Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2013 08:39:11 -0700 (PDT) From: donny mumford Subject: chapter 27 DYLAN'S SUMMER VACATION TWO by Donny Mumford DYLAN'S SUMMER VACATION TWO Chapter 27 by Donny Mumford After work Friday, Robby and me got into some kinky sex. It was fairly successful, but obviously Robby didn't know what he was doing although he seemed to enjoy being totally in charge after he hogtied me. It's up in the air if we'll try something like that again. Damn good orgasms from both of us though; for mine I shot off in his mouth. Then we showered and make plans to go out to dinner. We went online to choose a restaurant and finally agreed on Joe's American Bar and Grill, which is in Framingham so we wouldn't need to travel far. Looking at the menu online, we see that it's fairly pricey for us, so we make our choices deciding we're going to splurge like Chubby and I do when we go to Ken's Steak House. Robby and I haven't had a hell of a lot of luck with restaurants lately, but we're determined to improve our record in that regard. Getting dressed I decide on sneakers instead of the sandals I had on earlier, but the same sleeveless tee-shirt to show off my guns and my tattoo, and khaki shorts. Then, off we went in Robby's pickup. During the short drive we discuss our kinky sex and end-up laughing at ourselves because it was pretty lame. It's fun being with Robby... he seems very much like his old self tonight and I'm thinking that maybe with Ryan gone Robby feels like it's back to the way he and I were before the threesome experiment. He has his side sex with Travis once a week, but he hasn't asked me about any side sex I might be having. No point in me offering information about Ray if I don't need to because I'm probably going to switch to Seth anyway. Actually I was more worried Ryan would discover I was having side sex with two guys other than Robby. That's if I do in fact have a sexy time with Seth, too. It's a technicality anyway, if I'm lucky enough to have buddy sex with Seth I'll discontinue doing it with Ray. So it's basically like I'm only doing it with one guy, which is what our threesome agreed to. It's kind of fun getting back to my alley-catting days again. Basically it's harmless and not a danger to Robby's and my love affair, but I don't know if I can say the same about Ryan's and my relationship, which I hesitate to call a love affair although we are in love. That's a bit of a shaky situation right there, but since Ryan's in Georgia it's certainly nothing I need to worry about right now. Robby parks and we go into Joe's, which is of course jumping on a Friday night. The lady at reception desk takes our names, and says, "About a half hour, guys," so we go outside for a cigarette to kill some time. We're smoking and talking about the vacation week the crew will have at the end of July. The moms, Chubby, and me are going to Wildwood again this year and I've invited Robby to come with us. I ask him if he's decided whether to join us or not. He says, "I can't go; not in good conscience, Dylan. There's stuff, as a supervisor, I should be doing the week my grass-cutting crew is on vacation. The main thing is to be sure our lawns get taken care of. Our crew will cover for another crew when they're off for a week, and that crew's supervisor, Mark Blazer, is staying to help us get it done. I gotta do the same for him. Sorry, I'd really like to come with you, but I just can't do it." We commiserate about that as I'm checking out three guys standing outside, also smoking while waiting for a table. They're about twenty feet from us, but from here one kid is borderline cute and I'm trying to decide if he actually does qualify as cute when he looks up and sees me staring at him. He's got a baby face, but an attitude that apparently does not match his face. He gives me the finger, as he shouts, "What the fuck you looking at?" It's a no win situation and I don't want to ruin the night getting into a fight, so I avert my eyes and pretend I didn't hear him. Robby looks over, asking me, "Did he say that to you, Dylan?" I go, "I don't know. Ignore the fucker, Robby." Robby can't ignore anyone he thinks is dissing' me. He calls over, "You got a problem, asshole?" The big mouth guy yells back, "Yeah, that faggot was staring at me and I don't care for that." Man, when I hear that my first instinct is to go over there and start throwing punches, and then watch Robby go nuclear on that kid, but no one really wins. We'll all get our shots in, but the cut under my eye just healed and I'd rather avoid a fight. Robby says, "Come on, Dylan." So, what the fuck, we stroll over to the threesome. I say, "Hey, big-mouth, I don't appreciate being called a faggot. How'd you like getting your teeth knocked down your throat?" A tall slim kid says, "Hey, cool it, okay? He's had some bad news at home and he's just letting off steam." The third kid in the group is looking around like he wishes he was anywhere but here, and the original big-mouth ain't all that big at the moment. Robby flicks his finger under the big-mouth's chin, muttering, "Sorry for your troubles, bud, but ya don't need to bring total strangers into your life to make matters worse." Big-mouth turns his head away from Robby's taunting finger, but now that he's confronted, he has nothing to say. I go, "Have a nice night," as Robby and me saunter inside. No more comments from the trio. Sometimes they back down and sometimes they don't. Robby chuckles, saying, "Did you see those guys turtle when we came right up to them?" I go, "I'm glad they did; fighting is stupid." Robby's like, "Yeah, it is, but ya can't let people walk all over you. I was ready for a donnybrook with those maggots." Robby's a sweet kid, but his temper can get out of control at times, and then he turns into a madman for awhile. Surprising the hell out of me, we get seated sooner then the half hour we were told, instead of longer like I fully expected. I haven't had anything to eat since our noon lunch, almost seven hours ago, and I'm ready for a good meal. We get menus, but we don't get waited on. It's a busy place and I can't help but think it'd make sense to have a few more low-cost waiters on staff to turn over more dinners? Oh well, it's not like we're in a hurry. We check the menus, although we already know what we want from checking the menu online. There's a lot of loud talking and piercing laughing to my left so I glance over, then say, "Oh, no!" to Robby. He goes, "What's wrong?" I tell him, "We got a table full of girls-night-out forty years old, and it appears