Date: Fri, 18 Jan 2019 17:22:39 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter  28

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter  28

by  Donny Mumford


Cooking with Chubby was like old times...lots of fun, lots of laughs, and
tasty results! So, that was cool but Rob just texted that practice is over
which means, lickety-split... I'm on my way to pick him up. Chub was
leaving anyway to get ready for his date tonight. Over the past couple of
hours, Chub and I consumed a few shots and beers. As far as I can tell they
had no effect on my brother at all although I'm feeling the booze a little
bit. It's cool though, no problem.

This new head baseball coach, Coach Davis, is causing me a bit of a problem
though. Yeah, he has some strange ideas about baseball practices that kinda
piss me off. Well, it's basically just one thing I guess. It's that he has
no set time limits for practices. Some days it's a short practice and then
other days, like today, practice goes on much longer. I never know what the
fuck to expect and that limits the things I can plan on doing, ya know? It
puts an unknown factor into my 'free time'. Rob says the length of practice
depends on how well Coach Davis feels the players are responding to the
coaches. That's dandy for Coach Davis but doesn't work out well for me. I'm
always 'on-call' so to speak, not that I'm complaining you
understand... just saying. Everyone knows I'm not a complainer. I'm an
'observer' of life, one who feels obliged to comment on fucked-up things.

As soon as I drive onto the ballpark's parking lot I see Rob outside the
front entrance talking with some guys. When I park close to the entrance I
see the cute little redhead standing right next to Rob... wow, that's a
shocker! Haha, Carl's diminutive size was initially blocked by some tall
geeky-looking dude. Carl's holding his hat in one hand while running his
fingers back through his very short red hair. Can I believe this shit? He
already got another flattop haircut from Danny and it's just as short and
crisp as the first one. Danny's dorm room barbershop was apparently humming
along earlier today.

Last year it was Golden Summer's dorm room humming along. That was the
baseball team's free campus barbershop last year but Golden didn't make
that mistake twice! For the hell of it, I'm going to stop in Danny's dorm
one of these barbershop-Saturdays to see how Danny's handling himself. It's
a lucky thing for him that Specks, his roommate, goes home most
weekends. He lives in Worcester which is like an hour's drive from
Merrimack. Hell, Framingham is only an hour's drive too, but we only go
home when Robby needs to do something for work.

Screw Carl's too-short haircut though, what I'm mostly taking note of is
his perfectly proportioned body. Oh my, he's got himself a sexy body albeit
a small one. Huh, ya know what? Carl's body size and type remind me a lot
of Hayden's hot body. I never thought I'd be missing that boy, but I do. I
mean, when I first met Hayden the thought I'd be missing him would have
made me laugh. He fooled me though!

Anyway, heh heh, I always feel like hugging the shit out of Carl's tight
body whenever I see him. I should test the sexy waters with that young gay
boy. If Robby won't move in on the kid, for whatever reason, somebody
should. I'll nominate myself for the job. I mean, just look at Carl's
innocent youthful face! Jeez, maybe there is something beneficial about
being a vegetarian! Carl certainly is one cute motherfucker, his
stupid-looking haircut notwithstanding. And then I chuckle as I'm admitting
to myself I would have LOVED cutting that stupid-looking haircut for
him. Yeah, well...

Oh, what's this? Robby must have a sixth sense. He apparently senses I'm
here. I say that because I just put the pickup in 'park' and Robby stopped
right in the middle of saying something to look over... right at me. A
sixth sense of when I'm in the area perhaps, or more likely he heard the
pickup's loud muffler. That muffler needs to be replaced before we get a
ticket... haha! First the new battery and now the muffler.

Rob does a little wave and I do one back at him. The tall geeky-looking guy
is looking right at me too, and then he leans down to say something to
Carl. Robby and Carl shake their heads at whatever the 'geeky' guy said as
Rob sort of laughs at 'geeky'. I'll have to ask what that was all about,
but now they're doing some quick fist bumps with the other ballplayers and
here comes Rob and Carl jogging toward me. Yeah, Rob and his shadow.

At the pickup, Robby goes, "Hey, Dylan-baby, thanks for getting here so
fast!" I go, "No problem, um..." but before I can ask what the geeky guy
was saying, Robby adds, "Jesus, a long practice today, huh?" I go, "Oh,
really? I hadn't notice," and then I reach out through the pickup's window
and rub Carl's head knocking his hat off, as I ask, "How you doing,
hotshot? You look like you could use a big juicy steak." Jesus, maybe I am
drunk?

Carl's grinning as he's picking up his hat, muttering, "Hi, Dylan." I go,
"Let's stop and get a hamburger at McDonald's. Whaddaya say?" Pulling his
hat on, Carl goes, "I've never tasted a juicy rare steak or hamburger. What
they make me think of is someone killing a poor clueless cow in a
slaughterhouse." Omigod! Okay, he's got me there... that's a horrible
thought. I've got nothing to say to that as I push the button rolling my
window up... it's getting chilly out there. Rob gets in the passenger seat
with Carl right behind him, the three of us on the front bench seat. Robby
gives my shoulders a quick hug, saying, "I promised Carl we'd give him a
ride to the Admin. building. Do you mind, babe? He can walk to his form
from there." Well, what the hell could I say if I did mind?

As I put the pickup in gear, I mumble, "Of course I don't mind." Robby
bumps against Carl's side, saying, "Could ya give me an inch, Carl? You've
got the room near the window." and then to me, "Thanks, Dylan. There's some
mix up with this boy's high school credits or something." I go, "Uh huh,"
and I'm reaching behind Rob to knock Carl's hat off his head again, saying,
"I'm always thrilled to drive out of my way whenever my little brother
needs to go someplace." Well, yeah, that was definitely unnecessarily mean
of me. I think I am a little drunk! Carl says, "Oh, jeez, thank you,
Dylan!" Ha, my sarcasm went right over his head anyway. Good!

I've got my foot on the brake while looking at Robby, saying, "How about if
we have a big sloppy kiss 'hello' right here before we take off?" He knows
I'm joking so he snorts out a chuckle, muttering, "How 'bout if we don't!
Seriously, are you okay to drive?" I'm like, "Of course I am! Whaddaya
talking about?"

Yeah, no sloppy kissing in public for Robby and me. That would be a very
rare thing for us to do because we agreed a long time ago not to flaunt the
fact we're gay in the faces of those who'd rather not see it. That's what
we decided for ourselves although other gay individuals insist that all
gays have an obligation to announce to the world that they're 'here and
queer' or whatever other slogans are out there. I'm wondering what happened
to the concept... to each their own. Or wait, does that even apply to what
I just said? Oh man, those fucking shots of Wild Turkey sneak up on you...

Anyway, Rob and I are not in 'the closet' per se, and we haven't been since
the summer following freshman year, but we both prefer to be gay the way we
chose to be gay. Of course, we're happy to let others, or more likely we
don't give a shit how others chose to be gay... flaunt your asses off if
you want. Our point of view is, we don't appreciate seeing hetero couples
making-out in our faces, so you know, why would we do it in other people's
faces?

As I drive out of the parking lot, Rob goes, "You're in a boozy goofy mood,
Dylan." Shrugging, I go, "It's the beginning of a three-day weekend, Rob!
I'm upbeat and happy, what's wrong with that?" He goes, "Yeah, sure. Ya
know, a minute ago you joked about Carl being your little brother but get
this: Bill Nixon asked Carl if you actually were his brother. Didn't he,
Carl?" I'm like, "Ya don't say? Would this guy, Bill Nixon, be
geeky-looking, by any chance?" Rob laughs, mumbling, "An unkind person
might say that I suppose," and Carl goes, "Ahh, Bill's a good guy..."

Ha, if someone wants to think Carl and I look alike, I've decided to be
good with that for the simple reason... Carl's cute! Rob bumps against
Carl's side again, saying, "Jesus, Carl, share the seat please." Carl moves
away from Rob's side a tiny bit, mumbling, "Sorry." A few seconds later Rob
snorts out a laugh and mutters, "Omigod, I've tried to endure it, but would
you guys roll down the windows, please. I think there's a broken bottle of
bourbon in the pickup." I mutter, "Very fucking funny!"

Carl and I roll our respective side windows down as I ask, "How'd you know
it was bourbon on my breath?" Shrugging, Robby goes, "Just a guess," and I
explain, "Chub and I were cooking this afternoon and we needed a shot or
two of the bourbon he considerately brought with him... along with a case
of beer I might add."

Rob doesn't say anything to that, so I add, "You know, we usually have a
couple of 'sociables' as we cook together... um, for morale purposes." Rob
mumbles, "Sociables, huh?" I'm like, "Yeah, we were cooking our asses off
getting a head start on the dinner party you and I are throwing for a few
guys tomorrow night." Robby goes, "Dinner party you and 'I' are throwing?
When did 'I' get involved?" I go, "We do everything together, right?"  He
snickers and mumbles, "Yeah, you're right, babe, we do. But why did the
cooking necessitate you getting half in the bag?" I frown, muttering, "Half
in the bag? Fuck, I just told you we only had a couple of beers and a
couple of shots. I'm not half in the bag!"

Jeez, I hate when Robby purposely misunderstands the obvious! He hits my
arm, saying, "I'm just breaking your balls, Dylan. I don't care if you're
shit-faced." I say emphatically, "Well don't kid around with me. You know
how sensitive I am... and I'm NOT shit-faced!" He chuckles, mumbling, "Oh,
my mistake." Carl says, "Jeez guys, it makes me very nervous when you two
argue," and Robby goes, "We're not arguing. I told you about the fun we
have breaking each others balls." He goes, "Oh, yeah, that's right."

After dropping Carl off at the administration building I drive to our
apartment complex listening to Rob bitch about one of the coaches he claims
doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. Half listening to him, I decide to
prove a point by driving right up to the front as if I think maybe there'll
be parking spaces there, and... oh! There are two open spots. Well, there
wouldn't have been if Rob wasn't in the truck! He gives me a 'look' and I
go, "What?" He shrugs, "Oh, nothing. I'm glad to see you're checking out
the front of the parking lot... that's all." I park and then turn off the
engine, saying, "I check the front, um, sometimes. When you're not with me
there's never an open parking spot though."

Going up the steps to our floor, Rob bumps my arm, mumbling, "Oh man, we
gotta watch what we say going up these steps." I nod and snicker, "Yep,
that same man and woman could be around the bend of the stairs again." He
says, "Jesus, they'll be telling all their friends the story about the mean
gay guy in their building who spanks his boyfriend with a slipper." We both
snicker.

Going into our apartment, Rob's like, "Wow, it smells good in here!"
Nodding, I mumble, "Yep, that spaghetti sauce was made from scratch. It's
been simmering in that big pot with pork ribs that we brown-off first," and
then I take the lid off the pot and stir the sauce which moves the ribs
around as I mutter, "Did you know Italians call spaghetti sauce, gravy?" He
mumbles, "Not all Italians..." I'm like, "Don't be such a contrarian,
Robert." He laughs, muttering, "Okay, I won't."

Rob's in a good mood as he always is after playing baseball. He cheerfully
says, "Imagine how embarrassing it'll be seeing that couple in the hall
some time, huh? Shit, they heard us joking about fucking and spanking and
probably thought we were serious?" I go, "Hey, that reminds me. You never
did get around to doing the spanking or the fucking. You napped instead."
Rob's hanging his baseball cap on one of the hooks next to the front door,
mumbling, "Oh, um, first of all, I don't have slippers with leather
soles. If I did though, you'd really get it," and he comes over to give my
shoulders another hug. I grin at him and we look into each others eyes for
a second before he goes, "Oh, no ya don't! No messing around. I need to
take a quick shower and then we'll talk about what we need to rent for
tomorrow night's dinner."

