Date: Sat, 22 Dec 2018 03:05:22 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter  24

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter  24

by Donny Mumford


Rob and I have been home five minutes and already we're heading upstairs to
the bedroom. Rob kicks the bedroom door closed behind him and grabs me, so
I'm like, "What the...?" Laughing, Robby pulls me onto the bed and asks,
"Do ya wanna?" That question can mean only one thing and that one thing is
sex. I'm always 'up' for sex except for right now because Mrs. D. is in the
kitchen making onion dip. Plus, Rob was bitching about dinner not being
ready thirty seconds after we got home and it made me uncomfortable the way
he talked to his mom, not only now but other times too. What I need to
realize though is that this is the pattern they've established over the
last twenty years or so and they're both apparently comfortable with it. So
who am I to criticize? I mean, his mom doesn't take offense or even seem to
notice. I still think it's wrong though.

That's a discussion I should probably have with Robby, but I'll have it
some other time because right now he's lying on top of me going for a
kiss. I move my head to the side and emphatically say, "No, Robby! Christ,
your Mom's making a snack for us that she'll be bringing up here any second
now..." Rob shakes his head, mumbling, "Nah! It takes Mom ten or fifteen
minutes to make her special onion dip, babe," and he tries turning me over
onto my stomach, murmuring, "My horniness is all your fault anyway. If you
weren't so cute and sexy maybe I wouldn't be helplessly horny for you all
the time," and now he's pulling at my khakis. I go, "No, mister sex fiend,
don't do that!" Pushing his hands away, I mutter, "Goddammit, Robby, my
clothes are ironed and... oh, for chrissake, let me at least take my shirt
and khakis off so they don't get wrinkled."

He lets go of me, muttering, "Oh, okay. You do look really nice in those
dressed-up clothes." Still lying on the bed, I mumble, "Well, I didn't know
what to wear and you were still at practice, so..." Damn, Robby's looking
awesomely sexy-hot himself. I love when he has that aroused and
sexy-looking smirk on his handsome face. He gets off the bed and I'm like,
"Hmmm, do ya know what I'd sorta like to do?" Looking back at me, he goes,
"No, what?"

He kicks off his sneakers and then pulls his jeans off real fast as I'm
taking off my pressed khakis and long-sleeve dress shirt and then hanging
them neatly across the desk chair. Robby gets back on the bed and lies
there with his hands behind his head, mumbling, "Hurry up! Your man is
impatient!" I snicker, "You're liking the 'my man' stuff, I see." He's
still wearing his white t-shirt along with his socks and boxer shorts, as
he goes, "Yeah well, you keep telling me I'm your man." Snickering, I go,
"Don't believe everything I say," and he goes, "Bullshit! I'm your man and
you know it, boy!" and he chuckles some more. Damn, he's in a giddy good
mood this afternoon.

I get on the bed on my hands and knees, grinning at him as he asks, "What
were you going to say you wanted to do?" Hmmm, he's awfully cocky lying
there grinning and spouting off that 'my man' bullshit. Looking down at
him, I'm like, "Well, heh heh, heh... um, how should I put this?" He's
grinning harder now, saying, "C'mon, tell me!" and I'm like, "Well, I sorta
wanna suck your dick, that's what. It's been too long since I've had your
extremely fat lollypop in my mouth and I miss doing that for my man."

Obviously, I've already gotten over my short-lived concern about
Mrs. D. making onion dip, but what can I say... I'm a huge fan of sex
play. Plus, Robby's eagerness is getting me just as hot and bothered as he
is!  Even so, I can't help but notice the irony of him, in his haste,
simply tossing his jeans on the floor while I'm the one who neatly placed
my clothes over the desk chair. I over-dressed to come home, but this is my
first time coming home from college, to this version of 'home' I mean. I
didn't know what clothes would be appropriate and Rob said we'd have dinner
as soon as we got here so I didn't want to dress like a slob for dinner.

It seems I've never really gotten over the emphasis placed on dressing
neatly for dinner or saying, 'Sir' and 'Ma'am' since my almost ten weeks
with Ryan Wilcox's parents who emphatically insisted I do that while I was
living with them. Nowadays I find myself automatically falling back on that
training or indoctrination living with the Dickers. They seem to like it
too.

Anyway, as it turns out my concerns about what to wear were unwarranted as
Robby just threw on a sloppy outfit consisting of an old stretched white
t-shirt and jeans ripped at the knees while I was dressed up like I was
going out to dinner. No real harm in that, I suppose. And Mrs. D. did say I
looked very nice.

Forget the clothes though, Rob's horniness for me is flattering and
contagious so I'm fully on board now with his idea of some afternoon sexy
fun. He says, "Oh baby, what a genius of an idea you have there! Suck my
fat dick, yeah, by all means, be my guest!" Instead of bothering to pull
his boxer shorts down, I reach inside the fly with a couple of fingers and
pull his heavy fat cock out. It's a nice looking penis even though it's
more than a little overweight. Robby goes, "Ooooh, I like when you're
touching my dick!" and he shudders a little as his feet spastically move on
the mattress. His eager anticipation is encouraging me to give him a really
good blow job.

Still up on my knees, I've got one hand on the bed for support using my
other hand to pull back the foreskin exposing the big fat head of Rob's
cock. Looking at it for just a second, then glancing up into Rob's big blue
eyes, I quickly lean my head down to lick my tongue across the head and,
huh, there's an unmistakable taste of urine. That's unexpected considering
how super clean my boyfriend usually is. Guess he didn't shake that last
drop of piss off his dick. Lifting my head, I ask, "Hey, do you need to
take a piss, by any chance?" Rob shakes his head one time on the pillow,
looking curious, asking, "Take a piss? No, why?" I go, "Because I wanna see
what it's like having you piss in my mouth, that's why." He says, "I did
that a couple of years ago and I'm not doing it again. I told you the other
day... that's gross, babe." It's not necessarily gross at all. Some other
time perhaps...

I pull his foreskin back tighter and Rob goes, "Ummm." Holding the foreskin
tightly back, I say, "Well, ya know, some guys think urine play is pretty
fuckin' sexy." He mutters, "Oh yeah? Well, I'm not one of them," and I lick
over the head of his cock again and then mumble, "Yeah, well, we should do
that sometime anyway," and then I put the fat head of his cock in my mouth
and lick it like a lollypop or no, it's more like an all-day sucker... one
of those big hard candies. Whatever kind of candy I'm licking, in ten
seconds Rob's arching his back off the bed, grunting, "Ummm, ahh, aaah,
oooh fucccck..." Yeah, I've been told my bubblegum pink tongue is magical
on a guy's cock. Not being a contortionist I'll need to take their word for
that.

Damn though, I like doing this and, heh heh, yeah, seeing the reaction I
get from Robby... that's like icing on the cake. More fast tongue action
and then I suck on the head while stroking the shaft pulling the foreskin
back and forth. Rob squirms on the bed, his hands going to my head. That's
almost an involuntary reaction, ya know. The hands going to the head of a
guy sucking your dick. It happens just about every time and I should
probably mention that in my book, 'Gay Sex for Dummies'... or maybe it'll
sell better if I substitute 'Beginners' for 'Dummies'. Ya know, when I get
around to writing it.

