Date: Fri, 15 Mar 2019 04:10:18 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter. 36

                       DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter. 36

by Donny Mumford


I open my eyes and know in three seconds I'm not in our bedroom. Robby's
right next to me though, so where the fuck are we? Oh, wait, we are in my
bedroom... my old bedroom! Oh, yeah, Rob and I crashed here last night.
Damn, I feel like a 'guest'' here. Living at the college apartment for
eight months out of the last three-plus years, and then last summer living
at Rob's house, this bedroom doesn't feel like home anymore... and that's
just sad!

Yes, but it was gonna happen sooner or later I suppose. On a more positive
note, I'm not feeling terrible this morning. I'm not feeling great either,
but not terrible. That's a pleasant surprise considering there was alcohol
consumed by everyone, including me, during both Thanksgiving celebration
dinners yesterday although for the most part it was consumed in moderation
for once, which is why I'm in much better shape waking up. That was so
awesome of me to do that moderation thing!

Robby's sleeping on his stomach next to me and when I poke him, without
opening his eyes, he goes, "No!". He sleeps like the dead and I just wanted
to be sure he's still with us. His arm is over the edge of the mattress
and, with me lying on my back too, I'm at the other edge of the bed. Yeah,
when two grown humans are in a twin-size bed the sides of the mattress are
in play... duh! It's good to be alert to that fact if you don't want to end
up on the floor.

Closing my eyes, I spend a full minute thinking hard about everything I can
recall from yesterday's two Thanksgiving dinners. Huh, I can't think of a
single incident of unpleasantness. That's what you'd hope for on
Thanksgiving; a really nice day with friends and family. And it was unless
I consider Rob's 'talk' a bit of unpleasantness.

In hindsight, it wasn't all that unpleasant. Embarrassing, sort of, and
it's never fun being lectured to, but then Rob's 'talk' wasn't actually a
lecture. It was him coming straight out and forbidding me to screw with his
brother. And, while it's never fun being told what you can't do, Rob's
point of view was understandable if I'm honest about it. Sure, in my
defense I could have reminded him of our long-standing 'arrangement' and
other factors from the past, but I didn't because it would have sounded
whiny and weak, I mean compared to Rob's points which were more mainstream
and in line with most societal guidelines on the planet earth.

Other than that, there wasn't a single untoward thing anyone did or said
all day. That's pretty fucking impressive considering how much booze was
involved and how many people from two families were involved in the
drinking of it. Not even one person got obnoxiously drunk or out of line.
Uncle Richie got drunk but then he always gets drunk and it was hardly
noticeable as he's a very quiet and friendly drunk. So there was no bad
behavior that put a damper on the festivities and I'll bet my left nut, not
every family can make that claim for their Thanksgiving. We were all
awesome, except for that one thing I did.

Well, that takes care of Thanksgiving for another year and then tomorrow,
Saturday, Rob and I will need to work at the office. Today, however, we're
free as the birds. We don't need to do shit if we don't want to, which
means there's no reason for me to get out of bed. Without thinking it
through, I turn over and land partially on Rob's back with my left arm
flopping over his side. Well, what the hell did I expect? I was just
thinking about how small this bed is!

Hmm, my watch is right there on my wrist so I look at it and see it's
nine-twenty. Let's see; last night we left Tom's condo a little after ten,
got here in ten minutes, then fucked around with some hot sex for a half
hour and then fell asleep in our own spunk. Omigod, that means I've already
had ten hours sleep and that's a very good thing! I only had five-to-six
hours sleep Wednesday night so this makes up for that.

But why did I mention sleeping in our own spunk? Now I'm noticing the dried
crusty patches under me! There was a time in my distant past when a minor
detail like crusty cum patches under me wouldn't bother me at all. I'm not
as dumb as I used to be though so I squirm around adjusting myself until
I'm not on dried cum spots. There's a problem though, now I'm mostly on
Robby's back again and I hear a muffled, "What are you doing, Dylan?"

He sounds irritable. I pull his head sideways so I can see his face. With
the tip of my nose touching his, I'm like, "What was that, grumpy?" He
snorts out a laugh, and then in one motion gets up on his side with me
sliding off his back onto the crusty dried cum spots again and squawk out,
"Hey! What the fuck, Rob?" He's looking down at me now, mumbling, "I wonder
when, or if, you'll ever lose your brattishness?" He's not mad though.
Smiling, he drops down to lie half on my chest, muttering, "Hey, I see why
you were lying on me. This is comfortable." I mutter back at him, "It was
more comfortable for me the other way around."

Getting his face close to mine, he whispers the question I expect to hear,
"Ya wanna mess around?" I whisper, "You don't need to whisper. We're the
only ones here. Mom stayed with Tom last night." He humps his crotch
seductively against the side of my right butt cheek repeating his question,
but much louder this time, "Ya wanna mess around?" I'm like, "Hmm, yeah, I
think I do.

Rob goes, "Good answer," and slides off my chest while rolling me over onto
my stomach. I offered no resistance so it was easy for him to do that,
although I'm now dangerously close to the other edge of the mattress. Robby
goes Belichickian on me, saying, "That's not what we're looking for," and
then he drags me near the center of the mattress.

With the side of my face on the mattress, I ask, "Are you about done moving
me around?" He lifts his right leg over both of mine and sits on my ass and
then puts a hand behind my head to push my face against the mattress,
saying, "Yes, this is good. Should I start by spanking your naughty ass
again?" Rob's naked too, of course, and the limp fat head of his cock is
lying heavily on the small of my back. I go, "No! You spank too hard so
skip the ass spanking, Mr. Sadist."

He moves back a little until he's half on my ass and partially on the back
of my legs. Giving my ass a light smack, he mumbles, "Oh, are you saying
you didn't enjoy your much-deserved spanking last night?" I go, "No! I
mean, yes, that's what I'm saying." He mutters, "Huh," and then, "Oooh,
this is nice... your skin is so soft and smooth," and he rubs the head of
his dick on my butt cheeks. Hell, if he wants a boner, I'd be glad to suck
one for him on his overweight penis. Robby says, "I don't know how many
times I've told you this, but seriously, you've got the best, hottest and
cutest ass I've ever seen."

With his hand pressing the side of my head flat on the mattress again, I
can only see Rob from his belly button down. Actually, his left knee is the
closest part of him to my face. His left knee is next to my ass with his
foot back near his ass... that's how he's sitting. I'm like, "I don't
recall you complimenting my ass before. I've always felt self-conscious
about my buttocks thinking it inferior to most, ya know? My ass, I mean."
He laughs out loud and then says, "Bullshit! You lie 'cause even straight
guys have mentioned that a hot ass like you have should be on a girl." I
mutter, "That's how much straight guys know."

