Date: Sun, 1 Jul 2012 05:17:34 -0700 (PDT) From: don mumford Subject: DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR Chapter 32 by Donny Mumford DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR Chapter 32 by Donny Mumford In my dream someone is tapping my shoulder, and it's not clear to me why they're doing that. And then I open my eyes, realizing there's someone in bed with me; is it Chubby? My head clears, and I remember last night and know it's Connor. Still dark outside, so I get up on my elbow and look at the clock on my night stand; it's ten minutes after four. What the fuck? It's Connor who's tapping my shoulder. I lay on my back, and mumble, "Connor, whassup?" He asks, "What happened last night, Dylan. Why am I sleeping with you?" He sounds scared. I guess a blackout will do that to you; he got so drunk he can't remember what he did last night. I mutter, "You had too much to drink at the party last night and I didn't want to take a chance on dragging you up to your apartment because of that gang that's usually on the front steps of your apartment complex." Saying all that gives me a headache. Guess the different alcoholic beverages I had last night is why I feel a little hungover myself, nothing nearly as bad as Connor's I'll bet. Surprising I feel like this because I didn't have a lot to drink, volume-wise. Connor, mumbles, "I remember going to the party with you and Chubby, then doing shots of something with Chubby and others, but not much after that. Um, ah, did we, you and me, you know... mess around together last night in bed?" I say, "No, of course not. You were very drunk. Please go back to sleep." He quietly says, "I'm so sorry to be a pain in the ass, Dylan, but my head aches so much I can't sleep. And I'm so thirsty! I've never been this thirsty before in my life, and I need to take a piss too. Ooooh, I'm such a loser!" I go, "You are not a loser; far from it." Turning on the forty watt bedside lamp, I say, "The bathroom's right through that door, you've stayed here before, remember?" He goes, "Oh yeah, that's right. I'm not thinking straight and I feel dizzy, and sick to my stomach too." Feeling sorry for him, I reach over and gently pat his shoulder, saying, "I shoulda' looked out for you better, Connor." He goes, "Oh no, Dylan! It's not your fault, I just don't get to many drinking parties, well a few at college with you, but nothing like last night." I go, "There's always that first one that sneaks up on you and bites you in the ass. Look, you take your piss and I'll get you some Gatorade to quench your thirst, and Tylenol for your headache, okay?" He's like, "Oh man, Dylan, I never had a friend like you before. Thank you so much, I feel totally embarrassed about getting drunk like that." He slides out of bed, then steadies himself by holding onto the headboard, muttering, "Whoa...". I ask, "Do you need help getting to the bathroom?" Connor gulps, then mutters, "This is humiliating, I'm never drinking again..." I think, "Where have I heard that before?" Then ask, "You okay?" He walks unsteadily, mumbling, "No, but I can get to the bathroom. Thanks, Dylan." When he's safely inside the bathroom, he closes the door and I get out of bed. I'm a little pissed-off, not at Connor exactly, but at the situation. I'm feeling shaky myself and no wonder, we've been sleeping for less than three hours. This sucks! Passing my mom's bedroom, noticing her door is closed, so she's home safely too. In go the kitchen I open the refrigerator and with only the light from the refrigerator I get out the half quart of Gatorade that Connor drank from a few hours ago, and the bottle of Tylenol from the countertop, where I left it a few hours ago. Dumping three Tylenol in my hand, I give a though to taking them with the Gatorade, but catch myself in time. Bad idea... I visualize Connor's puke-stained lips touching the rim of the bottle earlier. Instead I drink right from the orange juice bottle and take two Tylenol, then dump a couple more in my hand for Connor who needs at least three. I won't drink from the Gatorade bottle, but I'll rudely drink from my mom's orange juice one. She'd no more think of drinking from the bottle than washing her hair with orange juice, so it's okay... sort of. A one way street... that's me I guess. Oh well. Back to the bedroom I find Connor sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, moaning about his condition. I say, "You'll feel better the next time you wake up, Connor; not great, but much better than you feel now." He looks up, "It'd have to be better than I feel right now." Giving him an encouraging grin, I hand him three Tylenol and the Gatorade bottle. Actually, I don't know if he'll feel better because right now he's still drunk. He mutters, "Thanks," then gulps down the pills and slowly, but steadily finishes the Gatorade. "Oh God," he moans. "Go ahead and lay down again, Connor. You'll be able to sleep in a few minutes." He barely nods his head as he's getting under the covers, laying near the edge of the mattress. I get in the other side, saying quietly, "Scoot over to the middle of the mattress and I'll give you a hug." He gives me a slight grin, mumbling, "That'll be nice," then slides over as I'm turning out the light. Connor's body is a little stiff in my arms for about ten seconds, then he relaxes and snuggles in to me tightly... that's the last thing I remember until now when I open my eyes hearing a hard rain falling against the bedroom window. Opening one eyes, I see it's nine-thirty. Ahh, that's better, and the good part is I can sleep some more. Chubby and I usually don't start preparing Sunday brunch until eleven or eleven-thirty because the moms sleep almost till noon on Sundays. They usually party a little with their boyfriends after work on Saturday nights and then Sunday night is often date night for them. Connor's still next to me, in a deep sleep. My frigin' left arm is dead, totally numb from being under Connor all night. I work it out from under him; it feels so weird! Holding it up and massaging it with my other hand I begin to get feeling back in my 'dead' arm after about a minute. Scary! When it feels almost normal again, I realize I don't have a headache... well, okay! I rustle around, getting on my side up against Connor's back and goof off gently bumping his ass with my limp dick as I put my arm over top of him. Rubbing my nose in the hairs at the back of his head, then thinking maybe I'm "perving" on him a little too much, so I settle down for some more sleep, running over in my mind Robby's and my craziness in the cupola. Then later in his pick-up too. Memories of last night give me a boner, which is nice; love my boners! It's funny I didn't wakeup with one considering Connors right next to me. Next thing I know, my eyes pop open and I'm feeling pretty good. It's still raining outside, but now it's ten-thirty; well, that's enough sleep for me, but Connor probably needs some more, so I ease my way out of bed without jostling him too much, and pad into the bathroom, then quietly close the door. I need to do everything you can do in a bathroom this morning, including another quick shower to perk me up. Well, I don't do everything you can do in a bathroom because, happily, I'm sexually satisfied. Okay, not totally satisfied because it has been nine or ten hours since Robby and me last did it, but I'm satisfied enough where I don't feel I need to jerk-off. And, I'm not dissin' jerking-off at all. I've had some very nice times doing that as a younger teen; doing it a ton of very-nice-times actually. When I'm done all my bathroom business, teeth brushing, showering and the toilet necessities of life, I'm clean and shiny and smelling good. Just in case Connor's awake, I wrap my bath towel around my waist before going back into the bedroom. Connor's awake, a healthier-looking Conner is laying in bed, on his side, facing the bathroom door. He goes, "Damn! I was hoping you'd think I was still asleep and come out naked." I smile, saying, "'Morning, Connor. I'm too modest to walk around naked." He smiles back, going, "Hmmm, I'm not so sure about that, Dylan." Then, "Is it okay if I take a shower, and do you have an extra toothbrush I could use?" I tell him about last night and how I used an extra toothbrush to brush his teeth, and where that toothbrush is. And, of course, he can take a shower, although I did give him one last night. He's amazed, "How'd you do all that with me