Making wet slurping sounds I get into a dreamy trance sucking, stroking,
and licking the four-plus fat inches of Rob's penis. It starts out four
inches long, and God only knows how many inches around, and then when it
gets harder and harder it extends a little in length but I don't believe it
gets any fatter... just harder and heavier as seminal fluids, mostly blood,
flood into the open arteries and get trapped in there by pressure.
Actually, erections start in the brain, not that hardly anyone gives a shit
where they start, including me.

I can get Rob sexually aroused rather easily so it takes only a very short
time to get his cock hard as a steel poker and sticking defiantly straight
up from the fly of his boxers. It looks so cool too! The fat head is wet
with some early pre-cum. Yeah, pre-cum which unfortunately no longer cuts
it as a lubricant during anal sex; not for me, it doesn't. No, not since
I've been spoiled by the use of KY jelly or Astroglide.

Taking my mouth off his boner, I stroke it tightly, asking, "Where's the
backup lubricant you said you had here at the house?" His hand covers my
hand helping me stroke his fat hard cock as he goes, "Oh, um, I meant I
have duplicate toiletry stuff here, not lube." I smirk and mutter, "Good
thing I thought to bring the Astroglide then, huh?" Rob grins, mumbling,
"Good thing for you, yeah."

Chuckling and letting go of his dick I get off the bed and unzip my
satchel. The Astroglide is the last thing I put in here before leaving the
apartment so it's right on top. I get it and hop back on the bed and then
go up on my knees next to Robby and squeeze some lube on my fingers. He
watches my every move, his eyes shining as I reach back lubing my asshole,
mumbling, "I've decided to ride that fat pole of yours." He goes, "Oh boy!"
and he strokes his saliva-soaked and boned-up penis a few times.

When my asshole is loaded with lube, I push Rob's hand away from his hard
pecker and spread some Astroglide on it. To tease him, I use a tight
stroking motion, um... a jerk-off motion actually. The lube makes a wet
slippery sound as my fist slides up and down on his wickedly hard
boner. It's a short trip each way and my fist slides over and completely
off the head every fourth or fifth stroke, but on the plus side, my fingers
aren't long enough to meet around that fat-boy-dick of Rob's. Every time my
fist slides off the top I put a fake surprised expression on my face,
saying, "Oops." Rob's face is scrunched up from the sensations coming off
his sensitive organ, sensations that get more pronounced with each stroke.
It's stroke, stroke, stroke as I chuckle when Robby closes his eyes
tightly, his back arching off the bed again as he moans, "Umm, umm, oooh,
ohhhh!"

Haha, yeah, I know how awesome it feels when a friend strokes your cock for
you. I'm stroking it tightly too... stroke, stroke, stroke but then when a
big long drool of pre-cum rolls over my fingers I let go of the shaft
because I want him shooting his creamy load up my ass, not up in the
air. Wow, his boner is so stiff and hard it doesn't move at all when Robby
adjust his position on the bed a little.

His cock is shiny-hard too! It looks scarily hard and fat. So fat it gives
me pause for a second. Only for a second though and then my right knee goes
over Rob's body so I'm straddling him and facing him too. I sit on his
belly with his hard boner against the back of my buttocks, the hard head
leaving a wet spot where it touches me every time I move.

Rob licks his sexy lips as I'm looking down at him, mumbling, "Ya know,
you're the one who's supposed to be directing our sexual activities, so why
am I doing your responsibility as well as my own?" He grins, saying,
"Because I like when you're directing things, that's why. It's basically
the same thing as if, um, ah... I'm still directing by letting you, um, you
know...." I'm like, "Stop talking! You're not making any sense." He laughs
out loud and tries reaching around me to grab his throbbing boner but I
push his hand away, adding, "Just so you know, later tonight in bed you
need to be in charge, that's all I'm saying." He goes, "If you don't get
going I'll need to be in charge right now." I go, "Ouuuu, that was sexily
bossy of you!" I go up my knees, move back a little, and then reach behind
me to grab his boner and guide it to my asshole.

Oh man, I just got shivers from pressing that hard head against my
quivering anus... and all I did was just touch it there!  And then, taking
a deep breath and still holding onto his throbbing hard boner, I drop down
just enough for that fat head to spread my asshole almost to the point of
ripping it before the slippery head slides very tightly in past my
sphincter muscle.

Oh, fuck! I'm making a 'Shssssssiss-ing' sound sucking air in between my
teeth at the burning pain... pain that thankfully begins fading in like
five seconds. The 'fading' needs to go on for maybe thirty seconds more
before I can even think about dropping my butt further onto that hard
cock. Rob's making his own sounds, although his are all pleasure sounds. A
pleasure that's probably almost too much for him to bear initially and then
he goes, "Mmmmm," and humps his hips up off the bed trying to get his cock
further up my ass but I go up on my knees slightly to thwart his
efforts. Naughty, impatient boy!

But, oooooh yeah, my rectum is beginning to feel good now as my prostate
starts humming pleasantly and then it gets serious and begins putting out
some meaningful throbbing pleasure vibrations that make my shoulders
shudder and I drop my ass an inch further down on Rob's hard boner feeling
my rectum open up wider. I shudder again, grinning and making a face like,
'Oh man! This feels so painfully good!'

Omigod, yeah this is feeling good for real now! Haha, not that I'm
surprised. The look on Rob's face tells me all I need to know about how his
fat sex organ feels now that it's surrounded by my rectum. Surrounded about
as tightly as it's possible to be surrounded by anything. My cock is hard
too, and up against my belly. I rub it and close my eyes for a second to
concentrate on how good everything is feeling.

Then, taking another deep breath and scrunching up my face, I let myself go
the rest of the way down until I'm sitting on Rob's lap. There's not much
additional pain because my asshole was already stretched as far open as it
needed to be stretched. My scrunched up face turns into a smirk as I ask,
"How's it feel, boss?" Rob nods his head and mutters, "Good, really good."
His hands are lightly holding onto my hips although he has no control of
our situation whatsoever, not with me in this dominant 'top' position.

Whoa, there's such an irresistible itchy feeling all around my
over-stretched asshole... just one more thing that feels good. I try
wiggling my ass and then tighten my buttock's muscles as Rob mutters, "Are
you gonna ride that thing or just sit on it?" I chuckle, muttering, "Both,"
and lift up watching Robby sucking in air and squinting his eyes. The human
penis is a bundle of nerve endings, you know...

I begin fucking myself on Rob's equipment lifting up and then right away
dropping down, up and down with the strain on my legs minimal at first. Up
and down, up and down, up and down with sensations incredibly increasing,
almost beyond belief with each move I make and it's feeling awesome! For
Robby too, of course, as he's biting his bottom lip and making a, "Umm,"
sound every lift and every downward move I make on his hard cock.

The pleasure sensations are simply amazing... and indescribable. I'm trying
to be cool about this but can't help murmuring, "Uh," every time I slide
tightly up or down that short pole. Leaning forward now, my head almost to
Rob's, I do more of a pulling and pushing motion... pulling off four inches
and pushing back the same amount driving that ridiculously hard and fat
boner back up my ass and then I get a really good rhythm going, moving
toward Rob' face a little bit and then away the same amount, "Uh, uh. uh."
In short order, I feel his cock getting larger and even harder inside my
ass. Oh man, this feels so fucking good with my cock now as hard as Rob's
so I'm getting double the pleasure.