I'm like, "Whaddaya mean, what we need to rent?" He goes, "Dylan, there
will be twelve people for dinner. Twelve! Where are we all gonna eat? We
need a table and chairs and other shit too. We'll talk about it after I
take a five-minute shower, okay?" Huh, I watch him go into the bathroom and
then, what the hell, I open the refrigerator thinking I could use another
beer to top off my mini-load... one last beer.

But no! Instead of getting another beer I use my world-renowned
self-control and willpower to close the refrigerator door saying out loud,
"You do not need another beer!" See, that's often what happens when someone
without self-control or willpower starts drinking. Common sense gets fucked
up and then one drink leads to another and then another and so forth.

Flopping on the sofa I'm thinking that Rob's right. We do need to rent a
table and chairs and maybe buy some wine. Serving wine will class-up the
dinner. Our guests obviously need to bring any booze they intend drinking,
assuming they want to drink. Heh heh, maybe I'll buy some Yoo-Hoo for
Carl. Oh, yeah, what will I have for him to eat? I can't give the kid mac
and cheese again, and the pasta sauce has meat in it... meat flavoring
anyway. Hmmm...

Later Rob and I go to the Taylor Rental store in Haverhill and rent a long
table, a tablecloth, wine glasses, silverware and dishes for twelve, plus
twelve folding chairs and a large warming sort of buffet casserole dish on
a little stand with small cans of Sterno under it. We'll light the Sterno
cans before dinner to keep the Italian sausages and the pasta sauce with
meatballs and pork ribs... everything warm. The store will deliver the
stuff tomorrow morning. Oh boy, Robby insists on splitting the cost with me
which wasn't necessary but very nice of him.

Plus, I gotta give Rob props for not harassing me about inviting all those
guys to this dinner party. That's just another example of how nice he is,
but now I'm wondering myself why the hell I invited everyone. It had
something to do with me wanting Robby and Chubby to meet Connor's asshole
of a roommate, or whatever Stosh is to Connor. Um, yeah, I don't even know
how to accurately describe the relationship Connor has with that
Neanderthal. I want Rob and Chub to get a load of Stosh though, I guess
because I'd rather not be the only one worried about Connor, or maybe I
want the two guys I trust most in the world to assure me there's nothing
for me to be worried about. That would be awesome! Maybe I invited all the
other guys so Stosh wouldn't realize my true intentions. Oh man, that
sounds so stupid, but then why did I invite all those guys?

When we're done at the rental store we stop at McLoons package store for
bottles of wine... Classico Rose wine. Then, back at the apartment, we
rearrange the furniture so we'll be able to set the table in the middle of
the living room. We move the sofa, the coffee table, the end table, and
lamp, plus the armchair and footstool against the walls. Guys can still sit
in them of course and, obviously, we made sure the sliding glass doors to
the balcony is accessible. Yeah, it'll be fine.

Neither of us feels like making dinner so we eat dinner at a restaurant in
North Andover. The restaurant is on Route 125 about five miles from the
apartment. It's called Joe Fish Restaurant and Bar. Kind of an odd name
that doesn't sound exactly right. It's not a name that rolls off the
tongue. There should be an apostrophe and then an 'S' after Fish... Joe
Fish's Restaurant, ya know? Whatever.

Anyway, we're at this fish restaurant because Rob's been telling me we need
to try acquiring a taste for fish... fish is healthy eats. After ordering
Old Fashions for our cocktails and getting carded, of course, we look at
the menu and decide we'll develop a taste for fish some other time and we
both order a deep-fried shrimp and French fries platter with creamy
coleslaw on the side. Shrimp are almost fish. Well, shrimp are
fish... shellfish, but not fish-fish if you know what I mean. And, we're
super impressed that this fish-only restaurant doesn't smell like
fish. This guy, Joe, must order fresh fish every day and consequently, it
doesn't stink like fish in here. Fresh fish or not, it's still surprising
it doesn't stink like fish.

After our healthy meals, minus the unhealthy deep-fat frying aspect of
fried shrimp and French fries and all that mayonnaise in the creamy
coleslaw, we drive right back to the apartment and have a smoke or two on
the balcony planning what we still need to do getting ready for tomorrow
night. We're in bed before eleven o'clock, and I'm only guessing at this,
but we probably don't get to sleep until midnight. The hour or so between
getting into bed and going to sleep is put to very good use though.

Yeah, we start out slow doing some quiet making out. And we both liked that
so much we keep it up for quite a while which inevitably leads to some
intense lovers' sex that goes on for the longest time and then, after
historic climaxes, we snuggle together exchanging compliments and words of
love and devotion. Yeah, we do that maudlin stuff from time to time,
over-doing it mostly I guess you could say. I was telling Robby how awesome
he's been about helping with tomorrow's dinner party and how it would have
been understandable if he was bull-shit about it. Very few college
roommates would be near as understanding, never mind as helpful as Rob's
been but then most college roommates aren't planning on getting married
either.

Rob's never been hesitant about saying complimentary things to me and I've
picked up a few pointers from him in that regard and I'm able to
reciprocate. We get invigorated from hearing these positive comments from
one another and eventually, we follow up the lover's sex with rough and
tumble extemporaneous sex that goes on longer than even the prior lover's
sex did and, while it's fantastic and so are the climaxes, it leaves me
with another slightly sore rectum. Not being a complainer, I don't mention
my sore ass to Robby although it is the second time he's fucked my ass into
a sore condition in the past couple of days. Omigod though, my fantasy of
Robby being an awesomely frequent and slightly dominant lover has actually
become reality! It's, um, I don't know, it's so perfect I can hardly
believe it... so how could I in good conscience complain?

Anyway, after our second exceptional sexual act of the night, I
enthusiastically express my admiration to Robby in that regard too by
extolling his excellence at simultaneously being my perfect lover-boy as
well as 'my man'. And not only do I again resist mentioning my sore ass but
I also resist the urge to mention how shocked I am that he's been able to
pull off this superior level of sexual perfection. Saying that could be
misconstrued as insulting. Still, I never actually expected he'd be this
proficient, and he's been doing it for some months now so I'm convinced
it's no fluke... it's the real deal! It's our present and future.

I'm just warming up with my second round of compliments expressing my
admiration of all things Robby when he smiles and takes over the
compliments by putting his finger to my lips to get me to stop talking. I
go, "Huh?" and he starts talking, saying, "Dylan, come on, baby. I'm the
lucky one here! You're so uniquely special I think about you all day long
and I swear to God I can hardly wait to do this with you. And you're so,
um, so willing and it obvious you like it so much it inspires me to go on
and on. My primary goal in life, the first thing I want to accomplish is to
make you happy... and make you proud of me too. Plus, for Christ sake,
making love with you is the most precious part of my life. It's like I get
transported to such a special place where there's only you and me and this
deep sexual pleasure and love. Babe, sometimes I can hardly believe it's
real. You're my dream come true, ya know? It's you who makes everything
possible!" Well, why get into a debate about who's more responsible for the
perfection of our lovemaking. I mean, Rob made some damn good points there,
ya know?

Seriously though, I'm always thinking of having sex in terms of, well... in
terms of me! I forget to consider that maybe Robby's and my sexual life
together is his fantasy come true too. Fuck, when I think about
it... that's pretty sweet! And Robby always outdoes me with compliments
anyway even though sometimes I try to keep up. Truth is, he's been saying
sweet loving things to me ever since the early years of our romance. Back
then though it's like I took all his words of loving devotion for
granted. I remember him telling me years ago that he'd wait for me however
long it took for me to feel about him the way he claimed to feel about
me. Well, somewhere during the last six months I think I finally caught up
with Robby's youthful emotions. It wasn't a eureka moment like, WOW, I get
it now! No, nothing like that. It was more like a slow realization that
Rob's been right all along... we are almost perfect for one another.

Scrambling for something meaningful to say in response to Robby's endearing
words, I can only come up with, "Robby, I wish I had the right words to
express myself, but all I can say is you're the one perfect lover for me."
He snuggles against me, snickering and saying, "Yeah, I've been telling you
that for five fucking years now."

The last thing I consciously remember thinking, almost with amazement, is
that even though Rob and I are just about perfect for each other I still
have this for-real sexual crush on Danny Monday. Yeah, that's what I mean
about being amazed! Drifting off to sleep, or maybe while I'm sleeping, I
conclude that both scenarios are perfectly compatible and that one doesn't
necessarily have anything to do with the other. Or, it doesn't need to have
anything to do with the other... not really.

Waking up Saturday morning that last thought I had last night is the first
thought that enters my mind this morning. Yeah, maybe it's just me, but
being in love with the perfect lover doesn't mean that there isn't any
other sexual experience possible. That's the popular myth, of course, the
one everybody believes is the final truth. The almost universal conclusion
that true love means absolute monogamy. A person in love is only allowed to
have a sexual relationship with that one partner. It's written in stone
somewhere I guess. Well, I say balls to that because Rob and I are living
proof that that's not necessarily the last and final word on the
subject. It'd be more accurate to say monogamy applies for true lovers in
almost every situation, with a few special individuals as
exceptions... etc. etc. That would make that monogamy horse-shit a little
more real. Or maybe there should be an 'age' factor. After the age of, an
appropriate age would be filled in here, then monogamy applies. The bottom
line is: I'm not like everybody...  I'm like me.

That was my first thought when I woke up this morning and now my second
thought is this: I've got a tiny hangover from the drinking I did with
Chubby. My third thought happens when I get out of bed, and it's this: my
ass hurts. Nothing serious in either of the last two situations though. My
ass will feel better soon and as for my hangover, I never had another drink
after Chub left... so no problem. While Robby's still in bed what I do is,
I take some Advil, have two cups of coffee and then take a shower and I'm
feeling pretty good

I do those things and then, while being convivial with Robby who's awake
now, I get dressed in comfortably soft sweatpants and sweatshirt. As I'm
looking for my sneakers, Robby goes into the kitchen wearing
pajamas. Pajamas he did not wear to bed last night. He smiles at me as I
join him, saying, "I'm feeling good." He goes, "I'm glad to hear that,
babe, I'll make our breakfast. Have a seat at the kitchen bar and I'll get
you a mug of coffee." Sure, three coffees aren't too many to have in the
morning... right?

Robby puts a mug of coffee in front of me, I add cream and four teaspoons
of sugars and then watch him cook. He's cooking us a breakfast of scrambled
eggs and bacon. Okay, except the scrambled eggs are cooked in a too hot
frying pan so both the butter and the eggs get scorched to a brown shade
instead of yellow, plus he forgets to season with salt and pepper. The
bacon isn't quite fried enough and limps-over when I pick up a piece. It's
still delicious as far as I'm concerned and I eat it all while sneaking
glances at Robby. He finally goes, "Oh man, you're giving me those looks
again and it gets me so randy, baby..." Finished eating our breakfast of
overcooked scrambled eggs and undercooked bacon we start laughing and
goofing around which ends up with us fucking on the sofa like wild
animals... and to hell with that sore ass of mine!

Initially, it's a wrestling-match type foreplay and that's followed by an
appropriate recreational-type fuck with both of us giggling right up to the
moment I feel his boner force its way in past my sphincter muscle and then
slide very tightly up inside me. I go, "Ahhh," and only then do I get
docilely submissive. I'm docile initially to deal with the pain, and I'm
submissive because Rob pushed that fat boner of his all the way up my ass
dominantly. So the pain reduces but I'm still docilely acting like a
submissive nerd.

Robby recognizes my familiar posture at this point in our sexual activity
and humps hard against my buttocks to emphasize who's in charge and when
I'm lying still, he murmurs, "Oh yeah, that's right, you're my boy. Stay
just like that." With his engorged boner up my ass, I'm not sure where he
thought I might go. Rob takes his time now that he sees I'm under his
control, so to speak. There's no need for him to rush things now and he
doesn't. He squeezes my shoulders mumbling, "Okay, baby, in just a second
or two we'll get this show on the road, but first..."