In an off-hand manner, like he's surprised, Rob mumbles, "Well I'll be
dammed, my pecker is getting hard." I go, "Yeah, I can tell," and Rob says,
"Here's some disturbing news though; somebody's dried cum is on your
perfect ass." I say, "I'm surprised to hear that 'cause I assumed it had
all wiped off on the part of the sheet I'm lying on." He laughs again and
asks, "Kind of scratchy, is it?" I'm like, "Uh huh, but I'm wondering what
you're planning on doing with that fat boner of yours?" Robby says, "It is
a fat one, isn't it? Um, when I get tired of rubbing it on your buttocks
I'm gonna stick it up your perfect ass"

He drags it down my ass crack as I'm asking, "Have you ever heard of women
getting a breast reduction?" Rob's like, "What about it?" I go, "I was
thinking maybe your penis might benefit from something similar." He laughs
again, then says, "What a horrible person you are to suggest such a thing!"
Chuckling, I go, "No, they'd probably use Novocain or something before
shaving maybe eight inches of girth away from that obese penis you're
moving around on my ass." Rob moves his cock slowly across both my butt
cheeks and its feeling wicked hard now. He starts to say something but
snorts out another chuckle, before muttering, "I can't imagine why you'd
suggest something that evil considering my penis is a perfect size as it
is. I mean, assuming one can overlook its lack of length."

Yes, it's on the short side alright, but if it had an even larger head that
was shaped like, um, let's say a huge mushroom, and his penis was twice as
long... wow, that would be really something alright! Who has a penis like
that? The thought of that cock on Robby makes the muscles in my rectum
tighten on their own. Robby rubs his now very hard cock on my left butt
cheek in a circular pattern, cooing, "Ummm, this is a very pleasant way of
getting a hard-on I must say."

I go, "Wait a second! Is that your dick or a beer can in your hand now?" He
chuckles, and goes, "How crude you've become. Of course, it's not a beer
can! It's my very own modest-sized boner and as I said, I'm gonna stick it
up your ass, but first," and his finger pushes tightly in past my
sphincter. "First I need to check your oil... I mean your lube." I grin
remembering a goofy thing Rob's grandfather told us yesterday. He said when
he was our age the gas stations all had attendants who would run over to
your car to pump the gas for you and then the guy would open the hood and
check your car's oil before cleaning the windshield. Probably a bullshit
story but when Rob said 'check your oil' I thought of it. Hey, it was the
most interesting thing Grandpop said all day.

Rob's finger rubs over my prostate, as he's muttering, "Very smooth gland
ya got here. And, yep, there definitely enough lube in here for an
emergency entrance." He keeps rubbing my prostate until I can't help but
squirm under him until it feels as though I'm going to cum, so I grunt,
"Ahh, ahh... no, Robby!" He pulls his finger out, mumbling, "You're down a
quart but you should be okay for this trip," and he goes up on his knees a
little and then leans forward. I feel the head of his boner, sans
lubricant, poking at my asshole and I'm like, "No-no! Let's be
sensible. Astroglide... please, Mr. sadist!"

He sits back on my legs, "Really? Oh, yeah, that's right... I forgot about
you being a primadonna. Can you reach it, the Astroglide? It's right on the
nightstand next to you." I'm muttering, "Primadonna my ass," and then I can
just barely reach the lube. Tossing the tube toward him, Rob apparently
catches it because a couple of seconds later I hear that wet slippery sound
of him stroking lube onto his hard cock, "Squish, squish, squish." The
sound gets more pronounced so I'm curious and look back, straining my neck
to see Robby jerking-off... basically. I go, "Don't you dare shoot that
shit on my back." He laughs again and stops stroking himself.

I'm very impressed with Rob's jovial high spirits this morning, so I say,
"Jesus, Robby, you're in an especially good mood! What's up with that?" He
says, "Yes, I feel good! I feel well-rested and without a trace of a
hangover. That, my cute boyfriend, is because I was a responsible adult
yesterday and only imbibed alcoholic beverages to be sociable. Getting
drunk was the last thing us mature individuals have on our minds. And,
obviously, no mature individual in their right mind would drink stingers
all night." I'm like, "I didn't drink stingers all night! And, anyway, I'm
feeling okay too," and then I grunt, "Aaaah, oooh!" as the head of Rob's
boner forces its way into my ass.

Rob's up on his knees a little now with a hand on either side of me as he
makes a breathy sound and then gasps, "Omigod, this feels good!" and he
pushes his cock in another inch. As for me, there's the normal volcanic
eruption of pain all around my anus. The pain pounds my brain as I hold my
breath. Even as I'm doing that I realize the pain is not as bad as it was
last night. Probably the opening back there retained elasticity from the
longish fucking that occurred in that vicinity last night. The pain begins
subsiding quickly too, so... sweet!

Robby's waiting, being considerate as he usually is, finally asking, "Ya
doing okay down there, Dylan?" I hold up my hand and mutter, "A couple more
seconds would be nice, kind sir." He snickers, "You're thinking of someone
else with that 'kind sir' brown-nosing crap." I laugh, but it still hurts a
little. On the other hand, after five years of this same thing repeatedly
happening to my ass I must have the dumbest asshole in town considering the
fuss it still causes every time this happens.

Robby's not waiting any longer. He leans forward pushing the rest of his
beer-can-boner very snugly up my rectum, or down it since he's above it. He
waits a couple of seconds before pulling his cock back slowly and then
pushing it slowly back in. After repeating that slow movement a couple of
more times he's apparently satisfied things are as they should be and Robby
begins generic no-nonsense fucking that gets fast and harder until the
expected sounds begin ringing out, "SLAPSLAPSLAP," sounds and pretty
quickly there's grunting coming from Robby, grunts joining the applause
sounds of males fucking and now we're really fucking up a storm! Yep,
morning sex usually goes fast.

"SLAPSLAPSLAP," "Ahh ahh ahh," coming from Robby now that his cock is
sending out a billion pleasure vibrations and I'm like, "Mmm, mmm, mmm," as
the mattress squeaks and rocks under us. There are too many brilliant
sensations coming from the thousands of nerve endings in and around my
rectum for me to keep track of them all, so I don't even try. I just revel
in the euphoria of it all. Lots and lots of nerve endings in the rectum and
they're all singing a song of sexual pleasure. The only thing on my mind is
that pleasure... and I could do without the song if I had to. It's almost
impossible to think about anything other than sexual pleasure, not that
most people would want to think about something else.

"Slapslapslap," and Omigod this feels good. Intense sensations that I know
from my vast experience won't last long before the bully shows up, and here
he comes now... the climax bully shoving everything out of its way and
grabbing hold of my mind to twist it until the only thing I'm now thinking
about is ORGASMIC CLIMAX!

That's the only thing I want, the only thing I care about... one huge
climax and I'm whining desperately for it, "Rob, ooh, ooh, umm,
Robby... fuck my ass!" The bully mocks me and teases me making me think
it's reached the tipping point, but no, not quite yet sucker! "Aah, aaah,
aaaah!" It's on me for real this time, so hot and heavy I can't catch my
breath. I have only a second to try lifting up but can't get up very far
with Rob on the back of my legs. I get up just enough to let my boner lift
off my stomach as it's firing out an impressive arching stream of cum that
has my shoulders shuddering so much I can barely keep my torso off the
mattress, and then I can't. I flop back down on the bed as a second and
then a third shot of cum squishes out under me. But, Omigod, that felt
good!