It takes a lot of effort riding this fast pole though so after two minutes
I take a break and lift back up to sit on his, um, lap again, His 'lap' I
guess is the best description of where I'm sitting. But I sit for just for
a moment to catch my breath and give my legs a rest. After two seconds
though, Rob grunts out a strangled-sounding two words, "No resting," and he
reaches up to grip under my arms and then, taking me by surprise, pulls me
over sideways on the bed with his cock coming out of my ass. I didn't see
that coming!

We're both snickering as we try to get the upper hand. I'm trying to regain
control by wrestling around to get back up on my hands and knees for
leverage but that backfires when Rob winds-up behind me and before I know
it he's sliding his boner back up my ass and it feels way too good for me
to resist. I do one last struggle to try turning over but he's too strong
and the only thing I can do now is get docile and that's what I do. I
become very submissive to my man, the dominant 'top' again. I go into my
favorite submissive-role acknowledging I've been dominated by the stronger
male. And, oh fuck, this feels sooooo good!

Moaning, I try squirming just a little bit to get my knees back up but Rob
tightens his hold on my hips and then smacks my ass, SMACK!" and thrust his
big fat cock back and forth inside me three times which quiets me down. My
knees are under me, awkwardly against my chest. I have no choice but to
accept my situation and I moan again. Awkward position or not... God, I
love being dominated like this. Robby reaches over my back pushing behind
my head, saying with a chuckle in his voice, "Down, get your head down and
your ass up more." Oh fuck, what a great move on his part as I drop my face
to the pillow submissively.

It's mostly in my brain, Rob's dominance and my submissiveness. Even so, it
still resonates as sort of the real thing and I can't help but completely
settle down with a whining moan of submission, "Ummmm, oooh, Robby, mmmm,"
and he snorts out a short laugh and gives my ass another smack, SMACK!" and
I obediently get my chest lower on the bed pushing my ass up more.

Rob does another quiet chuckle, murmuring, "You're awesome with this shit,
babe," and then he thrusts a half dozen times... hard thrusting! His crotch
smacking against my butt cheeks, "Slap, slap, slap!" He stops thrusting
when he sees I'm completely docile. Taking his time now, Rob moves his
knees to a more comfortable position and then spreads my butt cheeks,
flattening them to get his cock up my ass a tiny bit more. He pulls up on
my hips, murmuring, 'Keep your hips up, babe." I do that and he goes,
"Good," as the docking has now been successfully completed by him to his
satisfaction.

Totally in charge now, he takes a noisy deep breath and then rubs both his
hands up and down my back before pressing on the back of my head again
pushing my face into the pillow. I offer no resistance so he chuckles
again, mumbling, "Ooooh, so now you're going to be a good 'bottom' boy for
me, huh? No more wrestling with your man, huh?" Sliding my head to the
side, I look back at him, mumbling, "I've got you exactly where I want you,
so why would I wrestle with you?" He grins and slaps my ass again, saying,
"Oh yeah? Who's in charge though?" and he thrust his engorged cock back and
forth in my ass a few more times as I'm trying not to moan at the pleasure
soaring from my rectum... wave after wave of pleasure especially from my
delightfully agitated prostate gland. The sexual pleasure is so intense it
makes me close my eyes tightly and moan, "Oooooh."

Yeah, no surprise that my prostate gland is amazingly active and doing its
thing of creating sensational pleasure vibrations. Seriously, I think it
very well could be one of those Darwinian natural selection thingies... I
mean, my entire rectum might be one of those aberrations. You know, somehow
some clever mutation accidentally elevated my rectum's sensitivity
capabilities way beyond the norm, up to the next level of pleasure
sensitivity, probably via a fortuitous gene mutation of one kind or another
as recent as one or two generations back perhaps. Those awesome mutations
being passed on to lucky me and Chub who I have surmised is as sexually
active on the other team as I am on my team. Obviously, our dad was
super-sexually-active considering that one night he impregnated both...
well, never mind that.

More to the point though... Robby's apparently even more aroused now that
he as the upper hand again, and considering he was a horny dog before we
even started messing around, his arousal level is spectacular! He doesn't
admit it, but he gets 'off' when I'm doing my super submissive act.
Probably most 'tops' would get 'off' on it.

Anyway, he starts fucking my ass fast and hard with the 'slapping' sounds
of our bodies smacking together filling my ears, "SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP!" Music
to my ears actually, and now I'm in a world of sexual pleasure where all
other thoughts are abandoned and I can totally absorb and appreciate this
sexual pleasure that's like no other. My forearms are on the mattress with
my face moving back and forth on the pillow as I moan and, without even
thinking about it, keep my ass pushed way up to accommodate my dominant
'top'.

Robby's fucking fast and hard making low moans of pleasure himself. Our
moans replace our earlier snickering and chuckling as we're way past that,
deep into this sex act now. Robby thrusts his boner fast and hard in my ass
while I've conjured up in my brain that I'm powerless to do anything about
it so I simply enjoy getting fucked awesomely. Of course, I could stop this
or any other sex act if I really wanted to, but I'm not crazy so why would
I want to. It simply makes it more fun for me pretending I'm helplessly
being dominated sexually... have mercy, Robby!

It doesn't last long unfortunately as signals in my brain quickly reach
'GO' status for my orgasm. I can't fool the autopilot aspect of my brain's
sexual response center, although there have been times I tried to delay the
inevitable... unsuccessfully I might add. So yeah, my rectum has been
opened just barely enough for that very big fat boner to stimulate a
million nerve endings for long enough now that my brain can't stop the
climax train from pulling out of the station, and with Rob prevailing as
the 'top' in our short battle everything feels otherworldly good... and
everything is in place to create that inevitable reaction... the supernova
of sexual pleasure called 'climax' and there simply is no stopping
that. And like I said before, who in their right mind would want to stop it
anyhow?

So, the cyclone that it is my orgasm comes storming on me and I don't even
try to slow it down... I want to feel it do its climaxing thing! Rob's
making his desperate whining sounds which tell me he's ready to blast off
too so it's only a matter of seconds now. I'm holding my breath with
excited anticipation, an anticipation that borders on fear... and then I'm
not sure what happens first: was it Rob's climax streaking into my bowels
setting me off, or my hips humping and my muffled squeal with my face in
the pillow setting Rob off. We both blast-off with a climax though, and I
mean within a half-second of one another and I tremble at the exquisiteness
of it all.

Omigod, some climaxes are simply different in the most spectacular way and
while they're all spectacular, occasionally a climax leaves me feeling like
my insides blew out through my cock in one last incomprehensible end to the
universe. Shaking like mad it takes me two seconds to realize the world is
still here as waves of scintillating climax after effects sizzle over me
and I moan quietly and shudder again grinning to myself as reality slides
back into my consciousness. My face is still half buried in the pillow as
I'm grinning and thinking that nothing is as good as this. I don't have any
idea why this climax was so special... I really don't, but it was!

And my brain has just now allowed my consciousness the realization Robby
had a big part in everything too. Huh, I wonder how he's doing? That makes
me grin harder as I'm telling myself not to mention that tardy recognition
my brain had for his part in my fabulous climax. Heh heh, I'd be
hard-pressed to duplicate it without him.

Turning my head I see Robby's on his back next to me with his eyes closed
taking deep breaths. Huh? I didn't even realize he pulled his dick out of
my ass. I'm sliding my legs back slowly to lie flat on my stomach. My own
cum is gooily under me as I feel Rob's load of hot semen squishing out of
my asshole and running down my butt cheeks. Oh man, it was creamy cum going
up my ass and now as it's coming out it's a lot less creamy and able to
follows the contour of my buttocks sliding down wetly to the back of my
nuts. Lots of cum which makes me wonder... isn't Robby's getting anything
on the side anymore! Can that be?

