Date: Fri, 19 Jun 2015 10:37:40 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR Chapter  74

DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR


Chapter  74


by  Donny Mumford



John Beverly and Chubby pull-up behind Robby's pickup and park the Jeep.
Ryan's looking out the back window, mumbling, "They're here," and Robby goes,
 "Okay, lets get out and join them." The closest parking spots available
are the  ones we've taken three blocks from Tracy's. That's an indication
there's a big  turn-out at the speakeasy tonight. Sunday nights are usually
busy, and  shockingly after tonight there's only two Sunday's left of our
sophomore year.  The five of us walk back to Tracy's and go up the steps. At the
top of the steps  I see the same guy I got the case of beer from this
afternoon. He's checking  college IDs and collecting tonight's cover charge. I can
never remember this  guy's name, which pisses me off because he always
remembers mine. He's a big  teddy bear of a guy unless he needs to go into his
'bouncer' mode and then  he's more like a grizzly bear. I get a nice greeting,
"Dylan, dude, don't tell  me you and your boys finished off the case of
beer already." I grin at him,  "Okay, I won't tell you we drank the whole case,
but we did. Um, how much is the  cover charge tonight?" He says, "It's
cheap-date night, dude. Only five bucks,  and the beers are only a dollar each."
I go, "Good, deal!" and bump fists with  him. My fist looks like a little
kid's fist next to his. We all pay the man and  get our  tokens. On our way
to the bar I casually look around for Tracy as  Chubby says, "It's nicer up
here without that tent roof. Open air with the stars  and the moon overhead
again." I tell him, "They were taking the roof down when I  was here earlier
today." We all buy cups of Coors beer and begin making our way  through the
mass of college students to our spot against the  railing.


Before I get there someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around and see
a nice looking African American boy. Amazingly the name Rajon Whyte pops
into my  brain. I had sex with him early in my freshman year. I know we did it,
but I  can't for the life of me remember the circumstances that brought us
together.  Rajon's a smallish fellow, but if I'm remembering correctly he's
sort of  dominant and tough too. Ryan-like in that regard. He's smiling
cutely at me  showing his super white teeth, his dark eyes are shiny and full of
mischief. I  yell, "Hey Rajon! Dude, where'd you disappear to for almost
two years?" I'm  proud of myself for remembering his name even if I can't
remember when exactly,  or where we fucked. He goes, "Oh, yeah, I knew it was
you. My favorite pretty  white boy, Dylan Newman." I go, "Seriously, dude,
have you been on  Merrimack's campus the entire freshman and sophomore years?"
He  says, "Um, no dude, I'm in an apartment with a couple of guys, but I've
been  going to classes both years. Where the fuck did you go?" I tell him
I'm in an  apartment too. He has hold of my arm pulling me gently away from my
friends, who  are now leaning against the railing. My back is to them so
they don't see Rajon  take my beer. Then smirking at me, he drinks half of it.
Then, while handing the  cup back to me, he gooses my privates and holds
onto them a second. I'm like,  "What's up with that, Rajon?" He burps, then
chuckles and says, "I felt like  squeezing your balls and as I recall you
didn't have any problems with me  dominating your white ass when I fucked you,"
and he grabs my crotch again  pulling up a little. I'm up on my toes praying
I don't spring a boner in his  hand, as I mutter, "Yeah, you're probably
right about that. I don't mind a  dominant fuck every now and then." I'm
desperately trying to remember us fucking  because I'm guessing it was a really
hot experience being fucked by this  little dominant fucker. He's still
smirking at me and looking sexy, as he says,  "Dude, you were one hot piece of
cherry ass." Cherry ass, huh? Ha ha! He asks,  "Hey, why the fuck didn't we
get each other's cellphone our freshman  year?" I shrug, wondering the same
thing.


He pokes my chest with his finger, "You want to get together later? I
might be able to break lose from my hot boyfriend if you can. I'd love to hear
that squeal of yours again." He's a sexy fucker and it's very tempting, but
I use my incredible willpower again, saying,  "Nah, not tonight, Rajon. How
 about another time?" Turning my head a little I'm nodding in the direction
of my  homies, saying, "That's my boyfriend over there and he's one jealous
 motherfucker, ya know?" Rajon goes, "Oh sweet jesus, tell me about it, I
hear  ya. My man, Cliff, is the same way. Okay, give me your fucking
cellphone." I get  it out and he grabs it, then his fingers are a blur moving
swiftly on  the keys. Almost instantly my cellphone number appears and he logs it
into his  phone, then logs his into my phone. As he's handing my cellphone
back to me,  Robby's come over, asking, "What's up Dylan? Who's your friend?"
I go, "Oh, I'm  getting reacquainted with Rajon here. I haven't seen him
since freshman year."  Rajon holds his fist out for Robby to bump as I
introduce them, "Rajon, this is  my boyfriend, Rob Dickers. Rob, Rajon Whyte who's
been avoiding me for two years  now." Rajon laughs, muttering, "You lie,
pretty boy," then he asks Robby,  "You're on the baseball team, aren't ya?" and
Robby goes, "Yeah, second base,  how ya doing?" Someone calls Rajon and he
says, "That's Clifford, my main man.  I'll check you out later, Dylan. Nice
to meet ya, Rob," and he drifts into the  crowd. So this Cliff guy dominates
Rajon, and Rajon dominated me. Something else  he has in common with Ryan.


Robby and I go over to our spot against the railing, with Robby asking,
"When'd ya meet him, babe?" I go, "Jeez, to tell you the truth, I forget. It
was  early in our freshman year and, ya know, I can't believe I remembered
his name."  Robby mumbles, "Awesomely sexy looking guy." I ask, "Really? I
didn't check him  out that closely," and Robby laughs, squeezing the back of my
neck, muttering,  "Bull shit alert." Robby, me, and the other three guys
drink our beers, smoke  cigarettes, and commiserate about our sophomore year,
the highs and the lows.  Then we bitch a little about what's on everyone's
mind... final exams.  Interrupting our commiserating, a creep shows up, one I
haven't seen for months.  Chad Bundy breaks through the crowd and arrogantly
says to Robby, "Yeah, I  thought that was you, Dickers. That fucked-up
ponytail of your's threw me off at  first." Robby has a look on his face like he
just stepped in dog shit, as he  says, "You're still the jerk-off you always
were, huh, Bundy?" Chad chuckles,  "Be nice, Rob. Ya didn't always feel
that way, did ya?" Chad nods at me, saying  to Robby, "You're still being pussy
whipped by girlie boy here, huh?" Robby  takes a step towards him,
snarling, "Fuck off, Bundy, I don't want to hear  anymore of your childish bull
shit." Chad smirks and take a drink from his cup  of beer giving Robby the
finger as he's backing away, saying, "There he is  folks, stuck-up Rob Dickers.
Oh, and too bad about your batting average taking  that big dip this year."
Robby goes to grab Chad, but he gives Rob the finger  again and disappears in
the crowd. Chubby asks, "Who's that dorky asshole, Rob?"  Robby's face is
red as he shakes his head, muttering, "A fucking mistake, that's  who he is."
Before anyone can ask what he means by that, he says, "Oh jesus,  here
comes pete and repeat." Ryan asks, "Whaddaya mean?" I tell him,  "Ears
Henderson and his shadow Scott Tinsdale are coming towards us. If you see one of
them the other's right behind." They come over smiling and bumping fists  and
tapping their cups to ours as they tell us about their adventure during
spring break, claiming they came really close to finally getting laid. "Close,
but no cigar," is how Ears puts it. With those two it's always no cigar. I
half  expect Scott to ask if any of us want a blow job. He doesn't though,
so I guess  he's given up on that quest. They hang-out with us bitching about
finals week  coming up the week after next, and when their beer's gone they
work their  way over to the bar for refills.


I guess everybody's getting drunk  before review week. Fucking final exams
are on everybody's mind of course.  That's the direction most conversations
turns to every year about this time, but  right now I'm wondering how it's
possible in a student body of only five  thousand that I haven't crossed
paths with Rajon before this. I'd forgotten how  good looking and sexy he is. I
guess the same could be said for that ass-wipe,  Chad Bundy, except for the
part about good looks and being sexy... he's neither  as far as I'm
concerned. He was Robby's side-sex buddy during part of freshman  year although
Robby's never admitted to it. They, heh heh, apparently didn't  break-up
amicably. Guess I wasted my time being jealous of Chad. It's kind of  creepy-weird
we should run into a couple of our old side-buddies one after the  other
like that. Well, Rajon barely counts as a side-sex buddy beings it was one  and
done for us. I consider it a total screw-up on my part that I didn't
exchange cellphone numbers with him from the start. That's a rookie mistake I'm
embarrassed to have made.  Huh, I still wish I could remember if he was as
hot during sex as he looks. My memory tends to play tricks on me at times.
Still, there's nothing cute or sexy about Chad Bundy although apparently
Robby  saw something in him that I don't. Funny how that works.


