Date: Sun, 16 Oct 2016 23:11:16 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE  Chapter   11

DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT  COLLEGE


Chapter  11


by  Donny Mumford


Robby  and I are feeling cocky and a little smug this morning. Our spur of
the  moment sex after Friday's classes was intense and very sexually
satisfying,  but more importantly it was experienced with true love for one
another. Love takes the animalistic thrill of sex to a higher-human  level. I'm of
the opinion that few, if any, of our fellow students are  experiencing a
loving sexual relationship like Rob's and mine. We've  worked at our love
affair over the years, showing respect for one another,  being flexible when
necessary, and always with a willingness to  compromise our differences. I
suppose it's arrogance on my part to assume others  can't match our love affair,
but it's how I feel. For Rob and me it's been  a roller coaster ride at
times; like when I've taken his love for granted, but  now we're exactly where
I've always dreamed we would be. I read  somewhere that first love, young
love, is the most powerful and  intense love there is. Robby and I fell in
love when we were seventeen; a  first love for both of us. At times I feel a
giddiness of joy knowing how  much Robby loves me. Just seeing him can make my
palms feel sweaty as a  flutter of electricity runs through my body. He's
really something special and I  want to be special for him. Huh, as hard as I
try, my feelings of love for  him are basically indescribable; I can't find
the words to adequately  describe the wonderfulness of it all.

We  take our time showering, then get dressed casually in jeans and
sweatshirts for our trip to the Rockingham Mall. I'm in need of new  sneakers and
then we'll grab some lunch. This morning's 'Modern Society' class  with Ryan
was the last class for me until Monday afternoon, and I've completed  all
after class assignments for next week. How sweet is that! In  true confession
mode, I begrudgingly agree with Robby that completing study  requirements,
papers, and reading assignments each night, while a  royal pain in my ass,
is still the most sensible way of staying  on top of my college courses. All
night cramming sessions for midterms and  final exams is stupid. I roll my
eyes at the attention-seeking cries of, 'I'm  so screwed for this exam!'
Those overly dramatic cries are made by fools who  ignored studying until the
last minute. Their cries of being screwed  is a subtle inference that no one
told them final exams were tomorrow;  it's someone else's fault they're
screwed. Some students  actually think it's cool to do all night cramming
sessions while imbibing  large quantities of caffeine from coffee, cola drinks, and
Red Bull to  help them stay awake. Some of them borrow a study pill from a
friend  hoping Adderall will stimulate enough dopamine in their brain to
give them  the superhuman feeling they'll need for their last minute cramming.

Many of  these nitwits are simply playing out the stereotypical college
ordeal of  all-night cramming sessions that they've read about or saw glorified
in  a movie. Dumb!
During  the drive to the Mall, we're listening to music without having much
to say. It  used to be only with Chubby could I feel comfortable spending
an  extended period of silent time, but I'm comfortable being silent with
Robby now too. During this quiet time I'm mostly wondering what to do  about
Ryan. I'm supposed to  text him later this afternoon when Robby's at the
ballpark mentoring  Golden, but I'm leaning towards not doing that. Ryan was
acting  peculiar again this morning. He's touchy about little things and I'm
frankly getting sick and tired of trying to pacify him all the time. It's
like he'll be fine one minute, and then moody the next.  His  ex-boyfriend,
Mike, felt Ryan was too gloomy and I'm beginning to  see what he meant. I'm
Ryan's friend though, so if he has a problem I wish  he'd tell me what it is
so maybe I can help him with it. For now  though I'm going to stop reaching
out trying to placate him every two  seconds. If he reaches out to me, then
we'll see. That's how I'm leaving it  for now... I won't be texting him
today.

Almost  certainly, no matter how gloomy he is, Ryan and I would end up
having sex if we  hooked up this afternoon. The thing is, the way he's been  so
schizoid since arriving on campus I'd just as soon not have sex with  him,
especially when he acts like he's doing me a favor. Fuck that!  My  boyfriend
took care of all my immediate sexual needs a half hour ago...  took care of
them twice, as a matter of fact. Bottom line: Ryan and his paranoia  are out
of luck in the sex department, at least as far I'm concerned. That's my
position unless he gets over whatever it is that's bothering him. And,  if he
has someone else to screw, like that tall kid he walked into the new
dormitory with, then good for him. I gotta say though, I'm  extremely doubtful
there's anyone else. Not here at Merrimack  anyway.

As  Robby's parking at the Mall, he asks, "Where do you want to look for
sneakers?"  Getting out of the truck, I shrug, "Let's try Dick's Sporting
Goods." Inside the  Mall, as we walk past the various stores, we stay as far
away from the high pressure salespeople hawking stuff from the kiosks that
run down the Mall's first level center aisle. If  you accidentally make eye
contact with one of these vultures you've in danger of  buying whatever
they're selling whether you want it or not. We make it to Dick's  without buying
anything and, Jesus, every time I shop for sneakers there's  like twice as
many to choose from. Jesus, a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo  sneakers cost
$1500. Huh, and they don't look much different from the  pair on the next shelf
that cost $75. If I was shopping with Willie though, heh  heh, which pair of
sneakers would you  guess he'd buy me...? Oh man, that Willie!
Robby  picks up a retro Chuck Taylor Converse high-top black sneaker,
asking, "Do  you think this looks cool?" I nod, "Yeah, I do. Let me see that. "He
hands it  too me, and it's size 9, which is my size, so I kick off my old
beat-up Adidas sneaker and try on the Chuck Taylor one. Feels good, looks
good! Robby reads the sneaker's label out loud, "It's the official retro
look of the nineteen-sixties, but with a modern Lunarlon insole for  comfort."