Then we hear Mrs. D. yelling upstairs, "The dip and chips are ready, boys!
Shall I bring up the platter?" and our bodies stiffen. Rob's eyes blink
open and his head turns to look at me. We both grin and then chuckle before
Robby goes up on his elbow and yells, "No! I'll be right there!"

Snickering he sits up, and says, "Jesus! My orgasm was off the fucking
hook, babe! What the hell... ya know?" I'm nodding and agreeing, "Yeah, I
know what ya mean, Robby. Just some casual afternoon sexy fun but it almost
blew my dick off," and we snicker like kids as I add, "What's up with that,
huh?" Still snickering, probably proud of himself, Robby gets out of bed
and grabs some tissues, mumbling, "Mysterious awesomeness, huh Dylan?"

Wiping his soft penis with the tissues, he adds, "Fuck if I know what we
did to bring that on, but let's try and repeat it exactly the same way
tonight." Getting off the bed, I go, "It never works trying to repeat
something, and I mean something sexual or any other type of good time. It
never turns out as good the second time." I'm grabbing tissues now and
reaching behind me to wipe my ass.

Rob never took his boxer shorts off so he's already pulling on his jeans,
hopping on one leg, muttering, "We can at least try duplicating
everything." Getting more tissues to wipe the cum off my stomach and chest,
I'm like, "If you want, yeah I guess." It never works, but why not try
anyway.

When we're both dressed and I'm sitting on the side of the bed putting my
loafers on Rob finishes off his beer and then says, "I'll flip a coin to
see which one of us gets the onion dip," and, looking at his empty bottle
of beer, he adds, "The dip and chips and two more beers."

On my way downstairs I'm trying to think of any time in my life I won a
coin flip for any-fucking-thing. I'm also picking at my khakis in back
pulling my jockey shorts away from some late arriving cum that's sticking
to my underwear. Damn, Rob should have wiped my ass for me and then, as I
walk into the kitchen, I chuckle at the thought of Rob needing to wipe my
ass.

Mrs. D. asks, "What's funny, dear?" as she picks up a platter with a bowl
of onion dip in the middle of a lot of Lay's potato chips. I say, "Oh
nothing. I'm just happy to be home I guess." Oh, fuck! What a dumb ass
thing to say! She smiles, "You're so sweet to say that, Dylan." Then she
looks serious, adding, "Honey, don't let Rob boss you around. Did he send
you down for this dip and chips tray? He said he was coming to get it." I
go, "Oh, no, Mrs. D. We flipped a coin." She doesn't look like she believes
me.

This entire exchange with her has me blushing and frantically trying to
think of something to say that gets us off that comment about how happy I
am to be 'home', and I come up with this: "Um, I was wondering how you make
your onion dip from scratch?" She's still holding the tray, smiling again
and saying, "Oh that's right, you're the cook in the, um, partnership you
and Rob have. He's always said you're a wonderful cook." Oh God, this is
awkward! And I brought it on myself with that corny 'glad to be home'
shit. She's still talking and I hear the end of a sentence, "... which is
where I got the recipe. Anyway, it's simple to make, Dylan."

She sets the platter on the counter and tells me her from-scratch onion dip
recipe: "First, caramelize Vidalia onions in olive oil and then cool them
in the refrigerator while mixing a cup of softened sour cream and half a
cup of mayonnaise with some garlic and onion powder, plus salt and a dash
of hot sauce. Mix in the cooled onions and that's all there is to it."

I say, "Thanks Mrs. D.," as I dip a chip in the onion dip and eat it,
exclaiming. "Wow, deliciously creamy and good." She pats my shoulder and,
as I pick up the platter, she says, "You're a delightful boy, Dylan. I hope
Rob picks up some of your personality." Blushing again, I go, "Uh huh," and
take the platter upstairs where Rob picks up a chip and dips it in the
onion dip, asking, "No beers?" I go, "I'm sure you'll find beers in the
basement refrigerator." He goes, "Ooooh, touchy, huh? I'll get us a couple
of beers," and as I eat another chip, I'm like, "Thanks, my hands were full
carrying this platter up here for my man," and we smile at each other.
Damn, even after that disastrous conversation with Rob's Mom... I feel
wicked good!

Rob comes back with two cold beers and we eat the chips and dip while
playing a game on Rob's computer. Neither of us does this very often, play
computer games. We're unlike most everyone we know in that regard. We're
equally matched though, which is another way of saying we're equally bad at
it. It's fun anyway and then at seven-ten, Rob's Dad calls upstairs, "Do
you guys want to join Em and me for a cocktail before dinner?" Rob looks at
me and I shrug, so he goes, "Yes, thanks, Dad, we'll be right down." I go,
"How'd you interpret my shrug as a 'yes'?" Patting my shoulder, he says, "I
had to make a management decision for us, babe."

We join his Dad and Mom in the family room, all four of us drinking
Manhattans made with VO whiskey. The drinks aren't too bad because
Mr. D. doesn't make them overly strong. He shakes the batch of cocktails in
lots of ice which dilutes the whiskey a little, plus he adds cherry juice
from the Maraschino Cherry jar. As we drink our cocktails, the conversation
isn't about Dickers & Son like I expected. It's about how Rob and I are
doing at college. Mostly about us 'getting off on the right foot' for our
senior year. Needless to say, I add very little to the conversation only
answering when asked a direct question. Rob handles our part of the
conversation pretty well with positive comments about our senior year so
far, knowing that's what his parents want to hear, plus it's early in the
semester and they're actually aren't a lot of negatives yet anyhow.

His Dad goes, "Sounds good, guys, and you're both looking sharp with those
haircuts. Personal appearance counts in the real world of business. And,
hell, I know there are aspects of the computer world where tattooed and
pierced individuals might rule the scene but there's still the ground-roots
business world that remains more traditional. That's our world,
boys. Businesses that are betting tens of millions on a project expect
professional looking representatives from the company they're dealing
with. And that'll be you boys in the near future."

Rob and I both nod our heads as his Dad adds, "And you, Dylan... it's damn
nice of you to keep Rob company this weekend. I'm sure there are things
you'd rather be doing at school but you support your, um, support your,"
and something gets caught in his throat so he coughs and then finishes his
sentence, "Your partner, and I admire that." I manage to mumble, "I'm glad
to do it and, um, I get to see both of you again too." Oh, fuck! I did it
again! Why do I say shit like that? I said something just as dumb to
Mrs. Dickers earlier. Fuck me!

Mrs. D. chirps in with, "That is so nice of you to say, Dylan." Rob goes,
"Yeah, and did we mention Dylan took an elective class this semester? It's
an advanced course on brown-nosing. Didn't ya, babe?" I go, "Yes, how am I
doing?" and both his parents actually chuckle a little. Wow, ya don't see
Mr. D. doing a lot of chuckling, so that was cool. Ya know, it turned out
okay.

Both Rob's parents seem as relaxed and cordial as I can ever remember them
being. Perhaps it has something to do with the business successes the
company has been experiencing for like two years now, or I don't know, but
whatever the reason it's nice to see... and its less stress on me.