We're over at the table that serves as Tracy's bar getting our second
beers when we bump into Rolly North. He's with someone I don't know so we just
exchange, "Hey, wassup?" but that's about it. Walking back to the railing,
making our way through the masses, Ryan says, "You know a lot of guys,
Dylan. I  didn't know any of them." I'm like, "Nah, at the most I know
twenty-five guys  out of five thousand here at Merrimack. That's not a lot of guys and
anyway I  think you met Rolly before, and I know you met Ears before. You
and I were  talking with him and Scott at the holiday mixer when he spilled
his drink  on your sneakers, remember?" We lean back against the railing as
Ryan goes, "Oh  yeah, I remember that ears guy now, and I guess I've seen his
shadow, Scott  what's-his-name, in the dorm a few times, but that's about
it." I shrug,  mumbling, "You're not missing much. They're okay guys, but a
little on the goofy  side." Now I'm smiling watching Chubby talking with a
couple of girls who have  the giggles, and there's hound-dog, John Beverly,
with his arm around the waist  of one of the girls. Then Ryan grabs my arm and
goes, "Oh fuck! There's Marty  and his asshole buddy, Rex." I look in the
direction Ryan's looking and see  Marty, but not Rex. Marty's got his arm
around the back of some geeky looking  guy's neck. I go, "Looks like fuckwad's
found your replacement, Ryan." He goes,  "Shhh, don't attract his attention.
I do not want a hassle tonight." I go, "Fuck  him. If he gives us any shit
I'll sic Robby and Chubby on him... heh heh. And  after that, while Marty's
looking for his teeth crawling around on the floor,  we'll move in and finish
him off." Ryan turns his back on the crowd, mumbling,  "Ignore him, Dylan. I
can't stand to even look at that piece of shit. I hate his  guts." I turn
around and join Ryan looking over the railing at the street below,
muttering, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Let sleeping dogs lie, although I  wouldn't
exactly mind if Marty sucker punched me. Oh man, he'd be in a shit  storm
then. Robby and Chubby would take turns going Medieval on the fuckwad.  Still,
I guess we don't need a problem tonight. Plus, you and I already kicked
both their asses." That's a bit of an exaggeration, but we did get the best of
them.


Still looking at the college  students milling around on the sidewalk below
the speakeasy, Ryan ignores my  musings about readjusting fuckwad's
appearance and we gaze at nothing for a  minute before Ryan mumbles, "You like to
fight, don'cha?" I'm like, "What? No, I  don't like fighting! Why do you say
that?" He shrugs, "Never mind," and he  changes the subject, saying, "I've
had my fill of college for this year. Thank  god for summer break." I guess
he's a little down, probably thinking about the  horrible experience he had
with the fuckwad. But that aside, yeah, he's right,  I'm kinda sick of
college by now myself. I mean all that sitting in classes  trying to stay awake,
and then studying boring stuff at the apartment, and  writing papers, and all
that shit. If we we're learning anything of practical  value in the real
world I might feel differently. Okay, so right now I think  college blows, but
by Labor day I'll be itching to return and that's mostly  because of the
party life that goes with the boring parts of college. So yeah,  summer break
is needed about now, but obviously this year's summer break will be  nothing
like any summer I've ever had. If I was going to have a normal summer
vacation working at something I'm familiar with, like Robby's crew, I'd be more
excited and certainly more relaxed about this summer than I am now. This
summer  I'll be doing nothing I'm familiar with at all, except having sex with
Ryan. He  says, "I wish I was on spring break with you this  year." I go,
"Me too, Ryan. You know what I  liked best about spring break? I love staring
at the ocean.  It fascinates me. You know, the Atlantic Ocean stretching
empty into the  distance, hinting of eternity." Ryan says, "That sounds  cool"


When we turn around facing the packed house again, I see Robby talking
with Mike Mananski and Jasper Jenkins. Somebody says something that makes them
all laugh, but with the music and loud crowd noise I couldn't hear what was
 said. Ryan goes, "Dylan, look at that," and I look where he's pointing
seeing  the crowd backing away from a girl who's bending over, and I know why.
Sure  enough she hurls her guts out. Jesus that's gross! Ryan says, "Glad
we're over  here." The bouncer guy, who's name I can never remember, is
inviting the  throw-up girl and her two girlfriends to leave. Inviting them quite
emphatically  I might add. They'll be banned for the rest of this year and
all of next year.  Throwing up is not allowed. Someone appears with a pail
and mop to clean up the  mess and almost immediately the smell of Lysol or
some cleaner drifts past us.  Better that than the alternative. Chubby's back
at the railing patting my  shoulder laughing and telling me, "Oh fuck, bro, I
dated that bitch who just  threw up. It was last year and she threw-up on
our date too. Some people simply  shouldn't drink." He's laughing and
standing on his tiptoes watching her being  escorted off the premises. Just because
I feel like it, I give Chubby a tight  hug, saying, "I'm going to miss you
this summer, Chub." He says, "What? Don't  tell me you're actually going
through with your crazy plan to spend the summer  with Ryan?" I go, "Um, yeah I
am, you and me talked it out together, remember?"  He says, "I thought it
was just one of your 'maybe plans' you're always  speculating about." I
mutter, "No, this plan I'm going through with." He says,  "You and me will have a
heart to heart talk about that when we're both sober." A  girl gets hold of
Chubby's hand pulling on his arm, saying, "You're dancing with  me now,
Jeffrey." He grins at her, saying, "Yeah, it looks like I am," then he  grins
at me, mumbling, "I'm a chick magnet." I go, "Um, that phrase went out of
style three years ago, bro." He chuckles, still grinning at me, "Oh, I didn't
know that. What should I have said?" I shrug as the girl pulls Chubby away
from  me. Huh, maybe Chubby can talk me out of going to Georgia. I wonder if
I want  him to?


Ryan gets next to me now, "I heard  your brother say he'd talk to you about
coming with me this summer. Um, I  thought it was already settled, Dylan.
You are coming with me, right? I mean  we've been talking about it for two
months." He looks so concerned I put my arm  across his shoulders, "Yeah, I'm
going with you, Ryan. I don't go back on my  word." Hearing that, he tries
not to smile, but he gets half a smile on his lips  anyway, saying, "Yeah,
you always keep your promises." Not that I remember ever  promising him I'd do
it, but I guess it was implied. Anyway I'm going to follow  through with it
for all the reasons I've told myself, like it being a good move  on my part
for maybe growing-up a little, and for whatever the fuck else I told
myself. Plus, how could I disappoint Ryan and his big brown puppy dog eyes? It's
just Ryan and me at the railing as I scan the crowd looking for Robby, but
see  drunk Harry Black instead. He has a plastic shot glass in one hand and
a cup of  beer in the other. He taps the cup of whiskey with someone who's
back is to me,  and then downs the whiskey and gulps some beer right after.
Fucking Harry. The  guy with him turns a little and it's of course it Harry's
roommate, Travis  Hunter. Travis says he's straight although he's blatantly
come on to me a half  dozen times between last year and this year. He's not
 interesting to me  though, so nothing's come of his flirting.

Travis makes eye contact with me now  and says something to Harry who looks
over and they walk towards us bumping into  people as they go. I mutter to
Ryan, "Oh shit, here comes a couple of drunks."  Travis holds his hand out
so I shake it and he leans against me hugging me with  his other arm and
spilling some of the beer. The beer splashes on the floor  behind me, just
missing my ass. With the side of his face against the side of  mine, he slurs
into my ear, "Wanna fuck?" then he laughs like it's a big joke.  Harry says,
"Yo Dylan, listen to this. A guy's in the hospital after a serious  fucking
car accident. He wakes up yelling, 'Doctor, I can't feel my legs!' The  doctor
says, 'I know you can't. I had to amputate both your arms.'" I ask, "Is
that suppose to be funny, Harry?" then, "Have you ever given any serious
thought  to a detox center?" He sways a little, asking, "Whaddaya mean?" Travis
grabs  Harry's arm, yelling, "There Murphy, he got some weed, come on," and
they  stagger off. Ryan's shaking his head, "Cool friends you got there,
Dylan." Then  I see both Robby and Danny dancing with girls near Tracy's back
door. The girls  look like twins. Robby must be drunker than I thought. The
twins obviously  initiated the dancing, not Robby or Danny. Huh, Danny's a
pretty good dancer,  but my boyfriend makes me smile with his version of a
dance I'm not familiar  with. Yeah, but looking at the concentration on Robby's
face causes a wave of  love and affection for him to sweep over me. Damn, I
love that boy. For some  reason me feeling love for Robby gives me
confidence that I can do this summer  thing without losing him. Then I'm scared for a
second because I didn't realize  I had a subconscious thought that I might
lose him. Was that really a concern I  had subconsciously? Ryan interrupts
my thoughts, "That kid is waving at you,  Dylan." I'm like, "What? Who?" and
look over to see Jarod Mellincamp grinning  and waving, saying something I
can't make out.


I watch Jarod pushing people out of his way heading towards us, making me
think back to the fight we had early in our freshman year. I've run into
Jarod a  number of times since the fight and we've became sort of friends.
Stepping  towards him we do the one arm hug and handshake being careful not to
spill beer  on each other's back. Jarod says, "Yo, Dylan, you're looking good
as always." I  mutter, "You too, Jarod," and he is looking good. Too bad
he's straight. He  goes, "Fuck, how about this turnout tonight, huh?" We look
out at the noisy  throng of college students who seemingly are in constant
motion. Dancing couples  interspersed with groups of guy and girls drinking,
talking, and laughing. I go,  "Yeah, dollar beer night, so it's what I'd
expect." Jarod says, "We still  haven't had our double date, ya know." I grin,
"Oh yeah, that's right. Who ya  going out with now?" He says, "Tanya Brown,"
and I go, "Dude, she's hot," even  though I wouldn't know a Tanya Brown
from a Tanya Green. Jarod rubs his fingers  up the side of my head, saying,
"Cool haircut, dude. You get the coolest  haircuts." I grin at Ryan, who's
looking smug. That makes me laugh, then says,  "Meet my barber, Ryan Wilcox.
Ryan this tough guy is Jarod Mellincamp who once  kicked my ass in a fight."
They bump fists with Ryan saying, "Dylan likes  fighting," and I go, "I do
not!" Jarod says to Ryan, "He kicked my ass, not the  other way around." We
talk a little about Dick Varis who was the real reason for  the fight. Varis
dropped out of college after first semester of freshman year,  the loser. Then
we talk about final exams of course, and then the professors who  are hard
graders and the ones who aren't. It looks like Ryan and I have two of  each.
Jarod tells us he'll be in Europe for two months backpacking through four
countries. Ryan tells him our plans for the summer. As Ryan talks a frown
appears on Jarod's face as he glances at Robby on the dance floor. It's maybe
a  look of confusion more than a frown because he knows Robby's my
boyfriend, but  he's too polite to bring it up. I leave it at that figuring it's too
complicated  a situation to try explaining to Jarod.