Robby's gasping like me and he's stopped humping so our orgasms must have
blown out about the same time. Lying contentedly on the mattress in my warm
creamy cum I concentrate on each of the last few shivers of after effects
that skidder around my groin. When climaxes happen, the sensational
pleasures coming from my ass are overwhelmed by the fury of the orgasm and
that blocks every other sensation except the ones in my groin areas. Now
though, after the supernova, I again feel Rob's fat cock pressing against
my prostate and stretching my anus. I hear him gasp and then feel his body
shudder before he sighs and lays backward on the bed pulling his still hard
cock out of my ass. And, eww, my asshole is gaping open with cool air
pouring inside and now the goo under me is watery and runny and it's cooled
off too. I'm not feeling as contented as I did a few seconds ago.

Rob's on his back, his head hanging over the foot of the bed with his legs
straightened out toward me and his feet up near my shoulders. Nice feet,
but when they begin sliding away I try to grab one of them. Too late as
Robby slides off the end of the bed. My bed has a headboard behind me but
the end of the mattress is, um, the end of the bed.

Although I can't see him on the floor, I hear Robby giggling and then he
pops up rubbing his arm, yelling, "Fuck!" Getting back in bed, he gives me
a hug, asking, "How was that, Dylan? Was that the best fuck you ever had?"
I go, "No! It fits in slot number 609 on my all-time favorite list." He
musses my hair, saying, "Oh, 609, huh? Jeez, that's pretty good. Maybe I
can break into the five-hundreds with the next fuck, which you'll be
experiencing shortly." I'm like, "For Christ's sake, why shoot so low? See
if you can make it into the three-hundreds?" He laughs and rubs my head
again, saying, "That's a lot to ask but, hey, you're a cute little
motherfucker, ain't ya?" I go, "Oh, thank you, sir. That's what my mom used
to call me when I was just a tiny tot! Um, not to be pushy but, um, do ya
got that Milky Way bar you promised me?"

We fuck around goofing on each other like that for half an hour as relaxed
as if we're in our apartment. We're never this relaxed at home, my other
home because at least one of Rob's parents is always there. This morning
his grandparents are there too, and their room is right next to the hall
bathroom! Yeah, it was a genius idea I had to sleep here last night.

After a while, we both need to piss. We manage to do that without getting
any on us and then we clean ourselves up at the sink. After taking quite a
long time brushing our teeth, Rob asks, "Should we strip the bed before or
after showering?" I go, "Hey, what about that second fuck you mentioned. Ya
know, you can try to qualify for my best fuck ever in the five hundred
range, maybe. A long shot but why not go for it?" Making his voice sound
nerdy, he goes, "Oh boy, I love me a challenge. Get your skinny ass back in
that cum-dried bed, son" I go, "Skinny ass? Son?"

We take three steps and jump on the bed. Our bodies collide in midair
though and I land near the side of the bed, ending up on the floor. I'm
muttering, "This Goddamn bed is too small," as I get the bed, Robby says,
"I'll do my dick rubbing technique to firm up this perfect circumference
penis of mine, and then I'll provide you the pleasure you've heretofore
only dreamed of." I go, "Huh?"

Yeah, it's another hard fucking, one I like even better than the earlier
one. Rob's fat cock went in painlessly but tightly, obviously. My rectum
opens the minimum amount to allow a person's hard pecker, no matter the
size, to enter. Skinny dicks, like Bean's for example, still feel tight
because my anus is lazy and only relaxes the least amount it can get away
with still ensuring that all nerve endings will get the stimulation they
deserve which results in an extremely pleasurable sexy ride, in this case,
for maybe ten minutes while in other cases ninety seconds... it
depends. It's taken eons of evolutionary changes for anuses to figure this
out.

This time we only hear the famous sounds of Rob's crotch slapping against
my ass the last minute or so before climaxing. Second fucks in close
proximity to first one can go slower for some time but when the climax
roars in it's off to the races as if we haven't fucked for a
month. Climaxes rule, what can I say? Rob's climax has announced its
impending arrival so he's in his own world now doing desperately rough
thrusting that quickly results in glorious climaxes for both of us. I know
they were glorious climaxes because we tell each other as much lying here
discussing the matter as we wait for our heart rates to return to normal.

Then a few sighs and a mutual admiration fist-bump with Rob's saying,
"Goddamn, this was a good morning! Um, what number was that last sex act?"
I go, "While it was happening, while my climax was exploding, it was number
one of all-time, but then that's what the meter always reads at that
particular point in the proceedings. Now, however, let me check the correct
reading. Uh, oh." Rob goes, "What? What's the meter say?" I get off the
bed, mumbling, "Number 602," and he goes, "So you're saying I'm improving,
right?" I shrug, muttering, "According to the meter-reading, yes, but only
slightly," and he goes, "Oh, thank God! Hey, 602? Jeez, I almost made it
into the top five-hundred best fucks of your life... wow! How many fucks
have you had in total, by the way?" I go, "What a classless question!
That's too friggin' personal to even respond to." He mutters, "Well, I know
it's at least 609... no, 610."

Oh, Christ, we're laughing at that shit as if it was actually funny. We
strip the bed and then make the bed with clean sheets as we're continuing
with our nonsensical bantering and giggling and acting the fool. Then,
while Robby's showering I pad into the kitchen and take a couple of Advil
'cause I've got a little headache, probably from goofing around and
laughing my balls off at our immature silliness. It's fun though and
another example of how much Rob has lightened-up in the past year or so.

I'm looking in the refrigerator now, and what a disappointment. Since I'm
not here buying food, there's very little in the way of eatable items in
the refrigerator. Mom mostly eats at the restaurant where she waitresses,
or at Tom's place. Hmm, I see diet sodas, yogurts, and celery plus a fresh
pint of half and half. We could have coffee. Yeah, except it's simpler to
get coffee when we eat breakfast out somewhere.

We brought clothes with us to wear after showering and while Robby puts his
on, I take a shower. As I'm getting dressed Robby uses my laptop to contact
guys about the football game we're gonna play at the high school soccer
field this afternoon. Pulling a sweatshirt over my head, I ask, "Did you
text Chubby?" He goes, "I sent everyone emails and if they all show up
we'll have like sixteen guys." I mumble, "That's too many, and why'd you
send emails? Why not text?" Robby goes, "Because I needed to provide
details and what's it to you anyway. I'm handling this, okay?" Touchy!

We eat breakfast at the Pancake House off Route 9 in Natick and as we're
being seated I see someone whose penis I was thinking briefly about earlier
this morning. Plus, I saw this guy Wednesday night too; him, not his
penis. It's Ray Reeves, of course, and he's sitting with his brother Elliot
who I first knew as Elliot Ellis. I later found out that 'Ellis' is his
middle name. That's how he referred to himself back then... Elliot Ellis,
so how was I to know?

The brothers are with their parents and luckily Ray's back is to me so I
should be safe from his bullshit. Neither Ray's nor Elliot's boyfriends
were apparently invited to join them for breakfast. Or Ray's girlfriend
either, for that matter... haha. He's one of a kind alright.

