Date: Fri, 11 Nov 2016 21:04:48 -0500
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE  Chapter  15

DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  15


by  Donny Mumford


Sleeping  till noon, then awesome sex with Robby followed by a  casual
brunch in the apartment, and that's a damn near perfect Sunday  morning for
Robby and me. We're putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher  when my cellphone
rings. Caller ID shows Daryl Ponti.  I  go, "Hey, Pony, how ya doing, bro?" He
talks so fast his words run together,  saying, "Um, I'm okay I guess, but I
want to apologize for acting like a  dork last night. How are you doing
this morning?" I exclaim, "I'm  doing super-fine," and smirk at Robby  who
knows why I'm feeling super-fine, and he's grinning back at  me smirking. Then I
grin back at him, and shoot him with my index  finger. Turning my back and
walking away from the kitchen, I quietly ask  Pony, "Why do you say you were
a dork last night? And there's no reason for  you to apologize." Pony goes,
"Oh, um, you're a really good guy, Dylan.  Anyway, can I still get that
haircut?" I'm like, "Yeah, of course. Can you  use your roommate's car again?"
He goes, "Yes, no problem. Um, I sort  of told him you'd give him a free
haircut too, um, sometime when he needs  one," and he laughs a little. I go,
"Jesus! Don't offer haircuts to anyone  else, okay? I mean unless you're going
to do the haircut yourself." He  goes, "Oh fuck, I'm sorry." Damn! What if
his roommate's some goof? I exhale  noisily, and mumble, "Nah, never mind,
it's okay, Pony. Let's say you come  over here around three o'clock. Does
that work for you?" He's like, "It's  perfect! See you then." He seemed very
nervous, although I can't imagine why. I  mean, we kinda got to know each
other a little bit last night. Nothing to be  nervous about.

Putting the phone in my pocket, I tell Rob, "That was a  Merrimack
sophomore guy I met last night. We hung out together  for a couple hours at the
party." Robby nods his head, asking, "Do I know him?"  I go, "No, I don't think
so. His name is Daryl Ponti, nicknamed Pony. We've  been bumping into one
another on campus the last few days,  then again last night, so we finally
introduced ourselves. He's a  pretty good guy." Robby's like, "What'd he call
about?" I go, "He called to  take me up on my offer to give him a free
haircut." Robby makes a face, "What  the fuck? You meet someone and, just like
that, you offer to give him a  free haircut?" I go, "Well, it wasn't just like
that. First of all,  I was abandoned at the frat party by my friends, and my
boyfriend was  off hustling some girl. I was in need of someone to hang out
with. What I did  was... I made a big sign advertising free haircuts and
walked around the  party showing the sign..." Robby butts in, ignoring the
bullshit sign-story,  saying, "You weren't abandoned, you were with your brother!"
I go, "Yeah, for  ten minutes and then he's off hustling some girl too."
Robby comes over,  "Awww, my poor baby. You were all alone, huh?"
As  much as I'd like to milk a guilty conscience out of Robby for hanging
with  Frankie instead of me last night, my love for him won't let me. I say,
"No,  not really, Rob. Actually, I spent the first half of the night  with
Danny Monday and the last part with this kid, Daryl. Danny and  I played beer
pong with some drunks, among other things." He asks, "Um,  what were the
'other things' you did with Danny?" Hee hee, jealous are  we? I muss his hair,
saying, "None of 'those  kinds' of other things. I wouldn't do that to
you!" He mumbles, "I  didn't mean sexy things!" Robby's got his pocket comb out
standing in front  of the living room mirror re-combing his hair, saying,
"Yeah,  but seriously. How in the hell did you windup promising this Porky kid
a  haircut. How does something like that even come up  in conversation?" I
say, "First of all, it's Pony, not Porky, and  if you saw him you'd know why
the topic of a haircut came up. His hair sticks up  three inches all over
his head. It's like he was struck  by lightning in a cartoon and all his hair
stood up at the same time,  and stayed up." Robby turns around, mumbling,
"Yeah well, let me  guess... he's cute." I mumble, "Huh, I suppose he's sort of
cute. I  hadn't given it any thought, but yeah, he is kinda cute."  Robby
goes, "You  attract cute stray boys like cheese attracts mice." I go, "What a
bizarre  thing to say. I saw Daryl twice before last night, and we said
'Hi'. Then I see  him at the frat party so we just started talking. I like him,
that's all. And I  like giving haircuts..." Robby finishes my sentence,
saying, "to cute  young guys."