Jarod's roommate grabs him telling  him something about some girl and Jarod
says, "I gotta run. Great seeing you,  Dylan," and he's off. Ryan and I
make our way to the bar again for another  refill and on the way I bump into a
kid I apparently should know, but don't. He  says, "Dylan!" I look at him
trying to remember how we know each other. He goes,  "Oh fuck, you don't
remember me, do ya?" I go, "Of course I do, um..." He laughs,  "We met at the North
Shore mall last year. How could you forget?" He's smiling,  so I guess it
was a good encounter. I'm pointing my finger at him like his name  is right
on the tip of my tongue, which it isn't. He says, "Morgon Matos,  remember?"
I go, "Morgan my man, your name was right on the tip of my tongue.  Don't
tell me you're going to Merrimack now" He laughs, "Jesus no, me and my  buds
are slumming it tonight. We go to Tuff's." I mumble, "It's not nice to mock
us hicks in suburbia." He says, "No offense intended." I'm like, "None
taken,"  and pat his shoulder, "Nice seeing you again, Morgan," then nod my head
at Ryan,  saying, "We're getting refills," holding up my empty cup. We
continue on our way  to the bar where Ryan asks, "Who was that?" and I'm like, "I
swear to God I  haven't a clue, Ryan." A girl behind the bar pours beer
from the tap in both our  cups as we both each drop a token on the bar. Ryan
looks back to where I ran  into the mysterious Morgan, muttering, "That guy
sure remembers  you."


On the way back to our spot at the railing Ryan's waylaid by Felix Jones,
his friend from last year. Ryan, Robby, and I spent an unpleasant night
shooting  pool at Felix's house. The unpleasantness was not because of Felix
though. He's  a sweetheart of a guy, although straight. No, it was Robby who
was acting like  an asshole that night by fucking Ryan in Felix's bedroom.
Felix was showing me  how to shoot pool at the time, but that's water under the
bridge, or however  that saying goes. Felix and Ryan hug and make a fuss
about seeing each other,  then Felix bumps my fist, saying, "Dylan, um,
Newman, right?" I go, "Awesome  memory, Felix." He laughs, "Yeah, I came close to
kissing you that night at my  place. Remember?" I go, "No, really?" Actually
he did kiss me. Drunk of course,  but now he's convinced himself he only
'came close'. It wasn't a memorable kiss  in either case. Jarod wants Ryan to
meet someone so I tell him, "I'll catch you  later, Ryan. Nice seeing you,
Felix." They go off to meet 'whoever' leaving me  alone so I'm hoping at
least one of the guys is back at our spot. I don't get to  find out though
because an arm goes around the back of my neck and someone's  lips are on my ear,
murmuring, "This is my lucky night," and then a kiss on my  cheek right
here among all of these drunk college kids. My eyes go to the side  and see
Tracy grinning at me. He's guiding me to the back door, saying, "You  look
delicious tonight, Dylan." I'm like, "Tracy, dude, good to see ya. How's it
going?" He goes, "It's going good, buddy, but you've ruined me for girls." I
go,  "Huh! Yeah I think you mentioned that before." He chuckles, "Maybe I'll
recover  over the summer. Hopefully it's not a permanent condition."


Inside the back door he chooses one of a  dozen bottles of whiskey, saying,
"We never got to my uncles for that dinner,  Dylan. You're not avoiding me
are you?" I'm staring at him, thinking he's cool  looking, then I mumble,
"Not hardly, Trace. I'd never avoid you." I gave him his  last haircut
eliminating his ponytail, but that was awhile ago and his hair's  grown over his
ears a little by now, and that's not a cool look for him. He's  usually so
neat with his appearance. I don't say anything about it though  because I don't
know when I'd have the time to give him another haircut, and  maybe he
doesn't want one anyway. He's pouring our shots into heavy,  expensive-looking
shot glasses that have thick glass bottoms. Tracy's saying,  "This is the
smooth single malt whiskey you like so much." Nothing could be  further from
the truth of course because there isn't a whiskey in the world that  I want to
do shots with. That little fact doesn't slow up Tracy's though. He  passes
me a shot glass, holding his up. I tap it with mine and he says, "To the
sexiest college student in Massachusetts, you!" and he throws the whiskey down
 his throat as I gag on mine, but get it down with sweat breaking out on my
 forehead, then chug some of my beer. Tracy pours us another shot, saying,
"I  fucked this guy in Cancun during spring break because he reminded me of
you, but  his ass couldn't compare with yours. He was cute, but couldn't
compare with you  in that department either. So you might ask, why did he
reminded me of you?  After I fucked him I asked myself the same question. And
guess what, we bumped  into each other an hour later at a beach party and I
fucked him again to make  sure." I'm giving him a 'look', and he laughs, "Don't
worry, both times I was  wearing one of the world's best condoms." I
mumble, "I wasn't worried," and I  wasn't, that was the furthest thing from my
mind. I was just taken aback at how  full of compliments Tracy always is with
me. He probably does it with everyone,  guy or girl, that he's fucking. He's
very attractive though, and an extremely  cool guy so I'm good with it.


Tracy says, "So, I tell you that  story to show you that you've not only
ruined me for those of the female  persuasion, but for guys too." I say, "I'm
truly sorry about that, Trace. It's  not my intention to ruin you for
anything, and certainly not sex." He grins at  me, "I know that. Okay, I'm sorry
to have to tell you that this will be the last  shot before you give me a
quick haircut. The last haircut you gave me was  awesome, but too short even
though it's what I asked for." I can't help but  smile, muttering, "You know
damn well I hate these fucking shots." He taps my  little shot glass, saying,
"Nonsense, this is your favorite whiskey," and gives  the toast, "To the
best hair stylist in Massachusetts, you of course," and we  flash down the
shots with me gasping then holding my breath hoping not to throw  up. If I hurl
Tracy might think I'm the worst shot-drinker in Massachusetts.  Taking a
deep breath, happy the shots are over with, I chug some beer with my  mouth
and throat burning, then tell him, "I can't give you a haircut, Tracy. I
don't have any tools of the trade so to speak." He puts a hand on either side of
 my face and kisses me with most of his tongue in my mouth. His kiss and
his  neatly maintained short soft beard against my face gets me aroused.
Tracy's more  likely the sexiest guy in Massachusetts, not me. My arms go around
the back of  his neck with our bodies grinding together. He's got a nice
sexy guy's personal  scent and a slim hot body to go with his handsome face.
It's a one minute kiss  that causes a boner in my pants that feels good. Tracy
breaks the kiss, and  says, "Come with me, Dylan," and I follow him to the
spare bedroom he uses for  storage and fuck room.


Tonight there's a barber kit laying  on a box of something. It's the kind
of barber kit you can buy at any drugstore  and a million other places. The b
ox has never been opened. He says, "I'm  thinking of a neat-looking haircut,
Dylan, without taking any off the top." I'm  like, "Oh a preppy look, huh?"
He goes, "That's it exactly!" I say, "Normally  that'd be no problem, but
I've been drinking beer for hours." He goes, "And you  just had two shots of
your favorite whiskey too, what could be better?" I ask,  "Do you ever get
drunk?" He shakes his head, "Nope, I've mastered the art of  just staying
high, which means no binge drinking. I miss doing that of course,  but I've
sacrificed it in honor of moderation." Still dubious about giving him a
haircut in my condition, I open the box of barbering tools. He picks up a little
bag and goes, "Oh, I also bought these barber scissors at the Boston Barber
Company. It's in the North End." I take the scissors out of their case and
they're beautiful. Better than mine and I want to try them out. I say,
"This is  an awesome scissor, Tracy, but why didn't you get the clippers there
too? These  clipper you bought are the inexpensive vibrator type clipper.
Professionals  clippers, like Oster, are much more powerful with a
sophisticated transmission  system powering the clippers." He shrugs, "Well, I got that
cheap ones at  RiteAid because the fucking scissors cost so much I went
cheap on those clipper  thing-a-ma-jigs." I take out the clippers, mumbling,
"I've never actually used  this type of clipper, but it should be okay for a
trim. It would suck though if  I was trying to use it cutting thick hair like
when I cut through all your hair  and the ponytail." He's not interested in
my dissertation on barber clippers  though, as he says, "Oh fuck, I don't
miss that ponytail at all, Dylan, and I  wanted the Marine haircut you were
rocking for my haircut. It looked cooler on  you though, so I'm switching to
whatchamacallit, preppy." I'm like, "Oh, huh,  and I thought the ponytail
looked kinda sexy on you. I told you that before I  cut it off, but you
insisted." Ignoring all that, he pinches my cheek, saying,  "You are so fucking
cute!" I don't have anything to say to that because I'm not  sure if he's
serious or just breaking my balls. He's emphatic about everything  he says so
it's hard to tell when he's kidding. While I'm examining the  clippers, I ask
him, "You worried about finals, Trace?" He goes, "No! What's to  be worried
about?" I shrug, what indeed.