I'm panting with desire even though my sore ass is throbbing. Sure, my ass
still hurts but nevertheless, my boner is so hard it aches. Rob, without
removing his boner is taking his time adjusting my position with a tug
under my arms and another hump against my ass. He wants me in a position
that's good for him, which this time means me leaning over the arm of the
sofa making sure my ass is sticking up. Rob murmurs, "Nice," and he rubs up
and down my back with both hands, his engorged boner moving slightly and
making me moan, "Ummmm, Robby," and he quietly murmurs, "I love doing this
with you," and then he fucks me, and I mean he fucks me hard!

He's putting so much energy into this hard fuck I feel droplets of sweat
from his forehead splattering against the back of my neck as he grunts and
whines thrusting his fat boner hard and fast in my ass. Oh, what incredible
pleasure! By now I'm not even aware of the soreness factor as his hard sex
organ slides tightly over my prostate creating powerful pleasure vibrations
that spread out all over me. The tight opening called my anus, or 'asshole'
as it's referred to by most people, has a million nerve endings and they're
all buzzing with itchy sexual pleasure in their extremely stretched
condition. An unnatural stretched condition made necessary by Rob's big fat
cock that moves quickly and ever so tightly in his pre-cum and the leftover
lubricant from our previous sex.

As I always tell myself, there is no way to describe how good this feels
and because it's Robby's hard boner everything is even more indescribably
good.  It's so, um, this pleasurable experience is so pure my ass, although
still sore from last night, isn't even a minor factor. It's nothing! Rob's
got a firm grip on my hips and he's pushing my stomach against the arm of
the sofa as he pounds his hard boner up my ass and the sweat spray from
Rob's face is somehow adding to the thrill of it all.

The loud "SLAPSLAPSLAP' join my moans, "Ahh, ahh, ahh," and Robby's grunts
of, "Um, um, um," as he fucks me perfectly. Fucking frequently, like we've
been doing lately, has a side benefit of delaying orgasms but when they do
finally burst on the scene they are something special and mine is just
about to explode. I'm trying to thrust my hips except I'm tight against the
outside of the sofa's arm and I'm barely able to squeeze an arm between me
and the sofa seconds before I'm squealing with cum bursting from my boner,
most of which I'm able to catch in my hand. And then another shot of cum
and this one flying out at the same instant I feel Robby unloading his
creamy load up my ass. Oh fuck, what a sensation it is having Robby
ejaculate up my ass as my cum is firing out my cock! Unbelievably awesome!
It leaves me shaking with pleasure and then the swirling after effects of
climax have me. feeling dizzy, but instead of sighing with contentment like
usual, this time one of the realities of life quickly returns and I feel my
ass throb in its soreness. A really weird sore feeling mixed with lingering
pleasure strobes from my climax...

Unaware of my discomfort, Robby's breathing hard and sighing while rubbing
my back lightly. A few lazy thrusts in my cum-filled, very sore rectum and
then Robby casually pulls his cock out and chuckles before saying, "Omigod,
that was so fucking good! Hey, babe, what do you say we go again after a
smoke?" I'm feeling the soreness for real this morning so I don't exactly
jump at Rob's suggestion. He does a large exhale and exclaims, "Damn, that
felt good!" Shaking my head, I mutter, "Mercy, mercy, Sir." He laughs and
smacks my bare ass, "SWACK!" Then he's like, "C'mon, baby, let's have a
smoke," and another, "SMACK!" on my ass as I'm getting off the sofa's arm.

Before he smacked my ass some of his cum drooled out and so the smacking
sounds were strangely wet-sounding, plus Rob got cum on his hand and he
goes, "Ewe," and, as he laughs he's wiping his hand on his pajama
top. Standing next to the sofa, he says, "Man oh man, that's the proper way
to start a day, huh Dylan?" I'm now sitting sort of side saddle on my hip
against the sofa's arm wiping at a cum spot on the side of the arm,
muttering, "You've turned into a sex fiend, Robert" and then I'm walking
bowlegged. Robby goes, "Oh you! Stop walking like that, Dylan! You're
fine." He's right, I am fine, sorta...

We have a cigarette on the balcony with Robby all excited about our morning
sex telling me again that having sex is the perfect way to begin every
day. Well, hell, I can't argue with that! Then, even though we know the
apartment is gonna get the shit beat out of it tonight with twelve college
guys mostly overindulging, Rob and I spend the next two hours cleaning the
place instead of that follow-up fuck Ron sensed I was thrilled about. We
clean the hell out of this place like we expect Good Housekeeping magazine
to take pictures instead of twelve college guys dropping onion dip on the
rug and spilling beer on the chair and so forth.

Yeah, so why did we do all that cleaning? I don't know why... it's just
what you do when you're having company for dinner I guess. We do the
bathroom last and then we have another smoke on the balcony with Robby
saying, "That's the good thing about having guests over. It makes us clean
the apartment." I mutter, "We keep it clean anyway," and he hugs my
shoulders and quietly mumbles, "Of course we do. C'mon, baby, let's mess
around again?" Oh, he hasn't forgotten that, huh? Jesus, I've created a
monster!

Thinking ahead, I'm guessing the likelihood is high that Robby gets drunk
tonight and therefore there will be no sex before sleeping... so yeah, it's
a damn good idea to have sex again now. And this time it's one of my
favorite ways to do it... standing. Yeah, in this instance standing in the
living room with our pants around our ankles and me bending over, hands on
my knees as I'm looking back at Robby. He has a good hold on my hips again,
his fingers digging into my sides as he bangs away awesomely. I like doing
it this way because it's almost like we're strangers getting some quick
side sex on the side. Oh man, it's a fabulous ten minutes before we're
nearing the 'end' with both of us groaning and moaning as our climaxes
build to scary levels. Robby begins roughly pulling me back into his hard
thrusting and a crazy thought slides past my consciousness... yeah, I've
experienced this with actual strangers a few times.

Oh God, sex feels good though. It's different with strangers of course, and
I do sort of miss the variety but nothing is better than Robby fucking
me... nothing's as good, but that doesn't mean other sex isn't fantastic as
well! And I mean even with a sore rectum. After our latest extraordinary
climaxes, Robby smacks my bare ass again. He enjoys doing that it seems. He
smacks it twice, "SMACK! SMACK!" and then he steps back saying, "After that
fuck right there, baby, you've got a reason to walk bowlegged." I nod my
head and he chuckles, saying too loudly, "I love you so much, Dylan!" and
just like that he's off to take his morning shower leaving me limp as a
dishrag. Yeah, that's what happens after recreational fucks. It's BOOM, you
climax and then maybe a pat on the ass and, 'That was really good,
babe. Hmm, I think I'll take a shower'. Heh heh, I love it!

Yeah, I'm limp as a sore dishrag but I'm grinning too 'cause I've never
been happier, um, happier as a young adult that is. I adding the qualifier
'as a young adult' because I never expect in my life to ever be as happy as
I was when it was just me and my brother against the world during all those
youthful years. This is the second best happiness though.

After a while, I limp bowlegged over to the armchair feeling very well
taken care of in the sex department, very well fucked indeed. Awesome job
by 'my man' Rob! Whoa, I'm super sexually satisfied now! How many times in
my life have I been able to truthfully say that?

Easing myself down onto the armchair, I sit on the side of my right
buttock. Oh yeah, this is a for-real sore ass I've got going for me right
now but I keep on smiling because Robby's become everything I ever hoped
he'd eventually become. And, seriously, I don't just mean as my sort of
dominant lover either. He's close to perfect in other ways as well. I also
like that he's more fun nowadays, more relaxed and I like that he said that
thing about, 'now you've got a reason to walk bowlegged'. He'd never have
said that a year ago because he used to be too uptight about
everything. Now he knows I won't take something like that the wrong
way. He's being humorously ironic, but really confident too... and kinda
dominant as well. Dominant in just the right way though. Yeah, Rob's become
the perfect lover and best friend too! That being said, I also seriously
believe Rob needs to get some side-sex in his life again. I don't believe
he's getting any.

When he comes out of the shower Rob's got a towel around his waist. Instead
of going into the bedroom he sees me still sitting oddly in the armchair so
he's walking toward me, murmuring, "Jeez, Dylan, I didn't think you were
serious, babe. Did I overdo it? Is your ass really hurting you?" I shrug,
"Nah, it's nothing. A little sore I guess." Funny how he almost sounded
proud of himself asking about my sore ass, but at the same time, he was
being concerned that my ass is actually hurting.

He rubs the palm of his hand up my forehead and over the top of my head
ruffling my hairs while quietly adding, "Gee, I thought you were kidding
around about a sore ass. Are you okay?" Nodding, I flop onto my ass,
grimacing at first, and then grinning and saying, "I'm better than
okay. Sure, I've got a well earned sore bottom but that's okay 'cause you
be my man, Robert." He tries to look serious but a grin breaks out and he
snickers, repeating, "I be your man, huh? Haha, I like that." and then he
mumbles, "I'm sure trying to be, Dylan. C'mon in the bedroom and I'll put
some of that special cream on your sore rear end."

I hold my hand up, Robby takes it and helps pull me out of the chair and
then I exaggerate walking funny with my legs spread and me bending over a
little, walking bowlegged actually. Rob makes a face and chuckles,
mumbling, "Milking it a little bit, are we?"

In the bedroom, he gets me lying on the bed on my stomach and then pulls my
sweatpants down just below my butt cheeks and says, "It might be sore but
it still looks like the cutest ass in the world to me. Guess it's only sore
inside because it doesn't look sore outside," and I hear and feel, "SMACK!"
as he slaps my ass. That makes me laugh out loud and then say, "How
compassionate of you." He snickers and then mumbles, "No, seriously, I'll
get that awesome cream I use for bumps and bruises." He goes into the
bathroom and I hear him rummaging through the things in the medicine chest
over the sink. There's some clattering as a few things fall out and rattle
around in the sink with Robby cursing.

He's back now carrying his container of CBD cream that costs about $22 an
ounce and supposedly is good for bumps, bruises, and sore muscles. He used
it on my sore rectum the other day and it doesn't help at all, but it
doesn't do any harm either. Mostly it makes Robby feel that he's
helping. Plus, his fingers do feel good as he spreads the cream around my
asshole, murmuring, "I know I tell you this too often, Dylan, but it amazes
me, truly amazes me that you've got a completely hairless asshole. The only
one I've ever seen." I'm like, "How many assholes have you seen?" Done
spreading the CBD cream, Rob pats my buttocks, avoiding the question by
instead mumbling, "You know what I meant." No, I didn't. Unless he meant
guys' asses he's observed in the showers after baseball games or at the gym
class showers back in high school. That might partially explain his comment
except for the fact that very few guys spread their butt cheeks exposing
their asshole when they shower.

In any case, my sore ass isn't a problem. Well, I mean, sure it's a little
sore and why wouldn't it be, it's just not anywhere near as bad as I
inferred it was by walking goofily bowlegged. So, it's easy for me to
pretend Rob's cured it with his bogus cream, and that's what I do. I go,
"Jeez, Rob! That shit really did the job, dude!" I like seeing his big
smile as he tries acting modest, saying, "This cream is expensive, I admit
that, but it's been my secret weapon against injuries all through high
school and here at Merrimack too. I haven't missed but two games my entire
career." Career?

Somehow he's turned this situation into being all about him, as he goes,
"I've told my teammates about this miracle cream but our trainers laugh and
poo-poo its effectiveness. Screw them though, you see for yourself how
effective it is, right?" He's cute with that bragging grin of his! I'm
like, "Christ, yeah!" and I stand up to do a jumping jack making Robby
laugh and then he gives me a big hug, murmuring, "You're the last person on
earth I'd want to hurt, Dylan. I'll go a little easier." I'm like, "No!
Don't do that! You're doing everything perfectly now, don't change a thing!
A minor sore ass is no problem..."  Jeez, that was fun!