Later Rob asks about Dodger and, surprisingly, there doesn't appear to be
any vitriol like I've noticed in the past when Dodger's name has come
up. In a normal manner, Mrs. D. merely answers with, "Oh, yes. Dodger and
his friend, Josh, were invited for dinner tomorrow night but I'm not sure
if they'll make it. Dodger says he can't commit until tomorrow
afternoon. Something to do with his business. Maybe we'll see them and
maybe not." Mr. D. drains his cocktail and says, "I saw Dodger's business
plan for that website they've got running now and I'm impressed. This Josh
Price boy seems very bright, and Dodger is too, of course." I can't think
of any way to get them to continue talking about Dodger without it seeming
nosy of me. Ya know, butting into a family 'thing', so that's all I learn
about Dodger.

Then at dinner, the pork chops and corn on the cob are not overcooked like
Rob feared and everything else is also prepared very well by his mom. I
gotta give it up for her... she's a good cook. Rob and I go out after
dinner for a few beers. We try three bars hoping to run into old
acquaintances but don't see a single person we know. We're back home before
eleven o'clock because Rob needs to be up early tomorrow morning for that
business meeting.

Initially, I thought I'd need to get up early too but Rob's riding to work
with his Dad, which makes sense. He won't stay after the meeting like his
Dad though so that's where I come in. I'll pick him up at work when he
texts me. The fact Rob is getting up early in the morning doesn't stop him
from initiating some truly epic lover's sex tonight. It goes on fabulously
for maybe a half hour... dreamy lover's sex resulting in fantastic orgasms
for both of us.

I don't wake up Saturday morning until Rob's already showered and
dressed. My eyes open when he shakes my shoulder a little and I see his
smiling face close to mine as he says, "I'm leaving now, Dylan, and I know
you'd be pissed if I didn't say goodbye." He leans down smelling good in
about three ways. He's clean-shaven for work and I smell the aftershave
lotion I gave him for his birthday, so that's smelling good plus his breath
is minty fresh and his natural scent sneaks through a little bit too. I get
my arms around the back of his neck for a good smooch, his tie dragging
across my neck. When I let go of him he rubs my head, mumbling, "I love
you," and off he goes. Ya know... like I told Rob yesterday, whoever it was
that said Robby and me are like an old married couple was right in some
ways, but if so we're an old married couple where love is still very real
and hasn't yet faded to simple rote familiarity.

After Rob leaves I go back to sleep and do that until almost nine
o'clock. He left at seven-fifteen. I used to be shy about using their hall
bathroom figuring it'd be embarrassing if one of Rob's parents, especially
his mother, saw me in the hall going or coming from the hall bathroom with
only a towel around my waist. I'm over that now so I take a shower and get
dressed in the clothes I brought with me and then go downstairs.

I'm still shy about, or rather uncomfortable about, being with Rob's Mom
when it's just me and her. No way to avoid it this morning though. Yep,
she's in the kitchen as usual. She says, "G'morning, Dylan. What can I fix
you for breakfast? There's blueberry pancake batter here. That's what I
made for Rob and Robert. Would you like some with bacon?" It'd be rude to
say 'no' to her nice offer, so I say, "That sounds wonderful. Thank you."

As she's pouring me a cup of coffee, she says, "That's your seat there,
Dylan. Go ahead, sit down, dear. I've got your coffee here and Rob left the
sports page right there for you." Gee, I have my own seat at the
table. Well, it is where I sat all summer." Ya know what, Mrs. D. appears
to enjoy serving us guys. Oh, here's a bizarre thought: I wonder if she's
ever disappointed at not having a daughter? Yeah, that's an interesting
thought alright. Huh, I'll be sure to ask her about that maybe two or three
days after hell freezes over.

It's a very good breakfast and made even better because Mrs. D. talked on
her cell phone while cooking which conveniently eliminates any need for
awkward conversation for me. She's still talking on the phone when she sets
the plate of blueberry pancakes, butter melting over the pancakes with a
little pitcher of warm 'real' maple syrup, and six slices of bacon in front
of me. The moms used to buy Log Cabin syrup which I don't believe has a
drop of real maple syrup in it. There is a big difference.

As Mrs. D. talks on the phone, she gives me a nice smile and a light pats
my head. Then she wanders out of the kitchen still talking on the phone to
someone named, 'Sis'. Or maybe it's her sister, that's what John Smith
calls his sister... Sis. Whatever, it's perfect!

While reading the sports section of the Boston Globe I eat my breakfast and
when done I leave everything where it's at on the table, including the
newspaper, and go upstairs to do what I need to in the bathroom. Yep, I
don't need to clean up my mess in the kitchen after eating. Not here I
don't 'cause Mrs. D. takes care of that.

In the upstairs bathroom, I'm washing up and then combing my hair, which
doesn't require much combing by now. It's a trained flattop although maybe
a tad too long to even be called a flattop but the hairs stay in place on
their own anyway. I like this haircut okay now that I'm used to it and I've
heard compliments about it, so I guess Danny was right when he said this is
a haircut that looks good on me. Mostly I think it looks good because Danny
left it, like I just said, longish on top and then, well, I do have an
awesome head of hair which helps any hairstyle. I mean, I have great hair
so why pretend I don't? It's the 'gene' thing again; yep, I inherited a
fabulous 'hair' gene.

Anyway, I'm trying to decide what to do today. Well, I do know what the
very first thing I'm going to do is and that's visiting my mom. That's
number one and after that, I guess I'll drive around to familiar places and
see if there's anyone I know from the neighborhood. Just to say 'Hi' to, or
maybe just drive by and wave... it depends on who they are. And, damn, I
can't get over how good I feel about everything!

Driving to my condo is nice because everything looks familiar and I have
mostly all good memories of everything I see. And sure, I've only been away
at college for ten days but it seems longer. It's just nice seeing, and
actually taking note of the familiar things I've taken for granted for
years now. At my condo, I park in the back and go in through the door next
to the garage. In the basement, I look around smiling and thinking about
all the things I've done in here. Well mostly those things consisted of
haircutting and sex; two pretty hot things to do... for me they're hot
things to do. But years ago Chubby and I would lie on the chaise lounge and
watch TV together. We did other things down here that are embarrassing to
think about now, but we were very young back then. And I secretly loved
doing those things with him. As awesome as my life is now, the very best
times of my life were when I was young and doing everything with Chubby.

Going up the steps I hear my Mom talking on the phone, so she's here!
Coming out of the cellar door you'd think the guy from that preposterous
magazine-clearing-house advertisement campaign came through the door to
give Mom a hundred thousand dollars a week for life... that's how she makes
me feel with her excited smile and her telling someone on the phone, "Oh,
my boy just walked in! I'll talk to you later, Barb..." She wraps her arms
around me and we do some hugs and kisses. "Easy there, Mom, I've only been
gone ten days."

Well yeah, even though I've lived with the Dickers most of the summer Mom
and I saw each other and spent the same amount of time together as we did
when I lived at the condo. That's because of Mom's working schedule. A
schedule we've been living with for the past fifteen or more years. She
excitedly says, "Dylan, you look so nice and I like your haircut," and she
almost touches my head, but doesn't. I say, "Oh Mom, you always say that."
She squeezes me, mumbling, "Because it's true, darling. You're too modest!"

We sit at the kitchen table over coffees to catch up on what's been
happening with our lives. But first, she needs to tell me how handsome I am
and how proud she is of me and on and on like that. Not hard to listen too
but a tiny bit awkward too. So, to get off that I finally get a chance to
butt in and ask how the twins and Tris are doing? Naturally, mom has
nothing but good, happy, positive things to tell me about herself and Tris
and their guys. She's never had a negative thing to tell me in her entire
life. She's the original person on earth who could make chicken salad from
chicken shit.

