Date: Mon, 22 Feb 2016 13:56:21 -0500 From: MGTBILL@aol.com Subject: DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME Chapter 13 DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME Chapter 13 by Donny Mumford After Robby leaves I set the alarm for fifteen minutes earlier than usual because I need to shower before work. Then it's like I barely get back to sleep when the alarm goes off. Balls! I take a shower and do the rest of my morning bathroom stuff, then get dressed and beat Chubby to the kitchen for once. I'm feeling really good as I make our cups of take-out coffees. Last night Robby was so nice. He was amorous and full of compliments and love. I again marvel at my good fortune to have a boyfriend and lover like him. He's everything I could wish for and more and yet I still enjoy side sex. I assume he does too although we haven't discussed the topic lately. I'm wondering if Robby's become more interested in his job than side-sex, and if perhaps that's maturity on his part. If so, it's a maturity that so far I'm lacking. The other day he told me he doesn't want me to change anything about myself which infers he's okay with me having side-sex. I should probably mention the topic to insure we're still on the same page, but things are going so perfectly for us right now I hate the thought of rocking the boat by bringing up that dicey matter. Maybe I'll see what Chubby thinks about it, you know, in a general sense. Yeah, except he'll know I'm referring to Robby and me. It might very well be that Chubby's as sexually active as I am, but on the other team. Even if that's true he's not committed to anyone the way I am to Robby, so my side-sex situation is different. Chubby's playing the field, as they say, and I'm guessing if Chubby did have a significant other he wouldn't cheat on that person. So I'm kinda on an island by myself as far as alley-catting around goes. While that's true, I keep going back to the fact Robby and I have an agreement about side-sex, and I'd simply like hearing Robby say it's still okay. Basically I want him to reassure me. Feeling guilty anyone? Interrupting my musings, Chubby lets himself in the front door. He brings with him his special smile for me that always lights up my life. He's beaming and seemingly excited, but about what? Life, I think. Chubby's always gregarious, good natured and full of energy, smiles, and love for me. "Dylan! It's so awesome to again see you every morning!" We hug with a fast kiss on the lips, then he's holding up a brown bag, "Today's lunch, bro! It's fabulous if I do say so myself." "What are we having, Chub?" He goes, "Italian subs that I made five minutes ago. Yesterday I bought these awesome sub rolls at Da'torios, then got thin sliced hard salami and mortadella. I added imported sharp provolone, slices of summer tomatoes, sweet onion, and hot cherry peppers. Olive oil and some dried oregano and, presto... Italian subs! I almost ate mine while I was making it." I go, "Yum," and he says, "How ya doing this morning?" We've got the time to drink our coffees on the balcony while sharing a cigarette, so outside we go. To his question, I say, "I'm feeling really good this morning, Chub." He asks, "Did you get right to sleep after Richardson's?" I go, "Um, not exactly. I got on my bed with Robby and we fell asleep together. On top of the bed, not in it." Chubby says, "You guys are lucky. You're in love! As you know, I've never been in romantic love. Of course I love you like life itself." I nod, "Me too! That's how I feel about you, Chubby. As for being in a romantic love affair there can be at times, um, complications." He asks, "Like what?" and I go, "Well, um, me being young and all, sometimes as a gay guy I get attracted to another gay guy for recreational sex. It doesn't detract from what I have with Robby though. A one-night-fling sort of thing." He exhales some smoke, mumbling, "Uh huh." That didn't sound anything like an endorsement, so I ask, "What do you think about that?" He shrugs, "I think anything you do is okay with me, but the question is, what does Rob think about it?" I go, "We've deemed recreational sex, or side-sex as it's called by some, okay for both of us, or at least we did the last time we discussed it. When we get married that'll probably change." He passes me the cigarette with half a grin on his face, asking, "Probably?" and I go, "No, um, I mean definitely it'll change. When we're married we'll be monogamists, meaning just him and me." He chuckles, "I know what monogamy means and so does everyone who's married, but lots of them find it's a concept hard to fully embrace." Chubby flicks the cigarette butt way out off over the alley behind the condo, asking, "Are you and Rob having problems?" I shake my head, "Nope! We're solid and better than ever. I just wondered what you thought about me dabbling in side-sex." He goes, "I already told you, bro, whatever