
of a so-called healthy diet.

First things first though. I choose a promising looking shop to buy a glass
of fresh-squeezed orange juice for only $3.25, and it's all of four-ounces
too. That last comment is an example of 'sarcasm' by the way. And then a
paper-cup of coffee and a jelly donut for $4.29; no tip from me for
take-out orders.

While eating and drinking the last two items I'm sitting on a bench along
the railing side of the Boardwalk looking out at the beach, sky, and the
Atlantic Ocean. Not a lot of breeze coming off the ocean yet on this bright
day and the sun looks big in the sky and will surely get hotter and hotter
as the day goes along, and then there's the constant squawking of the
flying, floating seagulls drifting over the white sands before landing to
walk near the day's early sunbathers looking for garbage to eat.

After breakfast I go strolling down the Boardwalk, again thinking about
Theodore and what I should do if I see him. He won't be on 'duty' as a
Junior Auxiliary Policeman so he won't have his whistle with him. Obviously
the first thing I need to do is get my driver's license back. That's a
non-negotiable first step before anything else. This ain't last night and
it ain't gonna be the same for Theodore, that's for sure. When my license
in back in my wallet I'll see what, if anything, we can work out. I frankly
don't feel in the mood right now for amateurish anal sex but later this
afternoon I might. I doubt it, but maybe we'll actually come to some sort
of compromise.

With that in mind I should probably try to form some kind of a friendly
relationship with him, if possible. Who knows, he might be quite different
when 'off-duty'. I mean he is bizarrely interesting and I'd be interested
to know the full story behind his 'grudge'. I already think I analyzed the
situation pretty well but it'd be cool to see if I'm right. His dominant
manner is intriguing so maybe I should continue with the, 'Yes Sir'
bull-shit to have some continuity from last night. He might need that. His
humiliating of me will need to be dialed-waaaaaay-the-fuck-back obviously!
Perhaps not totally though... ha ha. I know, most guys would punch him out
as soon as they see him, but not so fast...

This toad, Theodore, is a naturally dominant guy and even though he's a
straight' dude he is currently doing anal sex, so there's some potential
there. It's a big stretch I know, but the thing is I haven't run into a
naturally dominant type since Ryan Wilcox and he and I have been on the
'outs' for the better part of a year now. Naturally dominant guys don't
grow on trees.  Damn though, I wish Theodore fucked better. I can't
coach-him-up on 'fucking' though because that would ruin the whole premise
of him being a dominant 'top'. Oh man, I'm sure ultimately I'd be
disappointed with whatever we ended-up doing, if anything, but it's at
least something. Hard to imagine a summer vacation in Wildwood without a
little 'something'. Oh fuck though, the reality of me doing anything sexual
with that psycho is so remote I'm just jerking myself around thinking about
it. Get real!

I'm finally able to discontinue all these ridiculous thoughts of doing
anything with Theodore except simply getting my license back. Right now I'd
like to enjoy the sights and sounds of the Boardwalk. After an hour of
drifting down the 'boards' and then turning around and walking back I get
my Taylor Pork Roll sandwich and eat it while looking for the coffee shop I
got my breakfast at this morning. I got lucky because their coffee is
similar to Dunkin' Donuts and therefore dissimilar to Starbucks, which is
way too bitter for me and Chub.

Finding the shop, I buy a large coffee with cream and extra sugar and two
chocolate glazed donuts for Chubby. Then, not sure what's in our
refrigerator at the house, I buy him a to-go container of the
fresh-squeezed orange juice I had earlier. It was really refreshing and I
know it's fresh squeezed because I watched a cute teenage boy squeeze it
using and electric orange-juicer. Well, what else would he use, his hands?

Chub's breakfast is in a bag with lids on everything as I carry it back to
the house. I find him still in bed, but awake. He sits up and gives me a
big grin, and says, "I was looking for you when I woke-up, Dylan." Grinning
back at him, I go, "You know, you could have slept in your own bed last
night." He says, "I don't want my own bed. Wha'cha got in that bag?" I hold
up the bag, saying, "Your breakfast," and he goes, "Oh goodie," and he
takes it from me looking inside all excited, like he's a little kid. He
goes, "Chocolate glazed donuts! They're my favorites." I laugh at how
Chubby's always excited and enthusiastic about everything. If the donuts
were stale lemon-frosted ones he'd say the same thing. I go, "Drink the
fresh squeezed orange juice first though, bro. If you eat something sweet
like one of those donuts before the OJ it fucks-up the taste of the juice."

He takes a huge bite of a chocolate glazed donut giving me a big smile and
mumbling with his mouth full, "What was that, bro?" I laugh along with him
and then sit on the bed Indian-style and talk with him as he eats and
drinks his breakfast. He says he has a wicked hangover although he isn't
acting like he has a big hangover. I predict his hangover will rear its
ugly head for real as the morning progresses because I think he's still a
little drunk from last night and therefore his full blast hangover hasn't
kicked-in yet. He tells me he got to bed, he thinks, at three o'clock this
morning. His date with the waitress, Carla, who we met at Gregory's Bar
when we first got to Wildwood, was a very good 'time' but not quite
excellent. Chub says he'll be going out with her again this week. I don't
ask for details of why it wasn't 'quite excellent' because I think I know
why. He didn't get laid.

Chub tells me that he left Carla about midnight and stopped at Gregory's
Bar for a beer but got to talking to a couple of guys from California. One
thing led to another and the three of them ended-up closing the bar. The
two guys he met are in a band that's playing at a club in Somers Point and
Monday night is their only night off. They came over to Wildwood to see
this place for themselves because they'd heard a lot about it. Chub
borrowed their cellphone and was trying to call me but that must have been
after Theodore had my phone getting information from it, and then he turned
it off. I tell Chub I stupidly didn't have my phone turned-on, which he
doesn't think is odd at all because that happens to him all the time. As a
matter of fact, my phone is still turned off and I reach in my pocket and
turn it on without telling Chub why it was off.

I do tell him about meeting the guys from Merrimack on the Boardwalk and,
of course he knows them. He tells me Steve's last name is Vance and Steve's
roommate is Hershel Tomlinson. Hell, I was proud of myself for remembering
the one guy's first name was Steve. Chub remembered both of their first and
last names. He knows tons of people and he never forgets a name. I also
tell him about the guy from Framingham and from my description of that guy
Chub thinks it was someone named, Joe Clark, who is the apprentice
pharmacist at the Rite Aid drugstore we go to. I'm like, "Yeah, you're
right... that's the guy! I knew I'd seen him from someplace. Damn, I didn't
know his name was Joe Clark though." Chub grins, saying, "It may not be his
name, but that's what's on his name tag." I go, "Huh, it's probably his
name then," and Chub, still grinning, mutters, "Unless he borrowed someone
else's white pharmacist's coat." I nod, "Yeah, unless that." We both
chuckle and continue our silly conversation until eventually he goes in to
take his shower.

While Chub is showering I go downstairs to see if the parental-units are up
yet. Nope, no sign of them and it's almost eleven o'clock. Chub's ready for
the beach in fifteen-minutes so we leave a note saying where we'll be on
the beach and then we each grab a beach chair and a towel and begin the
walk to the beach. The sand in front of our summer rental is full of broken
shells and stones. Nice to look at but it'd be a shitty place to hangout
sunbathing.

Our destination is the beach on 39th Street, a few blocks down from the
beginning of the Boardwalk. There's no life guard on that beach which tends
to keep down the number of families with young children, who can be
annoying. The entire beach along the two-mile Boardwalk is 'groomed' every
night by the city.  Some kind of apparatus is dragged behind Jeeps
collecting debris while smoothing-out the sand so that every morning the
beach looks new, as if no one has ever been on it.

We find a good spot that's not too close to other groups of people but not
too far from the ocean, and then claim it as our own for the day by
setting-up our beach chairs. There are many rules to follow on the beach,
but first the good news: they've done away with the need to buy beach tags;
the use of the beach is now free. A major step toward attracting more
tourists perhaps. Beach tags were a huge pain in the ass to start with and
then there were the junior cops, usually college girls, who walked the
beach checking that everyone was wearing a tag. Intrusive, like a Communist
country... show me your ID! That's what it felt like anyway. Now for the
rules of what you can't do on the beach. Prohibited activities include:
running, smoking, alcoholic beverages, cursing, kites, frisbees, ball
playing, animals, nudity, fires and fun. I added the last one myself.