being comatose, and how come I can't remember any of it?" I go, "Don't know, dude, but how ya feeling now?" He says, "Not great, but a hundred times better than I felt at four o'clock this morning. Um, I know I'm nagging, and I have no self-respect about this, but could we please do something together, Dylan? I mean after I've showered and all." I look at him, wanting to, but I've made this promise to myself to use some will power. He says, "I'm going in the Army next month, just give me some pity sex, I have no pride anyway when it comes to you, Dylan, you're simply too sexy to resist." The pity sex comment did it. I say, "You aren't nagging, and you aren't pitiful, and you have every reason in the world to have self-respect. I respect the hell out of you and so do our friends. I'm honored to 'do something between the two of us" or whatever the euphemism is that you use for screwing. Do you want to screw me, or me screw you?" He bites his bottom lip, blushing like the Conner we love. Then a small grin appears, one he's apparently trying to keep from being a big grin, as he mumbles, "That's what I meant, yep. Um, would you do it to me?" He won't say 'fuck' or even 'screw', hahaha. I go, "Yep," and he does do the big grin now, then, "Damn, I'm excited, Dylan. I'll be out as fast as I can". Waving my hand at him, like it's no big deal, and nodding my head with a smile, Connor waves a little wave back at me and steps into the bathroom; the door closing behind him. It's funny, but I'm surprised I'm not more "excited", like Connor is. I guess it the frequent sex I've been having, everything has been falling into my lap lately, or maybe it's because Willie's fucked me into my submissive role, until now, it's become the role I want to be in. I'll do Connor the best I can though because he wants it and it's something I'm proud to do for him. What an I saying? I'll love it too! I know there's more to Willie's tactics in making me so submissive to him, more than just fucking, but that's the one that resinates with me. Being honest about it, I am disappointed Connor didn't want to be the one doing the fucking. Well, even if he did, no way does Connor have it in him to be dominant. Also I gotta admit, it does distracts from the exoticness of sex when someone seems as needy as Connor, but God knows he's the nicest, most sincere kid I know and he has needs too, like all of us. Connor's been dealt the short hand all his life and has handled it with a smile and a grace that I can hardy image anyone I know, including me, handling nearly as well. He's worth admiring, and I do. I remember back to when Carl first fucked me, yeah, yeah, he took advantage of me, and all that. The thing is, I became dependent on Carl because he's the only one I knew who was gay at the time. So, after he'd broken me in on gay sex and excessively fucked me, I came to need it. Maybe like Connor needs it, only he needs it because he can't get it. Connor, like me at the time, knew only one gay boy; me for Connor and Carl in my case. So we beg a little to satisfy the strong pull of our sexual urges, our constant craving for it. Back then I had no self respect either, not when it came to sex; I ended-up walking the four miles to Carl's house not even knowing if he was home, to sort of beg him to fuck me if he was home. In the beginning of our relationship Carl couldn't get enough of fucking me and made concessions to me so I'd cooperate with the sex. But when I began begging him to fuck me he lost interest and it was like, "Oh, okay. Get your pussy up to my bedroom and get totally naked and wait for me there." Stuff like that, and you do lose your self respect, like Connor said about himself, so I get where he's coming from. What I'm not going to do is be like Carl. I'm going to make it special for Connor because Connor is special. I get into bed naked, thinking about Connor's body and his awesomely cute face and now I am getting excited. I don't get to do the fucking part of gay sex very often, and it is a different kind of thrill; not as hot as the other way as far as I'm concerned, but pretty friggin' good just the same. The romantic in me loves a subtle kiss, that no one sees, and then the boy gentle fucking me the way lover's fuck... that's how I roll, it's awesome! Like Robby and me, when we do our lovers sex together. That thought gets blood slipping into my dick, and then I look up and see Connor with a towel around his waist, just out of the shower, and I'm getting a little more excited. He's probably got the towel around his waist because I did the same thing when I came out of the bathroom... sweet kid, fer sure! I love Connor, but certainly not like a lovers love. It's definitely a friendship love, but it's love just the same. Not like when I mess around with someone like Ray Ellis, Elliot's brother, 'cause that's strictly sex and a climax, then, "See ya around". No love of any kind involved. Except of course the love of my climax. Connor's looking more alert and gleaming clean, as he says, "Can you give me a haircut today, Dylan?" I go, "That's fer sure, dude. Have you decided what style you want?" He goes, "What should I get, Dylan?" I say, "How 'bout the haircut Chubby's rocking'?" Connor goes, "Oh, I mean, between a buzz cut, like last time, or your haircut?" I shrug, and say, "Go with the buzz cut this time, you looked hot with that buzz cut last time, and then just before you leave for basic training I'll cut your hair like mine. How 'bout that?" He says, "Perfect! I wanna see how I look in that bad-boy haircut you have... at least once anyway, before I get the recruit's haircut at basic training. I'm wondering if I'll look as cool as you do. Probably not, but I'd like to try it once anyway." Sometimes Connor can seem so innocent I that wanna hug him and tell him everythings alright, and that he's wonderful. He's standing there in front of the bed, not sure what to do next, so I say, "Come on back to bed, and we'll mess around until it gets messy. Whaddaya say?" He nods and smiles, then walks around to the other side of the bed, turns around and takes off the towel to fold it neatly, and then gets into bed backwards. It's like he doesn't want me to see him naked, which is funny since we're going to be fucking together. And now I'm excited for real. What a great looking, sweet kid; hell, I should be excited. He flips over onto his side, looking at me. I say, "Damn, you're good looking," and he grins, with a little blush, then says, "Look who's talking... but thanks." He hesitates, then goes on, "I look mostly like my dad, wherever he is. I have pictures of him before he left, when I was ten." I ask, "Why'd he leave?" Connor drops his eyes, sucking on his lips, then mutters, "Um, mom kinda got hooked on drugs, I guess, so he left. But he was a terrible dad and a terrible husband before that. That's probably part the reason mom's got into the junk, ya know? My dad wasn't home hardly at all and he never paid much attention to me when he was home." I ask myself: 'Why the fuck did you ask that question!!'? Damn, I'm dumb. I mutter, "Sorry to hear that, Connor." Then to change the subject, I ask, "How'd ya like our freshman year at Merrimack, this far, anyway?" He answers right away, "It's been the best year of my life, and I have you to thank for it." I say, "That's not true, Connor. You have yourself to thank for it, you figured out what you needed to do." He shrugs, "If you want to believe that, that's okay, but without you showing me how to fill out all the forms and telling me what needed to be done, I never would have been talking about it to my boss at the restaurant, and he never would have known I needed a cosigner for my college loan." Okay, that was the second dumb question I've brought up in a row. Both answers make be feel bad for Connor. Why'd his boss have to die, anyway?! That was another stupid question, so enough with the questions, except this one, "How about we recreate that kiss we had in the cupola?" He blushes again, mumbling, "I'll try not to shoot off, this time," and he says it with such sincerity it strikes me funny. Laughingly, I say, "Oh my God, Connor, there's nothing wrong with shooting off; it's sort of the goal. Didn't ya ever hear of the double shot?" He asks, "What's that?" I go, "Well, I was actually making kind of a metaphor out of a thrill ride on the Wildwood boardwalk, and cumming a second time during the same sexual experience." He goes, "Oh," but I