you do is golden as far as I'm concerned. The qualifier being as long as you're not hurting yourself or anyone else. Do you think this side-sex might eventually hurt what you and Robby have?" Taking a deep breath, I mumble, "Not really." Chubby gives my shoulders a hugs, saying, "You wouldn't be asking my opinion if you felt completely comfortable with whatever you're doing. You need to have a heart to heart talk with Rob. Reassure yourself that you're both good with whatever you've agreed to." I'm nodding my head, as he adds, " Since I've never been romantically in love I can't say this definitively, but my strong inclination is that it would not be okay with me. That's me speaking without experience though. The bottom line is whatever two consenting people do within their relationship is okay with me. Like I said, it's that old idea: If you're not harming yourself or others, it's no one else's business." I nod my head again, mumbling, "I've heard that, yeah. You're right though, I need a heart to heart talk with Robby." Walking down the outdoor steps to the Jeep, Chubby's carrying our lunch and I'm carrying our clean work outfits, as he says, "Before talking to me you already knew you needed to talk with Robby about this, didn't you, Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, I pretty much knew but I wanted you to confirm it. Ya know, there's a line of thinking that goes: If it ain't broke, don't fix it, and since Rob and I have never been closer than we are now that might be the way to go. And then there's the other line of thinking, like you suggested: transparency is best. Having a talk with Robby in other words, and that's what I'm going to do." He mumbles, "Good." During the drive to work I'm trying to convince myself that the 'not broke, don't fix it' theory might still be the best approach and finally admit it's simply the easiest way to go. Easiest, but not the right way. In my heart I believe our arrangement of so-called 'sowing our wild oaks' still applies and so does our goal to eventually be monogamist in our married life. But I need to hear Robby reconfirm that. In the locker room I get a nice greeting from Seth who looks sexy this morning. He thanks me about a dozen times for doing his laundry, and then whispers, "And thank you for our trip down memory lane last night, Dylan. Oh, and the haircut too." I smile at him, mumbling, "I thank you too, Seth." Then Matt comes over putting a hand on my shoulder, asking, "No hard feelings, Dylan?" I give him a friendly smile, "No, of course not, Matt." He pats my back and walks to his locker. Why would I have hard feelings? Rob and Chubby had my back yesterday and basically handed Matt his ass. It's all good from my point of view. Then Dallas Brown calls over to me, "Hey, Jeff's brother," I go, "That'd be me, Dallas," and he goes, "I think you're working with me today, Dylan." Matt yells, "He's still being trained by me." Dallas shrugs, "Guess I'm wrong." Outside, standing at our spot on the blacktop, we watch Robby coming over. He's smiling, as he says, "Good morning, guys! Looks like we've got a beautiful day for working outside. And by the way, very good job on the big properties so far this week, and I thank all of you for that." He looks at his clipboard, then says, "Okay then. Today Jeff will be running things at the site while I get to join my fellow supervisors listening to the annual three hour seminar regarding manpower diversity and sexual harassment in the work place." He rolls his eyes getting some chuckles from the guys. Handing his clipboard to Chubby, Robby tells us, "We'll be working all day at the Acton town-hall site. Jeff has the assignments and I'll catch up with you, probably after lunch. Have a good day out there." He's pointing at something on the clipboard, then pats Chubby's shoulder and walks towards the office. Chubby says, "Listen up, guys. Today's work order goes like this: I'll have the big mower, Matt you've got the walk-behind mower, and Seth the weed whacker/edger and leaf blower. Most of the day we'll be working without Dallas and Dylan, because they'll be doing shrubbery plantings. They'll join us when they finish that." Matt asks, "So Dylan's not with me today, right?" Chubby makes a funny face, saying, "Um, as I just mentioned he's helping Dallas on a special project. There a lot of new shrubbery going in around the entrance to the town hall. Beautification of the site, ya know." I'm glancing over at Matt, and if anything he looks relieved to be working alone today. Seth and Matt walk toward the supply and equipment garage as Chubby tells Dallas, "The pickup is already loaded with the shrubs. Mostly boxwood, but some flowering shrubs too. Fill Dylan in on the process and we'll meet you guys at the job site." I look at Dallas who gives me the thumbs up and a friendly grin. Chubby goes, "Dylan," as he pats Dallas' shoulder, "Dallas, had a