they've sucked down too many margaritas already. I hate getting a table next to them. It's happened to me twice before and these gals will be making spectacles of themselves to insure that the rest of us know what a good time they're having. I'm a fan of a good time, but there's a line between tolerable boisterousness and what amounts to obnoxious bids for attention." Just then one of the loud ladies pulls a waiter away from the table next to theirs, where he was taking orders. She yells, "When ya get a chance, doll, we need another round of drinks." I go, "See what I mean?" The amateur sociologist in me explains to Robby, "You have a better view than me, so watch for these distinct types at that table. They'll be 'the funny' one. She'll be the instigator of the shrill laughter from the others..." and my voice is blocked-out by just such a shrill round of laughter. Robby laughs, "Go on, Dylan, you got that one right. She's a heavyset woman facing me." I go, "The 'funny one' will say edgy quips of a sexual nature, or about extremely fresh topics, like, 'Why can't they make chocolate that helps lose weight?' and all the others will squeal with laughter.Then there'll be a 'sexy one' at the table. A woman who feels she has sophisticated taste, like knowing how to squash a roll of middle-age stomach fat into low-rise jeans two sizes too small for her, and a tube-top that barely covers medically enhanced boobs. There will probably be a 'shy one' in the group. She's the only one remotely concerned for other patrons' comfort. The forth one will probably be the 'artsy one'. Maybe she took a few pottery lessons at the community college so now she dresses like a hippie to prove she's artsy and not into conformity. The fifth one, the last one..." Robby's laughing, he says, "There are six of them." I go, "I only know five types, lets say the fifth and sixth women are the 'smart ones'. Probably holding full-time jobs in low management positions and spending themselves into oblivion to create the illusion of success to make the others jealous." And another shrill screech goes up from the girls-night-out table as a plain looking waiter, about twenty-two years old, says something to us we can't hear. I nod at the table of screeching hyenas, and he gives me a cute smile, proving once again that even plain looking guys can be cute in some way, even if it's their only way. He goes, "Yeah, they're delightful," meaning the occupants of the table next to us. "What can I get you guys?" We order Cokes. The appetizers are too pricey so Robby and I already agreed to order one shrimp cocktail, and split it. I tell the waiter this, getting another cute grin from him. He says, "I'll stick a couple of extra shrimp in for ya, and only charge for six." This guy knows how to bump-up a tip. I go, "That's cool, thanks." Then I order Maryland lump crab cakes; they come with cole slaw and sweet potato fries, which I switch to regular french fries. Robby orders sirloin steak tips which comes with mashed potatoes, caramelized onions, and mushroom gravy. Both entrees are $17.99 so we now can split the bill right down the middle. As we wait, the girls-night-out table keeps a crescendo of noise going that makes normal conversation difficult. The two couples sitting behind Robby are insisting their table be changed and this is causing problems for the waiter because the place is sold-out and there are people waiting for tables. Robby leans towards me, saying, "For ninety-nine cents you can buy an iPhone app that measures ambient noise levels. I think the advertisement said trendy places easily get up over eighty decibels, which is something like a hundred times the sound energy of normal speech." I go, "I wonder if this is a trendy place? I think the noise level might be higher in here, thanks to a certain table." The girls-night-out herd is receiving their dinner orders so the noise is reduced considerably while they shovel food down their throats. Thank God! Our server brings the shrimp cocktail and two cocktail sauce servings, I guess so we can double dip if we choose to without grossing the other guy out. That's considerate, but Robby and I have swapped so much spit we could care less if one of us double dips in the sauce. There are eight shrimp the size of small chicken legs, cooked perfectly, almost with a snap when you bite off a piece. Very cold too. What's worse than room-temperature cocktail shrimp that are kind of mushy? Okay, the appetizer is a big hit. Robby and I reminisce about bad restaurant experiences we've had that were worse than the girls-night-out table, although those women should me ashamed of themselves acting the way they do. Somehow I don't think they will be; well, maybe the shy one will. Our entrees come in a timely manner, hot and cooked properly so this is one of our more successful restaurant experiences, fer sure. Damn good crab cakes. Robby and I share our entrees; his steak tips are medium rare, tender, and really tasty, especially with the caramelized onions. We clean out plates as the loud table is back at it with after dinner drinks. I say to Robby, "The waiter and the food were very good, but I can't stand these rude bitches any longer, so let's get coffee and dessert someplace else." Robby says, "I totally agree," and when our waiters asks us if we'd like to see the dessert menus, I say, "Normally we would, but we can't take the shrill screeching any longer. You were great though, and so was the food, so we have absolutely no complaint with you or the chef." He gives the cute smile again, saying, "Hey, thanks," and takes our check out of a leather holder he carries in between his apron string and his shirt, and lays it face down, saying, "I hope you'll try Joe's again." I hold my finger up, meaning he should wait a second. Glancing at the bill, it's forty-nine dollars, including the meal tax. I mumble to Robby, "Thirty each." We both put a twenty and a ten dollar bill on the check, saying, "Thanks, Ronny," which is what his name tag says his name is. He thanks us and we're out the front door of Joe's. It's a relief to hear only traffic noise outside. Robby goes, "We could have made good use of the noise reducing earmuffs from work in there." It would have been fine except for that one group of six loud, obnoxious women. Just one more restaurant experience for our scrapbook. We end up going to the mall where Robby buys The Killers' latest CD, and then we get ice cream at the food court. As soon as we sit down, Ray and a girl, probably his latest girlfriend, come over and sit down with us. Ray says, "Excuse