don't think he gets it. I'm not doing any good with the chitchat, so I run my fingers through his soft hair, then gentle pull his head towards me as I move mine towards him and our lips come together lightly for a subtle kiss that no one sees, then a full kiss and Conner gets one arm around my neck and pushes his tongue against my teeth making a quiet, "Mmmmm" sound. It's not a wild kiss, it's an imitation of a lovers kiss, with only one of the participants in love with the other; in love like lovers are in love. Connor thinks he's in love with me. He told me that last night when all his inhibitions were down due to the many adult beverages he'd drunk. Like I said before, I love Connor like a friend, but I try to kiss him like his lover; his temporary lover. I do it for Connor, and because it's sexy too, and he deserves to be in love even if this time it can't be truly reciprocated. I'll pray that the next time he's in love it's with a mutual lover that's worthy of Connor. That might be hard to find. And, I don't consider my alley-cat-self worthy of him, no way. As this wonderful kiss continues our bodies just naturally come together; Connor already has a hard five inch cock pressing against my semi-hard one. Mine will be as hard as his shortly though because I love me a cute boy with a sexy smell, and Connor's all of that and more. We kiss, then I move my tongue from his mouth to lick around his lips and suck on his top lip, pulling it out a little, then pushing my tongue back in his mouth against his awesome tongue, which is not too firm and not too soft, it's just right. Connor's moving his head slightly all through the kiss; his, "Mmmm," becomes a more desperate, "Ooohhh," as we continue. Then, unexpectedly, he pulls away, saying, "I almost had an orgasm again." He says it like he's embarrassed, which strikes me as so sincerely funny I need to hold my breath so I don't laugh. He's so sweet it's ridiculous. While I'm holding my breath, getting myself together, he asks, "Can I, um, you know, with your thing?" I let out my breathe, asking, "You want to suck my dick?" He drops his eyes again, murmuring, "Yeah, if that's alright." Quietly I say, "It's more than alright, I'd love it, if you want to do that." He nods, then looks me in my eyes, and asks, "Should I go under the covers?" Oh my God, he's precious! So special that if anyone takes advantage of him I'll get Chubby to help me hunt the bastard down and make that fucker sorry for the day he was born. To Connor, I say a simple, "Yes," then add, "Promise me you'll write or email me often when you're in the Army, and especially if someone is giving you a hard time, 'cause, you know, I might have some suggestions on how to handle it, or something." Still uber serious, he goes, "Thanks, Dylan! I'll do that, I promise." I nod, waiting for him to go under the covers, his boner is wet at the head, pressing against my thigh near my ever-hardening boner, so I'd like very much to feel his lips on my cock, but I think he's waiting for me to tell him it's time. I go, "How 'bout now, I mean going under the covers now," and he shakes his head, saying, "Oh, right, here I go," and he does. Under the covers he doesn't hesitate putting my dick in his mouth, but he's totally inexperienced and it's not really all that hot for me. Too much scraping of his teeth and not enough sucking or licking going on. Thankfully, it doesn't last long. His head pops back up, and there are dark spots of red on his cheeks, he says, "That made me almost cum too." I go, "Okay, you get your back to me, and I'll put my thing in your thing." He smiles, and goes, "What things are you referring to?" Chuckling, I say, "I'll figure it out when you turn around," then I remember lubricant. I really should use some with Connor. I pat his ass when he's on his side, and say to him, "Stay just like that, Connor, I'll be back in a second, I forgot to get the jelly. He asks, "Jelly?" I say, "Ky jelly, it makes for a much better fuc... um, way to do it. Two seconds," and I squeeze his ass this time. Great ass! It takes more than two seconds, but not a hell of a lot more and I'm back in bed with a slippery boner. I stroked lube on myself coming back from the bathroom and and I've got myself a nice boner that's very slippery. Plus, I've got some lube on my finger. The finger with the lube goes right to Connor anus and when I first touch him there he jerks away for a second, then moves his ass back towards me and I lube his hole, then push my finger in. Connor goes, "Ooh," so I say, "That's just my finger." I finger fuck him real good, then line-up my cock and press against his asshole until the head of my cock gets past his sphincter, which he's clenching at the moment, for reasons unknown. Another, longer, "Ooohhh," from Conner. I ask, "You okay, Connor?" He mumbles, "I'm more than okay, Dylan, but I'm going to cum any second now." I assure him that that's fine, maybe he can have two climaxes. This amazes him, but he seems all for it, so I slowly press in further, and when I'm halfway in, he says, "It hurts a little now, Dylan," so I wait a bit, then press on. It'd be hard for me to stop now, but I will if he continues to hurt. No more complaints so I keep going, but very slowly. My cock's getting harder by the second and when my hairless groin touches his hairless buttocks I bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning, and then press tightly against his ass cheeks getting as far up his ass as I can, then hug him around his belly to hold him in place. Connor groans, so I wait, and then ask, "You okay, Connor?" He says, "I'm a hell of a lot better than okay, Dylan. I'm in ecstasy." I say, "Lets do better than that," and pull back about four inches then press back in and Connor goes, "Ahhh, ooh, I just about shot my load!" I go, "Shhh, try to whisper, okay?" He's like, "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot all about your mom being home." "No problem," I say, and do a full hump, out and in two times, and his body is moving, so I hold him tighter around the waist and fuck him a half dozen times. With my last pump up his ass his hips jerk out, I see his hand come up to cover his mouth and a long hissing sound escapes his lips as he jerks his hips forward again, obviously climaxing. His hips jerk forward five or six times and the hissing sounds have changed to whining sounds almost like he's in pain. I've made those sounds myself during especially good climaxes, so I know that it's not pain he's feeling, it pure unimaginable pleasure, just this side of pain. Connor can't talk and from the movement of his arm under the covers I can tell he's stroking his cock after a great, for him, climax. I fuck his ass in the meantime, not nearly ready to cum. He finally gasps for breath, his chest heaving, his back pressing against my chest with each deep breath he takes. Then he finally calms down enough to whispers, "That was the best one I've ever had. I thought the head of my thing would come off when that first and second stream of stuff flew out with such force. It almost scared me for a second there," and a little happy giggle follows that. I try for enthusiastic, saying, "Awesome, Connor!" Then I go, "Ya want to try for a second one?" He goes, "Oh yeah, I hope it works," like we're doing an experiment. I'm a little past the point of no return anyway, I mean he's got a great ass and he's off the charts likable, so I don't know what I'd have done if he'd said, 'No thanks on the second one, I've had enough...' haha. I'm totally into it by now, fucking him steadily. After a few minutes of enjoying myself immensely, my cock sliding nicely up his ass creating an awesome sensation, feeling fantastic, but I get an idea. I say, "How 'bout getting on your hands and knees and I'll do you that way for awhile." He eagerly goes, "Okay, yeah, that sounds cool." I throw the cover off the bed and stand-up on the bed as Connor gets on his hands and knees. As I'm getting behind him, he says, "Oh man, I miss feeling you in my rear end." I say, "Feel better now?" as I bend my knees and slide my slippery boner back up his slippery rectum. I muffle an, "Oooh," but Connor doesn't, he goes, "Ooooh yeah, Dylan," a little too loudly, so I whisper, "Shh, whisper," and he whispers, "Sorry," so low I can hardly hear him. I smile, then begin pounding his ass... oh yeah! In two minutes, he whispers, "I got another aching boner, Dylan," and I grunt, "Me too, Connor." I'm