one day seminar the first week of the summer at Lowe's home and garden center, so now he's our expert for this kind of small planting project." Dallas goes, "Ha! Expert." Chubby says, "Well you are. Any job bigger than this one, which consists of twenty-five or so smaller shrubs, would be handled by Dion's landscaping crew." Then, "Oh, when you guys finish we'll probably need help with the lawns, okay?" Dallas says, "No problem," as I nod. Then Chubby heads for the equipment garage while Dallas and I walk toward the garden shed. He pats my back, saying, "We get our own personal pickup for this job." I know from conversations with Dallas earlier in the week that he was born in Texas and his family moved east when he was eight. His parents are an interracial marriage, both professionals. His mother's white, and a school principal. His father's African American and an attorney. Dallas sounds intelligent when he talks unless he's goofing around imitating someone. He's a good mimic. His skin is a pretty shade of tan and he's very good looking except he looks older than his actual age of eighteen, soon to be nineteen. He also can be funny as hell when he slips into black vernacular speak pretending to be a humble uneducated black guy from the South. In actuality he's far from that as he was accepted as a Harvard freshman this fall. He goes, "What'd you bring for lunch, Dylan?" I say, "Chubby made us large Italian subs. How about you?" Dallas slips into his version of black speak, saying, "I s'pose I got's chitlins for lunch again." I laugh out loud, then say, "Dallas, I bet you don't even know what a chitlin is," and he goes, "Ah spec dat's right, bawse. I was mostly raised on moon pies and Kool-Aid. Ghetto soul, ya know?" He's so funny and so full of shit at the same time. Then he says, sounding like a British English professor, "Actually I made my own lunch. Two big-ass ham and cheese sandwiches on Kaiser Rolls." At the garden shed, he says, "C'mon inside with me, Dylan, and we'll sign-out the pickup truck." I ask, "How often do you do these special projects?" He shrugs, "Not often. I've done shrub plantings only twice this summer, but never this many shrubs. We've got about twenty-five shrubs to plant and it'll take longer then you think. I definitely need help, and you're it." As we go inside, I mumble, "Wonder why Rob put me on this detail? Not that I mind at all." He says, "I asked for you, that's why. Give you a break from drill sergeant, Matt Singleton." Dallas signs a form, gets the pickup's keys, and we go outside as he's telling me, "I've got an inventory list, but we better make sure it's all on the truck." We climb up on the truck's bed and Dallas calls out item numbers while I check tags and mark an X on each one I find. We discover we're short three bags each of mulch and compost. Dallas says, "We need pH of 6.5 to 7.0 soil, so we gotta find the compost. C'mon back inside and help me look for it." I follow him into the garden shed where we look around, shrugging when we can't find what we're looking for. Finally the guy in-charge comes back and points out burlap bags of compost and mulch that he'd carried outside for us. Duh! We load then on the truck bed and Dallas closes the tailgate. With him driving and me riding shotgun, he mumbles, "Hope I remember how to find this place," then he laughs. He laughs a lot and he's very easy to get along with. Quite a difference for me compared to my first three days on the job. It's ironic that I had an easier first three days in a totally new environment in Georgia than the past three days on a job I worked at two previous summers. It's a forty-five minute ride and during the ride Dallas tells me about planting shrubs. First of all it's best to plant in the fall, but the customer doesn't want to wait so we'll do it now. The shrubs have a balled root system encased in burlap which needs to be removed before planting. Dallas will use a gas operated tiller/cultivator to loosen the soil, then we'll add compost and till the soil, mixing it with the compost and then test for ph. Then, using what he calls a floral spade, and I'd call a shovel, we dig a hole twice as big as the root ball, but just deep enough to leave ten percent above ground. Set the shrub in the hole and shovel the dirt and compost around it, then cover with a inch of mulch. Do that twenty-five times or so and we're finished. When we get to the job site the other guys are already working on the lawn. I help Dallas get a wheelbarrow off the truck, then the gas powered tiller/cultivator comes off. At the front of the town-hall there are four sections outlined with string attached to little stakes in the ground. There's outlined areas on either side of the front entrance, and the other two are on either side of the brick walk. Looking at these outlined areas Dallas yells, "Balls!" I go, "What's wrong?" and he tells me, "They're all still