I'm like, "I'm gonna buy these, but I can't decide if I should go for  the
white ones or black ones?" He goes, "Ya know what, Dylan? Our feet are  the
same size so why don't I buy one color and you get the other. We can switch
off." Huh, that's exactly what Chubby would suggest if he were with me.

Which reminds me; I left him that 3X5 card under his door this morning. I hope
he texts me. Nodding my head at Robby's suggestion, I buy the black pair
and Robby buys the white ones. We leave the store grinning like  goofs at
each other. Outside the store, to break-balls a little, I  ask, "Hey, your feet
don't sweat a lot, do they? I mean, if we're gonna  switch off and all..."

and he asks, "Do your feet ever stink?" I'm like,  "Really? You're asking me
if my feet stink." He  chuckles, "Oh, I forgot I'm dealing with Dylan Newman
... what was I thinking?  I obviously withdraw that stupid question." I feel
like kissing his mouth right  in front of all these annoying shoppers.

We  chuckle on our way  to THE GAME ROOM store, where we look at the latest
computer and  Xbox games, but don't buy anything. After that I'm doing my
usual boy  watching as we walk the Mall, killing time window shopping and
thinking how much  fun it would be  to crazy rich, buying anything we felt
like, like an NBA player. Results of my  boy-watching are not good: slim
pickings for cute guys today.  I do spot a couple of cute, although too-young, teen
boys who are  trying awfully hard to look cool. Other than that, there's
not much to  see. Then, we go through Macy's Men's Department looking for
things on  sale. I buy a pair of black skinny jeans at 40% off. I'm  thinking
that'll go good with my new black sneakers. Holding  up the jeans, I look at
Robby for just a second, and he blurts out a  laugh, then picks up an
identical pair of jeans for himself. I knew he would.  Outside Macy's Robby runs
into three teammates. Then, after briefly introducing  me as, 'Dylan Newman,
my apartment roommate...' the four of  them talk for a couple of minutes
about Monday, their first day of fall  baseball team practice. You know, I don't
mind that  generic introduction of Rob's apartment roommate. It's all the
information  appropriate for most of the guys Robby knows. We're not on a
campaign  advertising we're gay lovers to everyone we meet. If one or all of
them already  knew we're gay and mentions something about it, we'd have no
problem coming out  with, 'Yeah, we're gay boyfriends, what about it?' Fact is:
 very few guys or girls at college give much of a shit about it one way  or
the other. There are exceptions to just about everything of course, but we
rarely run into one of the last of the homophobes.

While  Robby's talking with his teammates I get a text from Chubby asking
where I'm at.  Instead of texting him back, I call him and after talking for
a minute we agree  to meet at  the food court in half an hour. Robby says,
"C'mon, Dylan, Bud wants us to see  something at the ear piercing kiosk." His
teammate, Bud, is slim with a  black eye and short hair. He looks kinda
sexy with the black eye, in a goofy  kinda way. I follow along behind and one
of the other  ballplayers drifts back to walk next to me, asking, "Yo, bro,
who were  those two chicks hanging on your arms the other day at practice?" I
shrug,  mumbling, "Ah, just a couple of girls messing around." I almost say
they're  Robby's fan club except I don't think he'd appreciate me
mentioning that. This  guy, I've forgotten his name already, says, "Wish I had a
couple of  hot babes goofing around with me like that. What's the name of the
one with  the huge jugs?" I go, "That would be, Beth, and the other girl is
Frankie.  I forget their last names, and Frankie is obviously the girl's
nickname; her real name is Francesca, or something like that. I'm not  sure
now." He asks, "Did you get a cellphone number for either of them." I  shake my
head, "No, but the next time I see Beth I'll ask for it and  give it to you
the next time I see you." He goes, "That's cool, thanks. Um, you  wouldn't
mind if I give her a call, would you?" I say, "Nope, I wouldn't  mind at
all." He goes, "She's my type, dude." I go, "Uh huh." This guy,  whatever his
name is, probably isn't going to have much luck with  Beth, or most girls.

That'd be my guess anyway. I've no doubt he's confident  enough to call Beth,
but I'm not sure why he'd bother. I mean, unless I'm  missing something, he's
not the type of guy girls are dreaming  will call them. To be kind, he's
not an attractive young man, plus he looks  about thirty years old. And yet,
from our short conversation and his  body language, he gives me the
impression he thinks he's God's gift to women. Go  figure...

We're  at the piercing kiosk and I'm assuming the big attraction  here is
the girl doing the piercing.  She's in her early twenties and not what I'd
call pretty, but not bad  looking either.  I'm guessing her very low-cut
blouse with  no bra for her significant breasts is the reason for all the  fuss.