So many prohibited things nowadays of things Chubby and I used to do
routinely when we were kids. All those negative rules have been enacted
over the years in a failed attempt to please everybody and ending-up
pleasing very few. Oh, and flotation devices and things like boogie boards
are allowed only in designated areas of which there are few. There's
probably other things you're not allowed to do that I can't remember and
there are things that the people in-charge forgot to prohibit like murder,
fucking, bombs, cannibalism, drag racing, and others...

Unconcerned about all that, Chub and I sit on our beach chairs talking
while we're spreading waterproof sunscreen on ourselves and then on each
other. It's ninety-two degrees with a cloudless sky and a glaringly-hot sun
so it's not long before we decide to go in the ocean to cool off. Chubby
goes into the ocean like I do. We run about ten steps, which isn't as easy
as it sounds in water that quickly reaches our nuts, and then we sort of
fall or dive-in. That way we avoid the slow torture of step by step
shivering at the coolness of the water. The water temperature is around
seventy-five-degrees which sounds warm except it's seventeen-degrees cooler
than the air temperature and almost twenty-four-degrees cooler than our
bodies, so the water feels cold by comparison.

Last year I bumped into Charlie while swimming in the ocean, and that was
delightful. I'm not in the ocean five-minutes this year when I bumped into
an old man; one who is far from delightful. Yeah, a growling old guy
somewhere in his seventh-decade on earth who has so much wet, thick,
gray-body-hair I initially thought he was wearing a sweater. Ugh! Yep,
that's how this year's vacation has been going for me so far. And he was
not a nice old man either. He snarled at me, "Jesus-fucking-Christ, kid!
Watch the fuck where you're going!" A charmer! And apparently, he hasn't
heard about the ban on cursing yet. In deference to his age I mumble an
apology and wade away. Chub and I were body-surfing into shore on some
pretty good waves and it was the old man who wasn't watching where he was
going, and he was going there very slowly too. Alas, he's old, so it's all
my fault... again.

The waves are especially good today so we stay in the ocean until we see
the Moms and the twins walking onto the beach. Chub nods his head at them
and we make our way out of the water and up the beach to our chairs. After
grabbing towels and drying off quickly we jog up to them and help the guys
carry their stuff the rest of the way down to our beach chairs. The Moms
bring a lot of stuff to the beach with them, much more than Chub or I do
and much more than most people bring with them. The twins were struggling
with four chairs, a beach umbrella, a cooler, a portable radio, and beach
towels, plus their own reading material, which I'm guessing is
work-related. The Moms, wearing big sun-hats and big sunglasses, are
chatting happily together carrying a beach bag each containing everything
imaginable.

Chub and I set up the umbrella as we exchange experiences from last night
with the Moms and their guys and they do the same for us. Both Chubby and I
edit our nights' experiences drastically, especially me, until the
retelling is a mere shadow of what actually happened. The Moms believe
every word coming out of our mouths but the twins know better. They're not
that many years removed from editing their experiences to their parents
when they were younger. Parents who don't actually need or want to hear
about everything. It's mostly a 'guy' thing; the lying I mean. Tom and Tim
are awesome and they exchange knowing smirks with Chub and me. After the
chatter and then cold drinks from the cooler get past around everyone
settles down to relax on the beach.

As I expected Chub's hangover intensified as he became completely sober and
while he's not a complainer he's unusually quiet while dealing with what's
developed into a full-blown hangover. One of the many things in his Mom's
beach bag is a bottle of Tylenol. Chub takes three capsules and we 'chill'
for a while catching some rays. The Moms of course never run out of things
to say to each other and the guys, nodding their heads at what the Moms are
saying, mostly are reading their magazines and sending text messages. Not
long after that Chub falls asleep under the umbrella and I announce, "Hey
guys, I'm gonna take a walk on the beach. I'll check-in with you later."

Wearing my cool sunglasses and freshly applied sunscreen I saunter on down
the beach expecting to enjoy the experience. I know to bring sandals with
me for when I walk on the hot sand, but initially I start out walking
barefoot along the wet-packed-sand near the breaking waves. More accurately
it's the part of the beach where the waves run-out after breaking on the
shoreline. This close to the ocean I get the full effect of the breeze as I
stroll along looking at the sunbathers to my right and others walking by
me. As far as Theodore goes I decided earlier that I'm going to get my
license back one way or another and then what happens after that depends on
him. I'm guessing whatever he has in mind likely won't remotely resemble
what I have in mind.

Except for that, I'm feeling okay and checking out guys during my casual
walk along the beach. Rocking my cool haircut, I'm looking pretty good so
maybe someone of interest will notice how friendly I appear to be. There's
always a chance I'll attract a handsomely/cute gay guy who's looking for a
summer-vacation 'friend'. Its not unheard of, ya know.

Old habits die hard so I'm still glancing at guys of interest but like last
night on the Boardwalk, most of the guys I think are cute and sexy are too
young for me now. I say that although it's sometimes difficult to tell the
seventeen-years-old-guys from the eighteen-or-nineteen-years-old
guys. Legal age for consensual sex is something I believe in although what
exactly that age is from state to state is a cloudy area. Consent may or
may not be sixteen-or-seventeen in this state, but to be safe my own rules
calls for age eighteen as the youngest age of a guy I'd have sex
with. Omigod, eighteen! That sounds so young to me now.

After walking the beach for twenty-minutes I'm not feeling so cool anymore
with sweat's dripping down my face. The ocean breeze has disappeared so
it's very hot! I'm now trudging through the sand walking around groups of
sunbathers and still not seeing any guys who I consider possible partners
for, um, some sexy fun, what else? Where the hell did all the guys like
that go? Okay, I've just about had enough of this. I'm only gonna walk as
far as that amusement pier up ahead and then head back the way I came. Oh
wait... yeah, that's the pier where Theodore had me standing against the
railing seemingly like forever last night.

Jeez, I haven't thought about Theodore for the last twenty-minutes. That's
a relief. Yeah but if I walk as far as the pier I can honestly tell him I
walked to the pier even though I wasn't actually looking for him at all. Oh
crap though, I'm just postponing the inevitable by not finding him... I
need to get my license back. So where the hell is he? Chub and I are going
out on the town after dinner so I won't see that little prick, Theodore,
tonight. And why was I concerned about being able to tell him I walked to
the pier looking for him? What, I'm worried Theodore won't be okay with my
efforts to find him on the beach today? Is that it? Jesus, how pathetic of
me is that! Me worrying about an excuse for not hooking-up with him is
stupid. God, this whole deal with him blows!

And then, just like that, I see him. Holy shit! I weirdly picked him right
out from all those people up there near the top of the beach. Huh, so it's
the 'Bay Drive' beach he hangs-out at. Guess that makes sense since that's
the pier right in front of me where he took me last night. Close to his
house I guess. Still it's uber odd how my eyes picked him out of all those
people. He's small but looking kinda cool wearing aviator sunglasses and
baggy swim trucks. Yeah, well what else would he be wearing on the beach?

I try staring at his every move like I did last night. Ha ha, like a dog
left in the car when his master gets out. The dog looks at his master's
every move until he goes out of sight and then, after whimpering for a few
seconds the dog forgets why he's whimpering and does what dogs do best, he
goes to sleep. Dogs are awesome! Yeah, but I need to stop screwing around
and take this a little more seriously.

And I'm not a dog so I stop following Theodore's every move and think real
quick if I even want to make contact with him right now. I look back at him
and see he's standing with his arms crossed over his skinny chest while
talking casually to some babe who's wearing a bikini two-sizes too small
for her. Christ, just the way Theodore is standing he there seems to exudes
confident. Oh fuck, he just said something that made the girl laugh and she
sort of hangs on his skinny shoulder. Huh, in some ways he's actually a
cool little fucker! It's his stance I think that drew my eyes directly to
him among all those people.