Because we had that late breakfast, we skip lunch and then after Taylor
Rental delivers our rented stuff we arrange it where we'll eventually set
it up. Robby says, "Ya know, I don't see any chips or pretzels in the
pantry. Um, did you and Jeff get anything to put out for snacks before
tonight's dinner? Just a thought..." Hmmm, we did buy some frozen snack
items that in hindsight would be a nuisance preparing, so I go, "That's an
excellent thought. The stuff we bought would be too much trouble for
tonight's affair. It's frozen snacks like stuffed mushrooms and little crab
cakes and whatnot. You and I can enjoy that shit some night ourselves. For
now, you're right, we need chips and dips."

Rob's giving me a 'look' like... stuffed mushrooms? He doesn't criticize
though, he just says, "Okay then, we'll go out and buy some," and that's
what we do. We go to the convenience store that's most convenient to
us. It's the one next to the wine and beer store. Keeping it simple, we buy
big bags of potato chips, pretzels, nachos, and then containers of
dips. Pre-made dips... onion dip for the potato chips and some kind of
gross-looking cheese sauce for the nachos that Rob says he'll warm in the
microwave and pour over the nachos. Gag me with a stale nacho. I'm probably
the one guy out of a hundred who never developed a taste for Mexican food.

Back at the apartment, Rob and I make a huge salad and then he needs to go
to baseball practice. We squeeze the big bowl of salad in the refrigerator
and then I drop Rob off at practice. During the drive back to the
apartment, it hits me that for one of the rare times in my later life I'm
not thinking about sex. Well, I am thinking about not thinking about it,
so... oh man, I'm giving myself a headache. What I'm saying is, I'm
thinking about my sore ass that Rob's special $22 an ounce cream didn't do
shit to help, and not thinking I wanna have sex... not right now, and
that's kinda rare.



In the apartment, I lie on the sofa thinking what I should say to Connor
tonight. Yeah, what's my objective with Connors situation? After all,
that's the main reason for me inviting everyone to this dinner party. Hmmm,
what do I hope to accomplish? After half an hour I reject everything I came
up with and decide to play it by ear. In other words, I don't know what I'm
doing... again.

Yeah, my only conclusion after half an hour of thinking about it is
basically, this dinner party was a bad idea. I mean, what right do I have
to butt into Connors life? He hasn't asked for my help. Complicating
matters is the fact he shed some tears the last time I was with him. Sure,
he bullshits me by saying the tears were for me because I worry about him
and nobody else does, but I don't think the tears were only because of
that. And he couldn't be happy with his situation because he told me when
he graduates he's going to go away from everything he knows, all the people
and places he currently is a part of... except for me and Dodger. He wants
to start a new life after his Army commitment is fulfilled and he's got a
college degree. That obviously means he can hardly wait to dump Stosh?
Okay, I added the 'can hardly wait' part, but it sure sounds like he is
going to dump Stosh. So that's good. Bottom line, what I plan on doing
tonight is try my ass off to react appropriately depending on what he and
Stosh say and do tonight. That's unless Connor asks for my help with, um,
some specific request or whatever. Yes, I know... that's not much of a
plan.

So, as it turns out the entire time Rob is at baseball practice all I do is
lie around moping while thinking inconclusively about what to do about
Connor. Okay, I never claimed to be perfect. Still, I'm disappointed I
couldn't come up with something better than... play it by ear.

I do manage to finish showering before I get the text from Rob that
practice is over. I'm in the bedroom trying to decide what to wear tonight
when I get the text. Putting the monumental clothing decision on hold, I
throw on sweatpants and a hoodie sweatshirt and then drive down to get
Robby. On the way back, he says enthusiastically, "Hey, Dylan, now I'm
kinda looking forward to our dinner party. It'll be fun! We don't do a lot
of partying, not nearly as much as most college guys." I nod, mumbling, "I
was thinking the same thing the other day but we're in a mature
relationship, you and me, and most guys aren't. Plus we take the academic
aspect of college much more seriously than a lot of these partying
dick-head seniors." He laughs, "Uh huh, we're wicked serious and uber
boring." I go, "Nooo! Not boring, just mature. We don't need to go out with
our dick in our hands looking to hook up with someone to take to bed every
fucking night. That's what a lot of college students are doing." He
chuckles, "Yeah, you're partially right." Partially? Was that some sort of
veiled shot at me?

Rob needs to shower again after running around playing a boys' game and
while he's doing that I get back to trying to decide what to wear
tonight. I finally shrug; like, who gives a shit what I wear? I put on
regular old, but clean skinny jeans and a fresh Merrimack sweatshirt. While
tying my sneakers I see myself in the mirror over the bureau and,
Goddammit, my hair looks raggedy. Has it already been three weeks since I
had a haircut? Whatever... my hair grows so damn fast and right now it's in
one of those stages that's noticeably uncool looking. It happens with all
short hairstyle. With long hair, it's almost impossible to tell if you've
had a haircut two weeks ago or two months ago. Okay, that's a slight
exaggeration but with short hairstyles like mine, it's very obvious
because, um, it doesn't look like it's supposed to look, or um... ha, that
sounds so lame, but it's true!

And, fuck, it's even worse for me because I insisted Danny cut my hair in a
too-long flattop to start with. I can't blame him for that, I
guess. Walking right up to the mirror, I gawk at my hair and shake my
head. I didn't want this stupid flattop hairstyle to start with. Obviously,
I have a hard time saying 'no' to energetic Danny. He out 'energies'
me. Well, this is just ridiculous! My hair is too long on top for any kind
of normal flattop but after three weeks it's been forcefully trained to
stand straight up and it is not about to lie down now! Balls, the more I
stare at my hair the sillier it looks.

Tentatively I try combing it down but it is very determined to stay
up. Glancing at my watch, checking the time, I'm like... don't even think
about that, get serious! Jesus, Danny's not going to give me a haircut an
hour before the dinner party starts and why would I even want him to? I'm
not thinking straight because I'm probably kinda subconsciously stressed
about this fucking party tonight. I stalk down the hall to the kitchen
fighting the urge to start drinking right now.

Omigod, ya know what? I am nervous! I just realized I'm nervous about
everything going okay tonight. I invited all these guys for dinner and they
expect it to be good, right? Jeez, I probably should be doing something,
but what? Looking around I don't see anything on the stove so I get the pot
of spaghetti sauce from the refrigerator and plop it in a big pot and then
put the pot on the stove with a medium flame under it. The pasta sauce
should be simmering and smelling good when everyone gets here.

What else? Looking around I see the five twelve-ounce boxes of Barilla
spaghetti that Chubby and I bought at Stop & Shop. The boxes are sitting
there on the counter. Huh, what the hell am I going to cook that much
spaghetti in? I'll need a pot that holds lots of water. Well fuck, I'm
already using the only big pot we have for the sauce. Dammit, why did I
invite all these guys to dinner? This blows!

Taking a deep breath, I know what I should do but I hate doing it. The only
sensible answer is to borrow a big pot from a neighbor, right? As I'm
standing here silently cursing myself for getting us into this dinner mess,
Rob walks out of the bathroom all shiny clean, his hair wet, and a towel
over his shoulder. I stare at his flaccid four-inch fat penis for a second
with my rectum clenching. Hmmm, my ass is still tender, but maybe...

Robby laughs, saying, "Oh no! I see that look in your eyes again, baby!" I
go, "Huh? No, what I was thinking about is what the fuck are we gonna cook
the spaghetti in?" He shrugs, "A big pot, I guess. You're the chef," and he
walks into the bedroom. Wow, that body of his is so HOT!! I like pale-tan
skin coloring the best... that's so sexy to me. But Rob's skin tone is
really nice too. In addition to being very taut and flawless and sort of
palish/pink just like mine, that's my second favorite coloring I guess. It
almost always looks very clean even if it isn't. Wow, that's some weird
shit right there; thinking about my favorite skin coloring on guys. Yeah,
but how about what a weird word, 'taut' is? Haha, 'he taught me about the
sexiness of taut skin'. Christ, Dylan, get a grip! You need a big pot and
you're thinking about crazy shit like this putting off borrowing a big pot,
that's what you're doing.

Damn though, it's sort of cool the way Rob and Danny have very similar
bodies. Well, Danny's shoulders are sexily wider but other than that, and
then their dicks of course... haha, different dicks ya might say. And, oh
man, that Sunday with Danny was the best buddy sex I've had in two years
and, Omigod, we're getting together tomorrow too. I can hardly wait. It's
been more than two years since anyone has matched Danny's sexiness that
Sunday we fucked all afternoon. The last comparable sexual experience for
awesomeness was way back when Ryan was at his peak of heartless sexual
dominance. He showed me very little mercy but he was so sexy and hot the
way he did everything, plus Ryan really knew how to do 'dominance' the
right way. Fuck, he had me eating out of his hand, and...

Oh, stop it, Dylan! You need a big-ass pot, for chrissakes! I yell down the
short hall to Robby, "I'm gonna try borrowing a big pot from a neighbor!"
Rob says, "Good luck with that! Um, ya probably shouldn't ask the neighbors
who overheard us on the steps yesterday." Muttering, "No shit," to myself,
I step out of the apartment and go down to my left. As far as I know, Rob
and I are the only Merrimack students on this floor... maybe the only ones
in the whole building. We haven't seen anyone coming or going from this
building who looks like a student.

With my nuts shrinking in their sack because I'm very nervous about doing
this, I knock on the only door to the left of our apartment, the only other
one on our side of the hallway. Nothing happens so I knock louder and when
the door swings open abruptly it startles me and I step back. It's a
bald-headed man in his thirties. Bald on top anyway but not in the back
where he has a bushy reddish ponytail. He also has a hideously thick
reddish/brown beard. Why do bald men grow the hair they've still got so
long? It just emphasizes their baldness. The guy's wearing a wife-beater
t-shirt and he has those rimless eyeglasses that look so sinister. He's
frowning at me through those eyeglasses... grumpy dude!

Hell, I can understand his irritation. He probably thinks I'm a
door-to-door salesman of some sort. I'm finally able to get a portion of my
100-watt smile working, as I say, "Sorry to disturb you, sir. Um, my
roommate and I are in the apartment next to you," and I point in the
direction of our apartment which is unnecessary since there aren't
apartments in any direction except where ours is. This guy's apartment is
on the end and ours is in the middle of the three apartments on this side
of the hall, first floor. Below us is sort of a lobby for deliveries, and
it's where the mailboxes are as well as each apartment's storage area.

I introduced myself and I'm smiling like I'm friendly and harmless and not
selling anything, but all I get from this fucker is more of his scary
frown. Oh wait, he could still think I'm selling something, so I go, "I'm
not selling anything. Um, I was just..." and I hear a woman's voice asking,
"Who is it, Bob?" Bob turns his head and yells, "One of the college kids,"
and then to me, he says, "You don't look old enough to be in college."
Before I can reply to that inane comment, he adds, "Whaddaya want?"
Charming man...

Getting a rare brainstorm, I say, "Oh, um, it's just that we're having some
friends over for dinner tonight and I wanna to let you know so if we get
too loud, um, ya know... please text me," and I tell him my phone number,
which he ignores. He's still mostly just frowning at me so I'm glad when
his wife, I assume it's his wife, comes up behind him and looks over his
shoulder. She smiles and says, "Omigod, they're making them a lot cuter
than when we were in college, Bobby," and then to me, she asks, "Whaddaya
you want, hon?" Did this galoot, Bob, actually go to college? He looks like
a bum. Bob says, "I'll handle this, Midge. The kid says they're having a
party next door and we should text him if they're too loud."