grass covered areas. We'll need to dig up the grass before we can even start, and digging up established grass roots is a bitch." He looks around, then yells for Chubby, who saunters over smiling, and asking, "What's up, Dallas? Has Dylan been giving you a hard time already?" Cubby squeezes my shoulder, as Dallas goes, "You white folk are big kidders, ain't ya? Nah, Dylan's awesome. The best helper I've ever had." Chubby goes, "I believe he's the only helper you've ever had, but he'd still be the best if you had others." Dallas laughs, then points to the four marked areas, saying, "Somebody fucked up. The grass was supposed to be removed from those four areas." Chubby gets on his cell phone and calls Robby. He puts the cellphone away, "You're right again, Dallas, somebody fucked up. Rob says there's a machine that scoops up the grass, roots and all, but Sully's crew didn't get to it yesterday. They were supposed to stop here on their way back to the shop... but they forgot!" And he drags out the last words making me laugh. He can say normal words in a funny way. Then he's serious, "How many shovels did you bring? We'll need to do it the hard way with backbreaking manpower." We only brought two shovels but there's one in the grass cutting truck. The three of us start digging up the grass. It's well established grass with deep roots. When we manage to get a shovel down deep enough, then under the roots, it's fucking hard pulling up a shovel full of sod. We're dripping sweat within two minutes and after ten minutes; Chubby stops, yelling, "This sucks!" Dallas and I stop too and look at Chubby, who says, "We've uncovered three square feet of grass in this one section of forty-eight square feet, and there are three more sections like this one." Dallas mumbles, "It'll take us all day just to get the grass up." Chubby goes, "Fuck that!" and he gets back on his cellphone arguing with someone. Hanging up, he says, "They're sending two guys over from Sully's crew. It'll take then twenty minutes to get here. In the meantime how 'bout if you guys unload all those shrubs and I'll get back to driving that big-ass ride-on mower." And that's what we do. Each thirty inch high shrub has a ball of soil and roots about half as big as the shrub, and they're fucking heavy! We're using the wheelbarrow but lugging the shrubs off the truck, then loading them in the wheelbarrow, pushing the heavy wheelbarrow twenty feet to the marked areas, then unloading each shrub is a bitch! The balls of soil and roots are wet making them heavier than I expected they'd be. Thank God we didn't need to load them onto the truck bed too. When we've got the last shrub approximately where each one will be planted, Dallas is wiping his brow, saying, "Dude, I'm sorry I got you into this mess. I swear, Dylan, the last time I did this the shrubs were half this size and these fuckers are much heavier! And my last project consisted of like eight shrubs and one skimpy tree." I go, "Don't worry about it, Dallas. No problem," and he chuckles, "No problem, huh? You look like you're gonna pass out on me any second now." I go, "I've got some cramping in my legs, if that's what you mean." He goes, "You gotta hydrate, Dude." We sit in the shade and slowly drink a quart of water each, then watch as a old junky-looking van pulls up at the curb. Two college-age guys get out, then unload a machine. The stocky kid asks, "Who are the pussies that can't dig up a little grass." Dallas raises his hand, saying, "Here's one of them," and we struggle to our feet. The stocky kid tells us, "Russ and I were supposed to do this yesterday but Sully told us it was too small an area to worry about." Dallas points over to the entrance at the outlined areas, and says, "You call that too small to worry about?" Russ goes, "Fuck, it'll take us ten minutes or less. You girls sit your asses back down in the shade and watch men working. And don't get near the work area because the equipment can occasionally get loose and you could lose your dicks." Dallas says, "A word of advice for you guys. Don't park that piece of shit van of your's at the curb on trash day." The stocky guy laughs, then says, "Okay, Russ, lets get this pussy-ass job done." While they're doing that, Dallas asks me, "Did you know your brother's dating my sister?" I ask, "Oh yeah? How's Chubby getting along with your sister's seeing-eye dog?" He laughs his ass off, then says, "Hey, your brother's almost as good looking as you." I'm like, "Is your sister older or younger than you?" He laughs again, "She's two years older then me." I go, "Anyway, yeah, Chub mentioned he was taking your sister out. Said she was a cute little thing. What's her name?" He goes, "Teri, and she is petite. You see how tall I am? She's the opposite," and he laughs, adding, "Same height as Jeff. Cute couple though." Best to get off this topic because Chubby favors girlfriends who aren't shy