I  mumble, "I wasn't going to add that last part." Robby's in the kitchen
closet getting his glove, hat, and baseball cleats, asking, "Are you coming
to the park to watch our last informal practice? We're choosing sides and
playing a seven inning game." I ask, "Hey, do you think I could play in the
game?" He puts his baseball cap on my head and pulls the bill down on my
forehead, saying, "Sorry, babe, it's an inter-squad game." Taking his hat
off and putting it on his head, I go, "That's sucks," then shrug, mumbling,
"Yeah, I'll ride  over with you and watch for a while, but I can't stay very
long. Ryan's roommate  wants a haircut too." Robby shakes his head slowly,
mumbling, "You promised  Ryan's roommate a haircut too? You do get around,
don't you?" I'm like,  "Get real, Rob. You know many more guys here at college
than I do. Christ, your  teammates alone represent twice as  many students
as I know." He's checking to make sure he has his phone,  wallet, and keys,
asking, "So you're coming with me," and I go, "Yes, and a  little later I'll
drive the pickup back here to do those haircuts. I'll  come back for you
when you text me." He says, "No problem, but c'mon, we  gotta leave right now.

The first eighteen guys who show up will make-up the two  teams,  and I
wanna be on one of those teams."

We go down to the parking lot where Robby flips me the keys, saying, "You
drive so you can drop me off at the park. Save me the time walking from the
parking lot." I mutter, "Yes, boss," and get in the driver's seat. During
the  short drive Robby asks for more details about Pony, and I know what he's
 really asking: is Pony gay? I give a brief physical description  of Daryl,
mentioning his claim that he's straight, then add, "He was on his high
school's swim team, and I forget the other team he said he was on. He's an
athlete, like you. That's about all I know about him except he seems like a
regular guy." Huh, I could have mentioned that Pony's got the sexiest ass
I've ever seen, and the best one I've ever fucked. No, I better not 'cause we
don't talk about buddy sex on the side. What is unusual for me  though, is
the fact that Pony's the only side-sex I've had since a  week ago with Ryan.

And even weirder: I wasn't especially horny last night.  I did it more for
Pony than me. So, yeah, Robby's been taking care of  that area of our
relationship quite nicely. Even so, if I'm honest with  myself, I do kinda miss the
variety of buddy sex I used to enjoy before  becoming this boring mature
guy I've turned into.

After dropping Rob off at the ballpark, I park the pickup legally in  the
closest lot. While walking back to the ballpark Danny Monday catches up  with
me and pats my shoulder as he runs by, saying, "Hey, Dylan, see  you at the
game." He obviously wants to be on one of the teams too. I  gained some
insight into Danny's world last night, and I like him even more then  I did
before. He's lost all his brashness too. I don't know how much his  home life
situation has to do with that, but he surely is more down to  earth than he
used to be, or maybe he's just more comfortable being around  me. Good
looking dude too!
I'm  almost at the ballpark when, oh no! Coming from dormitory row is Beth,
Frankie,  and the heavy-set girl, um, Tootsie. I  think that's her name, as
in Tootsie Roll. Frankie yells, "Wait up, Dylan!"  Balls! I stop, then
force half a smile on my face when they get to me. Beth  says, "I'm sorry I had
to dump you last night, Dylan. No hard feelings I hope.  It's just that
Golden has this thing for me." I go, "Uh huh," and Frankie  says, "You were
welcome to hang-out with Rob and me if you wanted to.  Anyway, where'd you get
off to so quickly last night?" We're walking  towards the ballpark as I tell
her, in a bored monotone voice, "I didn't go  off anywhere, Frankie. It's
you guys who took off for the other end of the  porch to buy shots of Tequila.