The guys act like high school juniors laughing and pushing each  other,
trying to talk each other into getting their ear pierced. Huh, and I  think I'm
immature at times. Robby glances at me and rolls his eyes. I nod my  head
back in the direction we came and Robby tells the guys we need to meet
someone. As we start walking away, Robby says to a  tall, nerdy looking guy,
"Charles, you should get your tongue pierced.  That way her face will be so close
to your face her nose will bump that big  nose of yours." He goes, "My
tongue, really Rob?" apparently thinking Rob's serious.  I'm  backing away with
Robby following, telling me, "Not all forty guys on the  baseball roster
are winners, as you may have guessed. All of these guys are  backup players,
but I try to know as many of the guys on the team as  possible. We're all
teammates, ya know?" Yeah, I guess. Then I tell him  about Chubby meetings us a
little later for lunch, and we talk about what  the three of us might do
tonight. That makes me think about tomorrow night  and I sigh with resignation
because Robby's promised the girls we'd go to  an off campus frat party
with them. So whatever we do tonight I'm hoping  it's a guys only  affair.

For  the hell of it we stop in the Abercrombie & Fitch store to look at
their  overpriced merchandize. I read online that there's been  major changes
in all the Abercrombie &  Fitch stores; a change in philosophy. After looking
around in  here I can't say I care all that much for the changes. They used
to  hire only sexily attractive young men and women; ones who dress
stylish, as well  as being good looking and sexy. In other words, their sales staff
looked  and dressed like most of us secretly wish we could look and dress.

I guess  mostly I hate that they did away with the shirtless guys, heh  heh.

Everything about the store is less sexy now. The big sexy posters of  guys
are gone and the sales staff are more diverse-looking and  they're all
dressing-down from before, all the way down to drab in  some cases. The store
overall is a lot less cool now if you ask me. Huh,  they haven't dropped their
prices though. That's the change they should have  made and left everything
else the way it was. Dumb asses!
Leaving  the store without buying anything, we head toward the gigantic
food court. When  we're almost at there, Robby's saying, "I'm thinking cheese
steak at  D'Angelo Sandwich Shop." Looking at me when he said that, he walks
right into and just about creams an old lady. She would have ended up  on
her ass if I hadn't grabbed hold of her coat. She's wearing a coat that
almost reaches the floor, which isn't surprising since she couldn't be more
than four-feet,  six-inches tall. She's waving her cane, sputtering, "You need
to look  where the hell you're going young man." She must be able to see
where she's  going just fine if I can go by the size of her eyeglasses. Big
horn-rimmed  eyeglasses that she pushes up her over-powered tiny nose.

Seriously, she  could easily be eighty years old, but she's still frisky,  telling
me, "No need to grab my coat like that, boy! Or were you going for an  old
lady's purse? Is that what you were up too?" Jesus, I saved her ass and  she's
giving me shit. Robby's apologizing profusely and she's  nodding her head
now, apparently taken-in by Robby's sincerity and handsomeness.  Over Robby's
shoulder I see Chubby walking towards us, and a big smile breaks  out on my
face. He's so cool! Robby's pacified the old lady by now;  convincing her
this wasn't a mugging. She's smiling, patting Robby's  cheek while flashing
me a dirty look, then she walks away. Chubby  come up and gives me a hug;
then, nodding his head at the old lady, he asks,  "Who's the coffin dodger?"

Robby and I burst out laughing, then tell Chub  about the old lady as the
three of us walk into the busy food court.

There's  a wide variety of foods offered at the Rockingham Mall's food
court, like all  mall food courts I suppose. As always the Chinese food station
is  passing out samples. We accept the offered samples of bourbon  chicken
on  toothpicks by the Chinese sample guy. The poor man looks as though he
wishes he were doing anything but this. I kind of feel bad for him. He knows
from experience that most of the people who grab a sample from his  tray
have no intention of buying from the Chinese booth. They eat the  sample of
chicken while heading for McDonalds. Then there's  the uncouth food shoppers
who go for a second sample, a major faux pas in  the food court world,
although the Chinese guy nods his head with a forced  smile; probably thinking bad
thoughts. We at least stop near the sample guy  as we eat the chicken
pretending  we're giving serious consideration to having Chinese for lunch. Then
we continue  on to the D'Angelo Sandwich Shop booth. They feature grilled
sandwiches  that I've never been a fan of, and the same for their wraps. I do,
however, like D'Angelo's cold Italian sub, and their cheesesteak with fried
 onions. They have good rolls for their sub sandwiches. Robby and I order
cheesesteaks with Cokes, and Chubby gets the Italian sub with a root beer.

You  need to pay in advance and then wait for your order to be  prepared.