Looks like he's part of a five-person group, all young, probably
eighteen-to-twenty-years-old. There's him and the babe he's talking with,
and then sitting on beach chairs are two other guys and another girl. Oh
man, if 'Nance' were still down here it'd be three guys and three
girls. Aww, Theodore's left as the odd man out with his girlfriend in
Philly. Too bad... heh heh. Well actually it was 'too bad' for that other
kid, what's-his-name, Lee, and me last night. That's who it was 'too bad'
for. What a shit storm that was!

Oh, now one of the guys just gave Theodore what looks suspiciously like a
can of Budweiser beer. Well what the fuck? There's no alcoholic beverages
allowed on the beach and they're all too young to be drinking anyway! And
Theodore being a Junior Auxiliary cop should know that. Yeah, him being a
junior cop is probably why he and his friends can get away with it. Another
blatant and outrageous abuse of power!

Huh, well hell I wouldn't mind an ice-cold beer myself right about now, so
I start walking toward the group. They're like fifty-feet from where I am
and then Theodore looks over and sees me. I stop, not sure if I should
continue or what. I mean, they're all strangers to me, except for the
psycho.

Theodore's not giving me any indication one way or another so I don't know
whether I should keep walking towards them or not. Without changing his
expression he just stares at me for a few seconds. Then his lips move and
all four of the others are looking at him and then the two guys look over
at me chuckling. What the fuck? My face gets red because I think he told
them about me and him last night? Fuck this! I should turn around and go
back the way I came. Yeah, but I need my driver's license. Dammit!

Oh boy, now Theodore hands the girl his beer and he's walking towards
me. He even walks officiously, the little prick. It's probably a running
gag among his friends that Theodore has this 'grudge' and he's using his
authority to extract revenge for, um, something or other. Extract vengeance
on innocent victims like me.

His smug way of walking is so annoying! And why did I just take a deep
breath? Am I nervous? He walks right up to me and gets in my space. Yeah,
as if I'd expect anything else from him.  I go, "Hi there, Theodore, um, I
need my lic...." but he grabs my right bicep we begin walking in the
direction of the pier, and not in the direction of his friends and the cold
beers. He doesn't say 'Hi' or anything, so I'm like, 'Whassup? Where we
going?" but he doesn't answer. Looking over at him I notice he has a
longish, skinny neck. It seems especially long for someone so short. Fuck
though, I could snap that neck like a twig...

And another thing, in daylight his nose doesn't look like a bird's beak
anymore, although it is small. So small, as we walk he needs to push his
sunglasses up his small nose every five-seconds. It reminds me of Ryan
Wilcox doing that same thing with those little Harry Potter eyeglasses he
wore when we first met.

Oh, and another thing, Theodore got a haircut sometime this morning. I'm
not surprised because when he took his hat off last night it looked like he
needed one. His light-brown hair looked basically like a raggedy, grown-out
burr haircut. Now it's a new burr haircut but not nearly as short or severe
as I'd expect a Junior Auxiliary Police Officer to get. The haircut looks
good on him though and he has a really good tan too, but he's just as
skinny as I thought he was when seeing him in his uniform last night. His
hips are just barely able to hold-up his boardie-style swimsuit. Totally
hairless torso on this skinny kid too.

He stops us at the amusement pier that sticks twenty-five-yards out from
the Boardwalk. Pushing his sunglasses up his tiny nose with the middle
finger of his right hand he's pointing at the Boardwalk with his left, as
he asks, "Do you see those steps leading to the Boardwalk?" I glance where
he's indicating, and mutter, "Yeah, of course I see the steps." Oddly my
heart's going pitter-patter and I need to take another deep breath, as he
says, "Go up those steps and sit your ass down on the bench to the
right. Lee is sitting there already and I want both of you to wait for me
there. It shouldn't take more than a half-hour for me to work something out
that I need to do on the beach. Then I'll have the time to discipline you
two pussies."

In my head I'd already decided I don't want to do anything sexual with this
nut-case. All I thought I'd do initially is get my driver's license back
from this asshole, but he just pissed me off royally with his 'discipline'
comment. Okay, so we're now also gonna have an unpleasant confrontation as
well as me getting my license back. Not here on the beach though with life
guards and all these people. I'll have it out with him on the Boardwalk if
need be, but off the Boardwalk in the street would be better. I'm still
kinda curious about, Lee, too and obviously Theodore doesn't have my
license on his person presently so I'll need to keep my shit together and
play along for a little bit longer.

A few seconds pass as I'm deciding that and then I remember my idea from
this morning about making Theodore think everything is still going his way
to keep him off guard. Yeah, so I should probably continue with that, 'Yes,
Sir,' bull-shit from last night. He taps the side of my head with his hand,
almost a slap actually and I'm just about to take a swing at him, but he
goes, "Hey, heh! Take it easy," and I gather my thoughts and resist doing
what I dearly would love to do. Instead I keep my patience as he mutters,
"I told you what to do, so do it." Oh man... be cool, Dylan! Trying to keep
sarcasm out of my voice, I finally say, "Yes, Sir," but he gets this weird
expression on his face for a second. You know, squinty eyes like he's not
sure of something, but he doesn't say anything. He's probably wondered what
my hesitation means, and also I think some sarcasm did sneak into my voice
when I said, 'Yes Sir'. Fuck it though, I start walking toward the steps.

Theodore is still playing his egocentric game, one I'm not gonna be
tolerating much longer. His fate was hanging by a thread in the first place
and now the thread just caught fire. Theodore is an unredeemable officious
asshole.

Halfway to the steps I incongruously burst out laughing. What the fuck? My
laughter happened so unexpectedly and since I'm alone and laughing out loud
it's gonna attracts attention and I do get some gawking 'looks' from the
sunbathers around me. Damn though, it all just struck me as so ridiculous,
and then me saying, 'Yes, Sir' to that little Napoleon-wanna-be-dink and
him accepting it as his due. Oh man, this is stranger than fiction and it
could have been so different if he only had a fucking clue.

The laugh was quickly replaced by reality and then I stop halfway up the
steps to the Boardwalk. I want to take off my sandals and wipe the sand off
my feet. Also it gives me a second to formulate what I should say to the
other victim, Lee. Stepping onto the Boardwalk I glance at the bench to my
right and there's a guy in his later teen years sitting there, so he's
probably, Lee. He's not pudgy though, not like I thought he was in the
shadows last night. Lee's stocky and looks like maybe he played sports of
some kind. The long hair I saw on him last night is still long but now his
dark-brown hair is combed back on the sides. Last night it was hanging down
covering his ears.

Huh, maybe Theodore messed Lee's hair up last night. Well, of course he
did! I hate that hairstyle though; it's like from the 'fifties' or
something. Stupidly long for no apparent reason and with a
gunky-hair-product in it to make the long hairs stay combed-back on the
sides. There's a very straight 'part' too, and a small pompadour in
front. With all that gunk in it his hair it definitely will not be affected
by the wind that's blowing infrequently off the ocean. Hell, with all that
hair gel his hair probably wouldn't be bothered much by a tornado. And why
am I wasting my time with this?

Lee glanced over at me quickly when I first stepped onto the Boardwalk,
looking very apprehensive. Huh, he probably was afraid it was
Theodore. With a look of relief, he's back staring at his feet now. Good,
that gives me the opportunity to look him over for a few seconds longer
and, ya know, he's what his Mother probably considers 'good-looking'. Sort
of regular facial feature although he does have kind of a large head. His
'looks' are a type I don't care for. He's got that rich kid,
private-school, good-looks and he's wearing nice preppy clothes too. I
don't object to preppy, but I'll bet Theodore does. You know, Lee's wearing
new Polo-brand golf shirt and pressed shorts with expensive Bally boat
shoes on his big feet. Huh, they're the boat shoes Willie has. They go for
like $300 a pair. Pretentious footwear for the Wildwood beach and I'll bet
Lee is the only person within miles that ironed his shorts before leaving
the house.