I got in line with my brother at the beer  tap; the one straight ahead of
us when we walked down from the cars." Frankie  wraps her arms around my arm,
saying, "Well, you were with Jeffrey then, so you  weren't alone.  And,
damn, why are you acting grumpy again today?" Shaking my arm loose of her
arms, I say, "Because I feel like being grumpy, okay? And please  stop grabbing
my arm." Beth says, "Oooh, Frankie! I think our  boy, Dylan, is a tiny bit
jealous of you being with Rob last night." I  ignore that and smile at
Tootsie, who never says a word, "How ya doing,  Tootsie?" She goes, "It's a
beautiful day, isn't it, Dylan?" I nod  as Frankie puts her face in front of mine,
asking, "Is that it? You're a  tiny bit jealous?" I go, "What, jealous?
Don't be absurd!  No offense  intended, but you don't make me jealous one
little bit." She  fakes a pout, "That hurts my feeling." Jesus Christ, these
girls are a pain in  my ass! Still, I don't like hurting anyone's feeling, so I
say, "I'm sorry,  Frankie. That didn't come out the right way. I didn't mean
to hurt your  feelings." She says, "You're forgiven because you're so
fucking cute." Oh my  God!
The  girls start with none-stop chatter among themselves, mostly about last
 night's party and how Tootsie's boyfriend is such a hot, hunky guy, and
blah,  blah, blah. We go through the ballpark's general admission entrance and
 take seats halfway up the bleachers. The players are on the field arguing
about  who's going to be on the two teams. Glancing over at my hat, that's
sitting  sideways on Beth's head, I listen to her bragging about having
Golden  wrapped around her little finger. All of a sudden it occurs to me that I
don't  want that fucking hat back. And, I'm not saying that just because
Beth's been wearing it for three days; it could have been anybody wearing it
for  three days and I'd feel the same way. The allure of the hat for me,
frankly was that it's the baseball cap  Ryan's wore the last two years as
equipment manager for the team. I liked  wearing it because it was his. No one had
ever had the hat on but Ryan until he  gave it to me, and now it's been,
um, contaminated by a third party. She can  keep the fucking thing for all I
care. I mean, the hats  contaminated, plus Ryan's acting like a jackass, so
you know... fuck the  hat.

>From force of habit, I check my cellphone and see I missed a text.  Nothing
from Ryan obviously. It's from his roommate, Steve, asking what time he
should meet me for his haircut. It's one-thirty now, so I text back, 'Stop
over around two o'clock, Steve'. He texts back, 'Thanks. See you  then.' I
don't want to sit with these girls all afternoon anyway,  that's for damn sure.

And now I've got an excuse to leave. When Frankie stops  telling the other
girls about how successful she was teaching Robby to  dance, I mumble to no
one in particular, "I wish they'd start the  game. I've got to meet someone
at two o'clock." Frankie stops her  dance-instructor monologue, to ask me,
"Who you meeting?" Like it's any of  her business. I'm looking at the
players, who have now formed two teams,  telling Frankie, "A friend. You don't know
him." She mumbles, "Grumpy," and  I leave it at that.

It  looks like there's about  thirteen guys on each intra-squad team, so I
wonder how they're gonna make  that work. Actually I'd kinda like to watch
because, for one thing, I like  baseball and today is probably one of the
last warm sun-shiny days of  the year, but listening to these girl chattering
away non-stop ruins it for  me. The game finally starts and I see Robby,
Danny,  and Golden are on the same team. All three of them are worth watching,
but  I can only stay for half an inning. Then, standing up, I mutter, "See
you  girls later. Enjoy the game." Frankie gives me a cute smile, saying,
"Cheer up,  Dylan. These are supposed to be the best days of our lives." I nod
and  give her a thumbs up and a partial smile, then turn and walk towards the
exit  admitting to myself that I'm not being totally fair with the girls.

They're not  intentionally being rude or unfriendly to me. I suppose I am
jealous that  they're taking time away from what used to be pretty much an
all-guy experience  for me. I feel like they're horning-in on my all-guy world.

Fact is, I'm the  only one who seems to be upset about that. It makes me
feel like the outsider  when it should be the girls who are the outsiders. It's
not like I've never been  around girls. Girls were involved during my
summer with the posse-boys, but it  was different back then, and I know why. Back
then I was having different  buddy-sex partners a few times a week, so the
girls seemed very peripheral in  the whole scheme of things. Now that I'm
having basically little to no buddy  sex, the girls seem like a much bigger
part of  everything.

While walking to the pickup, I'm trying to decide what my mood is right
now. I shouldn't be upset.  While Robby and Frankie  were making-out last
night he had to picture me in his head in  order to get through it. Robby and I
had this great morning, and nothing's  happened since then to make me feel
unhappy, except that minor twenty  minute exchange with the girls. Okay,
right now I'm making a resolution to  stop acting grumpy around the girls. I
don't believe they're going away any time  soon, so I'll deal with the
situation in as pleasant a manner as I can. As  for the rest of today, I've got two
good guys coming for haircuts, and  I like giving haircuts. Plus, with Pony
who knows, I might get another buddy sex  opportunity, so yes, goddammit,
I'm happy, not grumpy.