me, Dickers" to Robby, then to me, "Hey, Dylan, you're looking good as usual. I want you to meet my girlfriend, Maryanne DeCorva. Maryanne this is my boyfriend, Dylan Newman." My face turns scarlet at his 'boyfriend' reference, as she says, "Hi." Then to Ray, she says, "Jesus, Ray, he is cuter than me. I'll be goddamned! I thought you were bullshiting me." And, like Stringbean alluded to last night, Maryanne does have a faint mustache on her upper lip, but she's probably considered sexy except for that. She has an interesting face and a shapely body featuring big jugs and a big ass and a narrow waist. Ray gets up, and says, "Call me tomorrow, Dylan. See ya later." And, as they walk away, Maryanne hits Ray's arm playfully, saying, "You bi guys are hard to keep up with." I glance at Robby who has a questioning look on his face. "What was that all about, Dylan?" Time to lie. I go, "Oh, you know crazy Ray, he thinks I'm his boyfriend because a long time ago we had an incident together." That's what I consider a little white lie because way back when Ray and I did have a little thing going, and it was before Robby, Ryan, and I established the rules for our threesome, so I wasn't cheating. Robby goes, "You're too nice to everyone, Dylan. Geeks like Ray Ellis ya just tell to get lost. They're leeches." I go, "That is so uncharitable, Robby, and not like you at all." He shrugs, "Okay, you don't tell them to get lost, but you don't do sexual favors for them either. Jeez!" I go, "He's misunderstood, that's all. Some people you need to give a break to." Robby smirks, and asks, "Did you notice Maryanne's mustache?" I go, "No, she had a mustache? Poor thing." He shakes his head slowly, muttering, "Oh my God, I'm in love with an Albert Schweitzer clone. You're too nice to everyone. Wait until you have a supervisory or manager position in some job, then you'll realize you can't be nice to everyone or they'll walk all over you. But I love you like you are." I look innocent, and Robby smirks, asking, "Um, are you patterning yourself after Mother Teresa by any chance?" I go, "No, Will Rogers." We finish our ice cream, and Ray Ellis and his mustachioed girlfriend are forgotten by the time we're walking in the parking lot smoking a cigarette. Robby gets his arm around my neck pulling my head to his, as he gives me a smoky kiss on the lips with me exhaling Robby's second hand smoke through my nose. Then we stop and do a really good kiss next to the pickup. A few people walk by pretending we're invisible. Done our kiss, I ask, "What happened to our pledge of no public displays of affection?" Robby chuckles, then says, "I underestimated your sexiness and cuteness factors. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with the need to smell, feel, and taste you. And I'm getting used to being openly gay, too. Why should I care what total strangers think? It's awesome to be free," and he kisses me again, then holds his face beside mine, saying, "I love you more every day," and the sincerity gives me shivers as I cling to him, muttering, "Me too, Robby." We kiss again, then break apart with Robby blurting out a laugh, saying, "I got the hardest boner from hugging and kissing you. You're dangerous!" I take that as a compliment, and mumble, "You too, Robby," as I grope my junk. He laughs again, "You always do that. I give you some sort of ultimate compliment, and you basically mutter, 'ditto'." I go, "I do not," and he hugs me again and does a long kiss on the side of my face, then one on my lips. I feel so loved and adored by Robby and it's the best feeling ever. Smiling at him now, he just shakes his head again, "God almighty, I'm so in love with you, it's insane, Dylan. And there will be a day I won't need to share you with anyone, you'll be mine alone. That's the day I look forward to; that keeps me going as I work my way towards that special day." I go, "You'll get no argument from me, Robby. I want to be yours alone too, as soon as you're done sowing your wild oats." He yells, "My wild oats? Oh man, you're such a cute con artist, a real social engineer." "What the hell does that mean?" I ask, as we step on our cigarette butts. We're getting in the pickup, with Robby saying, "Actually I'm not sure what social engineering means, it just sounded cool saying it." He's in an awesome upbeat mood, and again I wonder if it's just a coincidence that Robby's so chipper and Ryan's in Georgia; is it coincidence or is it cause and effect? During the drive back to my condo we get laughing from mocking the various types of girls-night-out participants that I described. It's great having Robby in such a good, loving frame of mind, no matter the reason for it. When we park at the curb below my condo, Robby says, "Slide over here, baby." I love that he told me to come to him, and I love when he calls me a sweet endearment, although I used to cringe at times when Willie did it. I slide over to him and Robby wraps his arms around my neck as my arms go around him, and we get into a hot, loving, sexy make-out. Robby's not the only one with a boner in his pants by the time he says, "Let's get naked in your bedroom, Dylan. I'm going to fuck your brains out again." Robby's combination of taking charge, along with his basic loving sweetness, is becoming more and more like the formula Ryan has going for himself; it's irresistible to me. We walk up the steps with Robby holding my hand and me walking close to him like Ryan does. My boner comes along with us as I glance at Robby every couple of steps, enjoying how cute he is and how confident he appears to be. He looks over at me, saying, "You and me forever." I nod my head staring into his beautiful blue eyes. Who could ever wish for a better boyfriend than Robby? I find myself in one of my submissive states of mind and I've no idea how I got there, but I'm grateful for it, especially being with him. We go into the house, hand in hand, without speaking, then walk into my bedroom where we silently get undressed. Robby motions with his finger for me to come to him and when I do he cups my balls in his hand, my boner rests upwards against his wrist, as my arms go around his neck for a long kiss with our lips moving and our tongues smoothly rubbing together. A long, "Mmmmm," from my throat as precum drools from my cock onto his arm and my shoulders shudder. Occasionally everything is perfectly aligned for sexual love, and tonight, for basically reasons unknown, is one of those times for Robby and me. Maybe it's the kinky sex we had earlier, or Robby and me unknowingly pushing each other's buttons just