about having sex, and I don't want to go there with Dallas. I ask, "Did you know Rob and I are boyfriends?" He nods, "Yeah, sure. Another cute couple, "and he laughs giving my shoulders a hug. I was never sure about George-tu, I mean about him possibly being gay or bisexual, but I'm as sure as I can be that Dallas is straight. I can't explain how I know that, but I do." True to their word the short stocky guy and Russ are done in less than ten minutes. The machine took grass and roots up in eighteen inch wide strips, each one four foot long. Dallas tells me, "That's good sod for sodding a lawn." I think I know what he means, but it's not a subject I care to pursue so I just say, "Huh." I watch Dallas do the tilling with the loud, gas-operated tiller, then volunteer to do some myself, but he waves me off, yelling above the motor, "Nah, it's kinda tricky, but you can start taking the burlap off the root balls, if you don't mind." He finishes the tilling and helps me with the rest of the root balls. We're both filthy by now: dirty hands, dirt up our arms and down our legs beneath our shorts. Dirty and sweaty. I spread the compost and Dallas mixes it in with the soil. When we're done that its lunch time and we haven't planted a single shrub yet. Robby's rules include not eating at a job site so Chubby drives us to a tree lined parking lot. He parks far away from the stores and we eat lunch in the shade of big full-leafed trees. Dallas and I pour bottles of water on each other arms and hands cleaning them as best we can, then dry with half roll of paper towels before we eat. After lunch we're back on the job digging holes two feet apart. Robby's back from his meeting shortly after lunch and he lends a hand, but it's a bigger job than expected, plus we got started late because of the grass situation. The guys are done the lawns before the three of us finish the plantings. They help by spreading the mulch. When done there's nine boxwood shrubs on each side of the brick walk, and four flowering shrubs at each sides of the entrance. We clean up the area with the leaf blower, and then the new areas look awesome. Dallas and I look at each other nodding our heads, like, 'Well, alright!' Driving back to the shop the wind blowing over me from the open window dries most of the sweat on my face but my shirt's still wet with perspiration. Same for Dallas. During the drive back I'm thinking that this was the most labor intensive day for me ever. And just think, hundreds of guys do this every single day. Jesus! After changing out of my dirty clothes in the locker room, Chubby's driving us home. Halfway there Robby texts me saying he'll pick me up at seven tonight, if it's okay with me. I'm so tired and dirty I feel like taking a pass on tonight, but I don't. I text telling Robby I'm looking forward to it. Chubby tells me he has a date, so naturally I ask, "With Dallas' sister, Teri?" He goes, "No, I'm taking Lynchie to the movies. Kathy Lynch. I told you about her." I go, "Oh yeah," but I don't actually remember if he did or not. We get home before five o'clock. After showering Chubby and I grill Italian sausages and have them with spaghetti and bottled spaghetti sauce for dinner, with a salad. Always a favorite. He takes off at six o'clock for his movie date and I crash on the sofa thinking I'm going to be sore tomorrow. I used muscles today I don't normally use. My cell phone rings and when I glance at the caller ID I see its Frankie. Back for more already? His text says, 'Can I stop in for a couple of minutes?' Then he adds, 'I'm at the curb in my mom's car'. Frowning, I'd like to ask why he wants to stop in, but that would be rude. So I text, 'Sure', and sort of roll off the sofa and go to the front door. Opening it I see a grinning Frankie coming up the steps, two at a time. When he gets right in front of me I see he has perspiration on his upper lip that's flattened soft short hairs of his slow forming mustache and he looks, not cute exactly, but sexy. I rub his buzzed head, asking, "What's up, Frankie?" He says, "I gotta be home in fifteen minutes but I was thinking about you. Well, ha ha, you're pretty much all I've been thinking about. Anyway I wanted to tell you I agree with you." I start to ask what he means when he leans over and kisses me on the lips. He smiles, "You're right about the kissing." I'm unconsciously wiping my lips, mumbling, "Oh, yeah? Well, thanks for the kiss." He asks, "Can I come in for a second?" I back up and he comes in closing the door behind him, exclaiming, "Oooh, nice! Air conditioning." I've got half a grin and half a confused expression on my face, as he says, "Don't think I'm stalking you, but please, please can we do the docking again. I need it so badly." I chuckle as my dick squirms in my pants. "You're not serious... are you?" He's fiddling with the fly on my cargo shorts' zipper, grinning, and saying, "Yes! I'm