Getting  in the pickup I find I can't shake being disappointed with myself
for  letting a brief encounter with the girls throw me off my game. They
were  friendly enough. It must be that up till now I've led this mostly
insular life with gay friends and acquaintances, plus  straight male friends. I
almost always get along awesomely with guys,  gay or straight, but continuing
an insular life like I've been living isn't  realistic. The world is full of
both sexes and, while I don't necessarily need  to like all the girls I
meet, I need to interact more socially with the  nice ones. Expand my social
skills.  There's nothing  seriously wrong with Beth, Frankie, or that Tootsie
Roll girl,  although there is something unpleasant about that aloof cunt in
their little  group; the one with the ring through her nose. Nice look!
Yeah, but three  out of four ain't bad. Damn, that was a good talk I just had
with  myself!
When  parking the pickup at the apartment complex I see Steve Church
walking up  the driveway. I get out and walk towards him, saying, "I'd have given
you a  ride over, Steve. I just came from the campus." He smiles, "Ah,
that's  okay, Dylan. Actually until the last minute I thought I'd be able to
borrow  Ryan's Mini. Then he took off for somewhere in the car like fifteen
minutes ago. I didn't want to impose on you. Anyway, it's only a ten  minute
walk, no big deal." We bump fists as I say, "Yeah, okay. We'll go in  that
back door," as I point to it. Approaching the door, I ask, "How'd you know
which building I was in?" He says, "Friday afternoon Ryan drove me over  here
and showed me your building, and I know the apartment number." I go, "Did
you ring my doorbell when you were here Friday?" He shakes his  head,  "No, we
just drove by. Ryan didn't want to stop." That's weird, and so is  Ryan
driving off when Steve was about to borrow the car. Maybe he didn't  know the
time Steve would need it. I ask, "Um, did Ryan know what time you were
coming here?" He shrugs, "Yeah, we talked about that right after I texted  you."

This is curious, so to be clear, I ask, "So, ten minutes before you needed
a ride here he just took off without saying anything to you. Is that it?" He
 goes, "Pretty much, but he's been down in the dumps. I think he's having
some  kind of disagreement with his friend, Jeff, back home."

Going up the steps, I get off that subject, by asking, "Were you  guys at
the frat party last night?" He says, "I was, but I don't know about  Ryan. I
went with a couple of friends I've known since freshman year. Ryan was
invited to join us, but like the last time I invited him, he said no thanks.

Said he had another thing he had to do." Inside my apartment, I ask, "He had
something to do, huh? What was that? The other thing he had to do..." Steve
shrugs, "He didn't say. I don't know much about what he does because I'm not
in  the dorm room hardly at all, except to sleep and do homework." Well, if
I ask  any more questions about Ryan it might seem odd, so I drop it.

Actually I think I'm feeling bad for Ryan. Yeah, but I need to remind  myself
that he's the one isolating himself. I can't let  myself  fall into my old
habit of accommodating his every whim. I don't like thinking  negatively about
anyone, but it's a nefarious fact that Ryan thinks he can wait  me out and
I'll give in and reach out to him, or apologize for whatever. He has  a
mysterious power over me, maybe because I find him sexually attractive in  a major
way. And, he doesn't think I can resist his, admittedly awesome,  version
of sub/dom sex for any extended period of time. That's kinda stupid of  him
considering I hadn't seen him for two months prior to his arrival at
college. Well, we'll just see if I resist the temptation, won't  we?
Inside my apartment, Steve asks, "Um, how do we do this haircut  thing?" I
go, "Usually I shampoo a guy's hair first. Hair cuts easier when just
washed." Then I run my fingers through his hair, adding, "Since you've  obviously
just finished wasting your hair we'll skip the shampoo." He chuckles,  "I
shampooed twice. Didn't want to freak you out with greasy hair." He has brown
 hair that's grown over the top of his ear since his last Super Cuts
haircut,  which was probably six or seven weeks ago. He's also clean shaven; the
first time I've seen him like that. Pulling the stool away from the kitchen
bar,  I pat the seat, saying, "You sit here, Steve. Oh, and take your shirt
off so I  don't get hair clippings on it." He says, "No barber's cape, huh?"