Elliot sees me and we make eye contact but I shake my head a little, then
grin at him and point a finger at Ray. Elliot knows I'm not Ray's biggest
fan. Elliot tends to laugh at almost anything though and for some reason
the 'face' I made has him laughing. He lowers his head, covering his mouth
with a hand to giggle or chuckle, or whatever. He does it like girls
sometimes do when they're grinning or laughing. Well, people with bad teeth
cover their mouths too I suppose. Anyway, Elliot does it because he's very
gay and into gay affectations. He's an awesome guy though and I like him a
lot although, unfortunately, I hardly ever see him. It's nice seeing him
now but I'm not going to talk to him because I do not want to listen to
Ray, which is what would happen... Elliot and I would be listening to Ray
because it's almost impossible to get a word in edgewise when he's
blabbing.

Elliot smiles sweetly at me and then goes back to eating his breakfast. Gee
though, I'm super sorry to see Elliot's losing his hair. It's a seriously
receding hairline I'm looking at on the poor guy. Damn, that must have
happened recently, and fast. I saw him and his boyfriend at Sharky's Bar
the middle of last summer and Elliot had all his hair then. No, wait, he
was wearing a baseball cap that day. Oh man, what a shame though! Ha has,
or had very pretty light-red hair. Well, he still has an attractive face
and he's still looking youthful. Yeah, I fucked him a couple of times but
that was so long ago it's like another lifetime.

His brother Ray, on the other hand, fucked me way more than a couple of
times... haha. Oh yeah! And he fucked me way harder too. Jesus, just
thinking that made my dick move in my pants. Yeah well, I've always given
Ray credit for being a masterful 'top'. None better, but then few have his
equipment to work with. Masterful 'top' or not, Ray isn't worth the trouble
and that's too bad actually. Goddamn, that summer we... well, never mind
that.

They're finishing up their breakfast as we're getting menus. I give Elliot
another little smile and a head nod just to see him cover his mouth again,
his eyes shining with mirth. Jeez!

Robby, unaware of the Reeves family six tables behind him, asks, "What are
you looking at, babe?" and he turns his head to see. I go, "Don't turn
around! That's Ray Reeves and I do not want to talk to that asshole."
Christ, haha, and I can just imagine Rob duking it out with Ray after ten
seconds of Ray's wise-ass comments to me. Robby shrugs and goes, "I don't
really know Ray. I guess he is kind of a blow-hard but not a bad baseball
player... pretty good actually." That's the only way Rob knows Ray, meaning
the few times Robby played baseball games on our posse boy team. It's also
how Robby evaluates casual acquaintances... how good of a ballplayer they
are.

We give our orders to the waitress as the Reeves family is leaving. Elliot
hangs back so he can blow me a kiss and now I see he has a ponytail in
back. Huh, that's weird because his lover is a hairdresser and the ponytail
seems kinda unimaginative. That's what a lot of guys do though; I mean when
they lose their hair. They let what's left grow stupidly long thereby
emphasizing they're bald on top and/or they grow a ridiculous beard to
further screw up their appearance. There but for the Grace of God... and so
forth.

In the pickup after finishing our breakfast, Robby mumbles, "I guess we
should drop off our dirty clothes at the house. Jeez though, that'll
probably mean we'll get stuck saying goodbye to the grandparents and
they'll try getting us to visit and blah, blah. blah. I'd like to avoid our
grandparents if possible" I go, "You mean, avoid your grandparents!" He
glances over at me and goes, "They'll sort of be your grandparents too when
we're married." I go, "No, they won't." Robby goes, "Not technically,
but..." and I stop listening because this is the kind of inane discussion
that can lead to an inane argument. I'm not gonna let that happen though.

I don't say anything more until I don't hear Rob talking. Then I go, "Yeah,
in a way I see your point," and he goes, "That's all I'm saying." And we're
good. Ya see I'm not so shallow that I feel I need to win a debate even
when I know I'm right. That's a trait I picked up from Chubby long
ago. It's like this: if you basically don't give a shit about, whatever the
topic is, then don't argue about it. I don't give a shit if Robby thinks
his grandparents will be... well, you see what I'm saying. It was my bad
for even mentioning the first thing I said about it, which I can't even
remember now.

In some ways, Danny's got a good thing going with the way he simply ignores
whatever he doesn't want to hear, ignores it as if it was never even
said. Thinking that thought about Danny though makes me wonder if he told
his mom he's gay? I go, "Did you email, Danny?" Rob nods, and mumbles,
"Yeah, but I didn't hear back." I say, "You should have just texted the
guys, Rob, not email. Guys don't read emails. Or, they might later. They
read texts messages. Texts are more immediate." He mutters, 'You're
right. I wasn't thinking clearly because I'd just finished fucking you
about as perfectly as it's possible to fuck someone and I was brooding
about that low rating your meter gave me," and we both snort out laughs
again at the silly nonsense we were doing earlier. Goddamn, the things that
make us laugh!

At the house, we take our dirty clothes to the basement and when we're back
in the kitchen Rob's grandfather comes down the hall struggling mightily
with a too-large suitcase. Robby rolls his eyes at me and then goes,
"Grandpop, let me take that for you." Grandpop has no problem with that as
Robby picks it up, mumbling, "Heavy! Hey, you need to get a suitcase with
wheels, Grandpop, it's so much easier..." His grandfather waves his hand
saying too forcefully, "And what? Throw out all our perfectly good
luggage?" Well, duh, yeaaah! What an asshole... haha! Jesus, Rob just made
a suggestion, trying to help, ya know? Older people just don't get it.

Mrs. Dickers and Rob's grandmother come in the kitchen as Mrs. D. is
saying, "It's been wonderful seeing you and Dad, Mom. Thanks for coming and
we'll see you at Christmas, right?" I stand to the side as they do their
goodbye routine and as they're going out the door Grandma says to me, "Nice
seeing you again, Daryl. Promise me you and Robert will visit Pop and me
again real soon." I nod, mumble, "Oh, for sure... thank you, um..." and in
my head, I say, 'Aunt Paula...' heh heh. Get my name wrong, eh, grandma?

We're all following Robby out the back door, him struggling with the
oversized suitcase. Mrs. D. and I are the last two out the door and she's
saying to me, "It's so nice of you and Rob to hurry back in time to say
goodbye to his grandparents. Very considerate, Dylan." I shrug, "Rob was
worried we wouldn't be in time." She goes, "That's so nice of you both,"
and she keeps walking to her parent's new car... a big-ass Land
Rover. Jesus, those old guys bought a Land Rover? Holy shit!

The Land Rover pulls away with Grandma at the wheel, barely able to see
over it. She leaves a little rubber in the driveway after a slight wheel
squeal from the jackrabbit start. Rob and I mug 'faces' at each other
before going up to our bedroom where he flops on the bed, asking, "What
time is it, babe?" It's a little after twelve. We hang out talking and
every once in a while checking to see who answered Rob's emails about the
touch football game. Rob gets impatient and starts texting guys who haven't
responded. Texting... like I told him to do in the first place.