She's squirmed up next to Bob and now I can see that Midge has a very large
bust and she's sticking it out at me. There's a cigarette with a long ash
that she's holding the way women do... at the very ends of her fingers. The
long ash drops off skimming Bob's pant leg as Midge says to me, "Oh, don't
worry about that, honey, we're heading for Foxwood in a little while. We
won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. Make all the noise you want as far
as we're concerned."

Her fingernails are painted a bright red color. I've still got some of my
100-watt smile in place, but it wilts a little when Midge exhales a lot of
smoke in my face. She grins, as I go, "Um, oh, have a good time." Bob goes,
"Yeah, you too, kid," and he starts closing the door. I go, "Oh, um,
another thing. Um, excuse me, haha, I almost forgot. Ahh, I was wondering
if you had a big pot I could borrow. We're having spaghetti and..." Midge
goes, "Sure, honey, c'mon in." Her lipstick is very bright red, the same
color as her fingernails. Coordinated on purpose I suppose. Bright red
lipstick is also on the filter tip of her long cigarette. Bob goes, "Jesus
Christ, Midge, we're already late..." but she's nudging Bob to the side and
I'm able to slip in past him as I try amping up my smile even more for
Midge.

Now I can see, in addition to her very large breasts, Midge has very large
thighs too. I see a lot of them as she's wearing very tight and very skimpy
pink shorty-shorts. Oh my goodness, when she moves Midge's tank top
struggles mightily to contain those big titties. Bob stomps off to the
bathroom, muttering, "We're gonna be late again, Midge, and Ronny's gonna
be pissed."

She glances at Bob but pays no attention to what he said as she takes a big
drag off her cigarette and then puts her free hand on my shoulder squeezing
it as she sort of guides me to the kitchen, saying, "Let's see what pot
might work for you and your spaghetti, darling." I mutter, "This is so nice
of you," and she smiles showing that some of that bright red lipstick is on
her teeth too. She says, "Wow, but you are a sweet looking fucker, ain't
ya? I'll bet you have the girls eating out of your hand," When I don't say
anything, she goes, "Don'cha?" I nod, "Uh huh, right out of my hands."
Biting on the cigarette's filter, Midge bends over to pull some pots and
pans out from under the cooktop. Gee, her shorty shorts must be made of the
same miracle fabric her tank top is made from because her huge thighs are
attached to a very large ass that's barely covered by the tiny pair of
shorts she's wearing and the material in those shorts is stretched to the
max!

Bob and Midge don't have a furnished apartment so, consequently, they have
better pots and pans than we have. Leaving some pots and pans on the floor,
Midge stands up carrying a big pot that she sets on the cooktop, saying,
"How 'bout this big lobster pot?" I nod my head and she exhales more smoke
before asking, "Hey, what's your name, honey?" and then she rubs her hand
across my shoulders leaving her hand holding onto the back of my neck with
one of her fingers rubbing the back of my head a little. I stutter, "Um,
oh, um, Dylan, um, that's my name... Dylan Newman."

She leans against me to pull the lobster pot closer, saying, "Well, Dylan
Newman, you are the cutest thing I think I've ever seen, and I'm happy to
let you use this big pot if you promise to return it." Her hair is big too
and an impossible bright blond color as well... almost white. Another
exhale of her cigarette smoke circles my head as she says, "If I can do
anything else for you, Dylan, just whistle." I go, "Huh? Um, I mean, okay,"
and I grab the pot. She giggles as I squirm passed her without her helping
that process at all. Actually, she leans towards me so my chest rubs across
her surprisingly firm ginormous breasts. There's a lot encased in her
overworked tank top, not just a pair of pointy tits. No, they're wide and
very full too.

Midge closely follows me as I head for the front door. She's saying, "It's
nice meeting you, Dylan. Maybe we can have a coffee and talk about things
when you return the lobster pot." At the door, I mumble, "That'd be very
nice. Thank you for the," and I hold up the pot as she grins, saying, "You
couldn't be more welcome, sweetheart." I feel a trickle of sweat rolling
down my face as I hustle down the hall to our front door and, trying the
knob I realize, of course, the door locks automatically when it
closes. Fuck! Midge is leaning against the doorjamb of her apartment's
front door grinning at me, still holding what's left of her
cigarette. Guess she doesn't put much stock in the 'No Inside Smoking' part
of the apartment complex's lease agreement. Kicking our door a few times
and an hour, um, I mean ten seconds later Robby opens it, saying, "Oh, that
pot is perfect!"

Stepping inside, I look at Robby, exclaiming, "Hey, Robby! What the
fuck... you're all dressed up." He goes, "Yeah, I put on some decent
clothes because we're throwing a party, duh!" Shaking my head I walk over
and put the pot in the sink. Turning on the water, I go, "It's a casual
dinner party, Rob! Everyone will be causal." He goes, "Everyone but me, I
guess," and he rubs his hands across my forehead, asking, "Why are you
sweating?" I go, "Oh, it's nothing. Um, that lady next door made me
uncomfortable." He gives me a 'look' and I mumble, "I got the fucking pot
though." Rob goes, "Good, I just need to comb my hair and then I'll help
you." Help me? With what... filling the pot with water?

I get a fire going under the big pot of water and then, fuck it, I need a
drink. Getting a beer from the refrigerator, one of the beers Chubby bought
with him yesterday, I guzzle a third of it while thinking for the tenth
time... why in the hell did I start this stupid-ass dinner party? Robby's
back looking uber handsome. Jeez, I wish my hair looked as good as
Robby's. Yeah, I admit that I thought Danny cut Rob's hair too short at
first, but it looks so, um, so cool and, um, currently stylish. Funny how
things I initially think look dumb seem to change when I get used to
them... and then I think they're really cool looking. That same thing
sometimes happens with guys' looks... sort of.

Feeling my dick stirring in my pants a little, I mutter, "Gee, um, you do
look nice, Robby," and he goes, "Thanks! Do ya wanna help me open the legs
on the table and then at least we can get the tablecloth on and set out the
silverware?" I go, "sure," and he's like, "Then we'll get the folding
chairs set up and see what else we can get done ahead of time." Nodding I
go, "Yep, I was sort of thinking the same thing minus setting up the table,
putting on the tablecloth, silverware, and chairs. Let's get going!" He
snickers, muttering, "Guess I need to think of everything."

After we do all those things, Rob gets a beer for himself and a fresh one
for me and we take the beers out on the balcony to have a smoke. We talk
about how to best set-up the food and booze for tonight's dinner. We decide
we'll use the kitchen bar for whatever liquor bottles the guys bring with
them, and lay out all the food as a buffet on the kitchen table so guys can
serve themselves and then take their plate to the rented table in the
middle of the living room. They can sit with whoever they want. Thinking
about everyone carrying their plate full of food to the table results in us
rolling up the two throw rugs in the living room. Obviously, it's easier
cleaning droppings on the hardwood floor than cleaning them off the rugs.

As we're putting the rugs against the wall in the hall, I say to Rob, "I
don't think I told you this, but mostly this dinner is so you and my
brother can meet Connors, um, roommate or whatever he is, and see what you
think about the situation Connor has himself in. As I explained last week,
I think Connors in over his head with this guy, Stosh, and I'm not sure he
realizes it." Robby nods, mumbling, "Are you sure you or any of us should
interfere?" Shaking my head, I go, "No, I'm not sure of anything,
Robby. Just see what you think, okay?" He pats my shoulder, mumbling,
"Sure, babe."

Looking around for something to do I see Chubby's bottle of bourbon from
yesterday. It's still on the coffee table so I get it to put on the bar,
and then I take the four bottles of wine we bought earlier today from the
bag and put them on the kitchen bar too. Then, as Rob puts an extra bottle
of Ken's Italian salad dressing from the pantry into the refrigerator, I
get the Italian sausages into a big frying pan again thinking... I should
never fucking have had this stupid idea!'

When the sausages are browned on all sides I plan on putting six of them in
the spaghetti sauce for additional flavoring. Some of the meatballs, maybe
a dozen of them, are already in the pasta sauce that Chub and I made from
scratch yesterday. Oh, and some of the pork ribs are in there too. All the
rest of the meat we'll put on a big platter so guys can help themselves.

I'm thinking we've done everything we can do until Robby asks, "So what do
we have that Carl can eat?" Oh yeah, I never decided what to do about the
vegetarian. Hmmm, and then something occurs to me and I go, "I've got that
covered, Rob!" He nods, asking, "How?" and I go, "Obviously, he can't use
the pasta sauce because we've got various meats in it, but there's an easy
solution. I've got a jar of premium meatless spaghetti sauce in the
pantry. It's Rao's pasta sauce that normally costs $7.98 a jar, so you know
it's primo sauce. We bought it on sale for $3.99 and I'll heat it up in the
microwave and Carl can use that for his spaghetti." Rob goes, "Jeez, that's
awesome of you, Dylan. That Carl's meal needs to be different just occurred
to me this minute... but you'd already thought about it... damn, that's
awesome!" I snicker, mumbling, "Nah, you just reminded me and we happen to
have that spaghetti sauce. You and I bought that bottle of sauce way back
in our first grocery order, remember?" He shrugs, "Not really, no," and I
go, "I insisted we buy it because of the four-dollars-off bargain price."
Rob's like, "It's still four dollars for a jar of spaghetti sauce... is
that a bargain?" I go, "Not when you put it that way, no. It's a good thing
we have it though."

So yeah, Carl will have spaghetti with the four dollars Italian 'gravy',
and a salad and the Italian bread along with the half pound of butter he
puts on his bread and rolls... should be plenty of food for him. Plus,
there's the chips and dips for snacks that he can eat even as a
vegetarian. That should be good for Carl. Robby, says, "Well I'm impressed
you had what was needed but then, you always seem to, babe." I mutter,
"That's so true, Rob..."

We're smirking at each other while popping the tabs on fresh cans of beer
as the doorbell rings! Making a 'face' at each other, like... who the fuck?
I mean, it's only six-thirty! Hesitantly I open the door and see Chubby
holding a large Styrofoam cooler full of ice. With a big smile on my face,
I go, "Hey, Chub! You're early, bro. That's so, um...  unlike you. Is
anything wrong?" He laughs out loud as John Beverly, who's right behind
him, holds up the case of beer he's carrying. On top of the case is another
bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon.

As they walk in, Chubby goes, "Yeah, we're early," and then a cheery, "Yo,
Rob, whassup?" Rob's like, "Dude!" I take the bottle of booze off the case
of beer John's carrying and put it on the kitchen bar with Chub's almost
full bottle of Wild Turkey from yesterday. I'm like, "Thanks for the booze,
John Beverly! How you doing tonight, dude?" John says, "Great to see you,
Dylan. I'm in an Italian frame of mind, that's how I'm doing," and we
awkwardly bump fists and do a half-ass hug, John balancing the case of beer
in one arm. Chubby goes, "We came early to help you guys set shit up. Where
do you want the ice?" Rob and I look at each other, like, oh yeah,
ice... how'd we forget ice? After a second's hesitation, I go, "Yeah, ice!
Ice is needed to keep everyone's beer cold! Ha, I knew you'd bring ice,
Chub!" He grins, "Forgot the ice, did ya?" I nod, "Uh huh. We didn't think
of that."

Chubby chuckles and sets the cooler near the bar and then gives me a hug
and a kiss, asking, "What else did you forget, big brother?" I shrug,
"Nothing, I hope." Robby and Chub do a quick regular-type guys' hug," and
then Robby says, "I'll get our cooler from the basement storage area,
Dylan. Ya know, so we'll have a cooler for the balcony too." I'm like,
"Awesome idea!" I said that with more enthusiasms than it deserves but I
get psyched-up whenever Chubby's around. Chubby and I hug again with me
chuckling and muttering, "Fucking ice. Christ, that's kind of a necessity."
John set his case of beer next to the cooler for now and I'm like, "Thanks,
John!"