Well here goes nothing as I plop down next to him and say with a smile,
holding out my hand, "Lee, I presume." He gives me a look like he just
stepped in a pile of dog shit with his Bally boat shoes. Ignoring my
outstretched hand, he huffily slides away from me on the bench. Okay, so
Lee doesn't care for meeting strangers.

My first choice would be to follow his lead and we'll both simply sit here
and ignore each other. After all I don't have the clever rap or banter for
this type of 'new-acquaintance' situation. That's more Chubby's domain. But
if I don't do something I won't find out what Theodore has on Lee; what
'pretend' crime the Junior Auxiliary cop came up with for this pompous guy,
Lee?

Okay, so here goes my second attempt at making contact. Trying for 'real
friendly', I go, "I'm Dylan, by the way. Um, and like you I'm waiting for
Theodore. He told me to sit here with you and wait for him." Lee snaps his
face around to look at me with seriously furrowed eyebrows. A monster frown
on his prep-school-face as he says, "Get the fuck away from me, dork! Annoy
someone else." Well he got the 'dork' part right. I've been a total dork
around Theodore thus far, although that's gonna change very soon.

Trying a third time to break through Lee's anti-social barrier, I'm like,
"But I'm in the same mess you're in, Lee." He moves further away from me
and is now at the very edge of the bench. Two-seconds later, still not
looking at me, he mumbles unconvincingly, "I don't know anybody named,
Theodore, and I don't know what you're talking about," and then he blushes
a dark-red thru his perfect tan. His voice is annoyingly deep, very deep
and he over-pronounces words like a serious private-school-geek might
pompously do. Off-putting for sure, but I'm still curious what's up with
him.

I go, "Yes, you do, Lee. You know perfectly well who Theodore is and
exactly what I'm talking about. C'mon, Theodore Smiley, the short skinny
kid with a grudge. I saw you with him last night. That was me. You know,
right after, um, you two came out of the public lavatory." He turns his
head to face me, and growls, "Keep your fucking mouth shut about that or
I'll close it for you." I'm like, "If you can," and he goes, "Did he send
you with a message? If so, spit-it-out and then get the fuck away from me,
pervert." I'm like, "Whoa, you don't know me nearly well enough to call me
a pervert. Anyway, like I already fucking told you two-or-three times, I'm
waiting here for Theodore, same as you. He just sent me up from the beach."
He mumbles, "Yeah?" and I go, "Yeah! He's a pisser, ain't he?"

Hmmm, this guy sucks the big one, but I just got an idea! And yeah, it's
about fucking time I got one! It's like this, when Rob was setting up my
iPhone with all kinds of apps that I'd never bothered with myself, he'd
added an app for recording conversations on his phone. He wanted certain
'office' conversations he has at work recorded on his phone. That's what he
told me anyway and he thought I might as well have that on my phone too. I
didn't care one way or the other but now it might come in handy. Getting my
iPhone from one of my bathing suit's pockets I fuck around with it until
finally getting it on recording-mode. Maybe I can use this conversation
with Lee to my advantage with Theodore somehow.

How that might work I haven't figured-out yet, but how could it hurt?
Anyway, my comment about Theodore being a pisser got Lee making a huffy
sound, shrugging his shoulders like he's not going to comment, but then he
mumbles, "Yeah, he's a lot worse than a pisser. He'd be dead if I had my
way." Jesus, I don't want that kind of thing recorded!

As I'm getting rid of that, I mutter, "Oh yeah?" and he says in a low, deep
voice I can barely hear, "I've been sitting here trying to think of a way
to get away with killing him." Oh fuck, maybe I better leave the recording
off for now, but I don't. To keep him talking, I go, "Really, Lee? Why's
that?" He looks at me with distain and mutters, "Fuck you." Huh, I didn't
think of that.

Hmmm, not a real likable guy but perhaps I haven't 'charmed' him enough
yet. Or, am I being too much of a smart-ass for him; is that it? I don't
think I am, but maybe he can tell I'm not 'private school' material. Being
a smart-ass is probably all wrong for a private school so he's not use to
that. Or is it that Lee's being ultra-serious, if a bit
obnoxious. Actually, seriousness is definitely what this situation calls
for. In some ways its hard for me to take it seriously but Lee's a
'straight' dude so it's different for him.

In a conciliatory manner, I say quietly, "Oh man, I was just rambling on
there, Lee. I do that when I'm nervous. Seriously, you probably have good
reasons to despise Theodore but of course you're not gonna kill him." After
a few seconds his body-language relaxes a little and he mutters, "No, of
course I'm not going to kill anybody. Um, you're really here for the same
reason I am?" I nod my head, "Afraid so. What'd you do that the Junior
Auxiliary Policeman, um, got you over a barrel for?" Oh fuck, what a poor
choice of words that was! Over a barrel corn-holing him. Omigod, bad
visual. He doesn't seem to notice though. Lee shakes his head, not saying
anything. Hmmm, probably not yet fully trusting that I'm not a spy for
Theodore.

After waiting two-seconds and realizing he doesn't want to tell me, I
straighten my legs out in front of me and, leaning back on the bench, I
casually mumble, "Yeah, I didn't do anything either. He made up a couple of
lies about me. Said I was a trouble maker and that I threatened him
physically. All bull-shit-lies." Lee slumps, looks over at me briefly, and
I suppose wants to believes me since misery loves company. He finally
mutters. "Smoking weed." I go, "What's that you say?" He goes, "He caught
us smoking a joint?" Nodding I go, "Oh, but you said 'us'." Exhaling
noisily though his nose as if I'm annoying him unbearably, he goes, "Yeah,
me and Fannie were smoking some weed under the boardwalk Saturday night. My
girlfriend, Fannie. She was only here for the weekend too." Huh, an actual
crime, although one of the stupidest ones in the history of mankind.

He continues looking down at his big feet as I'm like, "Jesus, Lee! Well,
what exactly happened?" Shrugging his thick shoulders, he goes, "That prick
and another asshole, some guy on a bike, came swarming right up on us under
the Boardwalk saying they smelled the pot smoke. Then that little prick,
Theodore, grabbed Franny's purse and got her license before we knew what
was happening. It all happened in like the first three-seconds." Well that
sounds like an illegal search right there... or there's gotta be something
illegal about it. Good to get it recorded on my phone.

I mutter, "Bummer, that sucks!" and he goes, "He took two joints from her
purse too, and kept them for what he called 'evidence'. I go, "Ha, don't
worry about that. He's probably smoked the evidence long ago," and Lee
shouts, "This isn't funny to me!" Oh fuck, I guess that was kinda smart-ass
of me. Was it though, jeez? I gotta walk on eggshells with this goof. I
mumble, "Sorry, but what's he gonna say to the cops now, ya know, after
three days? I mean, why didn't he arrest you Saturday night, why'd he wait
three days to arrest you, or four days, or whatever? You see what I mean?"
He shrugs, "He'll lie obviously." Well yeah, there's that. Then I say,
"Yeah, but um, isn't smoking pot like a misdemeanor or maybe a fine?"

Again I need to wait for a reply from Lee. After a couple of seconds, I
glance over at him and see his face is all scrunched-up with his hands
covering his eyes like maybe he's crying. I was like that for a brief
moment last night myself. It's the helpless and incredibly frustrating
feeling of knowing that 'this is just wrong!' but you can't do anything
about it. Theodore just gets on top of you and you can't think fast
enough. Or at least I couldn't, and apparently Lee couldn't either. His
shoulders are shaking so, yeah, he's crying. Poor fucker...

Getting himself under control, Lee shakes his head, wipes his eyes, and
mumbles, "I don't know what the law is here in Wildwood, but the real
problem is my old man. He's in politics in Delaware and if I get busted for
smoking weed it'll fucks him up politically. He's on the state committee
for drug-control or some such shit. And then Fannie's still seventeen so
they'd tell her parents and her Father hates me already and with this it'd
be so much worse and..." I'm nodding, "Oh shit, I'm really sorry, dude."