As it turns out there are too many guys who want to play and then when Rob
and I get to the high school there are four or five guys shooting hoops who
see all of us gathering on the soccer field and they wander down to see
what's going on, and then they want to play too. It's an annoyingly
unorganized mess with everyone talking at once until Chubby gets involved
and eventually we agree there will be three teams. The winners of the first
game will play the third team and the winners of that game... and so
forth. Meanwhile, the odd team out can play a half-court basketball game,
or whatever. It's a gorgeous fall day, sunny with temperatures in the low
fifties... a perfect day.

Okay, after more bickering we pick three 'captains' to choose the
teams. Chubby is a captain because he organized everything, Rob because
just about everyone remembers him from being a star 'pitcher' on the
baseball team all four years he was in high school, and the third captain
is this really tall guy with a too-small nose on his too-long face. His
name is, Dick Perkins. He was the captain of the basketball team as a
junior the year Rob and I graduated. I've never spoken a word to him in my
life. Not that that matters.

The three captains flip a coin to see who picks first and naturally when
it's Chubby's turn he picks me and in the second round, he chooses Danny,
who was only available because Robby didn't see him and small nose took his
best buddy. I look over expecting some reaction from Danny. I mean, I'm
sure he expected to be picked first or second, but he's been screwing
around since he got here with this stocky kid, Mike Tuttle. The two of them
are behind most of us and they're giggling and fucking around like they're
still in middle school. I remember Mike vaguely from being in the same
homeroom with him one year. Frankly, I always thought he was a dork! Plus,
I'm kinda disappointed Danny's not fucking around with me. Tuttle has
yellowish teeth which I can't help noticing every time he does his annoying
braying laugh. He's one of those people who need to open their mouth as
wide as they can when laughing. Jesus!

The captains flip coins again and Chubby's team will play the team
captained by the tall basketball player with the too-small-nose. Robby's
team sits out and will play the winners of our game, which will be the
first team to score three touchdowns. Chubby nominates Danny as our
quarterback because he has the strongest arm... and then there's yet
another coin flip, won by Chubby meaning we get the ball first.

It's a typical pick-up game with lots of bitching about, well, about
everything. No actual fistfights break out, so that's good. Mostly I'm
interested in this one kid on the other team. If he's who I think he is, he
was in my graduating class. We're 'defending' one another, which is to say
when one of us is going out for a pass the other is trying to prevent the
catch. It's also possible this guy could be a brother of the kid I'm
remembering because if it is the guy, he's somehow gotten a lot better
looking since high school. That's odd because it usually goes the other way
around. Guys get less attractive as they age. And, sure, a person's 'looks'
is very subjective but I'm mostly only interested in my opinion. Even as
unattractive as he was back then, I thought he was sexy and hot, although
I'm not sure why that was.

With us defending against each other, there's lots of bodily-contact of
course. Both from blocking one another or pass protecting and this guy
needs to do a lot of pass defense because Danny throws the football in my
direction a lot. This kid and I end up on the ground together every third
or fourth play... I make the most of that with inappropriate touching. Just
for the hell of it, I have my hands on him as often as I can, both when
we're going to the ground and/or while I'm helping him up. After twenty
minutes, neither of us has said a word to each other. I'm waiting for him
to say something first. Heh heh, the extra touching is making up for my
daydreams about him back in our high school days. I can't remember his name
although if I heard it I'd recognize it because it's kind of unusual. It's
not bizarre, you just don't hear it very often... his first name, I mean.

And then, I know it's the guy I thought it was because I just heard someone
call him Dwayne, and that's the kid's name. How many Dwayne's could there
be? He's short of stature, well he's Chubby's height which is about two
inches shorter than me, or maybe a little bit shorter than that. Dwayne's
wearing a hoodie but the hood isn't up because the weather's too nice for a
hood and, consequently, I can see his light brown hair. His hair is one of
the reasons I was interested in him back in the day.  Presently he has it
cut short but stylish. Certainly not a Supercut's 'regular', and definitely
not one of those absurd current styles that look like the wig a clown in
the circus might wear. Dwayne's got wavy hair which, I don't know, just
looks cool.

Yeah, but in high school, he always needed a haircut and I fantasized about
cutting it short for him and then, in my fantasy, one thing would lead to
another, and he'd be fucking my ass raw... ya know how fantasies work. He
was in my gym class and then the geometry class that followed gym class all
through senior year. 'Double-Dwayne' days was what I called Tuesdays and
Fridays. Haha, so pathetic of me, but Christ, I was a freakin' child back
then.

It's Dwayne's slim body too, and especially his hot ass that I was fixating
on that year. He's still slim and with as sexy an ass as I've ever seen on
a guy, one I've already patted twice this afternoon while muttering, "Nice
play," while Danny was screaming at the top of his lungs, "Pass
interference!"  No one paid him much attention though 'cause everyone was
yelling and bitching about something. Some guys are wicked competitive, so
much so they think nothing of cheating. If you're not cheating you're not
trying... that's their motto.

Plus, when Dwayne and I are jostling each other, both going for the ball,
we're exaggerating our body contact. That's what I'm beginning to
think. Unless I'm projecting. We still haven't spoken a word except the
occasionally muttered, "Nice play." I'm trying to decide, seriously,
whether to maybe give this dude a shot for old time sake. I haven't done
much in the way of 'new' side sex development for a year or so. Hell, I
haven't done any that I can think of. Oh, yeah, there's that thing in
Hartford... hmmm. Does that even count though?

The thing is, I've never been one for instigating side sex and, as I said,
that's especially been true the last year. One aspect of Rob's 'talk'
yesterday, the part I took special note of, was the part where he indicated
he didn't especially care about me doing side sex as long as it isn't with
his brother. That still leaves a lot of possibilities though, so...

Oh, here we go... Dwayne and I are again going out for a 'long' pass. This
time I'm on defense covering him and the tall basketball player just threw
a ball that's definitely catchable but Dwayne and I collide in the air with
guys on his team screaming "Pass interference!" Nothing new about that
obviously, that's what gets yelled after every play. We both end up on the
ground and roll sort of on top of each other. Well, it's me initiating most
of it this time. Anyway, I'm thinking he's probably gaining confidence with
his part in our bodily contact. I admit he's not real obvious about it, but
this has lots of potential.

I hop up and extend my hand to Dwayne and he takes it. Helping him up, I'm
like, "That wasn't pass interference, was it?" He quietly mumbles, "I don't
know." Oh fuck, now I remember two more things about Dwayne! First, as I
helped him up I remembered he's got the thinnest wrists I've ever seen on a
guy, and the other thing is... he so fucking shy! Yeah, he was wicked shy
in high school although you expect a guy to outgrow that. Omigod though,
I'd love to be fucked by a super shy guy like Dwayne! He was a fingernail
biter too; that's another thing I just remembered. He'd bite his
fingernails until they bleed. I'm remembering this shit because I stared at
him so much that last year of high school. Plus, he had acne, but I didn't
care, I still wanted him to fuck me and would daydream about it during
geometry class... and he didn't even sit near me in that class.

Well, he's still got the skinny wrist obviously but he's not biting his
fingernails anymore and his skin is clear as can be. He doesn't even look
like he shaves yet, and I'm getting a boner.