I notice her engagement ring sparkling from the overhead light as she tells
me again, for the third or fourth time, about their plans for a double
wedding next fall. I listen closely because it's hugely important to mom,
obviously, and her excitement is contagious. I've thanked God any number of
times for Tim and Tom Rider, the twins mom and Tris have fallen in love
with. Those guys are so cool and nice... and rich. Plus they're like, I'm
not sure exactly, but almost ten years younger than the Moms and yet they
seem devotedly in love with them. It's almost a miracle they found each
other but I guess everyone in love could say the same thing.

Anyway, what's important to my mom is important to me so even if I've
already heard most of what she's telling me a couple of times, I treat it
like new exciting news. And then, as if she just read my mind, she pats my
arm, saying, "Oh listen to me, Dylan. I know I've told you all this before,
but isn't it the most wonderfully exciting development?" I nod my head,
"It's fantastic, Mom!"

Of course, eventually, Mom gets into a mother's snooping role wanting to
know what I've been doing minute by minute since going back to
college. Without a clue I was going to do this, I talk for quite a while,
maybe as long as half an hour straight about my current life and how
wonderful my life is and how happy I am. I tell her intimate details of Rob
and myself... not sexual details obviously, but how happy we are together
and how we help each other and love being together and about our plans for
the future and how our relationship has developed into one we feel will
work for a lifetime.

A few tears run down her face and as she brushes them away while telling me
how thrilled she is that my life is a happy one and then she goes on to say
her and Tris worried about me when I was growing up. She says, "Oh my
goodness, Dylan, you were the shyest boy ever... except with your
brother. As soon as you learned to talk, the first thing you'd say when you
woke up every single morning was, 'Where's Chubby?' and you were not happy
until he was with you. It was the cutest thing and Tris and I would just
shake our heads and smile." I'm like, "How the fuc, um, how old was I? I
don't remember doing that!" Mom goes, "Oh, you'd ask that from the time you
learned to talk until you boys went to pre-school together. Then you knew
that Jeff and you were going to kindergarten together and you didn't need
to ask where he was."

Shaking my head and smiling, I mutter, "You could forget that little
antidote and I wouldn't mind at all." She pats my hand, saying, "It's a
sweet memory for us moms, Dylan. And, darling, it wasn't just as a
preschooler either. You were a very shy boy even as you got older. Shy, but
the nicest little boy anyone could ever want as a son. I mean, you were so
generous. When you were in the third or fourth grade and we were at the
shore for a week in the summer. We'd be on the boardwalk buying you and
Jeff cotton candy or an ice cream cone or any treat really, and if some kid
you didn't even know asked for a lick you'd give him the whole cone and,
without saying a word Jeff and you would share his. It was the darndest
thing we'd ever seen. Tris and I would roll our eyes and chuckle. You two
were the most unusual boys and, Omigod, inseparable too. It was
heartwarming to see actually, and indescribably sweet."

Haha, Mom might not think we were so sweet when Chubby and I were kicking
the living shit out of Arnold Barker in fifth grade. Arnold being the
fifth-grade bully who made the mistake of tripping me on purpose in the
schoolyard causing me to skin both knees. As far as I know, that was the
last time Arnold ever tripped anybody.

Mom goes, "Oh, we had our worries about you too. For a few years, Tris and
I were afraid you were too caring, sweet, and innocent... and this was even
when you were in middle school. We were so afraid you'd be taken advantage
of by other children, and children can be cruel. Our only consolation or
hope was that as shy and innocent as you were Jeffrey was the complete
opposite and, oh my goodness, he did look after you... did he ever look
after you! Tris and I always said that Jeffrey was like the world's best
bodyguard and he did everything with that casual smile of his too, but he
could be a terror when he needed to be." Huh, is that so? Well, I looked
after Chubby too! I guess mom forgot about that part. We looked out for
each other! It sounds like mom and Tris thought I was the world's biggest
pussy as a kid. That's just so, um, I don't know... so wrong.

Shaking her head and smiling... remembering something else perhaps. Then
she grins, saying, "When you were both quite young, you'd follow your
brother everywhere and if he stopped too abruptly you'd bump into him. It
was adorable! And every time you bumped into him, Jeffrey would laugh and
you two would hug. Unbelievably cute! You two had, and you probably still
do have some kind of nonverbal way of communicating that fascinated Tris
and I. We loved watching you two on weekends and whenever we had the chance
really. You boys were about ninety-nine percent of our entertainment back
in those days when Tris and I were just starting out waitressing and
weren't making much money. We all lived on Grant Street downtown. Do you
remember?"  I go, "Uh huh, sort of." But I do not remember bumping into
Chubby and then us hugging or whatever bullshit distorted memory mom has in
her head...

Mom gets up for another cup of coffee. I wonder how many cups of coffee she
drinks a day. She asks, "More coffee, Dylan?" Shaking my head, I go, "No,
thanks, mom, but I must say you have a distorted view of my childhood. I
wasn't like that." Sitting down with another cup of coffee, she ignores
that and says, "Oh my, and whenever you were troubled or frustrated about
something... well, you'd never come to Tris or me. No, you looked over to
Jeffrey and whatever it was, and it often was not apparent to Tris or me,
but Jeff somehow knew what it was and he took care of it in like no time at
all." I go, "Whaaaaat? Are you making this shi..., um, this stuff up?" She
pats my arm this time, saying, "No, sweetheart, and it's not a criticism of
you at all. It's the way you and your brother interacted, that's all. We
soon came to realize nobody was going to take advantage of you 'cause
Jeffrey wouldn't allow it. He would get this determined 'look' on his face
and do whatever needed to be done. It was so adorable the way he looked out
for you." This is preposterous!

Mom goes, "Oh, and then you both got a little older and somehow,
remarkably, you and Jeff sort of raised yourselves from middle school
on. Tris and I were speechless at first when you guys started making your
own meals, giving each other haircuts and whatever, and then one thing led
to another and like overnight you guys were taking care of everything on
your own... everything! We stopped worrying about you."

Well, Mom's got that right. She drinks some coffee and wistfully says, "Ya
know, Dylan, over the years I hear the girls at work complaining about
their sons getting into trouble or being disrespectful, and their daughters
too for that matter. Tris and I just exchange knowing glances but don't
brag on you boys too much. We do a little bragging of course and, Omigod,
they think you and Jeffrey are the best-looking boys they've ever seen in
their lives, but if we told them everything about you and Jeffrey the other
waitresses would end up hating us through jealousy," and she laughs her
friendly laugh. Yeah, her lighthearted laugh that I've heard all my life,
and then she adds, "You can't believe the problems some children cause
their parents." Haha, if our Moms ever knew the kind of trouble Chub and I
found ourselves in over the years, and through no fault of our own
sometimes, they'd both have heart attacks.

Ya know, if I take a lot of what Mom said at face value and in a negative
way I'd need to think Tris and mom thought I was retarded or something as a
kid. That's not it though; no, she's telling me things the way she wants to
remember them with not the slightest bit of negative connotation in any of
it. These are sweet memories she has, if somewhat embellished and
distorted. A person's memory can play tricks on them. Mom's incapable of
being mean or negative and then, as if reading my mind again, she touches
the back of my hand, saying, "Oh sweetheart, I hope it doesn't sound like
we didn't think you weren't wonderful and very smart. Oh my goodness, you
were walking at nine months and talking sentences a few months later. It's
just that you were always the nicest boy anyone had ever met and the
sweetest thing ever too. And gracious, like I said, you'd give your ice
cream cone to anyone who said it looked good... things like that. You were
very sensitive too, but Jeffrey would take care of everything and we just
kind of wondered back then... what if Jeff wasn't there?"