right, and at the same time, but whatever the reason everything just seems sexier and more loving than usual. I'm sighing with pleasure, limp against Robby, our naked bodies as tightly together as it's possible for them to be. Bare skin against bare skin is so wonderfully sexy. We kiss until I'm weak with desire for this perfect lover. He takes my hand and with our boners preceding us we walk to the bed and climb in to wrap our arms around each other to do deep kisses as we squirm against one another. Just as I'm on the verge of spontaneously climaxing, Robby pushes me onto my side, with him behind me on his side; his hard cock splits the lips of my anus as I whimper with desire and then the head of his cock is inside me with both of us shuddering and moaning with pleasure, "Mmmmmm, aaah." Robby's arm is over my side, his hand rubbing one of my nipples as he pushes his cock all the way up my rectum and a spurt of precum plops out of my boner and drops to the sheet. He leaves his cock inside me as he kisses the side of my neck and then sucks a hickey there as his hips smoothly thrusts his boner back and forth in my ass. Shivers of pleasure zig zag through me accompanying my constant sighs of deep sexual pleasure. Loving sexual pleasure that only true love allows. Sucking my neck and kissing it, while rubbing my hard nipples and fucking my ass steadily has me in a wonderful place that I want to be in forever, but my balls have worked-up a large supply of sperm, and my cock buzzes with scintillating sensations that are feeling so good I can hardly believe it, and Robby's fat cock is massaging every sensitive spot in my rectum and has it dancing in a sea of pleasure... something has to give. I cry out and hump my hips as a dizzying array of unbelievable sexual sensation overwhelms my brain and cum shoots out of my cock with my whole body vibrating. I hump back against Robby and then my hips thrust forward for another string of cum traveling from my balls out my super sensitive boner. Robby makes a desperate strangling sound in his throat and slams against me to fill me up with his cum. My last spurt comes out of me as his second blast goes into me and we're both jostling against one another with sounds associated with the intense sensations of orgasm. My body is still sizzling with these awesome sensations as I stroke my cock and Robby clings to me still doing hard humps up my ass. He's whimpering now as the sensations of his climax spastically roll over him, and then I go over on my stomach, still shaking, with Robby's cock pulling out of my ass. I'm laying in my cum even as Robby's cum drools out of me to roll down my butt cheek. We lay here, me on my stomach and him on his back; both our hearts pounding as we take deep breaths coming down from the mountaintop of sexual pleasure. Then calmness and contentment takes over and a warmth and a wonderful glow descends on me as I sigh in amazement at the power of love and sex. We don't speak, just soak up the moment. Robby takes a deep breath, then rolls over on top of me and slides his cock up my cum filled ass again to fuck me for another five minutes of bliss. He's finally satisfied, pulls his softening cock from my ass and lays next to me on his stomach with his arm over my back, and then says quietly in my ear, "Nothing can be this good, Dylan. With you it's perfection; everything else is in last place," and he kisses the side of my face, as I mumble, "You too, Robby," which makes him chuckle, and mutter, "He did it again," meaning he gave me a compliment and I basically responded with, 'You too, Robby,' instead of coming up with my own compliment for him. I get my body tight to his, saying, "I did not," and we kid about that and wind-up making-out again. When we're finally satisfied we've sampled each other enough, we get up and clean ourselves in the bathroom. Robby says, "It's only a little after nine o'clock, how about we shave our pubes and do haircuts while we have the chance. Tomorrow I've a busy day working with dad." I ask, "How many hours a week do you work?" and he's like, "Too many; don't remind me." I get out the same razor and shaving cream I shaved with earlier. We wet down each others' half-inch pubic hairs and carefully shave; I do Robby's first, and then he does mine. Damn, it feels good down there when it's smooth. I wonder about Ryan not having anyone to do this with, but don't mention it 'cause it makes me feel sad. We put on our underwear and shorts, then go downstairs for haircuts. When I get the clippers out and plugged in, Robby says, "I'll give you your haircut first," so I sit on the stool ready for a not-too-good haircut and wishing it was Ryan doing the haircutting. Robby does his workman like job on the sides and back without asking me what type of haircut I want, but that's okay with me. I like that he's in charge and that means I can't pick and choose what he's in charge of. There's a few curse words from Robby when he tries tapering the back, which means he's made some mistakes, but I don't say anything because I know he's doing his best. He finally says, "I'm trying to do it like Ryan, but it's not as easy as he made it look so I'm just going to square off the hairline in the back." I sarcastically think, but don't say, 'Oh goody, just like Supercuts'. Done the sides and back he picks-up the comb, saying, "I'll try doing the top as short as Ryan did it last time, okay?" I'm quick to say, "I like the length you make the top, not Ryan's length." He says, "Oh, okay, but I thought you really liked the last haircut he gave you." I mutter, "I didn't want to hurt his feelings, that's all. I remembered you telling me to like my haircut no matter how bad he cuts it." Robby goes, "Oh yeah, I did tell you that. Huh, good for you, Dylan. Gee, I like that you did what I told you; half the time I'm not sure you're even paying attention to what I say." I go, "That's just so wrong, Rob. I always listen to you." He combs the hairs up on top and runs the clippers across the comb, muttering, "Dammit," then he does it again, chuckling this time. "I guess it's going to be as short as Ryan cut it after all." I've no comment about that as he continues cutting away. He takes quite awhile blending in the lengths on the sides and back with the length on top and when he hands me the handheld mirror it's more like a buzz cut than a burr, but it doesn't look bad enough to complain about. No one is likely to comment on it, which is the best I can hope from a Robby haircut. Of course I don't know what it looks like in back that mad him curse under his breath, and