There's an electrical outlet near an end table and I'm curious about  these
clippers so I plug in the plug and turn them on. They're noisily vibrating
in my hand, but they should work out okay. Obviously I don't have enough
energy  to change Tracy's mind about getting a haircut now, and like I said, I
wanna try  these awesome scissors, so I ask, "Where you gonna sit for your
haircut?" He  says, "How about that little table?" I'm like, "Sure. Um, do
you want to use  this silly plastic barber cape that came with the clippers?"
He grins, "No, that  would make me feel geeky." He sits on the end table as
I'm saying, "Take off  your shirt at least." He does that and I admire his
hot body for a second, then  decide I'll use the cheap plastic comb that
came in the box and the awesome  professional scissors he bought to do most of
his haircut. I'll use the scissors  over comb method. I do the sides and
back of his head quickly, neating it up  without going too short. It takes me
less then five minutes. The imitation  barber comb has a tapered thin end so
I can taper his neckline hair with the  scissors too. The only thing I use
the buzzing clippers for is to outline around  his ears and a little bit at
his hairline in back. These cheap clippers work  fine for the little bit I
used them. It's a seven minute haircut that looks very  professional so I'm
pleased with myself. It doesn't matter that I'm half in the  bag, I still got
it! Ha ha! As I'm brushing little clippings off his shoulders,  I tell him,
"This looks good, Trace." He says, "Let me check it out," and he  leaves the
room to look at himself in a mirror, probably the one in the powder  room.
I'm working the scissors admiring them and wondering how much they cost.
The used pair of barber scissors I bought on Ebay nine or ten years ago  cost
ten bucks, which at the time I thought was highway robbery. Chubby said
he'd pay for them so I lent him the money and as of yet he hasn't gotten
around to paying me back, but I'm still hopeful.


Tracy comes back just as I've put everything back in the box, "It's
perfect, Dylan. Exactly the haircut I wanted." Then his cell phone's ring-tone
goes off. His ring tone is the first notes to a rock song I know although I
can't think of the song's title. Tracy answers, "Todd baby, wassup?" He
listens,  then laughs, "You dumb shit, I told you that would happen." He listens
again,  then laughs, "Yeah, dummy, I'll rescue you. Give me ten minutes." He
puts the  phone away and pulls down his fly, saying, "I've only got a
couple of minutes,  Dylan, so could you drop your pants?" I frown at him as he's
gets his penis out  through his pant's fly and strokes it absently, saying,
"Oh, you can keep all  that barber shit if you want it. I just got it so
you'd have something to use. I  knew I'd see you before the semester's up." I'm
flabbergasted. "Tracy, um, why  didn't you just go to a barber. I mean
these clippers are for shit, but they  still cost more than a haircut and these
scissors must have been expensive." He  goes, "It's simple my hot sexy
friend, I wanted you to be my barber. I'm just  sorry I gotta bounce outta here
tonight so quickly, and you still owe me that  sleep over." I'm like, "Next
semester, Trace, I promise." He says, "I'll hold  you too it. And FYI,  I'm
not getting another haircut until the beginning  of our junior year when
you'll be my barber again. That's assuming I'm not back  to fucking girls again.
Oh shit, even if I am you'll still be my barber. I'm  versatile where sex
is concerned so I don't know who I'll be fucking by then."  Tracy's cooly
verbose saying everything as if it should be the most obvious  thing ever. I'm
staring at the scissors, "Um, do you mind if I ask how much you  paid for
these?" He goes, "I forget. Something like fifty-nine or sixty-nine  bucks."
I'm shaking my head, "You're nuts you know?" He chuckles, "Yeah, I  know."


Putting the scissors in their case, I  look at Tracy stroking his dick, and
say, "I'll take care of that for you,  Trace," and get down on my knees in
front of him taking his slightly hard cock  in my fingers to slide half of
it into my mouth. Sucking and licking his nice  looking cock gets it hard in
two minutes. The whole time I'm sucking him off  Tracy's making a wet
smacking sound with his lips in between low grunting sounds  of arousal. He's a
very sexual animal. When his six inches or so of cock is  pretty much sticking
straight out, I stand and drop my pants, then turn around  bending over. He
murmurs, "You're truly awesome, Dylan," and his cock plugs  right in past
my sphincter muscle with me going, "Umph, ooh." Some of Ryan's KY  jelly
remains inside my ass so it's more or less a tight smooth trip up my ass  for
Tracy's very hard cock. When he humps against my buttocks his boner is all
the way in. "Damn, I love your ass, Newman. Just love the hell out of it." He
pulls his cock back and shoves it right back up my ass again with me
arching my  back this time, grunting, "Umpth, oooh, ooh." He asks, "You're okay,
right  Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, more than okay. Your cock feels fine up there.
Nice and  tight and fine."


Tracy gets a grip on both my hips  and does his usual hard fast fucking,
but without the usual slapping sounds of  bare bodies colliding. Those sexy
fucking sounds are muffled by his jeans. Then  it's about four minutes of
exquisite sexual pleasure that has me moaning a  little louder with each of his
humps up my ass, loving the sensations they're  causing inside of me.
Without slowing his thrusting, Tracy calmly says, "Can you  please try to keep it
down a little bit, Dylan? My cunt of a sister's sleeping  off an afternoon
drunk in the bedroom right over us." The way he said that gets  me grinning
and putting a hand over my mouth. Fucking Tracy is a trip alright.  So cool
with a world of confidence. He takes so much for granted, but I wouldn't  say
he was dominant. For one thing he's full of too many compliments for me to
be dominant, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know that there's such a
thing  as sub/dom sex. He's a free spirit without a mean bone in his body. I
really  like him as a friend and fuck buddy. He lets go of my hips and grabs
my  shoulders pulling me up against his chest slamming his boner up my ass
faster  and harder now. So hard each thrust is bumping my hips out away from
him a  little bit making my boner sway. If I hadn't been double fucked by
Ryan a few  hours ago I'd have climaxed by now. It feels so fucking good that
my orgasm has  held off this long. It's building now though, and coming on
me faster and faster  like a runaway train.


He has an arm around my chest and  the other around the front of my throat.
The side of his face is rubbing against  the side of mine and I hear him
quietly grunting, "Aah, aah, aah," with every  thrust. His soft beard is sexy
but I can't focus much on that because my rectum  is offering up a magic
show of sexual pleasures. My anus and prostate gland are  in full pleasure mode
and my climax has now reached the point of no return. It's  at the tipping
point and feels so awesome I begin whining with desire, my cock's  straight
out like Tracy's and now he joins me in making desperate-sounding  whines of
his own. It's obvious both our climaxes are on us hot and heavy. Tracy
arches his back almost lifting me off my feet. Just my toes touch the floor
with  my body jerking against Tracy as he slams his hard boner up my ass. I
groan with  my hips trying to hump as I'm scarily seeing only white blankness.
Then my  squeal erupts along with cum pumping up from my hard nuts and
shooting from my  cock in three quick streaks of spunk. Shaking in his arms I
only now realize  that along with Tracy's last breathy whining moan his cum
flooded my bowels. He  must have climaxed at about the same second I did. I try
not to whimper but the  after effects of my orgasm are flying around my
belly and groin making me  tremble with pleasure. Tracy sets me down on my feet
as he licks my ear and  cheek. He's breathing hard next to my ear and still
doing thrusts up my ass, but  much slower ones now. With a final rush of
air from his lungs he lets go of me  and backs up pulling his cock from my
ass. Cum runs slowly from my ass, some of  it drooling around to the back of my
scrotum and some going down the back of my  legs. I lean forward resting my
hands on a box with a label that reads, '1000  plastic cups... 12 ounces'.

Tracy's wiping his cock with paper  napkins from an open box of, '2500
cocktail napkins'. I'm still taking deep  breaths enjoying the sensations from
being fucked really well. Then I feel paper  napkins wiping cum off my legs
and ass with Tracy saying, "I apologize for the  slam bam thank you ma'am
fuck, Dylan. No that's not right, you're certainly not  a ma'am." I go, "Tracy,
it was awesome, as usual." The fact is Tracy has never  taken longer than
five or six minutes to fuck an orgasm out of me. He's the  champion of the
fast hard fuck." I ask, "Do you fuck girls as fast as you fuck  me?" He goes,
"No, because they don't turn me on as much you do. When I fucked  that guy
in Cancun I fucked him more than twice as long before climaxing, but  there's
something to be said for that too." I go, "Uh huh,' and he pulls my  pants
up. He turns me around and gives me a long kiss on my mouth, then says,
"Thank you, Dylan. I could fall for you in a second. That boyfriend of yours is
 lucky, but I gotta run now and rescue my dumb-ass buddy, who's happens to
be my  best friend from childhood. I rescue him a lot." I say, "No problem,
Trace," as  I'm thinking that I better get back to my boyfriends and brother
before they  send out a search party. Tracy says, "I'm gonna quickly clean
up a little and  then go out the front door. Don't forget that barber stuff
and lock the backdoor  on your way out." Then he gives me another kiss, a
quick one this time, saying,  "Thanks for the haircut too. Don't even think of
leaving at the end of the  semester without saying goodbye, okay?" I go,
"Sure," and he grins at me, rubs  my head, picks up his shirt and he's gone.