Waiting  for our number to be called a girl comes over, saying, "Hello,
Jeff. Funny  meeting you here." Without introducing her, he goes, "Why do you
think it's  funny, Candy?" She's standing there sort of wiggling, mumbling,
"I don't  know," as another girl joins us and hands Candy a red slushy,
asking  Chubby, "You going to the frat party tomorrow night?" Chubby shrugs,
"Maybe," and Candy, after taking a big slurp of her icy drink, says, "Brain
freeze!" Chubby deadpans, "I'm pretty sure you don't have the necessary
equipment for a brain freeze, Candy," The other girl hits Chubby's arm, saying,
"Oh, you!" as Candy ask, "Whaddaya mean?" Our number is called so Robby and
I drift over to the pick-up counter while Chubby continues entertaining
himself  with the girls. After picking-up what we ordered, plus Chubby's,  we
find an empty  table where we unwrap our cheesesteaks. We're still chuckling
at Chubby's brain  freeze put-down, then he joins us with his awesome grin,
asking, "What's in your  shopping bags, Dylan?" I show him and he's like,
"Oh my God! I need a pair  of those fuckin' sneakers!" I'm like, "Yes, you
do."

As we  eat our lunch Chubby's telling us about John Beverly buying a pack
of condoms  yesterday. It was at the RiteAid drugstore a quarter mile up
route 114 from  the college. At the front register, the clerk's wearing a name
tag that  spells,  Alice. She's in her fifties with elaborately gold-frosted
hair and  electric-red lipstick. As she puts the condoms in a bag, Chubby
said to  her, "Um, excuse me, Alice, where's the fitting room. My bud should
probably try one of these things on; make sure he's got the right size."

Hahaha,  we all get a good laugh as Chubby chuckles, muttering, "Fuckin' Alice
bit her  tongue going, "Huh? What...?" Robby goes, "You'd think she'd be use
to pranks like  that with five thousand college students a quarter mile
away." Chubby's got  another story about John Beverly. Last Sunday he went with
John  Beverly, who needed to buy a hairdryer to replace one that he dropped
and  broke. John buys one, then the two of them sat in the idling Jeep at the
 side of the road, both wearing sunglasses. Chubby would point the
hairdryer out the driver's window as each car sped  by on route 114. Chubby goes,
"Oh shit, all the taillights  were flashing as the drivers hit their breaks
going past us." I  go, "Jesus! What grade are you two in again?" He smirks at
me, "Just some  innocent college pranks, bro. Here's another one: whenever
John Beverly  withdrawals money at a ATM machine he holds both arms up,
yelling, "I won  again!" Robby mumbles, "Barrel of monkeys, you two," but we're
all  grinning. I love seeing Chubby so full of laughs and life, but then,
when  do I ever see him when he's any other way? He's always 'up'!
After  lunch we go with Chubby to Dick's Sporting Goods where he buys the
same pair of  black, high-top Converse sneakers I bought. Walking out of the
store he  puts his arm across my shoulders, saying excitedly, "I feel so
much better  now that I've got these sneakers." I just grin shaking my head
slowly. Chubby  can turn the smallest thing into an event. Outside the Mall
Robby goes,  "Um, it's one-thirty already so I guess I'll go right to the
ballpark. Do you  wanna come with me, Dylan?" Chubby says, "No, he's staying with
me. I'm  taking Dylan for a few beers, but we'll stop in at the ballpark
later on." Robby  goes, "Yeah, okay, I'll see you then," and Chubby asks,
"What are you  guys doing tonight?" We shrug and Chubby goes, "John Beverly's
got a date, so as  past roommates, the three of us need to do something
together." Robby goes,  "That'd be awesome, Jeff. We'll figure out something after
practice."  Then Robby messes-up my hair, grinning, and saying, "See ya
later, babe."  Chubby smirks as Robby heads for the pickup. I ask Chubby,
"You're serious  about a couple of beers in the afternoon? Really?" He says,
"Yep, we have the  right to do that now that we're twenty-one, and there's
something I want to talk  to you about. Oh, and thanks for your note this
morning, Dylan. It made my heart  go pitter-patter knowing my brother still loves
me and wants to hang-out with  me." We start walking to the Jeep, as I say,
"I miss you not being in the  apartment with us." He goes, "Yeah, me too, but
I thought it'd be nice for  you two to have an early honeymoon." I don't
feel comfortable talking about  Robby's and my sex life, even with Chubby, so
I go, "Oh."

At  the Jeep I insist on driving, mumbling, "See if I remember how to start
this  thing." He says, "Honest to God, Dylan, this Jeep is at your disposal
 twenty-four-seven, bro." This past summer Chubby insisted that he's paying
the  total auto insurance bill for the Jeep, instead of us splitting the
cost. Being very serious, he told me he has a guilty conscience monopolizing
the  use of our car, but the fact is whenever I've needed the Jeep Chubby's
always made it available to me. Anyway, Robby drives him and I places  we
need to go, and then I have the use of the pickup at other times,  like when
Robby's at baseball practice. Ya know. Mostly it  makes me feel good in my
heart knowing how much Chubby appreciates the use of  our Jeep. We basically
only shared it equally during our  senior year of high school, which was the
reason we bought the Jeep in the first  place.

Behind  the wheel of the Jeep, I'm like, "Where to, Chub? Where we gonna
have these  afternoon beers?" He says, "How 'bout Rolf's?" I nod and pull out
of the  parking spot on my way to route 93. Rolf's is an old bar in downtown
North  Andover where they have open mic nights every Wednesday, not that
we've ever  been there on a Wednesday night. Robby and I were in Rolf's
earlier this week  for two beers. That's when I saw the sign, 'Open Mic Night...