Oh, and another thing... when we hit the ground together last time our
faces rubbed together. Heh heh, I made sure of that and I think I got a
whiff of his scent. It could have been his deodorant or maybe cologne, but
I think it was his subtle sexy personal scent. His face felt as smooth as
it looks. Haha, when our faces rubbed together he acted embarrassed and he
was pushing me away, but he didn't say anything. This could turn into
something. No, I don't mean something important, but a little quick
something.

My ass is dragging from running with Dwayne twenty yards on that last play
and he's a fast little fucker. And here we go again but I'm not keeping up
with him this time. I mean, what the fuck? There are seven fucking guys on
each team, can't that tall basketball asshole throw it to anyone else? And
then, Omigod, Dwayne just caught the football for a touchdown. Fuck! But
he's smiling this big shy smile... like, oh gosh gee!  Haha, good for him
and what a cute smile too! I jog over and pat his ass, mumbling, "Good
catch, Dwayne." He says, "Thanks, Dylan." Shit, I didn't think he knew my
name.

Chubby's team, my team, eventually loses the game three touchdowns to two
and he. Chubby, calls for a fifteen-minute piss break before the next
game. As Dwayne and I are walking off the field, I put my hand on his
shoulder, asking, "Do ya think the school is open so we can get some
water?" Just being friendly, ya know. I don't give a shit about the water,
plus we've got a couple of bottles of water in the pickup. Dwayne goes,
"Jeez, I doubt it. There's no school today." I nod my head and sort of
stall to give him time to work up the balls to ask me something. I'm sure
he wants to. Finally, he mumbles, "Um, I've got some bottled water in my
car. C'mon over if you're interested and I'll give you a bottle." Oh man,
if I'm interested? What a great opening line, Dwayne!

I shrug, playing hard to get, but finally mumble, "Yeah, okay... thanks,"
and we start walking toward the parking lot bumping our sides together. Was
that him? Maybe I bumped him but what's the difference? He takes a deep
breath and then a sigh. Looking at me, he goes, "Please, no offense
intended, but stop coming on to me, okay? I can sort of see desire in your
eyes if you don't mind me saying that. As the Lord is my witness, Dylan, I
couldn't care less that you and Dickers are gay, but that kind of, um,
behavior is against my religion so, ya know... stop groping me! Sorry if
that hurts your feelings..."

Grabbing his arm to stop him from walking, I manage to refrain saying
something like ... you and your lord can go fuck yourselves' I instead say,
"No offense taken, Dwayne, but I wasn't coming on to you... honestly. No
problem though. Hell, I understand what you're saying and even though
you're wrong, I totally respect your position." He can't leave it at that
though. He shrugs, mumbling, "Yeah, well it's not a hard position to
understand, I wouldn't think." Wanting to smack him, I nod instead, simply
mumbling, "Righhhhht," and then, to break his balls a little, I put my arm
across his skinny shoulders and give a little hug, adding, "I'd love a
bottle of water though."

He glances at my arm on his shoulder but apparently thinks he better not
try doing anything about it, and instead mumbles, "Yeah, sure." To his
credit, and his good judgment, he resists doing what must be an enormous
urge to shrug my arm off his shoulders. Instead, he accepts the
contamination and will probably shower extra hard tonight. Dylan, the
bully. Yeah, I could kick this skinny fucker's ass all over the soccer
field if I felt like it.

There's a crucifix hanging from the rearview mirror in Dwayne's car. A
religious lad, but no harm in that as long as he stays clear of the
priests. Dwayne hands me a bottle of water and, as we walk back to the
soccer field we talk about the colleges we attend. At the field, he stays
to watch the game while I continued up to the basketball courts. Being gay
isn't for everyone.

Danny's shooting baskets with Chubby and some guys, but there's no actual
game going on. Seeing me chugging water from the bottle I got from Dwayne,
Danny says, "Hey, Dylan, let me have some of that." I haven't gotten around
to asking him about his proposed talk with his mom, so as I give him the
bottle of water, asking, "Well, did you...?"  Danny gulps half the
remaining water in the bottle, hands the bottle back to me and frowns
asking, "Did I what?" I'm like, "C'mon, numbnuts! Did you tell your mom?"
He goes, "Oh, that. No, I forgot," and I decide to drop it. It's
frustrating that he won't do that, but when you get right down to it, it's
basically none of my business anyway.

We play another football game and shoot baskets until it begins getting
dark at around four-thirty and guys start drifting off. We'll all probably
be very sore tomorrow from using muscles that don't get much use normally,
but everyone feels invigorated right now. Many of the guys head over to the
bar, the one close to the high school. Robby and I don't want a beer so we
go home. Oh, first we need to lie and say we're going to the bar. That's to
avoid being called cunts and nagged to go. Peers are the 'kings' of
pressure, but we outsmarted then by lying and then going home.

Mostly we lay around the family room until dinner and then after dinner, we
lay around in our room watching TV until eleven o'clock. After showering we
go to bed and after some sweet talk, we do some sweet making out and then a
lover's fuck without ever making the sounds of males fucking. I catch most
of my climax's hot cum in my hand and then wipe it off on Kleenex so I
won't need to wake up tomorrow morning dealing with crusty dried cum under
me like I did this morning.

Saturday morning we're all about getting ready for work and hardly talk at
all. I don't feel like working but I'm getting paid today so that's good
motivation. Rob wears a sports jacket as he'll be in a meeting with the
managers all day. It's a very early planning session meeting for the
company's latest winning bid of the gigantic project in the Cape Cod town
of Falmouth. The project won't even break ground until the middle of next
summer. Rob's been telling me for a couple of weeks now that there are lots
of advance notices required for the heavy equipment rentals and permits
preparations and blah, blah, blah that I stopped listening to because I
have zero to do with any of that.

I'm wearing what I'd wear when I dress up, but at a level below a
suit. That means slacks, loafers, a button down shirt and today a crew neck
sweater. As we go downstairs, Robby clumping his feet down hard on each
step, he's telling me, "You look so preppy cute I might eat you for
breakfast!" I mutter, "Please don't do that."

As always, Mrs. Dickers is preparing breakfast for us. By now I know to
just sit at my place and she'll get us coffees and ask if we want this or
that for breakfast. There are Dunkin' Donut's donuts on the table and Rob
grabs the one I wanted. The one with artificially flavored strawberry
frosting. He takes a big bite out of it, asking, "Did Dad leave already,
Mom?" As I'm picking up my second favorite Dunkin' Donut's donut, an
artificially flavored vanilla frosted one, Mrs. D. pours Rob and me
coffees, saying, "Yes, about ten minutes ago." Robby yells, "Where's
the... hey, there's no cream on the table, Mom! What the hell...?" She
says, "Oh, I used it for my coffee," and she moves the pitcher of cream
from the counter to the table, as Robby goes, "You're not starting those
waffles for us, are you? We've gotta leave here in like ten effin'
minutes!"