As he inspects the pot of spaghetti sauce and then stirs it, Chubby
describes the unusual sophomore girl he was on a date with last night, or
as Chub refers to her, 'that sophomore bitch', and all three of us end up
laughing our nuts off as Rob's walking back in with the cooler. Chub
retells the story for Robby as John and I transfer half the ice from the
Styrofoam cooler to the one Rob just got from storage and then Chubby goes,
"Well, my beloved brother when ya gonna put some tunes on?" I go, "Right
now," and I get a very old CD, but one of my favorites playing. It's this
rock group's first album... Counting Crows' first album.

Chubby listens for a second and then chuckles, mumbling, "Uh huh, nothing
wrong with Adam Duritz in his day, except for his dreadlocks of course." I
make a 'face' at Chubby who chuckles and then looks through the CDs Rob and
I have. Adam Duritz is the "Counting Crows' lead singer. Chubby holds up
the Paul Simon album, 'Graceland' and says, "You guys have all the artists
who had big hits before any of us were born." I go, "They're classics," and
Robby mumbles, "We've got some stuff from this century too." Chubby grins,
mumbling, "Uh huh. I should have brought some of my CDs just to round
things out a little." I go, "Hey Chubby!" and he's like, "Just kidding,
bro... hmmm, but we'll make do with these, I guess." Giving up his search
through our CDs, he adds, "John Beverly, you're in charge of keeping the
music going all night, dude." That would have sounded arrogantly bossy if
anyone else said it, but coming from Chubby it somehow sounded like he was
bestowing an honor on John.

Robby says, "We should get some snacks out," and we do with Chubby helping
distribute the bowls of pretzels, chips, and dips. Robby mumbles, "I'll
heat up the nacho cheese later. Let's leave those three bowls of nacho
chips here in the kitchen." I'm stirring the spaghetti sauce again as John
Beverly and Chubby are again sorting through our CDs snickering. I say,
"You dicks are snickering at some of the best CDs ever made. Just so ya
know!" Chubby says to me, "Hey, bro, I totally agree and, oh fuck, that
spaghetti sauce is smelling mighty good too." He comes over and pats my
shoulder. I hold the wooden spoon I was stirring the sauce with up to
Chubby. He blows on it and then sips some of the sauce off the spoon. "Yep,
bro, we nailed that fucking spaghetti sauce!"

Everything feels so totally under control with Chubby here. He's like,
"Only one important thing left to do now, bro," and he sets up four shots
of bourbon using the little plastic shot glasses he brought with him
yesterday. After pouring the bourbon, Chub goes, "C'mon guys, we'll get the
night rolling with a toast for good luck." Robby and John come over and I
grin at Rob as we roll our eyes at each other 'cause we'd rather not do a
shot of bourbon right now, but neither of us is going to try arguing with
Chubby about it. We understand doing shots are more or less mandatory when
you're in college.

We all hold up our plastic shot glasses that are all over brimming with
bourbon, and Chub says, "To our senior year and the rest of our lives," and
we flash down the burning liquid. "Oh fuck!" I gasp, and then Rob and I
guzzle beer from our just opened cold cans. Chubby goes, "Ahhh, that's good
shit, huh, Dylan?" With tears in my eyes, I nod, "Oh yeah, that shit's the
best, Chubby!" John Beverly drank his shot like it was iced tea and now
he's back looking through our CDs. Chubby says, "Bro, where did you put the
Italian bread we bought?" He means, he bought! I get the two loaves out of
the freezer and Chub slices them with a serrated knife, piling the slices
on a serving tray that goes on the table. Chub and John then open cans of
beer, making me think... Jesus, they both drank those shots without chasers
of beer?

The doorbell rings at seven o'clock on the dot. Rob opens the door and
there's smiling Carl Snowdon, Rob's mentee. Standing behind Carl, towering
over him, is Carl's roommate, Paul Towers. Um, no pun intended there. Paul
is French Canadian so, obviously, he's on Merrimack's hockey team. Shocker
that a Canadian would be on the ice hockey team. Anyway, he's carrying a
six-pack of beer and I'm thinking it's fortuitous Chubby brought a case of
beer yesterday that there's maybe ten cans left and a full case
tonight. The cheapskates who bring only a six-pack are gonna need
it. Nobody drinks only six beers during an entire evening!

Carl informed me some time ago that his roommate, Paul, is sexually
straight... he's apparently is a man of few words as well. The only other
thing I know about him is that he mocked Carl's flattop haircut. The fact
it warrants mocking is beside the point. It's rare that a roommate you
basically just met would be a big enough prick to do that. It was subtly
mocking that naive Carl didn't pick up on but when he told me, I picked up
on it. I see that Paul's rocking a nineteen-eighties long hairstyle so he's
got no room to mock anyone's hairstyle, and he's also rocking a full-faced
black beard. He has no room to mock shit! He's not good looking either, not
with that large sloping nose. To be fair, he's also not ugly although,
unfortunately, I detect a superior jock-attitude coming from Paul as if
he's above all this. Poor Carl dealing with this guy for a roommate, it's
no wonder he hangs out here so much.

Speaking of Carl, he carried in an oversized bottle of Coke that he put on
the bar. He has a big smile too as he gives Rob and I hugs... just the
normal fast cursory hugs the way straight guys do it because Carl's deep in
the closet to almost everyone. When he introduces his roommate, Paul, to
Rob and me all we get is a nod of this ass's head, without so much as a
smile. Rob and I give knowing glances to each other 'cause we can both spot
an asshole. Chubby comes over and introduces himself, and then he
introduces John Beverly. They get the same pompous nod from Paul and then
unenthusiastic fists bumps.

I get eye contact with Chubby doing a little shake of my head so Chubby
won't shit all over this pompous hockey player. Instead Chubby gets an arm
across Carl's shoulders, saying, "Jesus, dude, you're a dead-ringer for my
older brother!" Carl goes, "Really? Who's your older brother because I
think I look like...?" and the doorbell rings so I go over to answer it and
don't get to hear the rest of Carl's innocent response.

When I open the door there's Danny. Jesus, my dick tightens as soon as I
see him. He's got his usual awesomely cute smile on his face as he puts a
case of beer on the floor just inside the front door and then I get a big
hug from him. The hug is so exaggerated it kinda walks me backward two
steps before he finishes the hug with a sloppy kiss on my lips. Then he
says, "Hi, Dylan-baby!" In Danny's world, his greeting is perfectly
normal. I resist the urge to grab my junk as Danny moves on to give Rob a
hug too... minus the extraordinary kiss.

Danny has booze-breath that doesn't surprise me because it's fairly normal
to do some front-loading before going out for the night. I realize Danny's
roommate is still standing just inside the front door making a 'face'
like... hello, I'm here too! Specks is holding a paper bag that appears to
have a bottle of liquor in it. I hold out my fist to Specks, saying, "Dude,
I'm glad you stayed on campus for the party tonight." He mumbles, "Hey,
don't I get a hug too?" and we hug with him giving me a fast kiss on the
lips that he laughs off, muttering, "I do everything Danny does. He makes
me." Specks is slightly hammered. He's also supposedly bisexual so the kiss
is only halfway bizarre. He's a couple inches shorter than me and I guess
he's okay looking although he does have a bit of a strange personality.
He's got sort of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing going for him,
personality-wise. Ya never know which one you'll be getting from one time
to the next. Oh hell, nobody's perfect. Specks is okay...

Then there's some hubbub in the living room as conversations pick-up and
beer can tabs are snapping. The one voice I pick out is Chubby's who's
saying, "You're shitting me, right? You're telling me you don't drink at
all?" He's obviously still with Carl. Specks puts the bag with the bottle
of booze on the bar, grabs a beer from the cooler and moves into the living
room just as Danny's coming back into the kitchen, saying, "I don't like
that Paul guy, baby." And then he grins and gets his arms around my waist
and again begins sort of walking me backward as he's asking, "What time
will you be coming over tomorrow afternoon?" Before I can even think about
that, he adds, "Oh, just as an FYI, Specks isn't leaving for home until
like noon so, ya know, baby, don't come before then..." I say, "Please
don't call me 'baby'. It makes me feel weird."

Letting go of me, totally ignoring what I just said he's running the
fingers of both his hands through his hair, mumbling, "Jesus, look at my
hair, Dylan! Haha, it's so fucking long! What kind of haircut should I
get?" The original plan three weeks ago was Danny gives me a haircut and
I'd do the same for him. That never happened. He has really nice brown hair
to go with his dark blue eyes and I'm looking forward to doing his haircut
but that depends on him, obviously. He still has his arms around my waist
as he leans against me and, oh man, I'd love for him to do one of his
kisses. He doesn't though, so I do a fake cough trying to catch my breath
and then say, "How would I know what haircut you should get. Whatever you
want, I guess." He interprets that the way he choices, and says, "Oh, good,
you agree! Yeah, this long hair is kinda cool. I'll skip another haircut
and see what we think it looks like, say three weeks from now. Good call,
baby." What? I didn't say anything like that... oh fuck it.

He goes, "Obviously I'm hoping and praying you'll come to my dorm tomorrow
anyway. Ya know, for your haircut and then we'll see what happens, eh? You
remember that Sunday, baby, it was awesome." I'm still processing him
saying he doesn't want a haircut. Balls to that so I say, way too seriously
"Oh, but... um, Danny, I miss doing haircuts and, I mean, well you need
one. I never said you didn't." He grins, "Oh, you're jealous I'm the barber
now, huh?" I shake my head, "I didn't say anything remotely like that and
you know it."

He sways me side to side, mumbling, "Yeah, I know. I'm just breaking your
balls a little... kidding with you." He grins his super boyish grin as
there's a knock on the door. I manage to slip past Danny, thinking... I
need to cool it with him! As I'm opening the door, I glance back at Danny
'cause he's looking so damn cute tonight... cute and hot and sexy! His hair
is longer than I've ever seen it with the bangs hanging down on his
forehead almost covering his eyebrows. Maybe he shouldn't get a
haircut... that's a sexy look for him!

My buddy, Pony is at the door when I open it. He's smiling to beat the
band. Standing next to him is his roommate, the handsome Donald Johnson,
who isn't smiling to beat the band. He's looking slightly perplexed like
he's not sure what the fuck he's doing here. Donald's not only handsome but
Pony says he's by far the nicest roommate he's ever had. Heh heh, Pony told
me that as if he's had twenty roommates instead of just two previous to
this one.

Actually, Donald's a good influence on Pony by getting him to volunteer at
the YMCA one morning a week tutoring underprivileged kids with reading
disabilities... kids who wouldn't otherwise be able to afford
tutors. Donald also has Pony keeping his side of their dorm room neat. I
saw Pony's room last year and its night and day compared to this year's
room.

Pony's like Carl in that they're both solidly in the closet and,
consequently, I get only the cursory hug from Pony. The type of hug
straight guys are comfortable doing. Along with the pathetic hug, Pony
mumbles, "Hi, Dylan," and then motioning to Donald, he adds, "You remember
my roommate, Donald Johnson, right?"

>From the way Donald moves his arm, I immediately know he's a 'handshake
guy' so I shake hands with him smiling and saying, "Yes, Pony, Donald and I
met under weird circumstances very late the night I picked you up at the
airport. How are you, Donald? Thanks for joining us." He says, "I'm very
well, thank you. It's nice of you to extend the dinner invitation to me
too. Ah, Daryl and I can use a break from the dining hall, right, Pony?" I
almost laugh when Pony tries speaking properly, saying, "Yes, Donald,
although it's not so bad eating there. We've had a good time dining
together." Oh, brother... dining together! I trying not to chuckle as Pony
adds, "I'm sure Dylan has something special in store for us with tonight's
dinner though." I go, "Yeah, assuming you think spaghetti is special."
Donald says, "It sure smells wonderful in here."