probably going to cum before Connor gets his second climax because now the feeling is coming on me fast. I'm speeding up, desperate to climax, with Connor going, "Oh, Oh, Oh," constantly, as his body rocks to and fro, then I hump hard into him and fire off a long burst of spunk, an awesome shot of cum tantalizing the head of my cock and creating that almost pain stab at the inside of my thighs, near my cock! Connor goes, "I felt that!" and he begins stroking his new boner as I hit his ass with another slam of my crotch and shoot another shot into his bowels. He does deep grunts, "Un, un, un, oooh!" Then more desperate sounds slip out of his throat, before he announces, "I just spunked again, Dylan!" I want to tell him to whisper, but I'm in the middle of a very nice orgasm. Without thinking I smack his bare ass twice and cum some more into his rectum, then it's just my boner slushing in my cum as I wind-down feeling all the fabulous sensations of climax in my groin and my stomach, and a general buzz comes over most of me. Then the let-down drifts-in, the one that usually occurs after the almost shocking and awesome sensations of climax fade away. Never lasts long enough, does it? Connor's still pulling on his cock, and now I'm able to mumble, "Whisper Connor, okay." He whispers, "I did the double shot you told me about, Dylan; not much cum, but it felt almost like the first one where I spunked all over your sheets." Another little happy giggle, then, "Sorry 'bout that. I'll wash them for you." Reluctantly I pull out and stifle a moan when my cock head pulls free with that little sucking sound getting past Connor's still clenched sphincter muscle. He goes, "Oh my Gawd! I'm wide open back there and your cums drooling down my legs, it's awesome." I say, "Forget the cum, just lay next to me; we'll take another quick shower before we get dressed" He lays next to me, muttering, "Ewww, all the spunk's under me," then another giggle. I can't remember Connor ever being this happy. For something to say, I ask, "You wanna help me with brunch?" He goes, "Sure, I'd love to, but can we kiss a little more first?" Oh yeah, I forgot for a minute; I'm thinking buddy sex, and Connor's thinking lovers sex. I go, "Oh, okay," and this time he lifts his head, and goes up on his elbow, looking down with his face over mine. He's serious, "Thanks for doing that with me, Dylan. You have no way of knowing how important it is to me." I don't want to get emotional, so I whisper, "Sure, Connor, it was awesome for me too." The whites surrounding his beautiful dark blue eyes are a little bloodshot. Temporary result of his hangover. I ask him about it, "How's the hangover?" He says, "Didn't even notice I had one when we were doing it. Now I have a faint headache, my stomach feel funny and generally I feel beat-up, but what we did has helped a whole lot." And he leans down for a kiss. We kiss sweetly for a few minutes, then Connor lays back saying, "I was getting another boner. Do you think somethings wrong with me?" He serious again. Trying for a joke, I reply, "Well, if there is, I've caught it off you because I'm getting another boner too, but we gotta get cleaned-up and make some brunch." He goes up on his elbow again, looking at my face, and asks, "Can I tell you a joke first? I thought of it because of what we did a little while ago." I chuckle, muttering, "Oh, that thing we did together." He says, "Twice." I'm like, "Yeah, twice. What's your joke, I'd like to hear it. He says, "I tell it with and Irish accent," I go, "Oh goodie," and he laughs, then tells this joke with a perfect Irish accent, to my ears anyway, I don't know a real Irish person: "Well," Connor tells me, "Mrs. Donovan meets Father Flaherty on O'Connell St. in Dublin, and the Father says, 'Top o' the mormin' to ye'. I marry ye and yer hoosband two years ago, if memory serves. Be there any wee little ones yet?' She replies, 'Sadly, no, not yet, Father.' The Father says, 'Well now, I'm going to Rome next week and I'll light a fertility candle for ye and yer hoosband.' Some years later they meet again. The Father asks, 'Well now, Mrs. Donovan, how are ye these days?' She replies, 'Oh, very well, Father.' The Father asks, 'And tell me, have ye had any wee ones yet?' She replies, 'Oh yes, Faher! Two sets of twins and six singles, ten in all.' The Father says, 'That's wonderful! And how is yer loving hoosband doing?' She goes, 'E's gone to Rome to blow out yer fookin' candle, that's how E's doing.' I give him a good chuckle. It's not laugh out loud funny, but Mrs. Donovan saying, "yer fookin' candle" to the priest is pretty funny. Connor smiles his great smile, one happy boy. Me too. I rub his hair, asking, "You want another shower?" He says, "God, yes. I'm covered in fookin' cum, ya know." I laugh harder at that than the joke. Connor pads off to the bathroom, naked as a jay bird, but not seeming to be self-conscious of it anymore. Oh man, I hope that went as good as he seems to indicate it did. Then I think of Perdo, and him wanting me to fuck him to lose his cherry. Hmmm, maybe I should advertise on one of those cheesy cable networks, "Need a good fuck, but there's no one you can turn to? Call me at the number at the bottom of the screen. Only uber cute boys need apply." Haha. Nice way to make a living. Then I thought about it seriously, wondering how many lonely gay boys stay in the closet thinking no one they know is gay like them. A sad thought. Connor was quick with his shower; while he's in the bathroom I'd scrounged around and found clean sweatpants, boxer shorts, socks and a valor pull-over that I never wear, for him to put on; they're clean at least. He can keep the valor thing, I don't even know where it came from. Connor's got the towel around his waist again, looking all steamy and clean. He goes, "Really, Dylan, I feel bad nagging you for sex like I did. Do you think I'm horrible?" He's second guessing himself after the glow's faded. I say, "No, I don't Connor, I think you're wonderful! And that's because you are wonderful. Luv ya, dude, like a brother." Maybe that'll clear things up in his mind, just in case he's under the impression that this is the start of something big; bigger than it is. He seems happy with that though, and mumbles, "Thank you, Dylan. You are too; wonderful, I mean." I show him the stuff I've got for him to wear, than go into the bathroom, but don't take another shower because I wasn't laying in cum like Connor. I'll just clean up, starting with my dick... haha. When I'm all cleaned-up; back in the bedroom I put on some boxer shorts and a short bathrobe, then lead Connor into the kitchen. After scouting out what's in mom's refrigerator, I plan today's brunch in my head. Chubby and me have been making Sunday brunch forever, so by now we have ten or twelve different versions of brunch. This should be a good one. I take the first things I need out of the refrigerator, with Connor looking on. Then I ask, "Ya want some orange juice?" He says, "Can I have that cold can of Coke instead?" I pat his shoulder, saying, "You can have whatever you want, Connor, 'cause you da bomb." He asks, "What's that mean, anyway?" I go, "I'll be dammed if I know. Okay, dude, here's the Coke, now I'm putting you to work. Please get this ham slice out of it's vacuumed sealed packaging and cut it into bite size pieces. Then mince up a quarter of this red bell pepper and about half a cup of that sweet onion. Can you do that?" He smiles and says, "Duh! What should I use, a spoon?" I grin, saying, "How 'bout this paring knife?" He goes, "Oh okay, I'll try that." Then he adds, "I've only been cooking for myself for the past nine or ten years." I go, "I knew I could count on you. I gotta take some clothes I washed last night out the dryer and the sheets with your stuff on them in the washer." He goes, "Oh, okay. I'll get started on my prep work," he's in a happy mood again, so I squeeze the back of his neck, saying, "That was fun this morning, thanks, Connor. Get's us off to a good start for the day!" As I'm going into my bedroom for the sheets, leaving a beaming Connor to get the brunch started, he calls after me, "It sure does!" God, it's a good feeling making him happy. I throw the sheets in the washer and fold everything in the dryer, including Willie's panties, thinking, "I could use a cigarette. Ya know, a smoke after sex... yeah, that's the ticket." So, back upstairs, I go in my bedroom and dump the folded clothes