I eat my donut giving Robby the evil eye. The way he talks to his mom is
awful! Mrs. D. ignores Rob and puts a serving dish of perfectly browned
breakfast link sausages on the table, saying, "Would you rather have
scrambled eggs? They take three minutes." Rob goes, "I don't care," and
Mrs. D. asks me, "How about you, Dylan? And oh gosh, you look so nice this
morning, dear." I say, 'Thank you! Um, I'll have a waffle, please." Robby
frowns at me and then says, "Split the waffle, Mom, and we'll have
scrambled eggs too." I stare at him hard and he grins at me, adding,
"Please," to his mom.

Mrs. D. ignores the politeness too, but what's the harm? Robby's
brightening up, asking, "Ya wanna eat at that deli on Grove street for
lunch, babe? We're on our own for lunch." I go, "Sure, that deli is okay."
The breakfast is delicious as usual and then in an unusual move Robby
kisses his mom on the cheek as we're leaving, saying, "You're awesome,
Mom!" She goes, "So are you, son," and then she adds, "You both are."

As we're walking to the car I chastise myself... who am I to decide if Rob
is mean to his mom? They seem quite happy with one another. As we drive to
work Rob's full of esoteric conversation about the project they'll be
discussing in the meeting. I try to respond with some enthusiasm because
he's legitimately excited about it. Good! hopefully, he'll like his job
after college and not need to just tolerate it the way many people need
to. Really liking what you do for a living isn't the experience many people
in the workforce are realizing. That's what I read someplace. I wonder
where I'll fit into that scenario? The real world is getting closer to my
life by the day.

At the office, I report to Mr. Dickers' administrative assistant, Dottie
Scouser, who says with a grin, "Oh, no... not you again." I say, "Good
morning, Dottie. Yes, it's me again." Then, taking me by surprise, Dottie
gives me a hug and says, "It's wonderful to see you, Dylan. You look
perfect!" Letting go of me, she goes, "And I'm sorry to say we've got
another messy job for you."

Dottie explains to me how she kept folders, many folders, of original or
duplicates of every hard copy memo, receipt, estimate, article, proposal
and anything else from three years ago that in any way related to the first
huge project Dickers & Son's won the bid for. It's the project that will
finally be finishing up late spring of next year or early summer. What I
need to do is put everything from the three boxes in date order and then,
with Dottie looking at computer printouts, I'll describe each item to see
if it was previously processed online. It's sort of like that overtime
report I helped Robby with two months ago.

The work-up for the project three years ago was something new for the
company. It was their initial jump into the big time project market that
requires committing millions of dollars invested in the project a year
before it even breaks ground. Mr. Dickers and a management group want to
review every single step and misstep made before they began that last big
project in order to streamline preparation for the new project. Dottie and
I will weed out the duplicate stuff from all these random notes etc. and
make a pile of the ones that aren't on the computer. Then it'll be up to
Dottie to see that relevant material gets online so everything can
chronologically be printed out for the management team working on the
Falmouth Project. That's the new project's designation... the Falmouth
Project.

Dottie takes me to a little room with a desk and three boxes of papers. She
says, "They're not in any particular order, Dylan. Make twelve piles,
January to December and stick each piece of paper or report, whatever it
is, in the month the thing was dated. When you've done that, come to get me
and we'll do step two." I'm nodding my head, mumbling, "Sure, okay."

Hell, this seems simple enough and it is, but fucking tedious too, as well
as dusty-work. Looking for the dates on some of the material is the only
nuisance at first but then the repetition starts getting to me. Boring!
Also, it takes some self-control not to read some of the printed emails and
memos. That slows down the process enormously but soon becomes deadly
boring too... so I stop reading this shit. Yeah, it's all totally boring
but I'm getting paid so I try to work steadily so as not to disappoint
Dottie.

She brings me coffee around ten o'clock which I assume represents my coffee
break. I was looking forward to dragging out a twenty-minute break getting
free of this fucking little room and maybe sneak in a cigarette. Dottie
headed that idea off with a lukewarm cup of coffee. By twelve o'clock I'm
finishing the last box and I'm hungry. If Dottie brings me a sandwich and
thinks that's gonna be my lunch break she's got another 'think' coming, and
I'm serious... Oh, I see Robby walking down the hall. I left the door open
in this room to avoid claustrophobia.

Robby comes into this tiny space I'm working in, and says, "What the fuck,
babe? They set you up in a closet!" I drop the piece of paper I'm holding
and say, "We're going out to lunch, right?" He goes, "Yeah, a'course Jesus,
have you been in here all morning?" I mutter, "Yep, and my union
representative will be filing a report with, um, whatever agency deals with
this kind of shit." He chuckles, mumbling, "Well, fuck, I'm your union rep
and I ain't filing dog doody."

We're walking to Dottie's desk so I can get my leather jacket as I'm
asking, "How much am I getting paid for this?" Robby shrugs, "I don't
know. Probably not much after that part-timers' report you helped me put
together." I look and him and see him smirking so I blurt out a chuckle and
then mutter, "It better be at least $15.00 an hour." Robby does a fake
cough muttering, "Dreamer..."

Dottie's already left for her lunch break. I put on my jacket as we're
walking down the corridor with Robby in a good mood, saying, "I'm looking
forward to ordering a Ruben sandwich. Have you ever had one of those?" I'm
like, "Yeah, once. I don't especially care for sauerkraut in a sandwich."
The deli is crowded but we're patient and finally get waited on by a heavy
woman with short black hair and a strong nose. Robby gets his Ruben and I
get a chicken salad on rye. We both get 20 ounce Cokes and then a slice of
Classic cheesecake for dessert. That's what the deli calls it: Classic
cheesecake with a capital 'C', as opposed to what, I wonder?

The deli ain't cheap but Robby insisted on buying the lunch and I've got no
problem with that but can't help remembering in our early days together how
frugal he used to be. Another nice adjustment Rob's made over the
years. And, I don't know, but I've had better chicken salad even though
Robby doesn't wanna hear that. He's convinced no place makes sandwiches as
good as this deli. His Ruben was sloppily gross-looking, by the way. The
classic cheesecake tastes a lot like every piece of cheesecake I've ever
had... so sue me. It's good, but not anything special.

Whatever, I rave about everything anyway and thank Robby a couple of times
for treating me to lunch. Why be negative? We all have some favorite spots
or things to do and it takes a lot to sway us from our opinions. For
example, I think Wildwood is awesome but I've heard many complaints about
it from disappointed vacationers. Opinions are relative like most
things. Relative to whatever other experiences you've had, and as I said,
initial reactions are hard to give up on. Obviously, Rob's had some early
experience with that Deli that convinced him it was special and he's
unwilling to adjust that opinion. Hey, maybe I should have tried the Ruben
sandwich.

And then all afternoon Dottie and I work together. She's a slave driver but
drops in some funny comments once in a while that make me laugh. We only
get halfway done but she seems pleased we got this far. She'll finish this,
with her assistant's help on Monday and she can have the report done for
next Friday's meeting. Yeah, Dottie's the assistant to the president, but
she has an assistant too. I wonder if the assistant's assistant has an
assistant... and what happened to secretaries? Does anyone have a
secretary? And when are they gonna get around to changing titles like
Secretary of Defense to, Defense Assistant of... No, that doesn't work,
does it? They're gonna need to live with being secretaries, embarrassing
for them I suppose. In ponderously politically- correct America our roads
have person-hole covers. And what's with designating first-year college
students as 'freshmen'? How about 'freshperson' or...