I go,  "Nope, this is a no-frills haircutting establishment, but with a
super-excellent, although modest barber." He chuckles, "I've heard the
barber's excellent, but not the modest part." Taking his shirt off reveals a
pale-pinkish average-looking un-athletic body, with a smattering of  hair on his
chest. He hops up on the stool as I ask him, "How do you want  it cut,
Steve?" and he says, "I always answer that question saying a  regular haircut,
and let the barber decide what that means. They  all interpret it pretty much
the same although some do a little  shorter version than others, but
basically it's pretty much the same.  So, does that make sense to you?" I say,
"Sure, I know exactly what you  mean. No problem."

The only thing especially sexy about Steve, as far as I'm concerned
anyway, is his mouth. Nice lips and a nice friendly smile with white teeth, and
everything in his mouth is pink and clean looking. He also has rosy  cheeks,
which are especially apparent now that he shaved his light beard.  As I'm
laying out the barber equipment, I ask, "Do you plan on going  home most
weekends? I mean you live like a half hour away, right?" He nods his  head,
"Yeah, my folks are in Salem, New Hampshire, but I only go home when my
girlfriend is going to be there. She goes to the University of New Hampshire and
gets home one or two weekends a month." I mumble, "Guess you miss her," and he
 says, "Being separated sucks in some ways, especially after spending so
much time together last summer. Ya know though, there's a lot of truth to the
 idea that absence makes the heart grow fonder." And he said that very
seriously. It sounded corny, and it's a bit of a nerdy thing to tell  another
guy, but then Steve has a reputation for saying whatever is on his  mind
without any kind of filter. The words just come  tumbling out.

Combing through his hair I'm thinking I'll replicate his last Super  Cuts
haircut, which is simple enough to do. With a half inch guide on the
clippers I run them most of the way up the sides and back of his head. After  that
I do some minimal blending of the short hairs with the longer  hairs using
scissors and comb. I've seen guys with recent haircuts where  the barber left
an obvious rim around the poor bastard's head; a line where the  clippers
stopped and the longer hairs begin. It looks like an amateur doing a  home
haircut, but charging $20 for it. But then, why would barbers bother  blending
the lengths when so few guys know the difference. Not one guy  out of
twenty would even comprehend what I just said, nor would they care even  if they
did know what I was talking about. Fine! Ignorance is bliss. And I admit  to
having an abnormal interest in boy's and men's haircuts, so I'm actually
not  faulting their ignorance. Haircutting is a fetish of mine, but not one I
try  forcing on anyone else.

As I  do his haircut Steve talks again about how coincidental it is that he
 and I were in the same freshman advertising course, and how he thought I
was the  best looking guy he'd ever seen. I take a deep breath because he
can't help  himself; he just says dorky shit like that. It's simply more of his
un-filtered  dialogue. The thing is though, he unintentionally put me in an
awkward  situation with that compliment. If I say, thank you, it infers I
think he's  right, but if I poo-poo his compliment it might seem like I have
false  modesty. I can't win, so I have no response to that whatsoever.

Instead I  mutter, "Oh, ha," and change the subject, asking, "Did you work  a job
last summer?" He's a pleasant conversationalist telling me about how he
worked part time for a professional cleaning service. Mostly they cleaned
restaurants after hours; sub shops and pizza joints, those kind of
restaurants. I almost puke when he tells me about mice and cock  roaches running all
over the place at night. When the cleaning service  turns the lights on after
hours all those filthy creatures scurry into  hidden spots, like they're not
even there. Gross! Then, as I'm finishing  his  haircut, he talks about his
girlfriend  and how they were both virgins when they first 'did it', and
how that experience  formed a bond that just keeps getting stronger. Another
awkward moment. Mostly I  say, "Huh!" or "Really?" in response to the things
he tells  me.  Steve's quite the talker, but he has this awesomely pleasant
voice, so I don't mind listening. And basically he seems like a very  nice
guy, if a little bit too wholesome. I'm guessing some of the things  Chubby
and I went through growing up would be inconceivable to Steve, not that
there's anything wrong with that. Good for him. He grew up in a much  more
normal environment than we did.

While  outlining around his ears and behind them, I'm contemplating
tapering his  hairline at the neck, but finally decide to block it straight across
with  trimmer clippers like they do at Super Cuts. That's normal for him,
and hell,  that's what Golden did for my haircut and it looks okay. My crusade
against  squaring off the back of guy's haircuts is fizzling out I guess.

I'm  surrendering to the masses. Yeah, but even as I say that there's this
new style haircuts called 'fade haircuts' that's bringing  back tapering and
blending of hair lengths. Mostly though it's done  for only extremely short
haircuts on the sides and back of the  guy's head, with long hair on top.