serious. I dreamed about doing it last night." Huh, well okay, why not? I rub his head with both hands pulling his head down, saying, "You suck my cock first, boy!" And just like that he unzips my fly, fishes my cock out, and sucks it into his mouth. Heh heh, he'd be in for a surprise if he caught me before I showered after that hard, sweaty day at work. His tongue and lips are doing their thing and it's got me squirming before he pushes my cock out of his mouth with his tongue. My cock is pretty firm and hanging away from my body a little, listing to the left and buzzing sexily. Damn, I'd really like to stroke my saliva covered dick a couple of times, but Frankie's got his dick out already and his other hand's behind my head pulling it towards his cock. As soon as I take it in my mouth I notice the clean scent coming off Frankie's crotch through his open fly. He showered! He's undoing the snap on his shorts, mumbling, "Wait a second, Dylan," as he's lifting under my chin with his fingers moving my head away. He pulls his shorts and underwear down to his knees, saying, "There, now you can get back to it. Feel free to lick my balls if you want." And I do, but only once for a joke, then I suck his cock for about fifteen seconds and he's grunting already. He gets aroused faster than anyone I've come in contact with. Another ten seconds and he backs up pulling his cock from my mouth. It's a boner already bouncing up against his belly. Nice looking boner too. Frankie steps towards me sucking on his lips, then he burst out with a laugh, mumbling, "You get me so fucking hot." Pulling his boner down, he lines up our cocks holding mine in his left hand, and his in his right. Then he slides my foreskin over the head of his cock and closes his fist over the docking. I go, "Oooh, damn, that awesome." It is too. Feeling his cock's pee slit against mine, both snugly under my foreskin gets me moving my feet, my hands going to Frankie's shoulders just like the last two times we did this. "Stay still, Dylan!" Damn, this is hot! His fist moves stretching my foreskin tightly over the head of his cock. He stokes down, then up from the root of his hard cock over the docked area, and tightly down my cock. My shoulders shudder as I blurt out with a laugh/cough. Frankie glances at me with a grin as his fist moves back over the docked area making my feet shuffle in place. The sensations coming off my penis are intense. Frankie puts two fingers in the waistband of my short holding me in place, murmuring, "Stop moving so much." He does faster stroking now and I'm up on my toes leaning forward, then laying my forehead on his shoulder. Frankie's grinning and grunting as he strokes our cocks steadily for a minute or so and already my climax is stirring in a serious way. Frankie grunts, "I'm getting close already. The head of your cock is so fucking hard, Dylan." I go, "Umpth." As our climaxes quickly approach blast off, his fist picks up the speed of his stroking and it's like our hard boners start trembling. The skin on the back of Frankie's fist is taut as he tightens his grip and it's stroke, stroke, stroke. I moan with my face pressed against his shoulder, "Aaaawwww, oh my god..." It's sexually hotter for me I think because it's Frankie's fist doing the deed. Now though, he leans into me with both of us grunting, the muscles in our bodies tightening, the sides of our faces together. It's almost painful now, and then, "Ooooh, ooh," my hips hump as Frankie's clutching our cock heads keeping them together. "Aaaawww," from me as warm creamy cum gushes around the head of our cocks, both our shoulders shuddering together. Another moan with bright lights seemingly bombarding my brain, my eyes tightly closed, 'Ummmm," with a follow up stream of cum that slide out from under my foreskin as Frankie's strokes over the length of both our cocks. We're both moving, bumping into each other so hard Frankie's hand slips off the docking point and we separate stroking our own cum-dripping cocks. "Oooh, mmm," from me, followed by a deep breath as sensations around my groin and inside my thighs pulse, almost like an ache, then the glow of relief after the overwhelming sensations of orgasm and my mind clears. It took only ninety seconds. There are two bright red spots on Frankie's face, one at each cheek bone. We're just inside the front door looking at each other with me shaking my head, mumbling, "That's insane. Holy shit! I was on the sofa two minutes ago, then I'm at the front door, and now I'm standing here with my dick in my hands savoring my latest orgasm." He's shaking his head too, "Dylan, I only got this idea in my head ten minutes ago. I'm driving back from Rite Aid with my mom's prescription and I tell myself, 'Self, you're three minutes from Dylan's'. And the next thing I know we've both got our dick in our hands." I pluck some tissues out of a square box of Kleenex and hand Frankie