After work, Robby's a little bit less upbeat on our way home... me too. An
all-day meeting for Rob and sorting dusty papers all day for me aren't
activities that pick-up ones' spirits. And tonight his parents are taking
us out to dinner. I've had all the socializing and whatnot I need, but
whaddya gonna do? It's a very nice gesture on their part so I'm determined
to be pleasant and appreciative. There are a number of things, many things,
I'd rather do on a Saturday night than go out to dinner with Rob's
parents... one of those things is do nothing.

After being in the same meeting Rob was in all day, Mr. Dickers doesn't
appear anymore thrilled about going out to dinner than Rob and I, but it's
one of those deals where you just need to suck-it-up and follow through
on. It was Mr. Dickers' idea Wednesday night, but in his defense, there
were numerous adult beverages involved. There's no polite way to get out of
it now and with Mrs. Dickers very much looking forward to s dinner out,
that eliminates even a long shot possibility Mr. D. could think of a way to
put it off for another time.

At least the idea of a Boston restaurant is put to rest because Mrs. D.,
who was responsible for making the dinner reservation, couldn't get one at
any of the Boston restaurants she tried. She finally settled for Ken's
Steak House which is local and usually very good. I could see Mr. D. was
relieved to keep it local at least.

We're all showered and dressed casually and then Rob's parents have a
cocktail because the earliest reservation Mrs. D. could get was
eight-thirty. Ken's is a ten-minute drive from the house so the cocktails
were to kill time until we leave. Rob and I had a beer with his folks and
the conversation was mostly about the meeting at work. Mrs. Dickers, unlike
me, was very interested in what transpired. From what I hear, there wasn't
a hell of a lot transpiring but it took them all day anyway. Business
meetings... are they all necessary?

As the three Dickers continued trying to convince themselves stuff got
accomplished during today's meeting, I let my mind drift back to the touch
football game yesterday. I was mad I didn't get to talk much with Chubby
and I didn't like that we lost both games and I'm disappointed Danny won't
come clean to his mom even though it's none of my business, but mostly I'm
thinking about Dwayne and how I 'read' him all wrong. I thought he was
joining in on the unnecessary touching and the 'knowing looks' we gave each
other. I thought they were 'knowing' looks like we maybe had something
developing that could lead to a quickie side sex adventure while all the
while his 'knowing looks' were saying... 'stop coming on to me!'

Dwayne was a crush I had from the past so a quickie side sex experience
would have been so cool. Obviously, I was projecting my own wishes in my
interpretation of everything he did. This kind of thing never happened to
me in the old days so I must be out of practice. Maybe my side sex days are
kaput now and I'm left clinging onto the last of my buddy-sex days with my
two buddies, Danny and Pony.

That's a little bit too fatalistic though. I need to remind myself that
nine out of ten guys are not gay! Supposedly anyhow. And out of the one in
ten who are, some are still deep in the closet, and the majority of the
ones who aren't I have no interest to start with. Jesus, that doesn't leave
a large pool to draw from, does it? Not that that ever was a problem in my
heyday... heh heh. Nah, I don't think it's totally over for me just yet...

We go to Ken's in separate cars, Rob's parents in Mr. Dickers' new car and
we take the new pickup... new to Rob and me. Using separate cars does help
a lot because there's no need for polite chit-chat with Mr. and Mrs., plus
Rob and I can go off after dinner for some beers if we care to. And I think
I'll care to because I don't want to stay in again socializing with Rob's
parents. I like them fine but enough is enough and they probably feel the
same way. Holidays are exhausting...

Ken's is a madhouse because I suppose, moms want to eat out after preparing
Thanksgiving dinners, and I don't blame them. Our eight-thirty reservation
doesn't carry a lot of weight and we're told we'll be called when our table
is ready. Inherent in that pronouncement from the woman at the front desk
was the unspoken... and if you don't like it, tough shit!

Yeah, she seemed quite flustered. Mr. Dickers apparently got the same vibe
from this bitch and nodded, saying, "Well, thank you. We'll be at the bar."
I could tell he was ready to say something unpleasant to the officious
woman but his quick glance his wife, who is the only one in our group who
wants this and deserves a dinner out, told Mr. D. to take the high road. He
says, "C'mon, guys, we'll get our before dinner drinks at the bar." The bar
is crowded with disgruntled individuals who probably had eight o'clock
reservations and yet are still waiting for a table. Mr. D. starts a
conversation with one of them as Robby's given the job of getting the
overworked bartenders attention.

We finally get our drinks... beers for Rob and me, Manhattans for his
parents. Rob got stuck paying for the drinks too. Haha, the look on his
face! I say, "No, Robby. You got lunch so let me treat for the drinks," and
I tuck two twenties in his jacket pocket. He muttered, "Thanks, Dylan. This
blows, huh?" I go, "No, loosen up. Whaddaya gonna get for dinner?" We talk
about that without deciding.

Our name gets called at nine-fifteen and things calm down. Our waitress is
pleasant enough and I guess the drinks we had at the bar weren't our before
dinner cocktails after all because when, our waitress, Sue, asks, "Can I
get you folks a drink first?" Mr. Dickers asks Mrs. D., "What'll you have,
dear?" They order another Manhattan and Rob looks at me, so I say, "I'll
have a Manhattan too," and Rob goes, "Make it four," and without 'carding'
us Sue looks thrilled with our order and hurries off to place it.

Actually, from that point on it's a very good time. Mr. D. orders a bottle
of wine with dinner and then all our meals come out perfect. Rob and I keep
tasting our food with Robby commenting, "This isn't as good as yours, Mom,"
or I'd say, "Mrs. D. this coleslaw can't compare with yours." Mr. Dickers
even throws a few compliments his wife's way and it's sort of a testimonial
dinner for her, totally ad hoc of course. I mean, we're laughing too, and
so is she. It wasn't some maudlin thing, not at all.

The liquor helped to relax everyone and it was nice. In the parking lot,
we're thanking Rob's parents for dinner and they're telling us to be
careful and not to drink too much... and Rob needs to be careful driving
and so forth. Finally, we're on our way but we don't go to Sharky's Bar. We
go to that bar near Hayden's with the U-shaped bar and the pinball
machine. A local bar not too far from Rob's, or Danny's for that matter. We
give a thought to calling Danny and then reject that idea because we don't
want to stay out late. After a beer though I text Chubby anyway. No reply
because his phone probably isn't charged.

After our second beer, Rob and I see the pinball machine is available so we
play that about ten times while drinking five or six beers, I forget which,
and then go home and go to sleep. Tomorrow is Sunday and then we have three
weeks of studying for finals and then Christmas vacation and then we'll do
this holiday thing all over again. I hope somehow it's a more relaxing time
than these past four days... and mostly I hope we stay in bed really late
tomorrow morning!

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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