Wednesdays  from 7 to 11 with $2 shots and beers'. I'm not sure if that's
$2.00 each, or $2.00 for both. In either case, if you feel like tying on a  load
some Wednesday night, it's almost worth listening to amateur  singers
considering the $2 shots and beers.  From the Mall in New  Hampshire to downtown
North Andover is a mere fifteen minute drive, that's how  close North
Andover is to the New Hampshire  state line.

During  the fifteen minute drive Chubby gets me laughing with tales of an
elaborate  prank played on unsuspecting students right outside his dormitory.

A guy  from the second floor bought two inexpensive megaphones. Outside
their  dormitory this guy and his roommate would ask passersby to help them
test  the megaphone, asking the unsuspecting victim to say, 'one, two,
three... testing' into the megaphone so they could determine how far  the sound
reaches. Unbeknownst to the victim, the megaphone he's given  doesn't have
batteries. One of the roommates has the other megaphone,  the one with
batteries, and he's out of sight. When the guy who's nice  enough to help them says,
"One, two, three... testing" into his  megaphone no one hears that. They
hear the live megaphone saying things  like: "I have the smallest penis of any
of my friends." It looks like the  victim is saying that through his
megaphone. There are always groups of students  in the area who erupt with startled
laughter, and most of the  red-faced victims laugh too.  There are
variations of the smallest penis prank, mostly involving bodily  organs. Another one
goes: "I'm letting out a huge fart as I'm talking into  this megaphone".

Obviously it's as fucking sophomoric as you can  get, but I've got tears
running down my face laughing at some of the words put  into the mouths of the
victims. Chubby's laughing as he's telling me this,  and I don't know, but we
may never outgrow fart humor.

There  are four cars parked in Rolf's lot as I pull in and park.  Inside
there's a couple of working stiffs dressed in mechanics overalls  sitting
together at the bar, and two other guys drinking alone; one in  a suit and one
a sullen-looking long-haired hippy type who's bitching  to the bartender
about the soccer game playing on the TV  that's bolted to the wall over the
cash register. I feel oddly out of  place, still not used to being served in a
bar. I'm feeling young and  conspicuous, but we're here now so whaddaya
gonna do? The other time I  was in here it was dark outside and the lights  in
here were low so I didn't notice how seedy the place is with sunlight
streaming through the windows. We sit at the end of the bar, as far away  from the
other customers as possible. The woman bartender looks  over at us and then
does an audible sigh before slowly walking  down to us, asking, "Really,
boys?" She assumes we're underage of  course. Chubby has his big smile
shining, as he says, "Nice place!" She  says a bored, not amused, "ID," and then
looks surprised when she reads our  driver's licenses. A man comes in from the
back carrying a case of twelve ounce  bottles of Bud. The bored lady says,
"Take a look at these, Hank." Hank is  a barrel chested guy in his thirties,
who was probably a cute guy in his  twenties but he's let himself go since
then. He's squinting as he stares at our  licenses.

Expecting  a hassle, I'd just as soon leave, but Chubby smiles harder,
asking,  "Is there a problem, Hank?" The guy looks up, and Chubby goes, "We're
from  the badger state where twenty-one is the legal drinking age, so we
assumed..." The man goes, "Badger state?" Chubby, being very friendly,  goes,
"Um, yeah, you know Wisconsin? America's Dairyland? University  of
Wisconsin-Madison. Like that..." Hank grins and says, "Oh, that badger state."  And I
was right; even at his advanced age; Hank's got a cute grin with  dimples. He
drops our licenses in front of us, chuckling, then asks, "What can I  get
you badger boys?" The woman bartender sighs again, then turns  away, mumbling,
"I'm gonna take a smoke break." Chubby asks, "What do you  recommend on
tap, Hank?" Hank's nodding his head, chuckling again, like he can  hardly
believe this shit, then he goes, "Well, the city of Milwaukee  I believe is in
Wisconsin, so you boys undoubtedly know your shit when  it comes to beer," and
Chubby goes, "Guess we can't sneak anything by you,  huh Hank? Milwaukee's
the beer capital of the world." Hank laughs, "Yep,  and it was Schlitz beer
that made Milwaukee famous, but we don't carry that rot  gut brand in here."

He holds a finger up, like: but wait a second, and he says, "We've got
Miller on tap. Miller beer is also  headquartered in Milwaukee, right?" Chubby
mutters, "Bingo," and holds up  two fingers, smirking at the guy, as Hank
says, "Two Miller drafts coming up.  The first round is on me, badger boys."

Fuckin' Chubby! I go, "Well alright,  bro," and we slap a low five.

Hank  puts two coasters in front of us, then pours two glasses of Miller
beer and sets  them on the coasters, asking, "Merrimack students?" Chubby
says,  "Guilty as charged, and thanks for the beers, Hank." Hank nods and walks
down  the bar to the gas station guys, asking, "Two more?" I look at Chubby,
 "Okay, what made you say badger state?" He goes, "Fuck if I know; it just
popped out of my mouth." Chubby's brain is full of mostly useless facts,
like  the badger state's connection to beer. Well, he is the factoid  king
after all. He can have a conversation with complete strangers and they  wind-up
liking him the way I can tell Hank likes my bro. It's not just what  Chubby
says, but the way he says it, which isn't something you can teach.  I'm
pretty sure of that. We sip on our beers, then I mumble, "Really  good and
cold, huh?" Chubby smacks his lips, "Yes, and that's the way I  like it,
although beer connoisseurs will disagree. Beer typically comes out  of the tap at a
frigid 38 degrees, while beer  drinking aficionados claim at that
temperature beer loses all nuance  in layers of flavor the brewmaster intended it to
have. Ideal temperature  should be mid-forties." I go, "Ya don't say?"