on the desk chair, then hide the panties and find some shorts to wear, and the sweatshirt from last night. Sneakers, without socks, finish my outfit. Damn, I wish I had more clothes here at the house. Then I think, "Chubby's clothes!" In the kitchen again, I say, "Connor, you're doing a great job," as I get a mixing bowl and a quiche pan out of the cabinet. Then add, "I'll be gone a minute or two. Going up to Chubby's to steal some clothes for myself. It's too cool this rainy morning to wear shorts, and my other clothes are at the apartment. When I get back we'll grab a cigarette, okay?" He nods his head, then says, "This is so much fun, Dylan. Hangin' with you, I mean." I go, "I love it when you hang with me, Connor, 'cause you da bomb!" He says, "Oh, yeah, I'm da bomb." The rain outside is little more than a mist now as I quickly scale the steps up to Chubby's, where I take the key from the mailbox, who would ever think to look there, and unlock their front door. Returning the key to it's secret hiding place, I quietly open the front door. The silence inside is so deep it echoes in my ears. I tip toe to Chubby's room, the door's now open a little. I closed it last night when I checked on him, but Tris must have checked on him when she got home. There he is on his bed, still fully dressed... heehee. I go over and look at him closely. Disheveled, but still cute, my favorite face in the whole world. I'm about to kiss him lightly on the cheek, but getting close to him I catch a whiff of his horrendous breath as he exhales, and back away almost laughing out loud. Robby didn't take care of Chubby like I took care of Connor, that's for sure. Connor got Chubby home safe though, that's all I care about. Holding my nose between my thumb and forefinger, I lean down and kiss him as he sleeps his drunk away. I won't wake him, Connor and I can do the brunch. Chubby's going to be hungover, that's for sure. First I look in his chest of drawers, finding my own freaking' sweatshirt there; I thought I'd lost it. It has a hood and "MERRIMACK COLLEGE" across the chest. That thief! I take a pair of his sweat socks, then see a package of two socks in their original wrapping so rip the binding holding the two pairs together, and take a pair. Yes! Brand new socks. And realize what an idiot I am; I've just taken clothes out of the dryer, I could have worn those, and for some reason this is making me giggle. Glancing at Chubby and seeing that he hasn't moved a muscle, I figure I'll see what else hubby got of mine, and open the next drawer and see an awesome pair of cotton sweat pants with a little logo on the front hip section that also says, "Merrimack College", in much smaller letters. Perfect, a matching outfit. I go over and ruffle Chubby's hair, the haircut I gave him looks so professional, and cool. His earring is like the one I had before Willie bought me these gold hoop ones, and it makes me think of the many, many times Chubby will make fun of something new that I do, like getting my ear pierced or getting my little tattoo, and then he does the same thing, telling me, "We're like two peas in a pod, Dylan," like it was all his idea in the first place. I look at him now, thinking again about all the things we've done together and a maudlin feeling comes over me. My eyes sort of tear-up and I hate when that happens, but I've got such a deep love in my heart for that boy! It's overwhelming at times. I back out of the room wondering what came over me. Taking a deep breath, I shrug it off and quietly go out the front door, pushing the lock before I close it so it'll lock itself again. Wow! What was that maudlin feeling all about? Down I go and join Connor in the kitchen where I put the clothes I've just collected from Chubby on the table. He's done the things I asked him to do, so I say, "Hey, you're good!" He goes, "Yeah, it was soooo difficult!" A smile, then, "What's next, Dylan?" I tell him, "First a cigarette outside, then, um, you'll be shredding up some Jarlsberg cheese and some mozzarella cheese. I'll get the cheeses from the refrigerator when we come back inside. Grabbing an umbrella from the front closet, and handing it to Connor, I say, "Let me change into these clothes I stole from Chubby first, and grab my cigarettes; I'll only be a second. I change in my bedroom, then get the cigarettes from my bedside table drawer and hustle outside with Connor. I go, "It's just misting, but it would eventually get us wet so we'll stand under the umbrella. As we smoke Connor tells me again how much fun he's having and how sorry he is that he messed-up last night by getting drunk. With me Connor can be chatty at times, but if someone else is with us, or a number of other people are with us, he's very quiet. It's enjoyable seeing him so outgoing and effervescent. I tell him again how much fun it is hangin' with him and that we should do more of it, and then I wish I hadn't said that because he might misinterpret it to mean I want to fuck him more, which I would if I weren't in love with Robby as well as being involved with Willie. We finish our cigarettes and go back inside, leaving the umbrella on the tiles that are right inside the front door. In the refrigerator I find the blocks of cheeses we need, and a grater for Connor to use shredding the cheeses. He jokingly asks, "When do you start doing something? You said we'd do it together." I go, "I'm doing the hard part; planning and organizing and supervising. Lots of pressure on me, dude." He chuckles, and I say, "Did I tell you, you're doing great?" He goes, "Yeah, con man, I believe you mentioned that a couple of times." I go, "That's because you are doing a great job." Connor's soon has two piles of shredded cheeses, approximately the correct amount for each. This isn't brain surgery; eyeballing the amount of each of the ingredients is the way we do it here... you don't need exact measurement when cooking. I nod at him and he grins back, asking, "How am I doing?" I go, "You're doing great, Connor," and we both chuckle again, having fun goofing around. I get out the eggs... there are ten eggs, but we only need eight, so I put the remaining eggs in a little ramekin bowl and return it to the refrigerator, saying, " It seems like I'm doing everything here". Then I look Connor in the eyes and ask, with a straight face, "Do you know how to crack an egg, Connor?" He asks, "Do you mean, on your forehead?" I go, "No, no. In these two bowls. Crack four eggs into each bowl?" He asks, "Which bowl gets the four eggs first?" I have to laugh a little at that, enjoying that Connors joined me being a wiseass, then say, "Either one, numbnuts, they're the same size." As he's doing that I get a pint of half and half from the refrigerator, saying, "We'll need this whole pint," and then grab a tin of nutmeg from the pantry. Also the red pepper and paprika containers, mumbling to myself, "What the fuck else goes into these two concoctions?" Then, I remember a very important one, and get a package of Betty Crocker hash brown frozen potatoes from the freezer and a package of cheddar cheese. The only cheddar cheese mom has today is Kraft extra sharp, but that'll work. Connor's finished his stuff, and he's now watching me, and waiting for more instructions. I look at him, wiping my forehead, muttering, "I'm freakin' exhausted digging all this stuff up, plus I have to remember all the ingredients, which ones go in which dish... it's a bitch; plus, Chubby and I never write down our recipes for fear they'll be stolen, and I'm dealing with a slow, barely competent assistant, so it hasn't been easy." I say all this ridiculous bull shit in a very serious manner. Connor makes a face at me, then smiles and dabs at my forehead with a paper towel, saying, "You must be exhausted. How do you do it all?" I go, "God knows, it's how I roll, and I do it without complaining, but my backs killing me and my barely competent assistant's so cute he's giving me a hard-on. So, you know, I need to do everything with wood between my legs. But I never complain; I hate complainers." He smiles again; that kid smiles more than anyone I've ever met... maybe even more than my mom and Tris, who are world class smilers. Connor asks, "What's next chef?" I take a deep breath, like I've just run up a steep hill or something, and mutter, "That should be obvious, "This rectangle of Sharp cheese needs to be shredded like the other two cheeses. Jesus, I need to sit down!" Connor laughs, saying, "It's