Jesus, the only time I ever recall giving an ice cream cone away was that
time on the boardwalk when I was like seven years old and after one lick of
my ice cream cone, I saw a big ugly black hair in it. It looked like a
pubic hair, now that I think about it. Of course, I had no idea what a
pubic hair was back then; I think I thought it was a hair from some man's
arm! Anyway I was about to throw the fucking thing in the trash when some
nerd goes... don't you want that?' and I gave it to him. And Mom's right
that Chub and I shared his cone. I didn't know the Moms even saw that. Even
as young as we were, neither Chub nor I would even consider asking for a
replacement cone. We knew our Moms didn't have any money. And anyway, on
the boardwalk Chubby was stealing stuff left and right and passing it to
me. We had junk food coming out our asses when we weren't with the Moms.

Whatever, I've basically had enough of this trip down memory lane but I'm
not leaving until Mom has had her fill of it too. I have this overwhelming
sense of love and admiration for my Mom thinking about the trials and
tribulations she went through as an unwed mother at barely seventeen. And
just the fact her and Tris persevered against their parents' wishes to even
have Chubby and I is enough to earn our respect for them for life!

And then add to that the way the Moms somehow were able to provide a decent
home and then later we moved into these very nice condos. They saved their
money for years to make the down payments on our condos while working sixty
to seventy-hour weeks. It's remarkable, and to do it all without ever
complaining is beyond belief really. Sure, they couldn't have done it if
Chubby and I weren't fantastic kids... haha! Well, Chubby at least as
apparently I was a sweet incompetent retard.  No, I don't really think I
was quite as retarded as Mom indicates but the four of us did work together
to make it all possible somehow, and now they have great young guys who
love them. I'm referring to Tom and Timmy who are marrying our Moms, not
Chubby and me. And to think we'll be graduating college in six months or
so. Not bad at all!

Finally Mom's cell phone rings and, shocker, it's Tris! The Moms decide
they'll eat lunch out. After I beg off joining them for lunch, and then
after some more hugs and kisses, I'm out the door feeling okay about our
talk. Checking my watch, I see it's almost one o'clock already. Wow, an
hour and a half talk with my Mom. That doesn't happen too often but I'm
very happy about it because, for one thing, I'm glad she wants to talk with
me that long, and even more importantly I feel good knowing she's in such a
good place. I mean, she's exuberant and excited about everything going on
in her life as well as everything else we talked about, meaning me mostly;
me and Chubby. Sure, she has some misremembered aspects of me as a little
kid but I'm pretty sure Moms are allowed to do that.

>From now on I absolutely and definitely need to call Mom at least once a
week! Okay, whew! Now, what was it I going to do after talking with Mom? Oh
yeah, drive around the neighborhood and see if I spot any of the guys. It's
unlikely I'll spot anyone since most guys are away at college or the Armed
Forces or working at whatever road they took after high school. College
isn't for everyone.

After driving around for twenty minutes without seeing anyone I know, I
give up and think about getting lunch somewhere. It's mysterious to me the
number of cars either on the streets or in mall parking lots during
weekdays. I mean, I wonder why these people aren't working? Hell, and I've
seen lots of adults as I drive around but hardly anyone under the age of
twenty-something. Well duh, they're at school, dummy.

Okay, I'll stop and get lunch and then maybe see a movie 'cause I'm not
going back to the house with just Mrs. D. there. What would we talk about?
On the other hand, I've never gone to the movies alone in my life. Who does
that? No, I'm not gonna do that!

Ya know what? This blows! I should have gone to work with Rob and he'd have
found something for me to do there and maybe I'd even make some money. Or
better yet, I should have stayed back at college where's Pony and, gulp,
Danny, are hanging out. Yeah, and Danny was mad I didn't stay there with
Rob here working. We'd have had a time of it together. And I still need to
give Danny that haircut! Fuck it though, I made the right choice by
supporting Rob, right? I got kudos from his Dad for sticking with... what'd
he call Rob, my partner? Was that it? He's called Robby my boyfriend before
but he couldn't quite get that out this time. Maybe because Mrs. D. was
there, although she's called Rob and me boyfriends before too.

Okay, there's a Burger King and as I pull into the parking lot I see a
motorcycle go by and I'm sure that was Sonny on it. I saw a quick glance of
orange hair below his helmet. There's another motorcycle right behind him
so that's probably his straight motorcycle friend whose name I've
forgotten. The kid who came with Sonny for a haircut the beginning of last
summer. Damn, and Sonny told me before I left for college that he wasn't
getting a haircut until I could do it for him. Yeah, that'd be a cool thing
to do this afternoon. Heh heh, and then after the haircut a quick buddy
fuck for old time sake. Hee hee, hot shit... yeah, that would be a cool
afternoon!

I back out of the Burger King parking lot and go down Route 9 to see where
Sonny's heading and then realize I don't have any barber tools here, plus I
feel creepy hunting him down like this. Sonny always runs into me whenever
we've gotten together in the past. It's kinda pathetic of me following him
down Route 9 like this. And if I can't do the haircut for him, what the
fuck else would we do? I mean, him, me, and his straight friend? Are you
kidding! Forget this dumb idea! Yeah, but Route 9 isn't a road you just get
off of any time you feel like it. I need to drive all the way to Wellesley
before I can get off to turn around... and I still haven't had lunch.

When I get off Route 9 in Wellesley, there are stores on both sides of the
street in a busy shopping area so I drive slowly. I'm looking for a street
to turn onto so I can get headed back on Route 9 toward Framingham. Then I
see two motorcycles parked outside a Subway Shop.

If there wasn't an open parking spot right next to the motorcycles, the
only spot I've seen on this street so far, I'd keep on going. There is a
parking spot right there though and I need lunch, so I pull into the spot
and park the pickup. Assuming the motorcycles are Sonny's and his friend's,
I'll say 'Hi' to Sonny and then get an Italian sub to go.

As soon as I walk into the Subway Shop I see it's one of the Subway
restaurants with tables for eating here if you chose to. The Subway near us
in the Market Basket mall is a take-out shop. There's Sonny ordering at the
counter. He's running his fingers through his long red/orange hair sweeping
the hair over to the side off his face. He has very straight, long hair
covering his ears completely and hanging straight down all around the sides
and back of his head. It looks like shit! I don't recall Sonny looking
worse than this... ever. Maybe it's his preferred 'look' now. And,
presently his hair is further suffering from helmet-hair which is a form of
hat-hair. Hats and helmets tend to mold your hair in the shape of the hat
or helmet. That's when you wear either of that headgear for any length of
time.

Next to Sonny is a black kid who looks young... maybe sixteen or
seventeen. I say 'black' kid but he isn't black; he's more light brown or
tan. I'm assuming he's African American because of his hair type but I
guess he could be from the Islands so maybe he's from the Bahamas or from
some other Caribbean Island or from the Dominican Republic or
wherever... how would I know? He's an average looking kid who I'm guessing
is the other motorcycle rider I saw ten minutes ago riding behind
Sonny. Okay, the kid grinned at something Sonny said which, as often
happens with guys, that elevated the kid's 'looks' to the cute category as
well as confirming he's one of Sonny's motorcycle buddies.