Anything to be different I guess; some guys  just gotta be styling! Those were
laughable haircuts at first,  but then they became stylish at hot salons
and are spreading in  popularity, like fads tend to do.

Anyway, Steve's haircut is done and the finished product is a slightly
improved version of a random haircut one will likely get at any  of the
over-advertised Super Cuts locations. I brush hair clippings off his  shoulders as
he stands, brushing the clippings off his lap. I hand him a mirror  and he
checks out his haircut, exclaiming, "It's awesome, Dylan. You sure I  can't
pay you at least something? It'd cost me twenty dollars, plus tip,
normally." I shake my head, "No thanks, Stevie. I like giving haircuts; it's  like my
hobby of mine, and I've been doing it since I was ten or eleven."  Putting
his shirt back on, he goes, "Well, thanks, man. I really appreciate  it." I
give him a ride back to campus, sneaking in another question or  two about
Ryan, "So, you have no idea where Ryan rode off to, huh?" He  goes, "No, not
really. Sometimes he just goes for a drive because he says  it's fun driving
his Mini convertible." Pulling up to Steve's dormitory, I ask,  "Would you
say he seems generally okay, I mean other than being a little  down about
Jeff?" Steve shrugs, "Yeah, he's fine whenever I'm with him. We eat  together
most breakfasts and dinners. We do homework together, plays Xbox,  whatever.

He's fine... good roommate." Giving him a pat on the back as a clue he
should get the fuck out of the car now, I say, "See you around,  Steve." We bump
fists, "Thanks again, you rock, Dylan," and he gets out of the  pickup. Huh,
I didn't learn much about what's up with Ryan. Maybe I  need to brush-up on
my interrogation technique.

I check my cellphone and see a couple of tweets, two  missed calls, and a
few emails. Nothing I need to deal with now though. I was  checking for
something from Robby or Daryl. Nothing from either of them  means we're on
schedule. It's only two-thirty though, and Daryl won't be  over until three, so I
park and wander down to the baseball park. Standing  at the beginning of the
bleachers I watch the game for a couple of minutes,  seeing Golden bat. He
pops out, then two guys I don't know are up to bat  next. The second guy
gets into a heated discussion about balls and strikes  with the home plate
umpire. The ump is probably one of the coaches, I'm  guessing, because the
batter backs down pretty easily. If it were another  student umpiring, the
argument would likely go on much longer. It's a sunny  and surprisingly warm
Sunday, so I could get a little color sitting in the  sun-soaked bleachers. Yeah,
maybe I'll come back after Pony's  haircut.

Driving to the apartment complex, then around to the parking lot, I  see
Pony's borrowed shit-box Oldsmobile parked illegally in front of a fire
hydrant. That's one way to get a good parking spot. Pony's at the back door
wearing a University of Drexel sweatshirt, ringing the doorbell. Then he goes
in. Ha ha, he must have rung everyone's apartment until someone buzzed him
in.  Maybe he's a cat burglar. After parking, I punch in my apartment code at
the backdoor and it clicks open. Going up the steps and through the doorway
to  the first floor I see Pony leaning against the wall next to my
apartment's door.  Holy shit! He's got those horned-rim glasses on and his hair is
plastered  down with gel. Oh shit, I need to bite my bottom lip too keep from
 laughing out loud. He looks nervous, doing his cute grin with a dimple on
each cheek, as he asks, "Where ya been?" As if I'm late for our
appointment. He asked that so fast it was like one word,  werysaben? Looking at my
wristwatch, I say, "I'm right on time; it's  two minutes of three. How'd you
get in the building?" We do a slightly awkwardly  quick one-arm hug, as he
tells me, "I pretended to forget what your apartment  number pushing random
buttons until someone talked to me through the  intercom. I explained my
situation to a nice lady and she buzzed  the door open. Inside my apartment, Pony
mumbles, "Um, nice crib," as he  adjusts his large eyeglasses. I almost
laugh again, but don't because Pony looks  a little nervous and uncomfortable.

After last night I'm not at all sure why  he'd be nervous. He certainly
wasn't shy asking me for sex.

Yeah, but I feel kinda weird too. It's a very different feeling  being
under the influence of adult beverages, like we were last night,  and being
sober now and realizing we basically had sex with  a stranger like fourteen
hours ago. Plus from my perspective, he  looks different with his hair  full of
gel and combed straight back. Those eyeglasses are cool though. I mean,
they're  goofy-cool. I ask, "What's with the hair gel, Pony?" He does a
nervous, "Heh  heh," adding, "I don't know, it's like I didn't know what I should
do with my  hair before getting a haircut." Then, pointing at his head, he
goes, "This was  a pretty stupid idea, huh?" Yeah, he's feeling a  bit
uncomfortable.