fun cooking with you, Dylan. Can you come live with me, or better yet, can your mom adopt me?" I spray the quiche pan with Pam, saying, "To tell ya the truth, Connor, my dick would fall off if you were around me every day 'cause I couldn't resist you." He mutters, "Oh, I'm so sure. One pity thing with me is probably all I'd get." That was too serious, so I get an arm around his neck and kiss his cheek. He leans against me as I say, with my lips to his ear, "That awesome, um, sexual encounter we had this morning has nothing to do with pity. I was in lust for you." He goes, "Oh, I'm so sure!" I nip his earlobe, and say, "Connor, you're hot, don't put yourself down." Ruffling his fuzzy hair, which has grown out to an inch and a half, I step back, adding, "You just haven't met the right boy yet, and you're not alone with that situation either; I've just been lucky as hell. It's like this: I was lucky to have a random encounter with an experienced gay sex partner, which led me to my first real boyfriend, and that opened the door to meeting other gay boys etc.. It seems once I was sexually active I began putting out vibes that boys with gaydar picked up on; that's the best way I can explain it. Ya know, as soon as a couple of guys knew I was gay, one thing led to another and now I know a number of gay boys, most of whom are way, way deep in the closet, or partially in there at the very least. I'm partially in there myself, meaning some people obviously know I'm gay, and some are probably suspicious that I am, but I haven't announced myself, so there are many that don't have a clue I'm gay. Us gay boys tend not to 'out' each other, that's a no-no. Now the hard part for any gay boy, is the first part... meeting the right random sex partner. If you don't meet that first one, it's unlikely things will develop the way they have for me. As I said...I'm was just very, very lucky." Connor's paying close attention and when I stop talking, he says, "But, don't you count as my first random gay encounter?" I go, "Hmmm, ya got me there, Connor. Theoretically I suppose I should count as your first random sex partner. Maybe not enough time has elapsed though." He goes, "You introduced me to that strange, but sorta exotic boy, the one who goes to Berklee College, but that didn't work out." I go, "Yeah, what you're missing, that I had going for me, is the 'luck' part." He goes, "Yeah, that's for sure, except for meeting you, and my job at the restaurant, I got no luck." I hug his shoulders, saying, "Your luck will change, Connor. You got too much going for you, you'll win out even without a lot of luck." He mumbles, "Thanks, Dylan; I sure hope so." My mom, in her bathrobe, silently comes up behind us, saying, "Good morning boys," and we jump, startled. I'm hoping she didn't come out of her bedroom while I was telling Connor my sex history. Seeing us jump, mom chuckles, "Boys, it's only me, but don't look at me, I'm hideous. Just want a glass of juice and two Tylenol for my little headache." She kisses my cheek, "Oh, Dylan, can't wait for your brunch," then to Connor, "Connor, honey, you look so handsome. I hope you've recovered from whatever made you sick." She knows what made him 'sick', the same thing she needs Tylenol for. I pour mom a small glass of juice and hand her the Tylenol bottle as Connor's saying, "Yes, ma'am, I'm feeling better, thank you." Mom adds, "I'm taking a bubble bath, Dylan sweetheart, I'll be an hour or so. Is that alright." I go, "Well the soufflé will probably deflate by then, but I'll make do." She pats my cheek, saying, "I know you'll manage, darling. Oh, you're such a lovely boy." She pads off to her bathroom, with me going, "Mom! I've got company!" Connor mumbles, "Dylan, the lovely boy of Merrimack College." I smirk, going, "The loveliest boy of Merrimack college, actually." He mutters, "You are, too." Then in a normal voice, he says, "Your mom is, um, very different, in only the best ways, compared to mine." I go, "I know, Connor. I'm sorry you haven't found your 'lucky streak' yet, but you will." He shrugs, smiles, and asks, "What are we cooking here, Dylan?" I go, "Well it sure as shit isn't a soufflé. No, what we're making are two items that we'll bake in the oven: A ham and potato casserole, and a basic cheese quiche. We'll toast some English muffins just before we all sit down to eat. Oh, and you and I will drive to Dunkin' Donuts for coffees while this stuff is baking. It's the Chubby and Dylan, world-famous Sunday brunch, minus Chubby. The 'Chubby' chef will be played by a guest chef this week, the world-renowned, Connor Neary." Connor takes a fake bow, then says, "You're very chipper this morning, Dylan." I go, "That's because my day got off to an awesome start, Chef." He goes, "Oh, yeah... that, um, thing we did together," and he blushes slightly. Damn, I've been encountering boys who blush lately, if I don't watch out I'll lose my number one spot for blushing boy of the year; as a matter of fact, I already lost that spot to Connor. Yeah, he definitely blushes more than me! I smile at Connor, repeating what he said, "Yeah, that thing we did together earlier this morning." Preheating the oven to 425 degrees, I say, "Time to assemble all these ingredients. I suppose I should give you something to do so you can feel you've at least helped a little with this brunch, so I'll call out the instructions and you do everything else. And, to test your cooking skills, you'll have to guess which bowl gets what. Okay?" With fake outrage, he yells, "So I'll have something to do? I've done everything!" I'm like, "Oh my God, don't be silly, you've done a little basic prep work, that's all. Plus, I just turned-on the oven, didn't I?" He goes, "Oh, I forgot about that. Okay, what's the first ingredient?" I go, "Don't get ahead of yourself, chef. The ham and potato casserole needs to cook for about forty to forty-five minutes. The quiche needs only twenty-five minutes at 350 degrees. So it'll be your responsibility, I can't be expected to do everything, to keep tract of the time and twenty minutes after we put the casserole in, you need to turn the over down to 375, we'll compromise on the temperatures, for the quiche. Shouldn't you be taking notes?" Connor roles his eyes, grinning again, and goes, "No, I think I got it." "Okay then, but if this gets fucked-up, it's on you, chef-dude." He says, "I'm a bundle of nerves, but I'll do my best." I mumble, "Here goes then, and this should be obvious, first dump that package of Betty Crocker hash brows in the proper bowl. You'll need to figure out a way to open the package first, so that'll be your first challenge." He's grinning, as he easily rips along the perforated edge of the plastic package and dumps the hash brown in a bowl, asking, "Shouldn't we have made the hash brown potatoes ourselves from scratch?" I say, "No one likes an impudent assistant chef." He goes, "Oh, I see," and I add, "Plus you put the potatoes in the wrong bowl." He laughs now, then says, "Both bowls have four eggs, so what's the diff? The quiche needs the proper balance of eggs and cream to properly set, and two cups of half and half need four eggs too." I go, "I knew that. It was a test. Now put the ham in a bowl. Think carefully before you decide on the correct bowl." He says, "Hmmm, this is hard, but this is a ham and potato casserole after all, so I'll take a chance and put the ham in the bowl with the potatoes." I mutter, "No cheating, chef!" He laughs, and adds the shredded cheddar to the bowl too. I go, "Stop! You got lucky and guessed the correct cheese, but there's a cup of water that should have gone in first." Another roll of the eyes as the grinning Connor measures out a cup of water and pours it in. "Now for the dash of nutmeg," and Connor puts it in the other bowl, the one that will be our quiche. I mumble, "Another lucky guess," and, "Where will the remaining two cheeses go?" He scoops up the Jarlsberg and mozzarella and plops all of it in the quiche bowl. He does know what he's doing, but he asks, sarcastically, or as sarcastically as he's capable of, "How am I doing, Dylan?" I mutter, "You're doing great, I already told you that." He says, "Yeah, four times, but ya haven't said it the last two minutes." He's good! I ask, "Where do you suppose the salt and pepper go?" He says, "I'd put it in both, but the quiche for sure, maybe the ham is salty enough though, so no salt for that casserole." I ask, "You must be