Donald has a case of Bud cans under his left arm and Pony's holding a
bottle of VO which I take from him and put on the bar, saying to Donald,
"If you want, you can put some of your beers in that cooler. There's
another cooler on the balcony too." He says, "Thanks, ah... do you mind if
I smoke out there?" I shake my head, "Nope. I'll shortly be out there
smoking myself." Pony goes, "Perhaps I shall also." I laugh out loud and
then go, "Perhaps you shall," and as Donald's putting cans of beer from his
case in the cooler, I do the same with some of the beers from the case
Danny just dropped here. As I'm doing that, for something to say, I ask,
"You're a hockey player, right Donald?" He goes, "Yes, I'm the token black
guy on our team." Pony, who is just watching us, goes, "You're not a token
anything, Donald! You were the leading scorer last year." Donald chuckles
and mutters to me, "No I wasn't. I had the second most assists though. Pony
likes to brag about me." I nod my head as though any of that made sense.

With cans of beers in hand, Pony and his roommate walk toward the balcony
with Pony telling Donald, "I don't usually imbibe beer but when in Rome, ya
know?" Rolling my eyes I'm thinking I'd like to have a smoke with them. No
way though because I need to wait for Connor and his asshole
roommate. There's no certainty they'll even show up but if they do Connor
would be uncomfortable if I'm not here to greet him. He knows Robby of
course, and Chubby too but neither of those two have yet had the pleasure
of meeting the horrible Stosh. To be safe... I better wait here for them.

Chubby, John, and Robby are outside smoking along with Carl and the other
hockey player, Paul-what's-his-name. I watch when Pony and Donald get out
on the balcony because I think I know what will happen, and I'm right. As
soon as Donald steps out on the balcony I see Paul go right over to greet
him with a guys' hug and they're instantly chattering like old
friends. They're both hockey players, teammates obviously. Hopefully,
Donald will keep the snooty Paul busy all night. Huh, that's probably the
only reason Paul came tonight... he heard Donald was coming. Fine by me.

I barely have time to take a swallow of beer when Specks comes in off the
balcony, carefully sliding the glass door shut while asking me, "Where did
Danny get to?" I shrug and Specks goes, "Um," and he points in the general
direction of the balcony, saying, "That hot shit guy, Jeff-something, told
me to bring out a bottle of bourbon and a bunch of shot glasses. I see the
bourbon on the bar but, um, do you know where the shot glasses are?"
Nodding at the kitchen counter where Chubby left a plastic-wrapped pack of
what looks like twenty-five plastic shot glasses, I go, "Right there,
Specks."  He mutters, "Thanks," and takes the bourbon and the package of
shot glasses out to 'that hot-shit guy, Jeff-something'.

Smiling to myself, I finish my beer while stirring the spaghetti sauce and
then turn over each of the Italian sausages in the big frying pan. The
water is boiling now in the lobster pot I borrowed, so I turn the fire down
because it's too early to cook the spaghetti. I'm wondering if Connor is
even gonna show up tonight as I carefully dip a big potato chip in one of
the onion dip bowls. After tasting the dip, I say out loud to no one,
"Ewww, this isn't one-tenth as good as Mrs. D.s' onion dip."

Danny was coming out of the bathroom as I said that. He's walking down the
short hall, asking, "Were you saying something to me, baby?" I'm like, "Do
not fucking call me that, Danny! How many times do I need to tell you? Did
you wash your hands after pissing?" He grins, holding up his shiny-clean
hands that are still partially wet, muttering, "Of course I did, you
hot-shit!" and then he looks around, asking, "Where'd everybody get to?" I
nod at the balcony where I see someone has lit the gas grill to warm it up
out there.

Danny glances at the sliding glass doors, mumbling, "Too fucking crowded on
the balcony and anyway the person I'm most interested in is in here." He
comes over and gets his arms around me again, as I go, "Danny! Jesus, not
here, okay?" He looks hurt, "We're not doing anything wrong and, anyway,
nobody can see us if we wanna do something, um, untoward." I ask,
"Untoward? How much drinking did you have before coming over here?" He
shrugs, "Specks and I were at that bar in town. Ya know, Rolf's. We had a
few beers and get this, I think Specks wants me to give him a haircut!" I
go, "How exciting for you..."

As he's backing me up to the refrigerator, I'm thinking... 'Cool it with,
Danny!' He murmurs, "No one can see us," and he does another one of his
incredible kisses. My best intentions go out the window and I don't even
pretend to push him away. My arms are around him and I get sort of docile
for him... like I do almost from habit now. I like being docile to him, I
mean when we have buddy sex. He sort of insisted on it anyway, although
he's never verbalized it. We do buddy sex... strictly buddy sex, um, I mean
the way Danny wants to do it... so he doesn't need to verbalize shit I
guess.

Danny pulls his lips away and says seriously, "Omigod, Dylan, I feel your
desire for me and that's so exciting to me! The way you're so cooperative
too, and I love how you do what I want you to." I should protest but I
don't feel like it right now. I like watching his sexy lips move as he
talks. He goes, "Ya know, haha, I'm anxious to hear that cute squeal you
do... I can hardly wait for that. Hmmm, maybe you'll be doing it a number
of times tomorrow... huh?" I nod my head resisting the urge to adjust the
boner in my pants. Danny goes, "Oh, and it's not just you with desire for
me, baby. Noooo, believe me, I have the same level of desire for your sexy
person, um, sexy something."

I'm pissed at myself for being this docile and letting my best intentions
wilt like this but I can't resist lying against him, enjoying his personal
scent. He gently runs his fingers back through my hair mumbling, "Wow, I
never noticed how fast your hair grows. Holy shit! Don't worry though, as I
said, I'll do your haircut tomorrow before we do anything else. Hey, I'm
thinking a 'regular' flattop for you this time. Like Carl's... okay?" I'm
not listening. Mostly I'm working up the resolve to do the right thing here
and break away from our embrace.

Sucking in a big lungful of air, I push against him and try pulling away
but he tightens his arms around me, murmuring, "Wait a second, you. Haha,
hold on there! I wanna ask you something." and I lie against him again
because I feel like it. He asks, "Have you said anything to Rob about us
yet?" What? Now I'm paying attention. I'm like, "Whaddaya mean?" He
squeezes me against him and rubs the side of his face against mine,
murmuring, "God, I love how you feel in my arms... and the way you smell
too. Jesus, it's your skin, right? It's so, um, I don't know, so nice." My
dick is hard as stone!

What can I do though? Danny's so sure of himself it gets me squirmy and,
um, and it gets me stupid too. Damn, I could never be as confidently
aggressive with a, um, buddy-sex buddy the way Danny is. He has this same
confident way about him when he's giving haircuts too, and I can't do that
either. He says, "You're, ah, and don't get mad at me for saying this, but
you're beautiful, baby." I'm shaking my head wanting to object to both
those words... 'beautiful' and 'baby'... but he goes right on talking, "You
know what we'll do? After your haircut, we'll seriously plan what to tell
Rob, and we both need to ..."

Saving the day, the doorbell interrupts him. We both look over at the
door. I go, "Um, I need..." and he rubs noses with me and then mumbles, "I
know, I know... you need to get the door." Then he says really fast, "Look,
baby, I love you and we're getting deeper and deeper into our relationship
so we need to start breaking the news to Rob. It's only fair that he knows
about us." I'm like, 'What? No, um... " I'm out of my Danny-trance
completely now! I mean, after hearing that, of course, I'm out of my
fucking trance!

Successfully sliding away from him, sideways toward the front door, he's
like, "Hold it a second, Dylan!" I stop and look at him. He slowly and very
seriously says, "I know it's not going to be pleasant, but we need to tell
Rob! And since I'm the, um, ya know, the 'man', it's my responsibility to
break the news to him about us. I'll want you there with me though." I face
him and emphatically say, "Don't you say a fucking word to Rob! Not about
anything to do with me." He has this look of astonishment on his face, so I
add, "You're awesome, Danny, and I mean that. Without a doubt, you're my
favorite buddy sex buddy of all time, but don't say anything to anyone
about anything to do with me. We'll talk, you and me, like you said... in
your dorm tomorrow. Okay?" He nods but still looks puzzled as he mutters,
"Yeah, okay, baby... jeez."

When I open the door there stand Connor and Stosh. Connor goes, "Sorry
we're late. Stosh insisted, um..." and he runs his hand over his almost
shaved head. He means they're late because Stosh insisted on doing that
stupid haircut for Connor before they could leave their apartment. What a
prick he is! It's the same haircut he's given Connor the other two times
I've seen him so it's not like I'm shocked. Connor appears very
self-conscious about it though... and I don't blame him. I don't say
anything about it. Instead, I'm like, 'You're not late. There's no set
time! C'mon in," and then I mutter, "Hi, Stosh, how ya doing?" He goes, "Do
you really want to know how I'm doing? Or, more likely, that was what ya
call a rhetorical question, right?" I go, "Huh?" and Connor jumps in with,
"I didn't know what to bring but figured everyone else would bring beer,
so..." and he takes a bottle of Grey Goose vodka from the bag he's
holding. Then, with a grin, he takes out a six-pack of tonic and a
lime. I'm like, "Awesome, Connor! Is that what you drink now, vodka and
tonic?"

Meanwhile, Danny apparently doesn't want to get involved with us, maybe
after seeing Stosh for the first time. Or maybe he doesn't want to intrude
on our personal discussion. In any case, he's already at the sliding glass
door and then he slips out onto the balcony.

Stosh answers the question I had for Connor, saying, "No! Connie doesn't
drink vodka with anything, the vodka is for your guests." He puts his hand
on Connors shoulder, adding, "My boy here can't hold his liquor and, um, we
decided he won't drink at all. Hell, I drink only very rarely myself." He
sees me looking at the six-pack under his arm and goes, "Oh, yeah, I've got
these beers because I figured I'd probably need something to drink tonight
considering all these strangers here." Connor laughs nervously, mumbling,
"Oh, Stoshie, Dylan doesn't care about what you or I drink... or don't
drink." Stosh does an abrupt quick lean toward Connor who reflectively
flinches, lifting his arm like he expects to be hit. I give Stosh a hard
stare and when he notices it he gives me his own hard stare right back.

The label on the beer he's brought with him reads, Negra Modelo Dunkel
Lager. To end our childish staring contest, I say, "That's an unusual beer
you've got there, Stosh." He goes, "Gee, you're a quick study, picking up
on that. Brilliant." I shrug, muttering, "Really? This is how you're gonna
be all night, um..." and Connor jumps in with, "It's a Mexican beer," and
Stosh mutters, "Yeah, not the swill they consider beer in the US," and he
flicks his hand at the beers left in Danny's case of Bud. How the fuck is
Stosh a beer expert if he rarely drinks anything. Asshole!

I shrug again, muttering, "Well, if you want it cold there's a cooler full
of ice you can use and there's another cooler of ice on the balcony." Then,
forcing myself to ignore Stosh I smile at Connor and take his arm to gently
guide him away from the door and into the living room. Stosh walks past us
on his way to... who cares? It gives me the opportunity to say to Connor,
"So, you've given up drinking, huh? I know you were drinking beer with
Dodger in the Army so what made you...?" Connor interrupts, making a face
as he whispers, "Shh, please don't let Stosh here you say Dodger's name,"
and he looks around going, "Omigod, is he here?" I go, "You mean Dodger?
No! He's not here... he's back home working." Then I turn around, mumbling,
"Where'd Stosh go?"