It's  extra awkward because both of us are just standing here, so I pat
his shoulder and, walking into the kitchen, I ask, "Can I get you a soda?"

Opening the refrigerator, I go, "We have Cokes and, um, Peach Snapple." He
mumbles, "No thanks, I'm good." His arms are folded across his chest, then his
 hands go in his pockets, as he's saying, "About last night, Dylan. It's
like, um, I don't know what got into me. That was so crude of me pestering
you  to, you know. I've never done that before in my life." I snap the tab on
a can  of Coke, "Yeah, it was an unusual night, but it's strictly between
you and  me, Daryl. It's nobody else's business." He goes, "Um, sorry, but I
think I will  take a Coke now." I get him one, saying, "You didn't have that
much to  drink last night, so I assumed you knew what you were doing." He
nods his head,  and this time I can't help snorting out a laugh. He looks so
silly  with his hair plastered down like that, wearing those big eyeglasses
that he  doesn't need to wear for eyesight reasons in the first place. He
probably put  them on because last night I said he looked sexy-cute wearing
them.

Pony's  frowning as I chuckle, so I quickly add, "I'm sorry. Don't think
I'm  laughing at you, certainly not about last night. It's just your hair;  oh
my God, it's got so much gel in it. You must have used the whole jar."  He
blushes a dark red, mumbling, "I'm such a dork. I was so embarrassed when I
woke up this morning, you know, remembering how I acted last night. Oh
fuck, I almost didn't call you for the haircut, and then after I put the gel in
 my hair I was like, what the fuck are you doing, you dumb ass?" I'm like,
"Chill, man. You're too hard on yourself! You were drinking last  night,
and we're in college, so you know the drill: no matter what  fucked-up things
you do at college when you're drunk, you say, 'Oh fuck,  I was so wasted
last night' and it's like, no problem!" I'm grinning at him,  as he mutters,
"Yeah, I know, but I only had parts of three beers," and I  go, "Yeah, and
those three beers fucked you up totally." He nods  his head, "You're right
there. I can't drink for shit, which is why I'm not  a drinker normally, but
last night it was like... Oh, I don't know, I had a  brain aneurysm or
something..." All that in a rapid-fire speech  pattern. He's talking even faster than
usual, and now I'm feeling bad for  him because he's so stressed. Stressed
about nothing, really.

As  Pony runs out of words, I'm shaking my head, "There's no problem,
Daryl.  You're fine; everything's okay." I give him a one-arm shoulder hug,
adding,  "We're the only two people out of seven billion presently inhabiting
this planet  who know about last night. And anyway, there's nothing to be
embarrassed about.  We didn't do anything a million other people weren't doing."

Seeing his reaction  about our sex last night, I gotta wonder how upset he
must have been  the other two times he got fucked? I mean, we were very
civilized about it,  while the other two times were borderline rapes. Sipping
from his can of Coke,  seemingly a bit more relaxed now, he goes, "So you don't
think I made a totally  jackass out of myself last night?" I go, "Well,
let's not  get carried away," then smile and give him another one-arm shoulder
hug, saying,  "I'm just kidding you. No, I don't think you made a jackass of
yourself at all.  One way or another everyone, except rapist, ask to have
sex. You came  right out and asked, while other's ask in more subtle ways.

That's not  saying there was anything wrong with your way; it's as good as
any."  He asks, "Really?" and I go, "Yeah, it's perfectly fine as far as I'm
concerned. You cut through the small talk and asked directly." He drops his
head mumbling, "I still can't believe I did that."

We've  pretty much covered this topic as much as I care to, so I'm like,
"Why  don't we move along to the next matter at hand, which is your haircut.

Do you  still want a buzz cut?" He adjusts his  glasses, "Definitely. That
way I don't need to think about another haircut for  months, but will you be
able to do it with all this gunk in my hair?" I  shake my head, "No, no way.