good at multiple choice quizzes, you guess good." He smiles and, without being told, pours the pint of cream in the quiche bowl, saying, "Actually it's not luck, I study my ass off for tests." He picks up the whisk and mixes all the ingredients for the quiche, then pours it into the quiche pan. Quiche pans have a bottom that can be pushed up when the quiche is done to get the quiche from the pan without turning it into scrambled quiche. I say, "It gets easier now, chef." He goes, "I'm quite nervous, but shouldn't all the remaining ingredients go in the casserole bowl?" I mumble, "Good guess," and Connor's smirking now, as he asks, "Um, didn't you forget the dry mustard, I believe this casserole should have a teaspoon of dry mustard, and how 'bout a cup of mike, which you also didn't get from the refrigerator." "Ah ha!" I go, "Another test, which you have barely passed," as I get those two things out and hand them to him. He adds the rest of the stuff and then whisks that bowl, asking, "Where's the casserole that this goes in?" I say, "If you're so smart, you tell me." He goes, "Hmm," looking at the cabinets, then looks in a lower cabinet and pulls out a Corningware casserole, asking, "How 'bout we use this oven friendly Corningware casserole dish?" I can't help but smile at him, mumbling, "Ain't you the clever boy though!" Connor pours the mixture into the casserole and puts the ham and potato casserole in the oven, saying, "We need to turn down the oven and put the quiche in at elven fifteen." I go, "Bingo!" Then all kidding aside, I say, "You're a good cook, Connor. Thanks for doing the brunch," and he unexpectedly leans in and kisses my lips, then says, "This is the most fun I've ever had, Dylan. The last twenty-four hours I mean. Thank you." It almost brings a tear to my eye, as a matter of fact I do one of my fake coughs so I have a reason to cover my mouth and then sneak my hands up to rub the moisture from my eyes. Damn, how can doing something mostly routine, like Connor and I have been doing the last twenty four hours, be considered the 'most fun he's ever had'? I say mostly routine because, of course, having gay sex can't be considered 'routine' I don't suppose, although it should be. My heart breaks just imagining the daily life Connor experienced all through high school. At least he's had this last year to live a more normal life, although he still needs to take care of his mother too. Jesus! We go outside for another cigarette. It's not even misty now, just cloudy and damp. I tell Connor how impressed I am with his chef skills, and then ruffle his hair again, saying, "It'll be fun giving you a haircut, Connor. You've got awesome hair." "So do you, Dylan, um, when you have hair," and he rubs my head too. I go, "Hey, do ya wanna call your mom, I mean she'll be worried you didn't come home last night, won't she?" He laughs without it seeming like a laugh, and says, "No, she's not worried. She hardly knows I'm there when I'm there. Anyway, I didn't bother to mention I'm on spring break. I was gonna stay at school, but no one's there and it was pretty depressing and boring, so when I got a chance for a ride from a guy in my dorm, I took it." "He drove you home?" I ask, thinking of Connor's neighborhood. He shakes his head, "No way, I wouldn't put him through that, he's not really a friend, more an acquaintance and, ya know, it'd be kind of embarrassing showing him where I live." I think immediately of Cory Dunlevy who walked five miles from his house to the Rite Aid drugstore were he told me to meet him when we went bowling that time. Connor's head is down, and he's mumbling now, saying, "I asked him to drop me off at the mall." I go, The mall, huh. How'd ya get home from there, is there a bus that goes near where you live?" He says, "Not hardly. I walked, it wasn't too cold and it felt good walking." I'm shocked, "Connor, it's got to be almost ten miles, or more maybe." He shrugs, "I didn't have anything else to do and walking is good for you." Why do I keep asking him questions? The answers make me sad, and probably make Connor sad too, but I ask another. "Why the hell didn't you call me, Connor? I'd get you a ride even if I didn't have the Jeep." He looks at me and says, "Because I'm always asking you for favors and I didn't want to bother you." I'm like, "You gotta be kidding me! That's what friends are for. I called a friend to pick me up at the airport after my trip, and the airport's a bigger pain in the ass then getting someone at the freakin' mall!" He shrugs again, and then I remember that Connor and I went bowling too, a year or so again, so I ask him, "Hey, ya wanna go bowling with me and a friend I made. My new friend works at Stop and Shop; I mean when I work up at Merrimack? We could go next week maybe." He asks, "Um, how much does it cost, I forget how much it was that time you and I went. That was the last time I bowled actually, I'm not very good at it." "It doesn't cost much, about three dollars, and you're better than me at it. I've only gone bowling once with Cory, that's the kid's name at Stop and Shop. He's really good at candlepins." Connor pulls my wrist to him so he an see my watch, then he goes, "Whoe! Cool watch, it looks expensive." I poo poo that, saying, "Nah, I picked it up in Key West, as a memento. How 'bout the bowling?" Connor says, "I'd love to, Dylan. But now I need to put the quiche in the oven and adjust the temperature." We'd finished our cigarettes ten minutes ago, so we both go inside where Connor reduces the temperature and slides in the quiche. After that we drive to Dunkin' Donuts for five coffees; two large for the moms, and three mediums for us guys. Connor tries to pay with the eight dollars he has left, but I insist he's my house guest. Anyway, the coffees cost more than eight dollars and I don't want to see him embarrassed. Back in the condo I put the coffees on the table, saying, "We'll microwave them to heat them up for brunch. The only thing left to do now, Connor, is toast the English muffins and we won't do that until we're ready to eat." He says, "Oh, let me do that so I feel I've helped with the brunch a little," I go, "Yeah, it's the least you could do." We smile at each other, and for a second I'm afraid Connor's going to kiss me again. Then he says, "I gotta use the bathroom, can I use yours?" I go, "No! There's a gas station three blocks down, see if they'll let you use their bathroom." Then I punch his arm lightly, saying, "Of course you can use my bathroom! What a question!" He mutters, "I'm sorry, I'm not a houseguest very often." I say, "This will give me time to get Chubby up. We have about twenty five minutes until our fabulous brunch needs to come out of the oven. If I'm not here when you get done with the bathroom, grab another Coke or something and make yourself comfortable." Then I try my high school Spanish with, "Mi casa es su casa, Connor." He smiles, and says, in better accented Spanish then me, "Gracias mi amigo!" Cool! See how handy those boring Spanish courses can be! Connor goes into my bedroom and I go up to Chubby's condo. Letting myself in again, I walk down to Chubby's bedroom hearing Tris' shower running in her bathroom. My mom better finish with her bubble bath pretty soon. Chubby's on his back now, but still fully dressed in last night's outfit. I go right up to him and rub his hair, massaging his scalp. He sputters, "Hey, mom, what the..?" Then opens his eyes and smiles, "I shoulda known it was you, Dylan. How ya doing, bro?" "Probably better than you, Chubby. Come on... get up we need to fix brunch!" He's like, "Oooooh, no! I'm fucked-up Dylan. Hey, how'd I get home. No, never mind, it was Robby. I remember, but where were you? Where's my main homeboy when I need him?" I go, "Well, you got poor Connor so drunk he didn't know his hat from his glove." Chubby's like, "What? What are you talking about now, Dylan? Hats and gloves? My head hurts." I say, "Connor was worse than you. I had to just about carry him home, so Robby volunteered to see you home safely." Chubby goes, "Oh, yeah. I think he told me that. I am never touching rum again in my freakin' life, dude!" I say, "I don't blame ya. I'll get you some Tylenol. Whaddaya want to drink with it?" He says, "The biggest bottle of iced cold Coke you can find. And, thanks." I check out the contents of their refrigerator and there isn't any Coke. I only had one Coke left in my condo and I told Connor to take it, so