We  finish our beers, and then each of us puts a twenty dollar beer on the
bar  before ordering another. In local joints like this, that's the way  you
usually do it. The bartender takes money for the  rounds alternating the
money in front of Chub and me, then he  returns any change that's due. In
fancier bars they run a tab which they keep  open, adding to it until you're
ready to leave. The grumpy lady bartender is  back after her smoke break. She's
setting little bowls of pretzel nubs  every six feet or so up and down the
bar. More beer drinkers drift in as I wait  patiently for whatever it is
Chubby wants to talk with me about. As  usual Chubby takes his time getting to
it and in the meantime, he says,  "When I drink beer I get an urge for a
cigarette, but it's against the law." I  nod, "Yeah, drinking alcoholic
beverages gives me the urge for a smoke too, and  then the smoke gives me the urge
for another alcoholic beverage." He goes, "An  enjoyable vicious circle that
Massachusetts residents were able  to indulge in until July, 5, 2004." I
go, "Um, are you sure of that date?" He  chuckles, "Yep, before then smoking
was totally allowed in bars and  restaurants; other places too for that
matter." I'm like, "Who the hell  decided that people aren't allowed to smoke."

He goes, "Oh well, most of us  humans are incapable of making good decisions.

We're too stupid,  and what not, and therefore politicians, who run things,
need to decide for  us." I pop a pretzel nub in my mouth and chew it,
muttering, "Nice pretzel  nub," and Chubby says, "On the other hand, what about
the non-smokers? This bar  would have a haze of cigarette smoke floating in
the air if smoking was  allowed." I shrug, mumbling, "Whatever. There's two
sides to any argument,  but I suppose a nonsmoker could always frequent a bar
where the  bar's owner has banned smoking in his establishment."

Dropping  that no-win topic, Chubby looks at me, asking, "What's bothering
you, bro?"  I ask, "Is that what you wanted to talk with me about?" He nods
his head, "Yeah,  I'm going to butt into your life now. What's bothering you
and don't say nothing  because I can read you like an open book." I shrug,
"Okay, but nothing much is  bothering me, really." He asks, "What about
Wilcox?" I'm like, "Ryan? Oh yeah,  he's been strange since arriving back at
college. You're right, that's something  I don't understand." then I ask, "Hey,
was Rob talking to you about this?"  Chubby shakes his head emphatically,
saying, "No! I don't need Rob or anyone  else telling me anything about you.

I know when something's not right with  you." I go, "It's not like some big
problem, Chub, and I'm not sure what you've  seen in me that makes you think
it is." He squeezes the back of my neck, saying,  "I don't exactly know
what it is I've noticed either, except it's something." I  take a deep breath,
"I don't know. Ryan and I were so close in Georgia and now  it's like he's
got some kind of problem with me, but he won't say what it  is." Chubby
crunches on a few pretzel nubs thinking about that.

I  motion to the grumpy lady bartender we're ready for  beer refills, then
say, "To be honest, Chub, I don't have a lot of negative  thoughts where
Ryan's concerned because he's been so good to me. I  mean I lived with him for
over two months and that's a long enough time to get  to know someone pretty
well. We were together most of the time too." The  lady bartender brings us
beer in fresh glasses and takes the old ones along with  Chubby's twenty
dollar bill. Chubby goes, "Huh, you know I've never really liked  that Wilcox
character very much." I go, "Why's that?" and he says,  "Hard to put my
finger on, but I did get a distinctly negative vibe from  him after freshman
year. You know when he worked with us on the  grass cutting crew for a few
weeks." I'm frowning, remembering how  sexually hot I was for Ryan at that time,
but I'm unsure about the  negative vibes Chubby's referring to. I ask him,
"Do you recall  specifically what your negative sense about Ryan consisted
of?" He nods,  "Yeah, I do. I felt he was using you, or somehow taking
advantage of you."  I shrug, remembering how dominant Ryan was during that period;
and how much I  was into it too. Avoiding that topic, I change directions a
little bit,  saying, "Ryan never really had a chance at normalcy because of
his  upbringing. Actually I think he was adopted, although I never  asked
him about that. Anyway my guess is his adoptive parents lost interest  in
parenting during Ryan's teen years  and lost confidence in himself, maybe
feeling he was unworthy of their  attention. Then he got into some kinky sex
having a low self-image. That's not  something he told me, it's what I began
thinking while living with him, and  from reading between the lines of things
he told me about his  years growing-up. So maybe that's what you were
sensing. Ryan acting unsure  of himself." Chubby mutters, "Nope, that wasn't it at
all. Quite the opposite."  Well, I'm not touching that because it goes into
the dom/dom roles Ryan and  I were into. Anyway, that was a long time ago.