Connor points to the hall and I see Stosh has brazenly walked down the hall
and is just now disappearing into the bathroom. What'd he do with his beer?
I glance back at the cooler and see he left his six-pack on top of the
other beers in the cooler. Connor goes, "Stosh gets uncomfortable in
situations like this." I go, "Ya mean social situations?" I said that with
a straight face, not trying to be a smart-ass so I'm curious why Connor is
bending over laughing with both hands covering his mouth. He laughs a
giggly kind of laugh and then mumbles, "Yes, social situations," and he
giggles again before adding, "Actually, whenever he's out in public. He's
very wary of strangers." What the fuck?

It's like Connor dumped on Stosh though, so... Good! I consider that an
encouraging step in the right direction but there's something else
too. It's, um, the manner in which Connor laughed and the way he covered
his mouth bending over like that. It was a very 'girlish' movement. I mean,
some might consider it a gay affectation. I'm remembering, in the back of
my mind, I had a similar thought the two times I was with Connor at the
Quad. Not fully materialized thoughts, just passing thoughts about little
things Connor did that seemed much more `gay' than anything I recall him
doing before going in the Army.

Not a big deal, but his giggling laugh just now brought it to my mind
again. Yeah, it's odd because he was never the slightest bit 'girlie'
before going into the Army. Dodger never said a word about Connor acting
out any gay affectations. Fuck though, it's been a few years since I've
spent any time with Connor and, what the hell, there isn't anything wrong
with gay affectations anyway. It's just something new for Connor, that's
what's caught my attention. Not a problem as far as I'm concerned although
I'm curious about it. Why wouldn't I be? Connor certainly isn't picking up
gay affectations from that ape, Stosh!

Obviously, I don't ask Connor about it now although if we have enough time
together, just the two of us, I might bring it up in kind of kidding,
joking manner so Connor will know I don't care... I'm just curious. Maybe
I'm thinking about Hayden and his gay affectations. They bothered me
initially but it wasn't long before I became very fond of Hayden and didn't
notice.

Anyway, I say, "Well, to be perfectly honest with you, I don't care about
Stosh's social stress. I am, however, wondering how that stress is
manifesting itself in the bathroom. Ya know, without actually speculating
about what it is he's doing in there this long." Connor says, "What he's
doing in there is not pleasant, believe you me... haha," and he does the
'cover his mouth and giggle-laugh' again. Hmmm?"

Quickly changing the subject, I point at the angry looking cut next to his
eye, mumbling, "That's healing, huh?" Connor frowns and gently touches it
with a finger, saying, "Yes, the butterfly bandage did the trick. From my
medical training, I knew stitches wouldn't be necessary." He grins at me,
then uses a funny voice to say, "It's my nurses' training in the Army, you
see," and he does sort of a curtsey." I can't help but frown. Connor
quickly touches my arm, saying, "I'm just kidding with you Dylan. I meant
my Medic Training."

Nodding my head, I mutter, "Sure. Ah, so there's been no further, um,
similar incidences, huh? No more face slaps since, um..." and I motion
toward his eye. He shakes his head, "No, not like that one that I needed
medical attention for... that's very rare." Nodding my head, I mutter, "I
should hope so, or maybe better than rare... never." Connor shrugs one
shoulder only, and makes a face, saying, "Everyone doesn't live an idyllic
life as you do, Dylan." Naturally, I'm like, "My life isn't exactly
idyllic, Connor." He goes, "Well, I get my face smacked just about every
day... do you?" I'm pissed-off at that entire exchange, but make myself
keep my mouth shut.

The nasty looking red line that was originally a cut was covered with a
bandage when I saw Connor last week, but his black eye wasn't covered and
now it's sort of a yellowish/greenish color. It's not pretty. Black eyes
aren't ever actually black anyway. A new bruise quickly becomes full of
blood, blood that's full of oxygen and iron, so a bad bruise will look
reddish at first. Later the blood at the bruise, blood that accumulates
there for healing purposes, loses most of the oxygen and becomes
darker. Sort of a purple color and that's what is called a black
eye. Trying to be cool about it, I'm like, "Your black eye looks
interesting." He says, "It's ugly, huh? Um, Dylan... jeez, I'm really sorry
for being flip with you a minute ago. I mean, about me getting
smacked. Seriously, I'm sorry, Dylan. I'm a little stressed... so I'm
acting goofy, that's all it is."

I mumble, "No, you don't need to apologize. But seriously, you actually do
get smacked in the face by Stosh regularly? You feel that's no problem,
or...?" He holds a hand up and goes, "Obviously it's a problem, Dylan, but
it's what I bought into. Stosh told me from the start we'd be doing things
his way and if I screwed something up I'd get smacked. Usually, it's no big
deal and he's always really sorry about losing his temper. He just wants me
to be perfect." I'm nodding, "Oh, perfect, huh? Yeah, that's kinda
hard... being perfect." He says, "I only tell you about it, Dylan, because
I can't lie to you and maybe for the selfish reason I want one other person
to understand my situation." I can't think of anything to say to that, and
then he adds, "So, if there anything to happen to me, I don't know,
anything really bad, um..." I go, "Bad? Whaddaya mean?" Shaking his head,
he says, "Damn, that was drama queen material on my part. Please, forget I
said that. I'm screwed up tonight. I don't get out much as you can probably
tell." I try to chuckle as if that was a joke and Connor says, "Hell,
honestly speaking, I usually deserve most of the slaps I get from
Stosh. With my smart mouth, I'd slap me if I were him."

Before I can respond to that brainwashed idiotic comment, Stosh comes out
of the bathroom drying his hands on a hand towel that he carries with him
as he's walking down the short hall toward us. Good that he washed his
hands after, um, whatever, but does he need to bring the hand towel with
him? He's a rough-looking man, a hard looking guy. I think Connor told me
Stosh is in his later twenties, like twenty-seven or something like
that. He could be thirty-seven going by his 'looks'.

I admit I disliked him from the first second I saw him. He simply doesn't
go with Connor. Connor is sort of beautiful and youthful-looking even with
that basically shaved head of his, and the black eye and whatnot. Stosh
being much older, and even older-looking then his age with that rugged
complexion of his and, well, everything about him is big and awkward
too. Um, big hands and feet, thick body with large hunched shoulders and
his face is even big... his head, for Christ sakes, that's BIG too! He just
doesn't 'fit' with someone like Connor. The idea they're a 'couple' is
ludicrous!

Stosh hands me the towel, muttering, "I don't fucking know why I brought
this towel with me." Conner says, "Take it back to the bathroom,
Stosh. Don't hand it to Dylan." Stosh gives Connor a withering 'look' and
Connor sort of sighs and then murmurs, "I'll take it back," and he takes it
from me and goes down the hall. Stosh says, "I'm gonna get one of those
beers I brought with me. I knew there'd be moments like this." I go,
"Moments like what? You're the one who..." and he snaps at me, "Fuck a
bunch of hand towels! What's the big deal...?" Oh, Jesus...

What a dick! Watching him lumber over to the cooler, I guess I need to
admit he's not hideous looking. He's got normal facial features that are
simply, um, too big. And his hair is too long and coarse... there's nothing
about him that 'goes' with the way Connor looks even though Stosh has tried
to make Connor look as bad as it's possible for Connor to look, which still
ain't all that bad. At least Stosh's mountain-man type long unruly hair
looks clean. Hell, Stosh looks clean but he's wearing a flannel shirt that
brings to mind the word 'lumberjack'. Plus he chooses to wear those dark
blue jeans and he's rolled up the legs a few times so they're ankle length
and, Christ, everything he's wearing is too big for him and he has engineer
boots on, and... oh fuck, I know I sound like a snob! Maybe so, but we're
on a fucking college campus and Stosh doesn't, ya know, go with a college
campus and never mind he's a mean prick on top of everything else.

Christ, I'm beating a dead horse here but he's crude and, as I said, he's
mean... obviously. What did Connor say Stosh did for work? Something to do
with investigating insurance claims. Jesus, how would you like him
investigating your disability claim. Well, insurance companies are very
diligent about making sure you pay the premiums on time, but they don't get
real enthusiastic about that other part of insurance, which is the
paying-out for claims part.

As Connors coming back from the bathroom, Stosh is stomping back with his
Mexican beer and everyone from the balcony, all eight of them, are coming
inside at the same time. That group is followed by a cloud of cigarette and
pot smoke. Everyone must have been smoking out there and not all of them
were smoking Marlboros either. The smell of pot if very distinctive.

Danny's carrying both snack dishes that Chubby put out there; both empty
now. Chubby's saying, "John, you're not staying on top of the fucking
music!" I just realized myself the last CD finished playing some time
ago. I should have put another CD on.

Then Robby and Chubby see Connor and both guys come over for hugs and then
they rub Connors head with Chubby saying, "What the fuck kind of reserve
unit did you hook-up with, Connor." They know he's in the Army Reserves,
like Dodger. I'm drifting toward the kitchen so I don't hear Connors
response. At least Stosh didn't say anything, for once. His social
inhibitions must be running high with all these aggressive college young
men talking loudly, and not the slightest bit intimidated by
him... yet. But, oh fuck, wait until Chubby gets a full load of Stosh.

My excuse, if anyone needs one for me slipping away, is I'm checking on the
food that's cooking on the stove top. The last thing I hear is a grumpy
sounding, "Jesus..." from Stosh at something someone said or did. A minute
later a smiling Pony comes over to get the second bourbon bottle from the
kitchen bar, saying, "I've been sent on a mission by your brother to secure
a bottle of booze. He told me to get the bottle on the deck but this one is
closer and it's getting cold out there. Hey, your brother is so fucking
cool though." I mutter, "Yeah, I know," and a minutes later I hear Chubby
saying, "They're out on the balcony, Pony. Jeezusss, dude, I thought I
could trust you with this." Haha, I guess Pony needs to go out on the
balcony anyway to get the plastic shot glasses.

The music is back on now which means the voice decimal goes up
significantly. Well, it goes up anyway in conjunction with the number of
alcoholic beverages that are going down past the vocal cords of everyone
except Carl. I glance over and see Stosh off by himself leaning against the
wall drinking his Mexican beer with a scowl on his face. The closest guy to
him is only like three feet away but everyone here is much, much further
away from Stosh than three feet in every other way imaginable.

Connors with Chubby, laughing at whatever Chubby's saying. It's very loud
in here now and I like it like that. Plus, I confess I'm glad to have a
break from the tragic drama of Connor and Stosh. As I get the big lobster
pot's water heating up again I see Chubby organizing another round of
shots. Good, everyone can get so drunk they won't remember if the food
blows. Oh yeah, spaghetti can easily be fucked up if it's overcooked. Or I
could burn the pasta sauce or drop the huge salad bowl on the floor... lots
of things could happen to fuck up the dinner. If everyone's drunk
though... it won't matter.

I can't resist looking over at the guys again and the look on Stosh's face
from whatever Chubby just said to him is priceless. If Chubby gets on his
case, Stosh has no fucking idea what he'll be dealing with!

I'm opening the boxes of pasta to dump the spaghetti in the pot of boiling
water, but I stop when I feel a pat on my arm. Turning my head I see
Carl. I'm like, "Whassup, Carl. Want more Coke? I put the bottle in the
refrigerator." He shakes his head, saying, "No, I'm good. Um, but can I
talk to you confidentially about something?" I go, "Whaddaya mean?" He
goes, "Yeah, it's about, um, I wanna ask you about, ah... ya know,
something to do with being gay and, um, sex..." Squinting my eyes at him,
I'm like, "Are you pulling my chain?" He shakes his cute redhead again,
saying, "No, I'm embarrassingly serious, Dylan. I'm seeking your advice,
okay? Please, I don't want to ask Rob because he might think I'm... ah, I
feel better asking you." I'm like, "Oh, okay, buddy. What is it?" He looks
around quickly and then lowers his voice, and says...

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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