I take a deep breath looking at my  cum drooling down the box of plastic
cups. Fuck it. If Tracy doesn't care I  guess I don't either. Picking up the
case with the barber scissor and the box  with the clippers I make my way to
the back door, glad I didn't need to do  another shot of whiskey with Tracy.
I would have had to if he wasn't in a hurry  to help his friend with
whatever his problem is. Pushing the button on the  backdoor's knob to lock it,
then step outside closing the door behind me, I'm  assaulted by the same level
of noise and crowded conditions as before. I was  only inside about fifteen
minutes. Sidestepping drunks I make my way to our spot  at the railing, but
no one I know is there. It's been taken over by two couples  who are making
out soiling our spot somewhat with heterosexual vibes. Then I  chuckle at
myself for thinking that insane thought. Huh, guess I was premature  thinking
there'd be a search party looking for me. Okay, what am I going to do  with
this clippers box? I can stick the scissors in my pocket, but this box has
got to go. Hmmm, I don't want to throw the box away because someone might
find  it and maybe mentions it to Tracy. That would not be cool. I am glad to
have  these scissors though, so it's only right that I keep the drugstore
clippers  too. They can be backup clippers for emergencies, or  something.


Then I spot Robby talking to a guy I  recognize, but don't know his name. I
know he's on the baseball team though. I  make my way through the crowd,
mumbling as I go, "Sorry, excuse me, oops sorry."  I tap Robby's shoulder and
he turns, then smiles at me using his 'glad to see  me' smile, "Hi, Dylan,"
and the guy he was talking to, says, "I'll catch you  later, Rob." Robby
pats the guy's shoulder, mumbling, "Later, dude," then says  to me, "Dylan,
babe, what have you got there?" I say, "Tracy gave me scissors  and these
clippers. I guess they're payment for giving him a couple of haircuts  this
semester." Robby says, "Oh yeah, you cut off his ponytail last time, didn't
you?" I nod and Robby goes, "Tracy's a really good guy. What are you gonna do
with these things tonight though? You don't want to carry the box around with
 you all night, right?" I ask for his pickup keys, telling him. "I'll drop
this  stuff off in the pickup and be right back." On my way out of the
speakeasy I  bump fist with my buddy, the bouncer-money collector who's name I
can never  remember. I talk with him about Merrimack for a few minutes, then
say, "Dude,  good luck with finals week. I'm dropping some stuff at the car,
then I'll be  back." He goes, "Sure things, Dylan. Oh, did you see Tracy? He
was asking for  you." I nod my head, "Yeah we hooked up a little while
ago." The guy adds, "Oh,  wait a second, I didn't know you gave haircuts." I go,
"Yep, I just gave Tracy  one. You don't appear to need one, so..." Then I
say, "But for you, ya know,  anytime you want a haircut." He says, "Thanks, but
you're right I don't need one  now. I got one just last week, but next year
hook me up, okay?" I go, "You got  it, big guy," and skip down the steps.


I'm thinking about Tracy's hot fuck and how unexpected it was that he
started our side-sex relationship in the first place. I never suspected he'd be
bisexual and I don't believe for a second he's not bi. He says I ruined him
for  girls, which is weird if it's true. He's so complimentary it's kinda
impossible  to believe everything he says, but it'd be nice if he means it
all. Ha ha! I'd  need to check my hat size if I listen to all Tracy's
compliments and believed  them. When I've walked to the third block from the
speakeasy I should be seeing  Robby's pickup any second now. I'm looking ahead
trying to spot it when I  stumble over something on the sidewalk. I'm falling
forward, dropping the box of  clippers, and banging my face on the fender of a
parked car. Stunned, my head's  spinning, I lay where I fell for a few
seconds, then sit up slowly looking at  the brush burn on the palm of the hand I
put out to break my fall. Beginning to  stand I feel like I'm going to
throw-up so I sit back down and close my  eyes taking deep breaths slowly,
praying the urge to throw-up passes, and then  it does. Now the side of my face
is aching. I feel under my eye and bring my  hand away looking for blood.
There a faint blood smear on my fingers, so I'm  barely bleeding.


My dizziness fades as  I'm blinking my eyes sitting here. Then turning my
head to see what I fell over  I see this chubby kid asleep sitting on the
sidewalk leaning against the car  behind the one I collided with. What the
fuck? This could happen only to me.  Goddammit. I yell, "Asshole," at the
sleeping kid, figuring he's gotta be drunk.  He doesn't stir so I guess he's out
cold. Getting to my feet shakily I'm  looking for the clippers box and then
lean over to fish it out from under the  car I fell against. The box is under
the car, next to the back right tire.  Then, glancing over at the sleeping
drunk, who I'm pretty sure I've never  seen before. I lean down to get a
closer look. Maybe he's dead?, but no, the poor bastards breathing at  least,
although unconscious in his drunkenness. He looks very young with a  chubby
baby-face, but he's not sexy in any way that I define sexy. Fuck 'em! I
continue  walking past five more cars and there's Robby's pickup further down the
block  than I remember. Unlocking it, then putting the box and the scissors
on the back  seat, I close the door and re-lock it. Taking a deep breath
feeling odd, I start  walking back while gently feeling under my right eye
which is swollen already. I  guess it could have been a lot worst depending on
how my head hit the car's  fender. What kind of asshole sits on the sidewalk
anyway? Jesus!


Continuing slowly back to Tracy's, not feeling any better, I light a
cigarette then drop it after inhaling one drag because it made me so dizzy I
almost fell on my face. Well this blows! Maybe I have a concussion. I've been
hearing so much about sports-related concussion lately that the thought I
might  have one just popped into my head. Finally making it back to the
speakeasy I go  slowly up the steps and at the top there's no bouncer guy on his
stool. Huh,  he's probably off bouncing someone. Did it get louder in here?
The noise is  unbearable as I look for one of my friends bumping into people
as stumbling  towards our usual spot. It's become more and more obvious to
me I need to get  back to the apartment and lay the fuck down. This scene is
making my headache  worse and I irrationally wonder why the police don't
break this loud-ass party  up. At the railing, looking lost, I see Ryan
finishing the last of the beer in  his cup. He pushes his little glasses up his
cute nose and senses someone  staring at him. That would be me of course. He
glances at me, then looks  startled. He comes right up to me, "Dylan, what the...
I mean who?" He lifts my  head with a finger under my chin gawking at my
half-closed eye,  "Who did  this to you, Dylan? Goddammit, you and your
fighting! What the fuck's the matter  with you?"


I'm frowning and smelling the back  of my hand, not sure why Ryan's yelling
at me. I'd love to lay down someplace as  I look at Tracy's back door, then
remember he's off saving his childhood friend,  or something. I mumble,
"Who's fighting? What are you talking about?" Ryan has  tears in his eyes,
"Weren't you fighting, Dylan?" I start to shake my head,  'no', but that makes
the dizziness worse. "No, I wasn't in a fucking fight, will  you stop with
the fighting shit! I stumbled over some dumb-ass drunk guy sitting  on the
sidewalk. Stumbled and fell hitting my head hard on a car's bumper."  Ryan's
got his arm around the back of my waist walking me over to the railing,
mumbling, "Oh sure, that's a totally believable story. Falling over someone
sitting on the sidewalk. Yep, that happens every day." I'm leaning on the
railing, sort of hanging onto it as I feel under my eye again. I guess I look
kinda pathetic because Ryan changes his tune, "Damn, I'm sorry I yelled at
you,  Dylan. You fell? Oh fuck, let me have another look at that eye. It's
bloodshot  and..." He peers at my eye, and tenderly touches under it with the
pad of his  forefinger, murmuring, "That looks painful. Wait here, I'll get
some ice." He  goes off as my dizziness fades a little, but when I move my
head it comes back  again. Fuck! My eye throbs and I can feel it closing a
little. Why does shit  like this always happen to me?


Ryan comes back with Robby, who's at least concerned instead of yelling  at
me like Ryan did. Robby hugs me, asking, "What happened?" I tell him what I
 told Ryan and Robby says, "I'm gonna go down there and kick the living
shit out  of that kid." I go, "No, don't do that, Rob. The kid's drunk out of
his mind and  I wasn't watching where I was going. I was looking ahead for
your pickup." Robby  takes the ice pack from Ryan who put crushed ice in his
clean handkerchief.  Robby gently holds it under my eye. "You hold this on
your eye, baby, I'm taking  you back to the apartment," then he tells Ryan,
"Find Chubby and tell him we're  leaving. We'll wait for you at the pickup." I
hold the ice pack and follow Robby  as he runs interference through the
crowd. Going down the steps I need to steady  myself holding onto the railing
and at the bottom I'm relieved to be this much  further away from the noise.
Robby sees how unsteady I am, and says, "Fuck the  apartment, I'm taking you
to the emergency room," and I go, "No, don't, Rob, I  just want to lay
down. Please!" With all the emphasis on concussions in sports,  like I
mentioned, it has everyone super conscious about them. What used to be a  'shake it
off' situation is now a major production. Robby asks, "You sure  we shouldn't
have you checked out at the hospital?" I mutter, "I'm sure." When  we pass
the sleeping drunk on the sidewalk Robby kicks him hard in the ass, and
without opening his eyes the kid mutters, "No, Doug, let me sleep." At the
pickup it feels so good to just sit down with my head laying on the back of the
 seat. I keep the ice pack in place and by now the skin under my eye feels
numb.