We drink  some beer with Chubby mumbling, "Damn, I could go for a cigarette
right about  now." Ignoring that, I try defending Ryan again, "Ryan's
misunderstood. He's  never had a lot of friends back home, or anywhere I suppose,
so he did most  things by himself and I felt bad for him." Chubby says,
"Yes, Dylan, you have a  sweet disposition, and you always have had one, but
unfortunately some  individuals have taking advantage of you because of it.

Wilcox is an  example of that, and so was that Worthington kid; he was another
one."  I'm shaking my head, "Give me one example of how I've been taken
advantage of.  Actually, now that I think about it, that's insulting by
basically inferring I'm  so naive and dumb I can't realize someone is taking
advantage of me." He rubs my  shoulder, "You know Goddamn well I wouldn't insult
you, and I know you're  not dumb. It's just that the things you've told me,
specifically about  Ryan the past couple of years, always has to do with you
feeling bad for  him, and you trying to be a good friend to him by
accommodating him in different  ways. And okay, that's all well and good to a degree,
but the question I have is  what's he ever done for you? Why do you think
he's such a great friend?" I go,  "I already told you, he was extremely nice
to me during my stay in  Georgia." Chubby shrugs, "Oh yeah? As I recall he
didn't back you up on the  stupid name thingie, did he? That 'Danny' horse
shit." I say, "Hey!" Then  realizing he's  right, so I mumble, "Um, that was
his mother mostly." Chubby goes, "Oh  okay, what'd Ryan call you?" I'm like,
"This doesn't have anything to do with  anything. He didn't want to upset
his mother, that's all that 'Danny'  thingie was." He goes, "How'd Ryan
introduce you at work, and to  the people in the church activities you attended?"

Avoiding the question, I  say, "I didn't mind the church on Sunday, or the
Wednesday Bible study. Not too  much anyway. If I didn't go it'd cause Ryan
problems at home." Chubby asks,  "Yeah, but how'd he introduce you to
everyone?" I look at him, "Why are you  asking me all these things?" He says,
"Because you can't tell me one way that  Ryan helped you with anything. It's all
about you helping him. He's a taker and  you're a giver."

Fuck,  I told Chubby about me being known as 'Danny' for those nine weeks.

He just  wants to rub it in my face. After some silence, I say, "We're not
fighting, you  know. You and me, I mean." Chubby goes, "If we were it'd be
the first fight  we've ever had. Of course we're not fighting!" He rubs my
shoulder, quietly  saying, "You remember MJ and all the fights she and I had,
and I mean all  the time?" I nod, and he says, "Well, I got addicted to her
sexually because...  well, never mind why exactly, the fact is I did. We didn't
have fun  together per se; so much was the two of us marking time until our
next sex  explosion. That's the situation I believe you've had with Wilcox.

You've  rationalized in your head he's this great friend of yours  who's
misunderstood by most everyone but you, while all the time the bottom  line
is, the number one reason for your friendship... is sex. That's what I
think." Huh! To give me time to think about that I'm smelling the back of my
hand, mumbling, "What makes you say that?" He goes, "Because, like I've already
said, you can't tell me anything that's fun about hanging out with him, and
you  can't come up with one thing he's ever done for you. You've told  me
about him acting moody, and I don't mean just this week. You've mentioned it
to me periodically for as long as you've known him. Think of someone like,
let's say,  Connor Mealey. I don't know if he's gay, but if he is I'll bet
sex isn't the  first thing that comes to mind when you think about Connor.

You think what  a great kid he's always been and how he'd do anything for
you, for anyone.  Always the big smile and positive outlook even though we both
know about his  years growing up. Before he joined the Army was a
horrendously bad time for  Connor, monumentally worse environment than rich kid Ryan
Wilcox ever experienced. Does Wilcox possess even one of  the positive
characteristic that a guy like Connor has?" When Chubby  doesn't like someone he
calls the person by their last name. Hmmm, Ryan's been  calling Robby by
his last name quite a bit of late too, that's when he isn't  referring to
Robby as 'him' or 'he'. Chubby says, "Dylan, can you answer me?" I  mumbling,
"I'm thinking, okay?"

We  get two more beers and, to lighten the conversation, I say, "I really
like being  the central theme of our little talk this afternoon, Chub." He
goes, "Oh, but  you're not the central topic! Wilcox is, and I'd feel better
if you'd look  objectively at your relationship with him. Can you try to do
that?" Huh, then I  remember earlier today when I decided not to call Ryan
like  he told me  to. I decided that Ryan needs to reach out to me and not the
other way  around for once. So, I nod at Chubby, saying, "For your
information,  Chub, I've already started the process of winding-down my involvement
with Ryan.  And, um, what did you say the sexual addiction was  that you
had with Mary Jo's?" He laughs, "Nice try, bro, but I got over it  when I saw
how destructive that relationship had become. You need to do the same  where
Ryan's concerned." Balls, he got me there good, so instead of replying to
that I drink some beer, then say, "It's still real cold. The beer I mean."