He's shaking his head again. Why he's shaking his big head this time? He
doesn't want my sympathy? I quietly say, "So, you did what you had to in
order to protect your girlfriend and keep your father from hearing about
you being arrested." He goes, "I haven't been arrested yet. Not as long as
I do what that sick mother-fucker wants."

Oh man, this sucks for him... for real! This private-school goof's real
life will go down the toilet if he doesn't do what that officious little
prick wants. All of a sudden anything 'cool' I might have thought about
Theodore just vanishes. Zoom, it's gone! I'd talked myself into thinking
his overly-confident manner was sort of cool in some way, but the truth is
he isn't even a little bit cool.

Hell this guy, Lee, is obviously sexually-straight too, which makes it
ten-times worse for him. He has real-life serious concerns while my only
concern was maybe a night in jail. And that's even very doubtful in
hindsight because my only offense was annoying Theodore. Seeing Lee being
sincerely scared and troubled, I'm thinking, 'Damn, what would Chubby do if
he were here?' Calling him isn't a good idea because I'd be embarrassed for
him to see this mess I helped create. I should have confronted Theodore
last night!

Goddammit, it was that stupid thing about the possibility of sub/dom sex
and... oh fuck it! I'll handle this some fucking way. But if I confronted
Theodore last night, or on the beach a little while ago, I'd never know how
much help Lee needs. He'll continue being really screwed if I can't come up
with something.

Looking across the Boardwalk I see all the different food shops offering
any kind of food you want. Huh, hoping to make Lee feel a little better, so
maybe he'll help me get back at Theodore, I suggest, "Hey, Lee, c'mon,
let's go across the 'boards' and I'll treat you to a cold drink or
something while I'm thinking what we can do about this. " He looks at me
briefly and goes, "What? Oh, um, I better not. He told me not to move off
this bench."

Fuck, he's really under Theodore's thumb. And to think I actually
contemplated having sex with that sick-fuck again. Not now though! I don't
want anything to do with Theodore except get my license back and get him
off Lee's back. And obviously some revenge too! This poor stuck-up, Lee,
though. Man, he's seriously being fucked-over by the little sadist with the
whistle.

The reality is that Theodore can't hurt me. He might be able to
inconvenience me, but that threat of a night in jail was, like I said, most
likely total bull-shit anyway. I can see that in the light of day. Guess I
was talking myself into the possibility of something frivolously-sexual
happening with the nut-case because Wildwood has been boring for me so far,
but for Lee there's nothing frivolous about of this.

I'm seriously feeling compassion for him and my anger against little
Napoleon is building big-time. Well, if Lee won't even get off this fucking
bench he obviously isn't gonna be any help with a solution. And I'm
thinking, from the look on his face, he isn't going to initiate any further
conversation either so, for something to say while I'm trying to think what
to do, I ask, "Um, so do your folks own a summer place here? Are you here
all summer, or...?" He shrugs but doesn't say anything. What a dick!

A minute later though, after a deep sigh, he does answer, "Nah, we don't
have a house. We're staying at the Ramada Inn a couple of streets over from
here," and he flips his hand to the right. I'm like, "Huh. Um, how much
longer will you be here?" Turning his head to look at me, he goes, "Why?
Why do you care?" I shrug, "Just making conversation, Lee." Shaking his
head slowly and then looking back down at his feet, he mumbles, "We're
leaving a week from this coming Saturday, and thank God for that. Um,
that's if I don't commit suicide first." I mutter, "Don't talk like that."
Damn, I gotta think of something!

Hmmm, after casually slipping my cellphone from my pocket just far enough
to check quickly that it's still recording, I ask Lee, "So you and your
girlfriend got caught with a joint, huh? What'd Theodore Smiley threaten
you with?" He mumbles, "I don't wanna talk about it anymore, okay?" I go,
"Please, humor me. I'm trying to think of something that can gets us out of
this." Turning his head to glance at me quickly, he goes, "Seriously?" I
nod and he shrugs again, and says, "He, um, that is, after he got Fannie's
name and address off her driver's license, and he'd pocketed the two
joints, then I had to give him my license. Um, then he made us stand
back-to-back like fools while he went through her purse and my pockets."
More illegal shit!

Lee doesn't offer any detail so I prompt him, "Well, did the guy on the
bicycle do anything?" Shaking his head, he mumbles, "Not really although he
had a uniform on so I guess he's some kind of cop too. He was snickering
though, but mostly just sitting on his bike with his feet on either side in
the sand for support. Oh, he called someone to tell them everything the
auxiliary cop was doing." Shaking my head slowly, I prompt again, saying,
"Jeez, that really pisses me off," and he goes on, "Yeah, tell me about
it. That little freak, Theodore, threatened the shit out of both Fanny and
me for five-minutes before letting her go. She had to promised not to say
anything to anybody or we'd both be in bigger trouble."

He goes on to tell me how Theodore dragged him around on the Boardwalk for
a couple of hours making Lee wait at times while Theodore yucked it up with
other summer Boardwalk Police on bicycles. Lee had to stand at attention
against the railing. Pretty much of the same shit I went through. and then
Lee wouldn't go into what happened in the lavatory and I didn't press
it. Not yet but I will. Anyway I guess Theodore, not being especially
imaginative, does the same subtle and not-so-subtle humiliations with
everyone he threatens to arrest.

Finally Lee waves his hand at me, muttering, "I'm done. I don't want to
talk anymore. We're not supposed to be talking in the first place and I
feel sick to my stomach. I've felt constantly sick since Saturday night. I
can't even fucking sleep and my parents want to have me checked-out at a
hospital." Man, I feel for this guy, but he just gave me an idea. I mean
when he said he feels sick.

I'm finally thinking like Chubby and I get a fucking bizarre idea, saying,
"Lee, let's say you actually did throw-up once or twice today," and he
mutters, "I said I don't want to talk anymore." I go, "Yeah, but stay with
me for another minute." Sighing exasperatingly again, he goes, "What else
do you want me say? I told you what happened and I how felt like I was
gonna fucking throw-up while I've been sitting here, okay? " I'm like, "Uh
huh, but we're gonna say you actually did hurl your guts up. Wait here,"
and when I get up, he says, "No, wait! What the fuck are you gonna do?
We're not supposed to leave this bench. You'll get me in trouble along with
yourself." I mumble, "Fuck that. You're already in trouble. Now we're gonna
do something about it."

My plan will work better if I can get Theodore to send Lee home. Then I can
deal with him, the mother-fucking-little-pervert, myself. I walk across the
boardwalk and wait in line to buy a soft-serve milkshake. I've been giving
Theodore way more credit than he deserves and that's because I wanted to
believe his behavior could lead to him being a dominant 'top' when he's
actually nothing more than a sadistic sick-prick with very bad manners, and
he's prone to doing illegal things as well.

Carrying the milkshake with me, I walk to another food booth and buy a
fountain Coke and a box of Cracker Jack. On the way back to the bench I
drink some of the milkshake... mmm, and it's good too! Sitting on the bench
again I open the Cracker Jack box and stuff my mouth with the
caramel-covered-popcorn and chew for fifteen-seconds before spitting the
mess of chewed Cracker Jack into the milkshake.

Lee's watching me and finally asks, 'What the fuck are you doing now?" I
mutter. "We're gonna punk Theodore." He says, "Nah, I don't wanna be a part
of anything like that. He scares me and he'll arrest me." Waving my hand at
him, I go, "No, he won't," and then I pour some Coke into the milkshake
container and stir it around with the straw.  After chewing some more
Cracker Jack and spitting that in with the other glop I stand up, reach
over Lee, and pour the mess on the Boardwalk next to him at that end of the
bench. The glop goes, "Splat!" Lee jumps a little, moving away from the
edge. Looking at the mess, I say, "That's your latest vomit."

Getting off the bench again and guzzling the fountain Coke, I toss the
Cracker Jack box, the milkshake container, and the empty Coke cup in a
trash receptacle, as Lee's saying, "Please! Please sit down! He could come
up the steps any second now." Walking in front of him I gawk at what the
sun is doing to Lee's vomit. Jesus, it looks perfectly disgusting. Patting
him on the shoulder, I go, "Yeah, okay, I'll sit down." Taking my cellphone
from my pocket, I tell Lee, "I've been recording us, Lee, and I'm sorry to
embarrass you but I need you to tell me," and I point at the cell phone,
"for the record, what Theodore makes you do."