Sonny's an inch or so shorter than me and his friend is about that same
size. They've got their subs and sodas and when they turn toward the tables
Sonny sees me and goes, "Hi, Dylan, whassup?" He said that as if he saw me
a day ago rather than like three months ago. He acted very much like John
Smith did at the bar after not seeing me all summer.

So I'll be low-key too, saying, "Hi yourself. Who's your friend?" Sonny
mutters, "That's my bro, Squirrel. Squirrel, this is Dylan. Join us for
lunch, Dylan," and he sits at a table putting his sub and soda down to lift
a fist which I bump, saying, "Yeah, okay," and then, "Nice to meet you, um,
Squirrel." The kid goes, "Same here. My name is actually Dontrell, um,
Dontrell Johnson," and he sits across from Sonny. Jesus, don't get overly
excited about seeing me, Sonny! I don't say that, but jeez...

Swallowing the first big bite of his meatball sub, Sonny goes, "Oh, dude,
I'm glad we ran into you. You need to give me the haircut you promised."
Why do people keep saying I promised them something? I rarely promise
anything! I go, "Sorry, no can do, Sonny. I don't have any barber stuff to
use, and for the record... I didn't promise you shit, dude." He grins at me
as he chews and then he looks at Squirrel but doesn't say anything." I go,
"Well, I guess I'll get a sub. Um, what's that sub you've got there,
Squirrel? That looks good." He says, "Italian sub," " and I go, "Yeah,
that's what I was thinking of getting. I'll try that." Sonny gives me his
cute smiling 'look' that could mean anything as I go to get in line behind
two large women. Neither of these women appears in danger of starving and
could probably miss lunches for the next six months without harming their
health a whole lot.

After buying an Italian sub and a Coke I join the boys wondering why I
thought earlier about doing a haircut for Sonny when I don't have any
clippers or anything to do it with. I used to have two sets of barbering
equipment and, oh fuck, I'm not going to beat that dead horse again. I was
the one who gave one set away. Nobody forced me to do it. My other set of
clippers and so forth are at college.

As I'm sitting down with the boys, Sonny goes, "Dylan, please don't give me
that no barber tools crap. You promised me." I have to snort out a laugh
because it's preposterous he'd say that! I go, "What the hell? I didn't
promise anything, Sonny! Christ, I'd be happy to give you a haircut, I just
don't have the clippers and stuff, but I never promised anything." Sonny
chews his sandwich with a slight grin on his face, but he has nothing to
add.

After a second I realize he's done talking so I mutter, "Okay, we're good
on that topic!" and when I take a bite of my sub oily juice squirts out all
over my hands making Dontrell laugh. Sonny says, "Get us some napkins,
Squirrel." Dontrell jumps up and says, "Lawzy me, Marse Whitey, Ah'm
pow'ful obliged fo' ma freedom iff'n y'all can sees ya way some day." They
both laugh out loud at that and then slap hands. I can't help chuckling
along too because he did that so cleverly and it was totally
unexpected. Sonny goes, "You're a funny fucker, Squirrel! Um, get me
another Coke too," and he gives him two dollars.

As Squirrel, still chuckling, walks away I mutter to Sonny, "That may not
totally meet all the politically correct standards the PC police are
looking for." Sonny chuckles again, muttering, "No, probably not," and we
eat in silence. Damn, it's like I said, Sonny acts as if he saw me
yesterday. He has no questions about how I'm doing or what I've been up to
and no comment about my haircut or anything. I go, "So what's new with you,
Sonny? How's your brother, Devon, doing?" He shrugs, "Nothing new,
Dylan. It's same old, same old, ya know. Devon's doing good at college."

Sonny's friend is back passing out a handful of napkins and giving Sonny
his Coke. I mumble, 'Thanks, man," and as he sits down, he goes, "Yo Sonny,
dude, um, there's a really killer pair of barber scissors at my house. Ya
know, from when my old lady used to cut my brother's and my hair." Sonny
looks at me and says, "See, Dylan. We got haircutting shit. We'll go to my
place 'cause nobody's home." His friend says, "Yeah, well ya can't use the
scissors unless your friend gives me a haircut too. I gotta get one before
this afternoon is over." As if I'm not sitting right here.

Sonny swallows and takes a drink of Coke and then goes, "Well, fuck,
Squirrel, he's sitting right there. Tell him." The kid looks at me and
starts to repeat what he just said, and I go, "Yeah, I heard you,
Squirrel. Does your Mom have clippers? Barber clippers." He shakes his
head, "Nope, just the scissors," and I go, "I'm not going to try giving two
haircuts with just a pair of fuckin' scissors."

Sonny goes, "C'mon, Dylan! Damn, man, I've told Squirrel what a hot shit
you are so you can't let me down, bro." Squirrel says as if it's already
been decided, "Yeah, but my haircut is first though, Sonny. Tell him that
because I need to be home by four. You can return the scissors to me at the
garage tomorrow." Sonny goes, "Sure, no, problem, Squirrel, unless I forget
to bring them." The kids giggle. Jesus, was I ever that young?

Wrapping the wax paper from his sub in a ball, Sonny goes, "Okay, here's
the deal. Um, Dylan, you and I will go to my place and, Squirrel, you get
your ass over to your house and get the killer scissor from your old lady
and then we'll see you at my place. Okay, Dylan?" I flip a hand at him and
keep eating without saying anything and he goes, "Okay, there it is then! A
done deal and way to go Squirrel for coming through with your old lady's
scissors." Squirrel says, "They're actually my Grammy's scissors." Sonny
grins at him and rubs his head, saying, "We don't really give a shit whose
scissors they are, Squirrel."

As the play grab ass, I'm thinking... why argue with Sonny? It's like
arguing with Danny and simply not worth the trouble, plus I like cutting
hair. And I've cut an African American guy's hair before. In Georgia as a
matter of fact... and it's just hair. Oh man, in Georgia that little hot
shit, I forget his name, but he had the softest hair I've ever cut. It was
what's-his-name's, Dawg's, little brother. I liked doing it and I'm happy
to do it again... no problem.

Plus, the real selling point is Squirrel needing to leave right after I cut
his hair. Nobody's home is what Sonny said, so after his haircut, I could
be in for a classic hard and fast buddy-sex fuck by one of the best
dominant sex buddies I know. And Sonny's also the nicest one I know too. He
does dominance almost accidentally and with compliments and a few apologies
along the way. Last time we screwed was the beginning of last summer and
I'm ready to go for that again. What kind of haircuts I can do for them
with just scissors, well see... but there are limited options. I gave Rob a
haircut with just scissors when he had the appendectomy and was
bedridden. And Sonny gave me a couple of haircuts using only scissors.
Unbelievably good buzz cuts with scissors. Unheard of, but nothing Sonny
ever does would surprise me.

We finish eating and as we walk out of the restaurant, Squirrel says, "I'll
see ya at your house, Sonny." They bump fists and Squirrel gets on his
motorcycle and takes off. Sonny goes, "Ya got a smoke, Dylan?" Hmmm, this
has every possibility of being an interesting afternoon after all...

to be continued...

      Donny Mumford     thinat20@yahoo.com      donnymumford@outlook.com

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

Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published
and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for
next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a
19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And
there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them
out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the
books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.

Donny Mumford

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

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