a couple. We wipe cum off our dicks with me mumbling, "House calls no less. You do house-call docking in the privacy of one's own living room. Ninety seconds of intense pleasure. You could make some money on the side with this." He chuckles, then says, "I gotta go! Thanks, Dylan." I go, "Yeah, sure," and he chuckles again, saying, "Docking is precisely eighty-seven times better than jerking off alone." I grin, "Eighty-seven times, huh?" He's not kidding; he really does 'gotta go' as he opens the door, asking, "Would you go out on a date with me some time?" I'm like, "What? I'm not sure what you mean by that. Text me." He nods his head and goes down the outdoor steps fast. Closing the door I grin to myself. What the fuck was that? Then I look out the window and see his buzzed head disappear inside his car. Groping myself, I walk back to my bedroom and into the bathroom to clean up some more. There's a spurt of Frankie's cum staining the right leg of my cargo shorts so I take off the shorts, then my underwear, tossing them in the corner. With a washcloth I'm cleaning my cock and balls chuckling to myself and wondering again, 'What the fuck?' That was possibly the most unique two minutes ever, maybe surpassing my previously most unique two-minute experiences with two-inch-Timmy. Or maybe it's a tie. My shoulders do a little shudder remembering the feel of Frankie's fist on my cock with my shrouded cock head pressing into his. Another little shoulder shudder. Wow, that's cool! Back on the sofa, still smiling about that unexpected encounter, I'm smelling the back of my wrist experiencing strange feelings in my head about Frankie Denton, cousin of fat Carl Denton. Coincidence? I wonder. Snapping back to reality I check my wristwatch and find its quarter to seven, almost time for Robby to show up. Getting up off the sofa to check myself out in the big mirror over the sofa. Huh, no telltale signs I just had an orgasm. Running my fingers through my short hair I get a shiver thinking, 'Thursday is my haircut day in Marietta'. Damn, Ryan's haircuts were so fucking dominantly sexy. The way he did the haircuts made me cum in my pants. Looking closely at my reflection in the mirror, my hair looks fuzzy having grown out at the tips this past week. If I were still in Georgia, like I would be if I fulfilled my contract, by now the fuzzy tips of my hair would be crisp tight stubble and I'd feel scalped just like Sonny, Bean and Ray said they felt after I gave them Ryan's specialty haircuts. Huh, and I told myself I'd never cut anyone's hair that short. Well fuck, they asked for it. None of them felt submissive to me afterwards though, not like me. I always felt uber submissive to Ryan when he finished scalping me. Then, when finished the haircut he'd push my head roughly, saying something like, 'You're done, boy'. He knows how to do 'dominant' like no one I've ever met. Fuzzy tips, huh! In my bedroom I get a brush and brush my hair back, but it's still much too short to do anything with it. Ryan's haircuts got me submissively aroused for sure, but now I'm looking forward to the day I can comb my hair again. That's something I haven't been able to do for over two years. The doorbell chimes. That's gotta be Robby, and it is. He looks sparkling clean and shiny. What a good looking young man, and he didn't shave! I back up and he comes in closing the door behind him. I can't help smiling as he leans in for a sweet kiss, then says, "Sorry about the tough day you and Dallas had today. That fucking Sully is always cutting corners." I shrug, "We survived," and Robby grins, "Damn, Dylan, every time I see you I get a funny feeling in my gonads," and we do another sweet kiss. Robby asks, "Do you want to have a smoke on the balcony and decide what we'll do tonight?" I nod, "Sure." We light cigarettes on the balcony as Robby's saying, "You know what? I'd like to see another movie if you don't mind." I go, "I like movies, Rob, but let me ask you something serious first." He grins, telling me, "Yes, you're more than worthy! Is that what you were going to ask again?" I go, "Sort of, yeah," then I come right out with it, "Um, you're still alright with me having occasional recreational side-sex, right?" He says, "Yeah, I guess. Um, so you're having side-sex, huh?" I go, "Well, once in a while, but I guess it made me feel guilty and I needed to hear from you that it's still alright." He rubs my shoulder, "That considerate of you, babe. I've been working so much this summer I haven't thought much about side sex. I mostly thought about you. You with Ryan in Georgia. But, we agreed not to discuss recreational sex, right?" I nod my head, murmuring, "You're so awesome, Robby! You make my eyes leak a tear or two." He smiles while wiping away a tear with the pad of his thumb, saying, "I'm not worried you'll find someone else, Dylan. We're destined for each other so do your alley-catting