Shaking his head for about the tenth time, he looks away and then shakes
his head again. I'm like, "Yeah, ya gotta say it," and he simply mumbles,
"Suck his dick." What? That's all? He gets to suck Theodore's dick, and
that's it? And Theodore corn-holes me? That's, um, not fair! No, but get a
grip, Dylan, that's not the point!

I mutter, "Oral sex, huh?" He nods, which the recorder can't register
obviously, so I say, "He makes you suck his cock, right." He's annoyed at
me again, and embarrassed too of course, as he says, "Yes, that's what I
just fucking said! I blow his stinky cock!" I mumble, "I'm sorry, Lee,
it's...." but what is there to say? Flicking off the recording, I go, "When
the asshole comes up here you don't need to say anything. In fact, don't
say anything because, um, well you're feeling too sick to talk. Oh, and
don't take offense at anything I might say about you. I'm gonna fuck-up the
Junior Auxiliary Policeman and get both of us out from under his control."

He thinks about that and then pleads with me again, "No! Like I already
told you, please don't include me in whatever you're planning. Leave me out
of it, please. He'll fuck up my life!" I sternly say, "NO, HE WON'T! " but
I don't try to argue further about it. This private school dink is too
scared to think straight. He doesn't want to go along with my plan, not
that I'm giving him a choice.  I know though that he'll jump at the chance
to get out of whatever Theodore thinks he's going to do with Lee and me
this afternoon. So... it'll be fine, I hope.

Silently we wait for the asshole to show up. Lee doesn't think Theodore
would like us talking and I'm done talking anyway so that's why we're
silently waiting. What the fuck, I don't need or want to talk to Lee
anymore anyway. I feel bad for him and I'm going to get him out of this
mess, but frankly Lee isn't my type of guy... not at all! And I don't mean
because he's straight. I have straight friends. Lee's, I don't know, sort
of snooty and he thought I was beneath him when I first approached
him. Yeah, that's probably one of the reasons Theodore doesn't like him
although Lee didn't include that part when telling me what happened. I'll
bet anything he acted superior to the Junior Auxiliary Cop under the
Boardwalk, like over-pronouncing the words, saying indignantly, `What do
you think you're doing?' just before Theodore's confident demeanor got
right on top of Lee and his girlfriend. And obviously none of Lee's
aloofness or private-school superiority excuses any of Theodore's behavior.

Finally Theodore, out of uniform and off-duty, shows up looking a little
frazzled. He did say he had something to do on the beach. Or as he put it:
'Before disciplining you two pussies', meaning Lee and me obviously. I hope
whatever it was he needed to deal with was a huge pain in his ass. Anyway,
here he is standing in front of us as I flick my cellphone 'on' again. It's
in the side pocket of my swimsuit. Ha, I'm glad I went the extra couple of
bucks for the Speedo-Boardie swimsuit with pockets! Rob talked me into
getting this swimsuit last spring when I made the mistake of going shopping
with him for summer clothes and therefore spent a hundred-dollars more than
I wanted to.

Lee appears to shrink more into himself as Theodore sarcastically says,
"Looks like my latest two pussies are being good and doing what they're
told. Ya see, girls, when you get knocked down off your high-horses you
realize you're no better than anyone else, including me. Isn't that right?"
Lee mutters, "Yes, sir." Theodore goes, "Yep, I've taught you to behave and
do what the fuck you're told. Didn't I, Dylan?" Now he's looking at me and
he takes a swipe at my head, but I pull back and his fingers just brush my
forehead. Lee's looking down at his feet again as I do my little
hand-raise. It's like I only raise my hand a little as if I'm a shy
first-grader, and Theodore goes, "What the fuck is it now?" He's especially
irritable today.

For the last hour-or-so he's no longer been a potential cool, dominant
'top' in my mind. Instead I see him as a disgusting little turd, one who is
way the fuck over his head and in deep shit. I've got a burning dislike
growing in me for him and it's getting hotter and hotter by the minute. Any
minor positives feelings I conjured-up about him in my head are long
gone. Last night when I ran into him I had some booze in me, starting with
the beers with Chub at Gregory's Bar and then before dinner too and some
wine at dinner, but now I'm stone-cold-sober and more clearly seeing
Theodore for what he is... and I see no redeemable qualities in him
whatsoever. He might be an okay friend and son, although that'd be hard to
believe, but it's the manner he's conducted himself with me that I care
about... and he hasn't been nice.

All the negative vibes from most of our three-act-dramas last night are
percolating in my brain, but I gotta be cool and not show my utter distain
for him just yet. Hesitantly dropping my hand, I say, "Please don't get
pissed, sir, but this dude," and I stick my thumb out toward Lee, "Threw-up
and he said he feels like he's going to do it again. I hope you don't lump
me in with a potential vomiting-dude for whatever you have in mind for us
today, um, ah, sir."

Lee continues looking down at his feet but now he's shaking his head
slightly like he hates that I'm poking-the-bear, so to speak. Theodore's
sputtering, "He threw-up? Is that what you're telling me? Where?" and I go,
"Yeah, right over there, next to where he's sitting." Theodore steps over
to look at the fake vomit and makes a face, muttering, "Jesus Christ..."
and then he swats the top of Lee's head, and tells him, "Take off, ya
cunt. Look me up tonight though, and use plenty of mouthwash or
something. Get outta here..."

We both watch Lee get up, saying, "Yes, sir," and Theodore goes, "Run! Get
out of my sight!" Lee gives me a glance and I subtly shake my head, not
wanting him to acknowledge me at all. Recognizing a gift when he sees one,
Lee runs across the boards and down the ramp and out of sight... without
throwing up.

Theodore, without much enthusiasm, tells me, "Get up, girl!" I get up and
he pushes my back as we start walking across the Boardwalk to the same ramp
Lee ran down. It's tempting to pounce on Theodore right now but I need more
stuff from him on the cellphone recording. He keeps his hand on my shoulder
pushing me from behind as we walk. I suppose he wants to make sure people
can see I'm being made to go somewhere, or is that paranoia on my part?

Going down the ramp, I ask, 'Where we going?" and he squeezes my shoulder,
digging his fingernails in, and says, "The next fucking question you ask me
is gonna get you a hard kick in the ass. Shut the fuck up and keep
walking. I'm extra pissed-off because this has not been a good day." Yeah,
and you don't even know the half of it yet...

See he's still got the dominant attitude, but it's not anything near the
kind of sexy dominance I'm looking for. Obviously, heh heh, something is
bothering Theodore. Something that happened earlier today that doesn't
involve me or Lee, and then to make matters worse, Lee, his cock-sucking
victim, has the throw-up fits, and well... nothing's going right for
Theodore so far today, and like I said... he hasn't even got to the really
bad part of his day yet. That's coming-up...

We walk only half-a-block down the street to, 'The Finn Motel on the
Atlantic Ocean'. That's the motel's name although it's not on the
ocean. It's on Bay Drive facing the street and going by its appearance I
assume it's been here a long time. Theodore apparently isn't going
'top-shelf' with his summer accommodations, not if this dump of a motel is
any indication.

We walk down the walkway in front of the rooms until he stops me at room
106. He uses a key to open the door, saying, "Since the other cunt is sick
this morning you'll be doing double-duty today, and tonight as well," and
we go inside. Jesus, he left the air conditioning on 'high' and it's like a
meat locker in here.

Locking the door behind him, he says with a smirk, "And in case ya didn't
know, your twin pussy sucks my dick. Not as good as Nance does it, but
Lee's straight and hasn't had any practice. You either for that matter, but
I'll talk you through it." I go, "Do ya think I could get my driver's
license back?" He snorts out a laugh and says, No," and then adds, "When my
girlfriend's away, you get to be gay all day. Ha ha!" I look a little
startled at his audacity, and he goes, "Like I explained to you last night,
Dylan-girl, I need my dick serviced, and Nance ain't here, so you're her
replacement..."