Ryan comes jogging up with Chubby and John Beverly next to him. Chubby's
all concerned wanting to see my eye. He takes the ice pack away, looks at  my
swollen eye, and says, "Rob, take him to the hospital. I'll follow you, we
need a doctor's opinion." I mutter, "No, Chub, I just need to lay down."
Chubby  goes, "You heard me, Rob. He needs to be seen by a doctor." I go, "Oh
fuck."  Chubby pats my shoulder, "You're too important to me, bro. Can't
take any  chances there's something we should be doing, so we'll have a doctor
decide."  Again I mutter, "Oh fuck," and Chubby chuckles, saying, "That's
the spirit."  With my eyes closed and my head back the dizziness fades, but
when we get to the  hospital and I'm getting out of the pickup I feel dizzy
again. If Chubby had  just let me go back to the apartment and let me get in
bed I could sleep this  thing off. Sleep is all I need, but no, I've got to
go through this unnecessary  nonsense. Inside I gratefully sit down as Chubby
goes to admissions and answers  some questions, then comes back telling me,
"A head injury gets quick attention.  Someone will call for you in less
then ten minutes." Robby's reading a text he  just received, shaking his head
muttering, "Dammit. One of my teammates ran out  of gas. I'm going to help
him and then I'll be right back, okay Dylan?" I shrug,  "Sure Rob, there isn't
anything you can do here." He says, "Okay, but I'll be  back in fifteen
minutes." Chubby goes, "Help your teammate, Rob. Dylan's right,  there's
nothing we can do for him right now." Robby nods his head, saying, "I'm  coming
back anyway," and then hurries out the door. I'm thinking, 'good, one  less
voice to hear', as I close my eyes. Chubby says, "They want to see  your
driver's license, Dylan." Keeping my eyes closed I take my wallet out and  hand
it to him. He takes it to whoever wanted to see my license as I'm wondering
why the fuck they keep it so bright in here? When he comes back, Chubby
hands me  my license and tells Ryan, "You stay with him, Ryan. Go with him when
they call  him. I'm giving John Beverly a ride to his dorm and then I'll be
back." He pats  my shoulder and I open my eyes, "You're fine, bro, but we
gotta be sure. Love  you," then, pointing at Ryan, he goes, "Do not fuck this
up. Stay with him."  Ryan's eyes get big, so I say, "It'll be fine, Ryan."
Chubby and John Beverly  leave as a nurse, or orderly, looks at a form,
asking, "Um, Dylan Newman?" Ryan  jumps up saying, "He's here. He's had a head
injury." The person frowns at Ryan  like he's nuts. I have to smile because
Chubby was so sinister when he pointed  at Ryan and warned him not to fuck up.
Ryan's taking it to heart.


The orderly or nurse insist I get in  a wheelchair and I'm only too happy
to oblige. Someone pushes me into a  curtained-off room with Ryan following.
A nurse takes my vital signs, then helps  me get up on a skinny bed that's
probably a gurney, then the nurse leaves  mumbling that someone will be in to
see me shortly. It's awesome laying down and  I'm feeling better already.
Looking around I see, in addition to this gurney,  there are two chairs with
a table in-between them, various medical equipment  thingies, and a cabinet
full of I don't know what. Next to the cabinet is a  small trash can with a
foot pedal that opens the lid. On the front of the little  trash can:
WARNING: HAZARDOUS MATERIAL. I say, "Ryan  rustle around inside that little trash
can. See what's in there." He says, "Stop  messin' aground! This is
serious." I'm smiling at him because he looks so  uptight. I want to tell him I'm
glad he's with me, but a doctor comes in before  I can and introduces himself,
shaking hands with me. His hand is kinda slippery  with Purel hand
sanitizer I saw him pump onto his hand from a dispenser at the  front of this small
area. I don't take offense he needs to sanitize his hands  before shaking
hands with me. I'm not paranoid. He asks me what happened so I  tell him,
finishing with, "I told my brother I'm okay, but he's the one who  insisted I
bother you people." The doctor says, "Your brother was right. How  quickly you
get yourself to a hospital after a head injury can mean the  difference
between life and death. When in doubt, go to the hospital." Huh! No  shit,
Chubby was right again.


I've been feeling better since  laying down and it's a good thing because
this doctors got a lot of questions,  like: "Did you lose consciousness?" I
go, "I'm not sure. I don't think so." "Did  you then, or are you now
experiencing amnesia?" I want to say, 'I can remember  my name if that's what you
mean', but what I say is, "No.' He asks, "Did you  feel dazed or confused."
I'm often confused, but I say, "I felt dizzy, yeah.  It's better now that I'm
laying down." He nods his head, asking, "Do you have a  headache?" and I go,
"Yeah, definitely." He asks, "Any vomiting?" and I go, "It  was a close
call, but no." "Did you have a seizure?" I go, "No, I don't think  so, but I'm
not exactly sure what a seizure is." The doctor says, "Well, okay.  Someone
will come in to administer the ACE Test and then we'll do a CAT scan of
your brain to be sure there's no bleeding." He pats my thigh reassuringly,
asking, "Is one of your parents in the waiting room?" I frown, "Um, no, I'm
away  at college." Now he looks confused, "Um, your parent will need to sign a
release  form." I ask, "Why?" and he looks at me, then asks, "How old are
you?" I go,  "Twenty, I'll be twenty-one this summer." His eyebrows go up,
then he looks  questioningly at Ryan, who says, "Yes, I'm also twenty," and
doctor goes, "Oh, I  wasn't asking, um, never mind." He shrugs, smiling, saying
to me, " I thought  you were much younger, Dylan. Did they check your
drivers license out front by  any chance?" This guy doesn't trust me I guess. I
nod my head, but that makes my  head hurt, so I stop doing that, and smile at
him because I can't remember if he  asked me something or told me
something. The doctor, says, "Okay, you can sign  the forms yourself." He leaves as
Ryan and I exchange 'looks'. I go, "That's  fucking insulting, don't ya
think?" Ryan shrugs, "Not necessarily, it's cool  being young looking." I say,
"Ya know, when the doctor looked at you he wasn't  asking your age, he wanted
you to confirm mine." Ryan goes, "Oh," and blushes a  little. Ha ha, that's
cute.


A nice looking young man comes in  with a stethoscope around his neck and
introduces himself, saying he's an intern  and he'll be administering THE ACE
TEST. I ask, "Yeah, okay, but don't I get to  study for the test  first?"
He laughs, looking kinda cute. Light red hair  that I'd like to cut for him,
but the barber stuff is in the pickup. The cute  intern starts asking me
questions that are part of the ACE test, whatever that  is. He goes, "These
first questions are about you physically," and he asks some  of the questions
the first doctor asks, plus: do I have a problem with balance,  and how is my
vision, am I fatigued... all of which I say, "no" to, except I  probably said
'yes' to the balance question. Then he wants to know if I'm  sensitive to
light or noise? I go, "Yeah, both of those, now that you mention  it,
especially noise. No, mark me down as being sensitive to both." He nods and
continues asking questions and checking off block on the test form with each
answer I give him. Then he says, "These are cognitive questions now, Dylan," as
if I'd know what that means. He asks if I'm mentally foggy, which I am at
times  but I think he means because of hitting my head, so I say ,"No." Then
he asks,  "Do you have difficulty concentrating?" which I do in class
sometimes, but again  I'm pretty sure he means because of me hitting my head on
the car's fender so I  say, "Nope." There are other questions and then we come
to the emotional  questions like, am I sad, nervous, etc.. I give negative
replies to all of them.  There are more question and then he says, "You have
a mild concussion, Dylan.  We'll do a CAT scan and then talk to you some
more after that."


When he leaves, Ryan asks, "What's a  CAT scan?" I shrug, "They X-ray my
brain, I guess." Five minutes later a man  comes in, and says, "Hi, I'm Carl.
I'll be taking you for your CAT scan. I smile  at him because I don't have
anything to say about that. It's like I don't have a  choice anyway. When in
doubt, smile. I picked up that little trick from Connor.  Off we go with
Ryan following. Chubby told him to stay with me and that's what  he's going to
do. I ask Carl, "Is it okay if my friend gets up on this thing  with me?" He
laughs, correctly assuming it's a rhetorical question. When we get  to the
X-ray room, Carl asks Ryan to have a seat in the waiting area, and then  he
pushes me though double doors. There's a big white machine dominating the
room, looking scary. As I'm staring at the big machine, the technician tells
me  he'll give me an intravenous injection that will cause a funny taste in
my mouth  and make the palms of my hands feel hot for a few seconds. Sounds
ominous, but  before I can ask about it, someone sticks a needle in a vein
on the inside of my  elbow. I'm wheeled around on the gurney so that my
head's in the opening of the  white machine. Help! ha ha. Almost immediately my
palms get hot and there's a  weird taste in the back of my mouth, or maybe my
throat, it's hard to tell. The  machine whirrs as the taste fades and my
hands return to normal. That's all  there is to it. Can't help but wonder what
that ten second CAT scan costs. I get  wheeled out of the CAT scan room,
and Ryan's looking apprehensive as he  tentatively touching my shoulder
reassuringly, and then walks next to my gurney  with Carl pushing me back to the
place we left ten minutes ago. Ryan looks so  cutely concerned I make eye
contact with him giving him a smile, but instead of  smiling back he looks like
he's going to cry. Is there something they're not  telling me? Maybe the
CAT scan has disfigured my face or something.