if you must, sow any wild oats you need to, but when we're married it stops. I very much hope it stops before we get married, but I realize getting married before we graduate probably isn't as good an idea as I once thought it was, so...." I take a deep breath, then mumble, "You're being mature enough for both of us." Putting my arms around his waist, looking him in the eyes, I say, "Thank you." It's Robby's turn to nod his head, then add, "You're working towards the day you don't think about side-sex though, right?" I honestly tell him, "Yes, and I'm making progress, really." Giving me a tight squeeze, he mumbles, "That's all I ask, babe. That and not bringing up the topic again." What a wonderful person he is. We go into my bedroom to check what movie we want to see. Robby's sitting at my computer with me standing next to him leaning down so my head is next to his, both of us reading what's on the screen. Robby smells good so I kiss the side of his face as he points to an action flix, saying, "How about this one?" I go, "Yeah, Mark Wahlberg's always good." Robby goes, "Okay, we need to leave right now though," and that's what we do. I'm wondering if Chubby's at this movie with his girlfriend. If he is I don't see him. After the movie Robby drives us to the reservoir where we find three other cars parked with their lights out. Robby asks, "What are the chances one of those cars contain two gay guys having sex?" I mumble, "Slim to none," and pull my t-shirt over my head. Robby does the same as he slides over on the bench seat, away from the steering wheel. We get into a hot make-out and we're soon sweating in the summer night's heat. The motor's off so no air conditioning, just the open windows with crickets chirping in the night. With our bare chests touching we move our hands over one another as we kiss and suck on each other's mouth. There is something extra sexy about sweating during sex. It's somehow almost animalistic. When we're both deeply aroused I lift my ass off the seat so Robby can pull my shorts down. Then his shorts come down and with our shorts and underwear around our thighs Robby fucks me wildly with me laying on my stomach, my knees bent and my sneakered feet out the driver's side window. No one could mistake what we're doing if they see my feet out the window like this. And, oh, how can it possibly feel this good? The fat cock of my lover is pumping in and out of my ass with him moaning and grunting and me wreathing in sexual pleasure under him. Robby's hips are slamming his cock up my ass hard. "Slap, slap, slap," as I bite my hand to keep from moaning too loudly while reveling in the sensations that are pouring off my anus and prostate. Robby's sexy scent is in my head and the steady, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds of his groin smacking hard against my butt cheeks have me in a thrilling magic carpet ride. His thrusting is so hard the top of my head hits the door with every penetration that's followed by a grunt from Robby. Then it's a violent body shudder as I squeal, "Aaaah, eeee," and cum streaks from my cock to wet my belly and the seat I'm lying on. As I'm dizzily savoring my orgasm, Robby's humping against by buttocks pouring his load of creamy semen inside me. His body relaxes as he moans, then lays on me with the familiar feel of his heart beating fast and hard against my back. With Robby's heavy deep breathing in my ear I again marvel at the sexual pleasure he gives me... a gift like no other. Groaning, we finally separate and sit up for a wet kiss, then another deep breath. We pull our shorts up, mine immediately getting wet in back from the cum I shot on the seat, as well as Robby's cum drooling out of my ass. It makes me grin. Robby says, "Our sex together always feel fresh and new to me." Pulling my t-shirt over my head, I concur, "Same for me, Rob. It's you though, you're doing the topping and no one does it as good." He's behind the wheel again, chuckling, "Ya know, coming from you that's a ginormous compliment. I mean considering your experience and all, who would know better than you." I go, "That statement right there, Rob... that was a world class back-handed borderline compliment if I've ever heard one." He squeezes my shoulder, "I'm kidding, Dylan." He starts the engine and off we go. He was alluding to what he assumes is much more side-sex than I'm actually having, so I tell him, "You know, you overestimate the amount of side-sex I have by a lot." He says, "We're good, babe. I was kidding." And maybe he was. To be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com donnymumford@outlook.com ======================================================== Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are under ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you. Donny Mumford ============================================ 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