I don't wanna know either. I say, "Nice job, Rob." He smiles that I'm calling him Rob, and says, "Thanks, but it looks more like a buzz cut then a short burr." I go, "Nothing wrong with that," and we change places. Robby's haircut goes quickly. I marvel that he has so much trouble getting the technique right because it seems so simple to me. We brush the hair clippings off each other and clean them off the tiles. Robby says, "Another masterpiece," meaning the haircut I gave him, and then, "I wish we had a beer." I don't put the clippers away because I'll need them tomorrow when I give Devon a haircut. To Robby's beer wish, I say, "Let me borrow a couple from Chubby's condo," and Robby's like, "Excellent!" He waits on the balcony enjoying the fresh air as I go up and let myself into Tris' condo with the key from the mailbox. I grab two bottles of beer, Beck's this time, and leave an IOU note for two beers on the counter. Locking up, I carry the beers down to my place, open them, and join Robby on the balcony. We smoke and drink the bitter beers while talking about us and what a great time we had tonight. Finished the first two, I get two more beers, crossing out the 'two' and making it 'four' on my IOU note. It's a beautiful night and we're talking easily, joking about the girls-night-out ladies again and getting silly with things we should have said to them and making up what they'd probably say back to us, figuring they'd be calling us 'doll' like the funny fat lady called the waiter. After the second round of beer we get into a hot make-out on the balcony and end-up inside with Robby pulling my pants down and in addition to the kinky and lover's sex, Robby fucks me standing up like Ryan does at times. We're not into that kind of intense heat that Ryan and I get into, but this is the third fuck of the night so that explains the heat factor. We both have a spurt of cum for our orgasms, but it felt better than a spurt. After kissing for a bit, Robby says goodnight around midnight. I shower again and get in bed sexually satisfied and happy; it was an awesome date with Robby and he doesn't need to take a backseat to anybody. It was a three bagger. A damn good night that was full of laughs, love and sex; who could ask for anything more. Saturday morning I sleep until almost ten o'clock and wakeup with a smile on my lips thinking about Robby and me last night. Laying in bed I text him, 'Awesome date, boyfriend! Love you, Dylan.' Ten minutes late he texted back, 'You made it awesome. I'm in the office with dad. See you Sunday. Love you, Rob' I wonder if there's significance to him signing off as 'Rob'? Not being able to come up with any conclusion to that, I get up and do my bathroom stuff, get dressed, then make a breakfast sandwich of Canadian bacon, fried egg, and cheese on toast with ketchup. The instant coffee sucks, but today's the day the Keurig coffee maker comes down here from Chubby's place for a six week stay; six weeks of good coffee. After breakfast I put in an hour of cleaning, dusting, and vacuuming my bedroom. When it's shining I change the bedding, put a wash load in the washing machine and then clean my bathroom recalling the time Willie and I overhauled that dumpy motel room we stayed at. This cleaning I'm doing is a once every two week chore that I don't like doing, but I'm always pleased with myself when it's done. I take another quick shower in my shiny-clean shower stall and when I'm drying myself my cell phone buzzes: it's a text from Devon. 'I'm here but not sure of your condo, Devon' I text back telling him the condo number and quickly get dressed in shorts and a tee-shirt just in time to answer the doorbell. Not sure what to expect, I open the door and see that Devon's alone. That surprises me because we don't know each other that well and I half expected he'd cancel coming completely, and half expected he'd have someone with him from the posse for morale support. Nope, he's alone. He does the posse fist bump and one arm hug, mumbling, "Dylan, good to see ya, man." I go, "How ya doing, Devon?" He runs his fingers through his light brown hair, pulling it out, saying, "Shampooed in the shower, Dylan; clean hair ready to be cut." I say, "Well, come on downstairs and we'll take care of it. Did you decide how you want it cut?" He goes, "Uh huh," and he takes a folded printer copy of a picture and hands it to me on the steps, "Can you cut it like this?" The picture shows an old favorite haircut of mine; short on the sides and back and just long enough to comb down on top and flip up in front. I go, "Yep, this was more popular a few years ago, but it's still a cool look if you ask me." We're in the basement so I say, "Ya better take your shirt off, then sit on that stool." He pulls his shirt over his head, mumbling, "I'm a little nervous about this, Dylan. It's a big change for me, but Ray got his hair cut real short so it's cool now. We all used to rock long hair in Ray's posse, but I follow his lead." I ask, "Why is that, Devon. Why do you guys follow Ray's lead and all that other stuff?" He shrugs, "I don't know, we have since we were little kids. We grew up together and Ray's always been the leader, he just sorta assumed that position, ya know?" I go, "No, I don't know. Is he the toughest or something like that?" Devon sits on the stool, and I notice he's like Ray, as he has some hair on his chest along his breastbone, also known as the sternum. Just a little brownish chest hair between his pecs; it looks cool and I fight off the urge to run my fingers through it. Devon's quite slim with very pinkish skin. Nice body, everything considered. To my question about Ray being the toughest, he answers, "Yeah, Ray was always the toughest guy in the neighborhood, and the wildest too, so he's our leader." I go, "Oh." He goes, "Ray told me about taking off my shirt for my haircut and, oh yeah, you're to call him when you're done. You hanging out with us this afternoon? I'll give you a ride, we're meeting at Al's again." I'm combing through his clean wavy hair. It's very fine, but there are so many hairs that it appears to be thick and it's also very long, reaching to his chin. I say, "Um, I can't hang out with you guys today, and why does Ray want me to call him anyway?" He shrugs again, "I don't know, I didn't ask him." I've got excellent barber scissors, so I'll use them first to reduce the bulk. Combing Devon's hair forward, it totally covers his face and extends below his chin, but not for long. The scissors crunch through his hair halfway up his forehead, three 'crunches' of the scissors