Carl leaves after saying a nurse  will be right in and she is too. Very
efficient place. A smiling woman about  fifty years old brings me a cold pack
for my eye to help keep the swelling down,  then tells me the doctor will be
in to see me shortly.  'Shortly' turns out  to be more like an hour, so I
may have been hasty about my 'very efficient'  comment. I ask Ryan, "Um, do I
look alright?" He says, "You look better than  alright, Dylan,"and he sort
of pats my head hovering around me. I'm glad he's  here, although Ryan and I
do very little talking during the time we're waiting  for the doctor, and
that's primarily because I fall asleep five minutes after  the nurse leaves.
The doctor wakes me and reassures me the CAT scan is negative  which sounds
bad, but is good. There's no bleeding in my brain. He adds, "And  that's a
good thing." He tells me to take paracetamol for pain and get plenty of  rest.
Also I'm to avoid stress, alcoholic beverages, and I need to stay home
from college until I'm feeling completely normal again. That's the first good
news I've heard since falling. He tells me, no contact sports and make sure
I  have someone with me for the next forty-eight hours at least. Also if any
 symptoms reoccur, I'm to immediately return to the hospital. He hands me a
 pamphlet, saying, "All the things I've told you, plus the symptoms to
watch for  are in this pamphlet. Be sure and read it." He asks, "How do you feel
right  now?" I go, "Better since I've been on this gurney," and he says,
"Good, your  friend here can take you home."


The doctor leaves and I get off the  gurney pretending I'm barely able to
walk. Ryan's nervous, telling me, "Lean on  me, Dylan." I say, "If I don't
make it, Ryan, I want you to have my posse boy's  baseball cap," and put my
arm across his shoulders. He puts his arm around my  back and I slump letting
some of my weight hang on Ryan's strong arm. He says,  "I've got you,
Dylan," and I go, "Everything's going black..." He mutters,  "Don't kid about
that." We leave the curtain room with Ryan's asking, "Um,  what's a posse boy's
hat?" I laugh and stop leaning on him. "I'm feeling better  Ryan. How long
was I sleeping?" He says, "About an hour. Hey, you can lean on  me, Dylan, I
don't mind." I grin at him, "My hero, but I'm okay, really." I ask,  "Do you
remember how to get back to the emergency room?" He nods, "Yeah, turn
right at that corner and we're there." Then I'm like, "Shit! I forgot the
pamphlet." He holds it up, saying, "Yeah, but I didn't." I give his shoulders a
hug and when we turn the corner and there's Robby and Chubby looking
anxious.  How sweet! Hugs and kisses, along with lots of questions from both of
them. We  leave the hospital with Ryan answering most of the questions for me,
obviously  liking his role as my protector during this tragedy. I'm happy to
let him do the  talking too 'cause I don't feel like talking. As we leave I
avert my eyes from a  woman on a stretcher who appears to have been in a
car accident. What a tough  job it must be working in an emergency room!

Chubby insists I drive back with  him, and that's what I do. Robby's giving
Ryan a ride to his dorm. Back at our  apartment, after I've assured Chubby
I'm fine about ten times, I go in the  bathroom to do my bathroom routine,
then get undressed and get in bed. I feel  very tired, but it's not
necessarily because I bumped my head, I might just be  tired. Whatever, I fall right
to sleep not even hearing, or knowing when Robby  got in bed with me. The
next thing I know it's a rainy Monday morning. Robby's  still sleeping so I
snuggle up to him, but that doesn't work because I can't lay  on that side of
my head. It's still wicked sore, so I settle for snuggling with  Robby
laying on my back and then drift off back to sleep. Next thing I'm aware  of
Robby's gently shaking my shoulder, "It's ten o'clock, Dylan, do you think  you
can join Ryan and me for our study group?" I open my eyes and see both Ryan
and Robby looking down at me. I ask, "Where's Chubby?" Robby says, "He's at
 Merrimack in one of those review classes. I'm like, "Oh, where's Danny?"
Robby  grins, "He doesn't have the class we're studying for so I assume he's
in his  dorm. Um, you wouldn't be trying to stall getting up, would you?" I
go, "No,  where's Ears Henderson?" and we all chuckle. I get up and go into
the bathroom  and do what I need to in there. When I come out Ryan's smiling
at me, asking,  "How do you feel, Dylan?" I go, "Feeling better, Ryan,
thanks for asking." I  don't see Robby in the living room, "Where's Rob?" and
before he can answer  Robby comes in the front door carrying a box of Dunkin'
Donuts and three large  coffees. "I thought we all could use some energy
food to get us going." I go,  "Donuts, one of natures perfect food groups.
Bacon being the most perfect." Ryan  mumbles, "Good to see you're recovering."
He looks shiny clean with light  reflecting off his glasses. I lean over and
kiss his lips, "Thanks for looking  out for me, Ryan."


I like being doted on, but soon  we're into serious reviewing of the
material and I do mean a complete review of  the subject matter. Robby keeps us at
it until I could scream. So finally I use  my mild concussion to my
advantage, complaining, "I've got a wicked concussion  headache," and we take a
half hour break. After swallowing some Tylenol I join  Ryan and Robby watching
sports center on ESPN, all of us drinking Cokes. Robby  checks the time on
his cellphone and goes, "Okay, back to the grind," and we're  into endlessly
asking each other questions about the course, trying to stump one  another.
At one o'clock we have lunch at Fuddruckers with Ryan or Robby asking  me
how I feel every fifteen minutes, and me continually reassuring them I'm
better. Everyone is making a mountain out of a mole hill. Back in the apartment
we spend an hour and fifteen minutes going over every page of the
workbook's  trial tests. Robby the task master doesn't finally conclude were finished
with  everything until three-fifteen. By now Ryan's grumpy, mumbling, "I
hate this fucking course." We  all hate it by now, but tomorrow we'll still
need to sit through a two hour  class with the professor going over all this
same shit again. And we don't take  the final until Wednesday of next week.
That's a fucked-up schedule right there.  What I meant to say about the two
hour review tomorrow is that Ryan and Robby  need to sit through it. I
unfortunately am under doctor's orders to stay away  from college for at least
forty-eight hours... at least, so I may have a little  relapse in my future. Heh
heh.


It's stopped raining so the three of us take a walk around the  apartment's
grounds to get some fresh air. Ryan and Robby have a cigarette, but  I
don't risk it afraid of getting dizzy again. Robby asks, "What time are we
lifting Ryan?" and he goes, "I texted Jeff and Danny that we'll lift for an hour
 or so at four o'clock." Robby goes, "Good deal, I've got baseball practice
from  five-thirty to seven. Our last game of the season is Thursday
afternoon. That's  our last chance to finish at .500 for the year." We talk about
how hard it is  for non-scholarship colleges to compete with much larger ones
who give  scholarships to the more talented seniors from high school. Then
I find myself  thinking about that asshole, Chad Bundy, who mocked Robby's
batting average  dipping this year. I'm not going to ask Robby about it, but
I have thought it  odd he hasn't talked about his batting average the past
two months. That's  unusual, but now I know why.


I watch the guys lift free weights without participating myself. They all
have their shirts off and it's quite enjoyable looking at their hot bodies
with  their muscles bulging. After closely examining each of their hot bodies
I  conclude Robby's got the hottest body of the four. Chubby's and Ryan's
bodies  are sexy hot too, only in smaller versions. Danny's body is good too,
and maybe  my evaluation of it as only 'good' is influenced by him being
Robby's other  boyfriend. Or maybe it's just not as sexy a body as the others
for real. I'd  like to hate on Danny, but he's so nice to me there isn't any
real reason to  hate on him. He's cute an unassuming and even deferential
to me. That's  undoubtedly because he knows I'm Robby's real boyfriend and
he's only a backup,  or whatever. I've been giving Danny haircuts since after
Christmas break and  I've enjoyed doing it. He's consistently preppy and
surprisingly he hasn't  emulated Robby's ponytail. I was sure he would. Oh
fuck, I actually like Danny  and if Robby hadn't got to him first I'd probably
have tried some side-sex with  him myself. As far as we know, only Robby and
Danny plus one other teammate, who  they won't name, are the only gays on
the baseball team. No one knows how many  of their teammates are aware that
Robby and Danny are gay boyfriends, but  certainly some must realize it. His
teammates are the ones who voted Robby the  infield captain so apparently it
doesn't bother those teammates who are aware of  Robby sexual orientation.
When I've asked Robby about it he says he doesn't care  if his teammates know
or not. He says he'll stand up and proclaim he's gay as  soon as a straight
guy stands up and says he's heterosexual. Straight guy don't  go around
telling everyone they're straight, so why should gay guys go around  announcing
they're gay?


After the free weight lifting, Chubby takes a shower while Ryan and Robby
wash up at the kitchen sink. Robby's got baseball practice so he'll shower
after  that. As for Ryan, he's kind of hovering around me asking if he can
get me this  or that every two minutes. It's sweet of him, although after
awhile it gets a  little annoying. Chubby informs me he'll be eating out, double
dating with John  Beverly and their girlfriends tonight. I'm not sure what
the rest of us will do  for dinner. I don't feel like cooking, but maybe I
will later. Robby leaves  first and then Chubby offers Ryan a ride to his
dorm. Ryan says, "No, but  thanks, Jeff. Someone needs to be with Dylan for at
least the next thirty hours  or so." Chubby rubs Ryan head, saying, "Oh
yeah, that's right, you're a good  friend, Ryan!" and Ryan grins shrugging, then
Chubby points at Ryan, saying,  "But don't fuck it up!" and I laugh
grinning at Chubby. He gives me a hug and a  kiss, then tells Ryan, "Just kidding,
buddy. Thanks for watching out for my  brother." I say, "I'm okay, really."
Chubby nods his head, saying, "I know you  are, bro." Now that it's just
Ryan and me it's like we don't know what to do  next. We look at each other as
I'm smelling the back of my hand wondering if sex  is considered too
rigorous for someone with a mild concussion. Ryan gives me a  hug, then says,
"Okay, with all the excitement I just remembered that today's  your haircut day,
Dylan. Will you please get the barber stuff out and take off  your shirt." I
go, "Listen, Ryan, I'm all in with your haircut rules and all  that other
stuff, but lets pump the brakes on the haircut. Can't we wait a  couple of
days until I'll feeling like myself, and we can maybe have a little  sexual
escapade after the haircut?" He runs his fingers along my hairline  brushing
my short bangs to the side with me quietly asking, "My hair look better  like
this, doesn't it?" He says, "Yes it does actually. Okay, we'll hold off
your haircut until Thursday because of your condition. Um, are you still going
 home Thursday?" I'm like, "Yes, assuming I feel a hundred percent." I've
already  explained to Ryan that I promised my mom I'll be home the next two
weekends. The  reason for that is obviously because I'm leaving for Georgia
right after the  last final exam and I won't see her for five weeks or so.
Robby's coming home  with me this weekend, but he'll be tied up with planning
for the summer  landscaping crew with his dad. I'll spend as much time with
mom and Tris as  possible. Than the weekend after that Chubby's coming home
with me and we're  spending the weekend together.