It's too soon, but I can't stop myself from saying, "If you're done
babbling, Theodore, I wanna mention..." and he screams, "You wise-ass!" and
he swings his arm with his little fist closed, but I catch his arm in
mid-air and hold it. He frowns, looking shocked as I go, "Ya know, Teddy,
you were much better at this last night. I really need my license."

He's struggling trying to get his arm out of my grip so I jerk his arm
kinda hard while grabbing his other arm, and yell, "Stop moving!' His face
is as red as a Coke can but he stands still, as I say, "I think you're too
cocky and overconfident today, Teddy. You've gone off the rails a little;
don't ya think? And you know, that threat about putting me in jail for no
reason doesn't cut it with me today. Not one bit, it's bull shit." He goes,
"You're going to jail now. Make no mistake about that."

And his face gets even redder but then a strange thing happens; the redness
slowly fades and he seems tentatively to get a little smugness back. I'm
only loosely holding his one arm now after letting go of the other one. I'm
curious why he's so calm all of a sudden. He says, "Yeah, that's right. I
make a call and then you need to deal with a judge and probably a few days
in jail too. And let go of me!" I'm not worried about anything he just said
but I'd like more specific incriminating words from Theodore, more details,
so I act like I'm worried."

He gets some of his confidence back, "Well, you're in the shit now. I don't
absolutely need to have my dick sucked by you, but you absolutely need to
go to jail." He shrugs his arm out of my grip, saying, "I'll just make a
call..." and he goes over to the bureau where I see his cellphone and
wallet. Huh, he got his act together pretty quickly. I'm actually surprised
considering bullies usually pee down their leg when challenged.

I say, "Wait, maybe I've been too hasty." He stops and goes, "Oh, ya think,
huh?" I say, "Yeah, but I can't imagine what I'd be going to jail for?" He
goes, "For attacking me of course, and for whatever other fucking reasons I
feel like making-up. You're the one who went off the rails, cunt, not me!
Did you forget I'm on the police force?" I shrug, saying, "Gee, I guess
so," and he gives me a stern look as he picks-up his cellphone, muttering,
"Asshole," but something odd is going on. His hands are shaking so hard he
can't hit the keys on his phone.

I'm like, "No, seriously, what are the charges?" His voice sounds like he's
got his act together again but it's obvious he hasn't gotten over me
manhandling him a minute ago. Either because he's so furious or, more
likely, he's still scared, his friggin' hands are shaking like mad. His
fingers are trembling so hard he still can't hit the keys on his
phone. Huh, he's actually trembling and I only grabbed his skinny arm.

It's only his voice that sounds in-charge. Amazing really! I can't believe
how he can control his voice 'cause usually guys who are scared have that
'crying' sound in their voice. Not Theodore, as he goes, "I'll come-up with
something really fucked-up that you did for when the cops gets here! So how
do you like that, asshole?" and then he almost drops his cellphone and bats
it, just barely catching it at the last second.

I can't let him call his cop obviously, but I still want him to talk more
so I act confused, saying, "But I didn't do anything," and he says, "Yes
you did. You bugged the shit out of me by being cool and good-looking and
acting like you're a wise-guy. I told you all this same shit last night. I
don't like guys like you... period. I fuck guys like you up! And fuck them
up ass or make them suck me off... or put them in jail for a night with the
drunks. And I don't give a flying-fuck whether they broke the law or not!"
That's more than I need so why not get more? I mutter, "Why are you
trembling so much, Theodore?"

He has a little ball of saliva at the corner of his mouth as he loses it,
yelling, "I am not trembling!  And anyway, you attacked me so it's off to
jail you go. That's what ya get when you attack a member of the Wildwood
Police Force and, by-the-fucking-way... my Uncle happens to be the
Captain," and now his face is very red again as he continues fumbling with
his phone, yelling, "What'd you do to my phone?" Jesus, there's something
seriously wrong with him.

I say, 'So you steal my driver's license and make-up a crime I didn't do
just because you don't like me." He's totally lost it now, screeching, "I
didn't steal your license yet, but since you're being an asshole I'm gonna
keep it permanently to inconvenience you further. You got that, cunt! And
don't think you're the only one who tried bluffing me by pretending to be
tough. You'll see how poorly that shit works with me. The police will
accidentally have you fall down some stairs or something. I'll tell
them... um... and, this fucking phone!"

His fingers are still shaking and, what the hell, why go on with this farce
any further? I have more than enough on the recording to fuck him over good
if need be. So enough with this asshole! I calmly say, "Put that fucking
phone down, Theodore!" My hand is in my pocket turning off my cellphone as
I add, "I could kick your ass all over this room without hardly trying?" He
says, "Yeah, I'm not sure you could but you won't anyway because that'll
get you in even more trouble." He's slipped completely into delusional
mode.

He does however manage to get a sort of half-ass smirk back on his face and
this kid can really smirk. Lots of practice I assume. Without thinking too
much about it, I say, "Theodore," and when he looks up I swing my arm
quickly, harder than I intended, smacking him across his face, "SMACK!"
Without a word he stumbles back a couple of steps, blood running down his
chin from his lip getting cut against his bottom teeth. After stumbling
three-steps back he grabs hold of the bureau to keep from falling.

Trying to regain his footing he slips up against the bureau again and then
a hand goes to his mouth as he drops his phone on top of the bureau trying
again to regain his balance. There's no reaction from him for two-seconds,
like he can't believe this happened, and then he makes this really weird,
red-scrunched-up-face and starts scarily screeching in a high-pitched wail
so loud I look out the window to see if anyone is around to hear him. "You
hit me! You're gonna get it you cock-sucker! You're so dead it's not even
funny, you cunt..." spit is flying out of his mouth. Jesus! But I'm so sick
and tired, really tired, of being called unflattering names but this little
psycho that I step over to him and really get into it another smack across
his face, "SMACK!" and this time he stumbles sideways and hits the floor as
I shake my stinging hand.

Man, that felt good! I've never smacked anyone before in my life, but
somehow, I felt Theodore was too small to punch in the face, like I'd much
prefer doing. He deserves a lot more than a slapped face too but I'm afraid
I'd hurt him, break something or whatever. I've exchanged punches with more
than a few guys in my life, won some but lost more. Either way, fighting
always leaves me feeling stupid afterwards.

And, while smacking him across his face somehow seemed appropriate, it
apparently isn't enough of a deterrent as he gathers himself and comes at
me snarling and swinging his arms like a girl, his fingernails flashing as
he tries to scratch my face. I side step him easily as he's completely
out-of-control screeching in that high shrill voice, "I'll kill you..." and
I have no choice but to punch him a really good uppercut in his solar
plexus making him go up on his toes. He stops doing everything and, unable
to breathe, says nothing. He slowly sits down on the floor with his arms
around his stomach, his cheeks puffed-out of his scarlet-red face. This is
like beating up a ten-year-old.



He deserves everything he gets, I know, but still I'm not feeling too great
watching him now. His breath has been knocked out of him and he's
pathetically digging his heels into the old carpet pushing himself away
from me until, with a wheezing in-take he catches his breath and then
begins his screeching in that shrill voice again, "You're in trouble now!
Big trouble, you loser! My Uncle is chief of police here, ya dumb cunt!"

Feeling equal parts distain for him and sympathy, I walk over to his bureau
and pick up his wallet. Opening it, and right there with four
twenty-dollar-bills is my driver's license, and Lee's too. Fanny must still
have her license. Putting both licenses in my pocket, figuring I'll drop
Lee's off at his hotel sometime today. Then, what the fuck, I put
Theodore's cellphone in my other pocket because there's bound to be some
incriminating shit on that. Taking my own cellphone out, I'm very calm
although I know it's a temporary condition. A little later I'll feel sick
to my stomach from the adrenaline that's coursing through my blood. Jesus,
I was so pissed off at him!