and a pile of hair ends-up in his lap leaving him with two inch bangs. "Oh God!" he exclaims, as I grin. Combing up a large bunch of long hair on the side, above his ear, and "Crunch" go the scissors again, then again, and now I can see his ear; it sticks out. Jeez, his ears stick out, unnoticed covered in hair, but obviously protruding now. Should I say something? Too late now, anyway, so I keep slicing through his hair around the back to the other side. This ear protrudes exactly like the other one. I say, "You're not used to short hair, Devon, so you may think it makes your ears more prominent, but that's just because you're not used to seeing them; your ears I mean." He says, "Oh, my ears do stick out like dumbo ears. I had short hair as a kid. I don't care though, I told my girlfriend I was getting a short haircut and that my ears stick out and she said they're cute. She picked out the hair style I showed you." I ask, "Um, you have a girlfriend?" He goes, "Yeah," and he reaches in his back pocket and pulls his wallet out. He's got three pictures of him with a fairly cute girl. "We've been going together almost two years. I'm not like Ray, who keeps switching girlfriends." Why all this should shock me I don't know, but it does. "She's cute, Devon." He asks, "Are you bi like Ray, or gay?" Just like that he asks that question, and it makes me smile for some reason. I say, "Gay," as I'm picking up the clipper, done with the scissors for now. This is fun; cutting kids' hair is kind of a rush for me and I'm not sure why that is. I ask, "Your girlfriend is in favor of you with short hair?" He goes, "Definitely, or I wouldn't do it. I asked her what she thought before I asked you if you'd cut it for me." I'm curious now, so I ask, "How come barbers intimidate you? How's that work?" He says, "I don't know exactly. There used to be this mean old barber all us kids went to and he intimidated me; it just sucked. He died, but I still don't like barbers. You I like; I don't even care that you're gay. I'm sure you're not going to jump my bones or anything, so I feel good about you cutting my hair." I turn on the clippers, muttering, "Thanks for the vote of confidence," thinking that he doesn't need to give a thought about me jumping his bones or his anything else. Lots of straight guys think gays have a thing for every guy we see, but nothing could be further from the truth. For example, I continually turned down Ears Henderson's offers at Merrimack to blow me, or for me to fuck him, because I'm not the least bit attracted to him. He's a good guy as far as a classmate goes, but I have no interest in him, or most guys, sexually. I can be friends without taking it past that, and that's true whether they're straight or gay. Using the half inch guide on the clippers I cut all the hairs on the sides and back of his head to that length, and then taper the neck hairline. He's another kid with great hair and it looks really good after I use the trimmers around the ears, very neat looking. Lastly I use the comb and scissors to cut down the hairs on top to about an inch and a quarter and blend the sides in. Rubbing in some hair gel I give the top of his head a good massage, then comb down the hairs on top and flip his bangs up. A few adjustments and I announce, "The new, Devon! Ready to take a look?" He says, "Yep, I'm anxious to see how it looks." Handing him the handheld mirror he says, "Wow, way cool, Dylan," as he runs the palm of his hand up the half-inch hair on the back of his head, "Feels cool too, thanks, man." I thought Devon was the cutest posse member initially and this haircut extenuates that; his ears sticking out are kinda cute. too, as he has smallish ears. Maybe I would jump his bones if he were gay, haha. Devon stares at himself a bit feeling his short hair, almost amazed it looks so good. Then he says, "Please call Ray, so I don't get in trouble. If you don't, Ray will think I forgot to tell you." I go, "Sure, no problem," and take out my phone to punch on his name in my contacts list. Ray answers the second ring. "Hi, Dylan, how's Devon look?" I go, "He can tell you," and hand the cell phone to Devon, who enthusiastically endorses the haircut, then hands the phone back to me. Ray goes, "I told him you're an awesome barber. Um, can you hang out with us today?" He sounds leery that I will, and in a weird way I feel bad disappointing him, but I go, "Damn, I can't Ray. I, um, need to get some stuff at the mall." He says, "No problem, we don't need to go to Al's, the mall's always cool. Please be in my posse today, Dylan, Mark won't be there because he's on suspension." Puffing out my cheeks, what the hell, Robby and Chubby are busy today, I say, "Okay, sure, Ray, I'll get a ride with Devon." He says, "Great, I'll see ya there. Can't wait to see Devon's new do, too." We end the call and Devon goes, "You're gonna be in the posse today, good deal." He seems younger than eighteen, but I seem younger than twenty, which I'll be in about a month. Damn, no longer a teenager. That sucks! I squeeze the back of Devon's neck, saying, "Yeah, I'm coming, but we're going to the mall, not Al's." He hunches his shoulders, grinning, when I squeezed behind his neck, "That gave me chills, Dylan, ha ha. It felt good." I brush the hair clippings from his shoulders as he does the same from his lap and I again think, 'He's a damn likable kid, yeah, I guess I would jump his bones if he wanted me to, which he doesn't. We brush the hairs off us and then he holds the dustpan while I sweep up an incredible amount of his hair from the tile floor. It goes in the trash as he puts his shirt on and we're off for the mall to hang out. What's the harm, I get a kick out of Devon and Bean, plus I never know what to expect from Ray, but he's usually unintentionally funny. To me he is anyway, but not to anyone else I know except Ray's brother, Elliot. We don't go directly to the mall though. Devon drives home, a nice suburban house, and he brings me in with him so he can show off his new haircut to his parents. Well, I could do without this, but they're nice people and make a big fuss over their son's new look with many thanks and congratulations to me for an excellent job of haircutting. Just because Devon is a member of Ray's posse I wrote him off as an oddball, but he isn't. He's a little naive, but he has a good family life and a girlfriend, plus he's a good kid. Ya can't judge a book by it's cover. Well, sometimes you can, but not always. After the visit with the McCarty family we still don't go to the mall. We go to pick up Devon's girlfriend, as