He chuckles and mumbles, "So is MJ's and my relationship. Sure, it was fun
while it lasted, but there comes a time to move on and that time has come
for you where Wilcox is concerned." I mutter, "You're not my boss," and he
says,  "Neither is he. And, anyway, I'm not acting like a boss now; I'm acting
like  your brother who loves you more than I have words to describe." I
look at him  feeling my eyes stinging, mumbling, "No fair, Chub. It's not fair
bringing our  mutual feelings into the discussion, and anyway why are you
taking  such a strong position on this?" Taking a deep breath, he says
quietly, "Because  he's not worthy of your friendship, and if I'm correct that it's
some kind  of sex attraction, he's using that to keeps you close to him, in
which  case he's doubly not worthy of your friendship." I ask, "Jesus, how
do you  know so much about how I feel, and what I should do? Not that I'm
saying you're  totally right about everything." He shrugs, "It's simple! I'm
the  world's leading authority on Dylan Newman; I study you every day, and
you  simply haven't been yourself since he returned to college. I'm comparing
you these last four days to how you were during the last two months at
home. You haven't been the same happy go lucky lovable person this past  week
as you were the previous two months, and the only difference is  Wilcox's
return."

Sliding  both hands down my face trying to think, then drinking some beer,
mostly  agreeing Chubby's right, then sighing, I say, "Thanks for looking
out for  me, Chub. Your analysis is scarily correct in some ways, but like I
said a few  minutes ago, I've already decided to give Ryan his space. He'll
either get over  whatever ails him or he won't. I'm done trying to make him
happy. But Goddamn, I  only decided that earlier today and then you pick this
perfect time to have  this talk. That's spooky, don't ya think?" He shrugs,
"I didn't know you'd  begun to see how he was dragging you down, Dylan. It
is kind of a bizarre  coincidence that I decided to discuss this with you
the same day you  reevaluated your relationship with him." I go, "And  you're
being honest that Robby didn't say anything to you  about this, right?" He
goes, "The rare times, other than work last summer, that  Robby and I are
alone together," I interrupt saying,  "Alone together? There's an oxymoron if I
ever heard one," and he waves his  hand at me, adding, "When we're together
we mostly talk about you because  you're who and what we mostly have in
common." I go, "So you did talk to him?"  He shrugs, "Not specifically about me
having this talk with you, no." I go,  "Anyway, I guess I gotta agree with
almost everything you've said, so why do I  feel like I'm abandoning a
friend in need?" He says, "That's a hard one right  there, but you can't solve
everyone's problems, Dylan. God knows you've tried,  and you've been a great
help to a number of the guys you've  befriended. Connor, Cory and Seth come
to mind immediately, but I can come  up with others too if I have time to
think about it. The thing is though,  some people will drain you dry, bro. They
might not even be thinking that's what  they're doing while they continue
doing it. They use you to make themselves feel  better about themselves. For
whatever reason some people are like  that. It's just the way they think;
they're narcissistic, or whatever.  You need to know when to cut your losses.

That sounds cruel or hard, but  when you've done all you can... ya know, what
else can you do? He's not good for  you. Robby's good for you. That's what I
see." I go, "Okay, but can we stop  talking about it now, please." He says,
"One last comment, Dylan. Letting  Ryan confront his own problems might be
the best thing you could do for him now.  He might surprise himself. You've
given him a head start; so to speak, let  him take it from here. In other
words, you don't need to feel that you're  abandoning a friend because, who
knows, distancing yourself from him might be  just what he needs." That sounds
like a rationalized stretch, but I think  I'll use it as a life-line as far
as Ryan and I are concerned. Hey, it may  even be true.

We  finish our forth beer, and for something to say, I ask, "How much beer
would you  say these glasses hold?" Chubby looks at the glass, then mutters,
"Ten ounces,"  and I say, "Okay then, we can have one more for the road?"

Chubby holds up  two fingers and the grumpy woman sighs audibly again,
pushes herself away from the cooler she's leaning on and draws two more  beers.

Chubby and I smirk at each other as she slowly carries the beers down to  us
and sets them on our coasters. I nod at the money left from the twenty  in
front of me and, as she's picking up five one dollar bills for the  beers,
Chubby says to her, "Long day?" and she turns her head, saying, "No,  not
really. I'm lucky to have this job," and she gives us a nice smile. Huh, ya
never know. We drink our beers talking about me working last summer on the
lawn cutting crew and the differences between that and working in the
Hewlett-Packard factory. Done our beers we both leave two bucks on the bar  for the
grumpy bartender, who claims she's lucky to have the job. She says to  our
backs as we go out the door, "Thank you, boys. Come back  anytime." Chubby
grins and shrugs, like 'She's a tough one to  read'.

Now  we're on our way to watch a little baseball practice. By the time we
get there the players will only have a half hour or so of daylight  left for
this unofficial practice. At the Jeep, I smile, saying, "Damn good  talk,
Chub," and he hugs me, saying, "I love you so much, Dylan." That makes my
eyes sting again, as I murmur, "Me too, Chub."


to be  continued...    Donny Mumford    thinat20@yahoo.com


donnymumford@outlook.com

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

Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine  published
and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them  for
next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They  are about a 19
year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And
there is  a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out
by  typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books
can  be found in some detail there. Thank you.


Donny  Mumford


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

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