So no haircut today. Instead we're sitting on the sofa with Ryan's arm
across my shoulders and me snuggling against him as I'm running over in my mind
 what Ryan said about my haircut on Thursday. Interesting he said my hair
looks  better with me combing it to the side in front, but I'm not sure he
agreed to  leave it that way when he gives me the haircut.  It's probably a
good move  on my part to assume he's coming around to my way of thinking, so
to reinforce  that concept, I go, "I'm glad you're putting off my haircut and
agreeing my hair  looks better this way. It's always good to compromise" He
kisses me on the lips,  saying, "Yeah, of course your hair looks better a
little longer, like it is now,  although it's not the look you'll have this
summer. You and me agreed that I'll  give you the type of haircut I decide
on, right?" He never gives in! Taking  a deep breath and letting it out
slowly, I go, "Yeah, I know that, Ryan." He  squeezes my shoulders, "Don't pout,
we've agreed to this for your benefit, not  mine." I nod my head respecting
Ryan for sticking to his plan, although I think  I'll be able to have my way
in the end. I'm planning on using Ryan's old trick  of brown-nosing him
until he gives in. He's pretty special though and I'd be  lying if I didn't
admit his bossiness sometimes gives me a boner. I say  'sometimes' because he's
almost apologetic about his bossiness. His plan is the  haircut acts as a
symbol that he's the boss and his bossiness we hope will  satisfy my
submissive fetish. That way I won't fall into the trap he fell into  with guys like
Marty. And anyway he's going to be my boss at work this summer so  I might as
well get used to it now. I'm skeptical about how it'll eventually  work out
though. That's anyone's guess.

And Ryan's not smug about his bossiness at all. Like I said, he's kind of
apologetic about it, but he thinks it'll end up being beneficial for me to
have  someone who's willing to say 'no' to me once in awhile. I think he's
right about  that, but just last night Chubby put his foot down insisting I go
to the  hospital. He only does that though for important matters, life and
death  situations like the doctor said. For less important matters, like how
I wear my  hair, Chubby couldn't care less. He likes it when I'm happy and
naturally I like  that, but always getting my own way is not how life's is,
in reality, so ya know, I'm trying this thing with Ryan.  We're still on the
sofa with neither of us talking. I'm staring at his profile  wondering
again what it is about him that arouses me sexually. I'm extremely  fond of him
in ways other than sex too, but what is it about him I find so  sexually
attractive, while others never have felt the way I do? It's fucking  crazy how
the two of us can go out of our minds in sexual heat for each other  when
it's never happened for Ryan before. Is it as simple as our pheromones
causing sexual heat between us? I can understand Ryan's likability because  he's a
good guy. Everyone likes him, but seemingly only I am sexually turned-on
by him. Robby's sexual interest in Ryan faded quickly when Ryan's sucking up
to  him got kind of old. Then Robby had some buddy sex with Ryan although he
could  take it or leave it, and it's been mostly leave it this past year.
Yeah, but yet  I'm still infatuated with Ryan to such a degree I'm spending
the summer with  him, and I'd like to know why the fuck that is! Life is a
mystery.


I'll probably never understand it,  never be able to articulate the reason
or reasons I've got this 'thing' for him.  It's just the way it is, so deal
with it! Not that my infatuation with Ryan is a  bad thing, it's the 'deal
with it' part that's giving me a problem. It's a  problem that I love him
because I've been in love with Robby first and foremost  for the better part of
three years now. Hurting Robby is not an option. And then  there's Ryan,
who's in love with me and his understanding of my submissive bug  makes him
feel he'll be able to help me avoid the crap he's gone though in the  past. My
experience that first time with Marty, when  Marty's dominance was working
on me is what started this whole Georgia project.  Until running into
fuckwad I always thought I was immune to violently dominant  types. As it turns
out I'm never met one like fuckwad before and it seems I'm  not immune to that
kind of dominance. Okay, here's what I'm going to do about  all this: First
I am going to stop over-analyzing everything to death. Then I'm  going to
see how it goes in Georgia and if I don't care for it after giving it a  fair
chance I'll go home. In other words I'm going to do what I said I'd do
taking it one day at a time and let things sort themselves out. And mostly I
don't want to hurt anyone, including myself. So there's my plan. I feel like
giving my boss of the moment a kiss so I lean over and kiss the side of
Ryan's  mouth and watch him smile and look at me. A little thing like that make
him so  happy, and what's wrong with that? Nothing, that's what.


Ryan's like, "I'm glad you're not  mad at me, Dylan. I'm just trying my
best to follow through on the plan you and  I made together. You know how much
I love you and want only good things for  you." I nod my head with a little
smile on my face, liking Ryan's sincerity. I  say, "Yep, boss, I know." He
goes, "You're not making fun of me are you?" I  shake my head, "Not at all. I
complicate my life by over thinking everything and  I want to stop doing
that. I'm going with you this summer and I'm going to miss  everyone back
home, but enjoy being with you, and that's it." He looks happy,  saying, "And
for my part I need to not make more out of it than it is. Naturally  I'd like
to think during this summer you'll come to your senses and realize it's  me
you love the most and you'll beg me to marry you." I laugh, "Oh fuck, you do
 have an awesome imagination." He goes, "It's more like I've lived through
fantasies for so long I can't stop fantasizing." I go, "Oh, that explains
it," and we make-out for five  minutes or so, until he says, "We better cool
it because you're not supposed to  exert yourself." I kiss him again, "Sex
isn't exerting, Ryan," and he says, "Yes, it is." A little  later we play a
game on Xbox One until Ryan gets worried I'm  either getting stressed or too
excitable and insist we stop. We go back to  snuggling on the sofa while
watching a replay of a Pats game on the NFL network,  and I fall asleep again.
When Robby finishes baseball practice and he's  showered, the three of us
talk about dinner. Considering that neither he nor  Ryan has a clue about
cooking, and they won't let me exert myself by preparing  dinner, we eat dinner
at Bertucci's restaurant. It's eight-thirty by the time  we're done. Robby
drives on campus to drop Ryan off and after we've both kiss  him goodnight,
Robby says to Ryan, "Thanks for taking care of Dylan, today."  Ryan mumbles,
"I like taking care of him," and gets out of the pick  up blowing me a
kiss. Ryan and I do a little wave at each other as Robby  drives us away with me
thinking how lucky I am to have my two boyfriends and  my brother taking
such good care of me.


As we're parking at the apartment, Robby says, "I'm going to give you a
bath tonight." Just like that, a definitive statement from Robby. I encourage
his take-charge attitude by acting meek, saying, "Okay, Rob," trying not to
 grin. In the apartment Robby runs a bath and undresses me and then helping
me  get into the tub of hot water. It'd be more fun for me if my fucking
head wasn't  aching like it is, and I didn't have this hideous black and
purple eye. Not much  to be done about the ugly black eye, but Robby gets some
Tylenol for my  headache. Tylenol is what paracetamol turns out to be, by the
way. Then a nice  slow sexy bath with me staring at my conscientious number
one boyfriend's cute,  handsome face. I rinse off under the shower and Robby
dries me, then I hug him  and we kiss a true lovers kiss. I put on boxer
shorts and get in Robby's side of  the bed so I can snuggle with him with the
good side of my face on the pillow.  After some more kisses, "Can you fuck
me gently, Robby?" He says, "I'd love to,  baby, but lets follow the doctors
orders and wait forty-eight hours before doing  anything exerting." What the
fuck, I like being taken care so even though I want  to, I don't argue with
him, mumbling, "Okay, that'll be tomorrow night. "Truth  is I'm feeling
really tired again so it's gotta be the concussion acting up  again because
I've been getting a lot of sleep.


Next morning I wake up while Robby's getting dressed. He'll be leaving  for
that two hour final exam review. One huge advantage of having a mild
concussion is the doctor's order to not attend school for at least  forty-eight
hours. In my case, don't attend college for forty-eight hours,  and maybe
longer. After Chubby and Robby leave for Merrimack, I have this warm  feeling
all over that I can just lay around all day doing nothing. I'm loving  that I
don't need to sit through a two hour review, but by two o'clock I'm  so
bored I could scream. Be careful what you wish for.



to be continued...    Donny Mumford


thinat20@yahoo.com   donnymumford@outlook.com



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


Hoping some readers may be interested, there are three books of mine
published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them
for next to nothing. The books are under ten dollars. Three book about a 19
year  old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. 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


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

Please consider a tax deductible donation of any size to
 nonprofit Nifty to help with the expense of maintaining this  ginormous
free story site. Thank you very much.
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html