I pick up the quart of Canada Dry ginger ale, and get their bottle of Tylenol from where they keep it with the other over-the-counter medications, and then take them to Chubby, feeling like nurse Nelly. I'm as familiar and comfortable in Chubby's condo as I am in my own. It's been like that for as long as I can remember. Chubby's sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. "Oh, I feel like shit, dude. Um, Dylan, my best friend of all time, can't you do the brunch by yourself today? Dude, I'm hurting." I twist the cap off the ginger ale and hand it to him. "You don't have any Coke, Chubby." He goes, "This is good, probably better in my condition," and he chugs a half dozen big swallows. I hand him three Tylenol, saying, "I did the brunch already. Had to break my ass making it too." He says, "I knew you probably did, because look at the time. You're too conscientious not to, and anyway I had to do it by myself last Sunday." I go, "Ah, poor Chubby." He takes the Tylenol, muttering, "I slept in my freakin' clothes. Did Connor sleep in his?" I'm indignant, "Most certainly not! I undressed him and gave him a shower; brushed his teeth too. I was afraid he'd have breath in the morning like yours." He chuckles, then asks, "Can you keep me company while I take a shower?" My response is, "Oh boy, can I bath you?" He squeezes my hand, mumbling, "You wish," and I follow him into his matching bathroom to mine. He strips off his clothes, totally uninhibited. When naked he plays with his dick as he's brushing his teeth. Then he adjusts the water temperature and steps under the shower, muttering, "I won't be long," and he isn't. He steps out looking clean, asking, "Will ya get me a towel out of the linen closet, this towel is getting' raunchy." I ask, "You use the same towel over and over?" He goes, "Yeah! I gotta do my own laundry. At our apartment I let the dirty clothes and towels pile-up until you take mercy on me and do a couple of loads of wash, including mine." I say, "I found my Merrimack sweatshirt in your fucking drawer." He laughs, then he shouts,"You burglar!", as I get him the towel he asked for. He dries himself then; and still naked, hugs me, "I love you, Dylan. I really do, dude." I want to suggest that he sleeps with me again tonight, but remember we'll be back at our apartment tonight. Instead, I goof around, saying, "Chubby loves me," and then I sneak a quick kiss on his lips. Chubby wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, saying, "Down, boy. Behave yourself, Dylan, if you can. Then puts his arm around my shoulders, saying, "So what did we prepare for brunch today?" I go, "WE?" and then as he gets dressed, I tell him. Chubby says, "Boy oh boy, we outdid ourselves today!" From her bathroom, Tris says, "I'm coming out boys, and you do not want to see me without my makeup on and my hair done. What time's brunch." I yell, "Fifteen or twenty minutes, but no rush. The casseroles will stay hot." She says, "Is your mom up?" I yell, "She's taking a bubble bath. I had to get her a glass of juice and Tylenol first though. What were you two up to last night?"" Tris says, "Just the usual, and you are so considerate helping your mom out like that, Dylan. Are you taking notice of how considerate Dylan is, Chubby?" He yells, too loudly, "Who do you think taught Dylan everything he knows about being considerate!" She laughs, "Oh, I'm so sure, honey." We troop on down to my place, but no Connor. I say to Chubby, "I'll bet Connor's hiding in my bedroom, afraid my mom will come out before I come back." Chubby goes, "Yeah, he's just a little bit shy." Sure enough, Connor's sitting in my desk chair, looking out the window. Big smile when he sees it's Chubby and me, and not my mom. Maybe he was afraid of being attacked by mom like at the restaurant last night... haha. Chubby goes, "Hiya, Connor. We kicked some ass last night, didn't we. We drank those toads under the table!" Connor chuckles, "It was me under the table, Chubby, but it was fun until I hurled in the bushes." Chubby's like, "All part of our plan, Connor. Let them get overconfident of victory, and then Wham! I do the double shot. Shots back to back and all they could do was applaud. Unfortunately, you where spaying the bushes with rum, so you missed our moment of glory. Then killjoy Robby comes over and kidnaps me, and dude, someone musta tripped me or something because I fell on my face walking to the car with Robby, or maybe it was Robby trying to hold me up that threw me off balance, but dude, I fucked up my pants when I fell. Yep, ripped my jeans at the knee. Small cut on my knee too, like we used to get when we were little kids, remember, Dyan, but..." Interrupting his rant, I go, "Chubby, any chance you could shut the fuck up?" He goes, "Anything for you, Dylan. My lips are sealed," he's obviously still a little drunk. Chubby claimed his lips were sealed, but they weren't. He has us all laughing our asses off at brunch; the brunch that he took most of the credit for preparing. As soon as my mom and Tris arrived at the table, he made a project out of toasting the English muffins and putting butter and jam on the table; stopping once to say, "Oh man, I'm beat. Dylan wasn't much help today 'cause he had a couple too many beers at the party last night, so I'm a little worn out from doing almost everything." My mom said, "Dylan, don't drink so much, honey... you're not even old enough to drink yet." I go, "Good advise mom." Chubby babbles on about the long line he had to wait in getting the coffees, as Connor and I roll our eyes at each other. As I said, I think Chubby's still a little drunk, maybe more than a little; it can happen. His real hangover is coming though, it's inevitable... hee hee. When I woke him, that was just the pre-hangover, like Connor experienced at four o'clock this morning when he woke-up dying of thirst, needing Tylenol, and to take a piss. He obviously didn't have as many shots of rum as Chubby either, so he recovered better with the early morning Tylenol and Gatorade. Plus Connor went back back to sleep for another six hours. Chubby had more to drink than Connor, but Chubby's a more experienced drinking the adult beverages so didn't experience the 'black-out' Connor experienced. Soon enough Chubby will crash, probably in a couple of hours when the booze is finally out of his system and then his body will extract it's revenge. Three or four times Tris and my mom compliment me and Chubby for an outstanding brunch, while Connor and I exchange more glances and grins... it's fun. At times the moms are laughing so hard at Chubby's silly comments he steals the show even though Connor and me did all the work. Connor beams with pride seeing everyone going back to the casseroles for seconds. Our brunch was a big success, Connor looks so proud of himself and so happy, I was happy for him. This is a big deal to Connor; for Chubby and me it's routine, which it just isn't for Connor... and that's so sad. Later in the afternoon, we get stuff together that we want to take with us for our last month in the apartment. Yeah, just one more month, and then our sumer vacation enticingly looms ahead for us. Conner stays with us because he hadn't brought anything home with him. He sticks close to me the whole time even when I go down to fold the sheets from the dryer and he helps me make-up the bed again.Then it's time to leave and we say our goodbyes to the moms. I'm driving us back in our Jeep; Chubby's hangover caught up with him an hour after brunch and all he did was moan and bitch about everything. He'll probably sleep all the way back. Right now, as I'm driving down route 9, his head is against Conner's shoulder. I never got around to giving Connor his haircut but I'm bringing my barber equipment back with me so I'll do it at college. Here we come Merrimack, our last month of our freshman year is finally here. What a great spring break this was, everything considered, and at least Connor had these past two days of the break to enjoy. Robby drove his pickup back to Merrimack, probably with Ryan Wilcocks as his passenger. They needed to go back earlier today for, what else, baseball related reasons... or was it for other reasons? What does the last month have in store for all of us at Merrimack? Ya gotta wonder, I know I do. to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com Please consider a tax deductible contribution to nonprofit Nifty. Details at the site. Thank you.