she's going with us. "So is Ray's girlfriend, and Manny's too," Devon informs me. I'm always being taken by surprise by this crew. "Who's Manny?" I ask, as we pull up to his girlfriend's house. "He's another one of Ray's posse, Manny Ruiz," he says. "Oh," is what I say. Devon asks, "Would you mind sitting in the back, Dylan, so Annie can sit in front?" I say, "Sure," and get in the backseat. Devon goes up to the house and it's a good five minutes before he and Annie appear. She's fairly cute, running ahead of Devon to open the door, saying, "You're a genius, Dylan. I love Devie's haircut. It's better than the one in the picture." I mutter, "Thanks," as Devon gets in the car and those two kiss on the lips. She rubs her fingers up the back of his head, as he says, "Dylan, Annie Smith. Annie, that's my personal barber, Dylan Newman." She reaches over and we do a quick handshake, with Annie saying, "You're, um, you're beautiful." Trying for funny, I go, "Everyone says that," and she laughs, "Well, everyone's right then," is her reply. Okay, she's fine. Not all girls hit it off with me. There's a missing chemistry between me and some girls, but Annie's not one of them. We do a little question and answer thing like you do when you just meet someone and you need to make small talk. She knows and adores Dodger, as it turns out, and she wants to know why he joined the Army. She was in some of Dodger's classes. I tell her, "No one knows the answer to that question, Annie, not even his brother." She says, "There's another hunk, Rob Dickers." I go, "Yeah, I know, he's my boyfriend." Her head snaps around to look at me, and she asks, "As in boyfriend?" and Devon says, "Yeah, Dylan's gay. He's Ray's boyfriend too." She asks me, "Is Ray really bisexual?" I say, "As far as I know he is." Annie's like, "Ray is so funny, clueless, but funny and he's really a sweet kid under all his bluster. He and Devie grew up together, like from first grade, right Devie?" Devon goes, "Yep," and it went like that until we park at the mall. Devon and Annie hold hands walking through the parking lot with me feeling like a third wheel. Inside Devon says, "Let's check the food court," so we do, and we find Ray and his girlfriend, Maryanne, along with Jameson and a dark haired girl who's average looking, wearing too much make-up. Stringbean's there without a girlfriend, and a Hispanic kid also without a girlfriend. I get introduced to Manny Ruiz who's smallish with that awesome creamy tan complexion some Hispanics are lucky enough to have. He's got average length black hair and big dark eyes, rosy lips and brilliant white teeth. He does the fist bump and one arm hug with me, saying, "Nice to meet ya." Then Devon asks, "Where's your girl, Manny?" Manny says, "It's, um, she's not feeling so hot today, dude, ya know?" Ray goes, "Her time of the month for her period, Manny?" he asks innocently, not to be funny or vulgar. He doesn't know any better, that's all. Maryanne whacks his arm, saying, "Don't be fucking crude, Ray." Ray looks at her, puzzled, asking, "Rude?" then to me, "Come on over here, Dylan." I take the couple of steps and he does the same fist bump, one arm hug. Then he ruffles my hair, saying, "Got a haircut did ya? It's as short as mine. You're like Stringbean here: what I do, you two do, too... it's cool," and his arm goes around my neck with Maryanne looking at us oddly. Is she jealous? Then to Devon, Ray says, "That haircut looks awesome, Devon. Don't it Annie?" She agrees, but Jameson's rolling his eyes, muttering, "Are we all getting short haircuts from Dylan?" Manny says, "You cut his hair, Dylan?" Devon says, "Yeah, he gave me a haircut this morning, for free," and Manny looks at me, asking, "How 'bout me, Dylan? Can I get a haircut?" I go, "Sure, Manny, any time." He says, "Damn, you're a good posse member, you're bringing something to the table, dude," and he punches my arm lightly, asking, "How 'bout later this afternoon?" Then he asks Ray, "How long we hanging out today?" Ray says, "I gotta be home by four-thirty 'cause my mom needs the car. You give Dylan a ride to his house and he'll do the haircut for you. Right, Dylan?" as he hugs my neck. Damn this submissive fetish of mine! Ray's pushing that button by being so confidently bossy. I take a deep breath trying not to slip into one of those dreamy moods, and say, "Sure thing, Ray." Manny says, "Cool, dude, I want the same haircut Ray has." Devon asks his girlfriend, "Do you like Ray's haircut? Maybe I should get it cut like that. Bean did." She says, "Their haircuts' okay, but I like your's better." Jameson goes, "I guess I'll come with Manny, but I want Devon's haircut, not the one Ray has." Ray's like, "That's cool, Jameson. We got our own barber in my posse now so all we need to do is get Dawg on board and it'll be unanimous." Bean says, "What about Mark?" Ray goes, "Fuck Mark." I ask, "Who's Dawg?" Ray points to a kid walking towards us, "That's Dawg right there." A tough looking kid with a dark blond ponytail is swaggering towards us. He has tattoos on his left forearm, a stud through his bottom lip, and those hideous black earplugs that expand the earlobes permanently. No one will ever take this kid seriously in a normal business environment. Other than his unfortunate body art, he's a normal looking five foot, eight inch boy who looks about eighteen. Dawg gives everyone in the posse, starting with Ray, the fist bump and one arm hug, saying, "Dude" to each guy. He doesn't do it to me or the girls until Ray introduces me as his newest posse member, then I get the fist bump and hug, along with, "Dude, welcome." He looks like a tough guy, but in actuality he's a quiet, soft spoken, polite kid. What a collection of friends, all of whom grew-up together within two blocks of each other. We roam the mall running into kids these guys know, but who aren't in the group. I see a couple of kids I know, but for obvious reasons I don't shout out to them. It's insane I'm hanging with these kids, and shocking to me how immature they seem at times. I guess there's a lot of growing up that takes place between eighteen and twenty years that's so gradual I didn't notice it. I remember doing some of the shit these guys are doing, like making fun of people they don't know behind their backs for laughs. The things these guys laugh at aren't especially funny to me either, although I'm open minded enough to acknowledge we laughed at similar things when us guys were seventeen or eighteen. I'm probably the only one from my age group who would find this experience interesting, but I