Pointing at Theodore, who is still red-faced but now has tears running down
his face diluting the blood on his chin, I say, "Stop yelling and listen!"
I flick on the recording and play-back what Lee and I were saying on the
Boardwalk regarding Theodore's treatment of Lee, which is leading into
Theodore's incriminating words of two-minutes ago. He's still irrationally,
yelling, "Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! You'll get it, you'll see..." but
then he starts zeroing-in on what he's hearing from the cellphone recording
and reality begins to sink into his disturbed brain. His eyes get wide as
he stumbles over and climbs onto the bed, his eyes looking wild now as he
wipes at the blood and tears on his face, his mouth hanging open
pathetically.

When I'm sure he understands what he's listening to, and the implications
of it, I talk over the recorded voices, saying, "If I hear from you, or
hear of you trying to do anything foolish to get back at me, then this
recording will see the light of day.  I'll probably give it to an
investigative reporter for a newspaper in Atlantic City or Cape May, or
what the fuck, maybe Philly. The recording along with my personal account
of your activities, and I assume your Uncle's will be of great interest to
a newspaper guy. And the story in the newspaper will get some serious
investigation underway by the State police or somebody who will want to
know what the fuck the police are all about in Wildwood."

He gets up on all fours on the bed and goes, "No, no, no! Don't do that!"
and he begins a blubbering-crying-jag that's so pathetic I let myself feel
sorry for him. I mean, he had to have been royally fucked-up by someone or
something to make him do these things, right? He blubbers, "Please, Lee,
don't tell anyone! Uncle Sylvester doesn't know!" Now the fucker can't even
get my name right.

Seeing someone crying like that gets to me though, so I say, "Theodore,
listen!" but he's still going, "Please don't, I didn't, um, I mean..." and
his eyes are closed now with tears squeezing out. Oh man! I shout,
"Theodore!" He stops everything as his eyes snap open. I go, "Listen to
what I'm saying! No one will hear this if you stop doing what you've been
doing and never even think of coming anywhere near me, or near wherever
that other kid is. Lee whats-his-name."

His face gets a look of hope, as he asks, "You, um, mean... ah, you won't
give that to the newspapers?" I want so badly to get out of here and away
from him, and maybe take a bath to get the stink of this encounter off me,
plus I'm beginning to feel nauseous from the adrenaline, so I mutter,
"That's right, I won't give this to anyone. It'll be as if none of it ever
happened. You don't deserve a break but I'm giving you one anyway because I
think you're seriously disturbed, but you gotta stop doing this shit and
you need to stay away from me."

Wiping across his runny-nose with the back of his hand he's nodding his
head real fast, saying, "I will. I promise." Okay, but I'm definitely not
feeling too good now, so I turn to the door, mumbling, "Ya better not fuck
up. And, um, serious about this too: Theodore, you need to get some
professional help resolving your anger problems, or whatever it is you're
so fucking manic about. Really, you need some help." As I unlock and then
open the door his eyes are darting around the room, looking for a gun
probably. And, I know... he won't get professional help.

When I step outside instead of feeling the relief I expected, it feels as
though I've stepped into an oven. After the meat-locker chill of his room
the sun and heat outside makes me dizzy. Taking a couple of deep breaths I
stagger up the half-block to the Boardwalk, never looking back to see if he
found a gun. Instead I'm wondering why I don't feel victorious... or
something. I feel like shit actually, and I don't care how Theodore
feels. Now that I don't need to look at him blubbering, I've stopped
feeling sorry for him. He doesn't deserve my sympathy although it is
difficult not to feel a little bit sorry for anyone as distraught as he
was, and I mean even though he deserved what he got and quite a bit
more. Fuck him though. I've no intention of pursuing this. For one thing it
would be horrible for that pompous, Lee, if the world knew he was sucking
Theodore's cock.

Still, it seriously would turn into a major thing if I ever turned the
recording over to some newspaper dick-head, hungry for an exclusive. He or
she would turn this into a big story even though it actually isn't a big
story. Nowadays with social media's thirst for anything that can be turned
into a sensational storyline this would be gobbled-up and exaggerated until
you couldn't tell what the original gist of the situation was.

Personally, I find it disgusting the way newspapers, the Internet, and talk
shows have a field-day exaggerating every sordid aspect of the latest hot
topic involving someone's misfortune and then, like vultures, they just as
quickly move on to the next unfortunate situation. I can see a newspaper
headline: 'City Of Wildwood Police In Gay Sex Scandal'. When in actuality
it's only Theodore and a half-dozen temporary bicycle Boardwalk patrol
dorks. The ones Theodore shared his sick behavior with. Those six-or-seven
young guys represent the entire 'scandal'. I don't think for a second the
Chief of Police has any ideas what his sick nephew is up to. And who am I
kidding, I don't want to be involved in that shit-storm either, so this
recording will never be heard by anyone. Still, I'm not erasing it...

Walking across the Boardwalk and then down the steps to the beach where
gratefully a breeze has finally materialized. I'm nauseous so only walk
about ten-feet before sitting on the sand with my knees up and my head down
waiting for the feeling of nausea to pass, and it does fade in a
minute. People walk by me but no one asks if I'm alright, and I don't blame
them. They probably think I'm drunk or high.

Standing and taking some deep breaths, I then walk down to the water and
begin the trip back to where my family is set-up on the beach. I'm not
thinking about anything particular and not watching for cute-sexy guys
either.

It seems to take longer going back than when I was walking the other way
and briefly still thinking at the time there was a long-shot possibility I
could work something out sexually with Theodore. What a dope I was! I'd
talked myself into thinking he was becoming more reasonable by the time I
left last night... ha, that's a good one alright! One minute after being
with him today told me there's no reasoning with him short of violence, and
I should have known that way before I did. He is one fucked-up kid.

After a while I see up ahead my family doing normal stuff. Chubby's awake
from his hangover-nap sitting on a beach chair reading a People
magazine. Probably got it from his Mom's beach-bag. My Mom, Tris, and the
twins are playing cards on a blanket, laughing about something. Oh man,
here we go: I put a big fake smile on my face and say, "Hi everyone,
whassup?" The Moms say together, "Hi, yourself," and Chubby goes, "Where ya
been, bro?" I shrug, "Enjoying a walk along the Atlantic Ocean. Great day,
weather-wise, huh?"

Mom says, "We waited for you, sweetheart. We're gonna have lunch at that
Italian restaurant on 46th street." Ugh! I don't wanna do that and Chub
picks-up on that fact by just glancing at me. He goes, "Oh, um, would you
guys mind if Dylan and I passed on lunch today? We had a very late
breakfast. Didn't we, bro?" I shrug as Chub continues, "Yeah, and I thought
I was up for chicken cacciatore but the urge simply isn't there anymore. Ya
know..." He said that so seriously, purposely pronouncing cacciatore in
such a funny way that we all laugh. Chub goes, "What...?"

Tim gets up off the blanket, saying, "Well I need a cold beer and I'm gonna
have some chicken cacciatore," and as Tris is gathering the cards into a
pile, she goes, "I second that. You boys can be on your own for lunch
today." They take about five-minutes doing this-and-that, like Moms always
seem to need to do, and then they're ready to leave. Tom asks, "Will you
guys be here to watch our stuff?" I nod, "Sure, I'm just not hungry now,
um... usually that Italian restaurant would we awesome for lunch!"

My fake enthusiasm has everyone glancing at me with Mom asking, "Everything
okay, honey?" I'm like, "Couldn't be better! Enjoy those beers." Chub
somehow appears right next to me putting his arm across my shoulders,
smiling and saying, "We're on our own today, but you still owe Dylan and me
a lunch." They chuckle and then the four of them trudge up the beach with
the Moms taking their beach-bags with then.

We watch then until they're out of hearing and then Chub goes, "What the
fuck's wrong, Dylan?" I shrug, as he's saying, "C'mon, bro, tell me about
it..." I shrug again, muttering, "Not now, Chub, let me think about it some
more." He goes, "Okay, later then. Let's hit the ocean and cool off," and
that's what we do.

It been less than twenty-four hours since Chub and I got here but already
this isn't like any summer vacation I've ever had before. This isn't what
growing up is like, is it?

to be continued...

Donny Mumford     thinat20@yahoo.com    donnymumforf@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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