really do. Plus, these guys all treat me deferentially, either consciously or unconsciously, probably because I'm two years older. At least I hope it's because I'm older and not because I'm Ray's so-called boyfriend, which all of them know by now because Ray's told them. Maryanne has a potty mouth that makes me laugh because she's perfect for Ray. Both of them are clueless and they play off one another innocence in a humorous way. I have to admire that all of them accept that Ray's bi and I'm gay. There is very little bickering among them like there was at the basketball game, and that's obviously because the asshole, Mark, isn't here. While I find all of this interesting, it's not an experience I'm likely to repeat any time soon. I wonder if my membership to the posse gets canceled if I don't show up for a few weeks. That's meant as a joke because obviously I don't care. I like these dudes in a way and I like giving haircuts so it's okay for the moment, but it has a very short shelf life. It's just I don't want to hurt any of their feelings. Afterroaming around for a hour or so we end-up back at the food court where everyone is able to choose food from a variety of booths. Ray buys his girlfriend and boyfriend pizza. At a table Maryanne and I are seated with Ray standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders, possessively. He asks, "What kind of drink do you want, Dylan?" I say, "Dammit, Ray, I can get my own drink. Sit down and tell me what drink you want, you too Maryanne." She says, "Coke for me," Ray sits down, saying, "I'll have the same, and thanks." I pick-up my pizza slice and take a bite, "Thanks for the pizza," and I go get the drinks. Here's my latest dilemma: none of these guys or girls is pissing me off. They're all likable in their own way, and the better I get to know Ray, the more apparent it becomes that Devon's girlfriend, Annie, is right about Ray being a sweet kid under all his bluster. They all treat me great and my problem with that is it makes it hard for me to blow them off like I want to do. I can't hangout with these kids and I definitely can't be Ray's boyfriend, but I don't want to hurt their feelings. For some reason they like having me in their posse, but it's ridiculous of me to continue this charade. So how do I sever ties without dumping on them? I went along with Ray's absurd boyfriend/girlfriend thing because it was amusing at first and he fucks good, but now that I'm deeply involved it's not amusing anymore and I don't know how to extricate myself from this situation gracefully and without hurt feelings. The fucking situations I get myself into! Jesus! I wish Mark was here because then I'd have a believable reason to just drop out. He's such an asshole no one would really blame me. I mean, I didn't grow-up with these kids; they're stuck with each other, but I'm not. Oh man! Taking the Cokes back to the table, Maryanne goes, "Thanks, Dylan. I was telling Ray if you weren't gay I'd drop him like a hot potato and stalk you. You're so sexy it ain't fucking funny." I mutter, "Thanks, Maryanne," and Ray says, "Well, he is gay so I win the prize. Right, Dylan?" I say, "I'm no prize, Ray." Manny comes over and pats me on the shoulder, rubs my hair, then sits down, asking me, "Did you take calculus in high school? I'm wondering if I should elect it this year." I say, "Calculus? I don't even know what that is." Ray says, "Manny's our genius. Straight 'A's all through middle school and high school." I look at him and the 'You can't tell a book by it's cover,' thought enters my mind again. I ask Ray, "What kind of grades do you get?" Maryanne answers, "He's almost as fucking brainy as Manny," and she squeezes Ray's arm, adding, "He's my prize." Good lord, I guess Ray was telling the truth about having girlfriends. This one was chasing after him apparently. She says, "I had a cat fight with his old girlfriend when she dumped him to go steady with that prep school prick." Ray says, "I dumped her. She didn't dump me." It's impossible not to stare at Maryanne's mustache and she almost catches me. I glance away and see Manny grinning at me as he casually rubs his top lip. I make a face at him and he blurts out a laugh. Ray wants to know, "What's so funny, Manny?" He goes, "Dylan made a face at me, that's all." I'm finished with my pizza so I say, "I gotta get going, Ray. Manny, you driving me home?" He says, "Yep, let me get my homie, Jameson, and we'll be off." He goes over to another table to fetch Jameson, and Ray says, "I'll pick you up about eight o'clock, Dylan. You and me are going to the movies tonight, then we'll see how we feel about you know what." Maryanne says, "When's it my turn, Ray?" This is like Robby and his twin boyfriends. Ray says, "Jeez, girl, we went out last night. Whaddaya mean, when's it your turn?" She says to me, "It's so hot going out with a bi boy, ain't it fucking hot, Dylan?" I deadpan, "Like the hubs of hell," and Ray wants to know, "What's that mean?" He's almost as smart as Manny? Maryanne pats Ray's hand, saying, "Hell is hot. Get it?" Manny and Jameson are here so I stand, then all the guys do the fist bump with a one arm hugs to Manny, Jameson, and me with Ray adding an affectionate head rub for me, and then we're off. Growing up I stuck mostly with Chubby. We had other friends but he and I were our group and the rest weren't in it. I can see the attraction these kids have for belonging to a group, but me and Chubby were mostly into ourselves and we never belonged to a group, ever. This is what these guys grew up with and none of them wants to be excluded so they maintain the status quo, so to speak. That's what my amateur sociologist brain comes up with at least, though I could easily be wrong. Manny and Jameson are very friendly, likable kids, but they're immature. I'm immature, but seem mature compared to them. Maybe most kids nowadays are immature and maybe it's the way our parents raised us although Chubby and me have pretty much raised ourselves so that blows a hole in that theory. At my condo I enjoy myself giving Manny his buzz cut and Jameson his Devon haircut, and now everyone except Dawg and Mark have my haircuts. Man, this is weird, and tonight's another date with Ray. I've got to make it the last one, so now all I need to do is figure out a way to do that without hurting anyone's feelings. Like most jams I get myself into there's no frigging easy solution. to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com Please consider a tax deductible donation to nonprofit Nifty to enable them to remain a free site. Thank you.