It would clog up the clippers. That's too much gel.  It'll have to be washed
out." He feels his hair, mumbling, "It dried firm  too." I ask, "Have you
ever considered a more stylish hairdo? I mean, I think  buzz cuts are cool,
don't get me wrong, but you might look extra hot with any  number of other
hair styles." He asks, "Like what?" and I go, "First the  shampoo, and then
we'll look online at some current hair styles for college  guys. There are
about a million pictures of haircuts online." He asks, "Should I  go back to
the dorm and wash my hair? Is that what you mean?" I go, "Nah, I'll  do it for
you here," and he makes a face, mumbling, "That's so nice of  you."

He takes his shirt off and I do his shampoo the regular way with a  chair
backed-up at the bathroom sink. It gets tilted back so the front legs  are
off the floor, and I put a folded hand towel between his neck and  the front
rim of the sink. I hook up the short hose with the spray attachment to  the
faucet and begin wetting his hair. Pony repeats himself, "This is
unbelievably nice of you, Dylan." I go, "I've been doing shampoos before  haircuts for
a few years now and, as hard as it is for most people to believe, I  like
doing it. If I had my choice I'd open a barbershop near a big college  campus
and advertise low cost haircuts for students. Discourage the old timers,
so to speak." He says, "You only like doing hair for young guys, huh?" I
mutter,  "Yeah, but not too young." We're quiet as I lather shampoo into his
hair and  vigorously rub my fingers all over his scalp. Like most guys, Daryl
relaxes  after the first minute or so and his eyes close. I stare at him and
see he has the beginnings of a faint mustache, plus a little bit of fuzz
growth  on his chin and next to his ears. Hardly any beard though,  especially
considering he's twenty years old. That's another thing he and I  have in
common.

As I'm rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, I ask, "How often do you
shave, Pony?" He goes, "I hardly need to shave at all. My grandfather is a
Filipino and has no facial hair, so I have him to thank for my lack of a beard."

A light bulb flicks on in my brain. Chubby's and my dad has a Hispanic
surname from his father, but I wonder if his mother may have been Filipino, or
was partially Filipino. That would be our unknown grandmother. That
beardless gene could go back generations and maybe explain the scarcity of  beard
for Chubby and me; scarcity of body hair too. I'll ask mom if she  knows.

Pony has a very good head of dark brown hair and it  contrast sexily with
his pale facial complexion and dark blue eyes.  What the fuck, the world is a
melting pot of all kinds of genes combining and  mixing together going back
thousands of years. It's like that kid, what's his  name, with red hair who
lives a few condos down from mom's condo. His parents  were shocked when
they saw red hair on their baby... heh heh, probably got the  father thinking,
hmmmm? They traced back in their genealogy though, and found a  great
grandparent with bright red hair. The red hair gene is recessive and  can skip
generations before reappearing. Genes are fascinating things. I'm going  to tell
Chub about this  Filipino  possibility and see what he thinks.

Finally done rinsing Pony's three inch long hair, I'm using a towel to
roughly dry it, telling him, "I'll use a hairdryer after this." He goes, "I
wish  you were just starting the shampoo. This is the first time I can remember
 someone other than me shampooed my hair and your fingers felt amazing,
Dylan. It  felt so good I had shivers down my back." The hairdryer drowns out
further  conversation and when his hair is shiny clean and dry it's all
sticking up  again. He stands up, murmuring, "Nice experience, dude." Good to see
he's  finally comfortable with me again. He's almost my height with a
similar body,  although his shoulders are more developed; most likely due to his
swimming background. I'm like, "Your hair is sticking up again, Pony. If
you  decide on a hair style you'll need to train your hair to lie down." He
says, "If  it's okay with you, Dylan, I'd really prefer a buzz cut." I pat his
shoulder,  "Well that's mighty adventurous of you." He's a sensitive
fellow,  frowning again, so I go, "No, I'm only teasing you. Buzz cut is no
problem  at all. I've had versions of a buzz cut most of my life, that is until
just  a few months ago. C'mon into the kitchen area; that's where I gave  this
other guy a haircut an hour ago."

Pony sits on the stool that I left there after Steve's haircut. I  use a
five-eight inch guide on the clippers and make quick work of his  hair. It
only takes five minutes, and I went over his head a few times  with the
clippers to insure evenness. Normally for buzz cuts I use a  half-inch guide, but
the extra eight of inch gives Pony a  slightly less severe looking buzz cut.

Buzz cuts are fun to do for me,  watching big batches of hair falling away
in the path of the clippers  is a rush, a slightly sexual rush. Pony has an
excellent hairline in front, so  he looks real good with the buzz cut,
although it makes his already youthful  face look even younger. Without his three
inch long hairs sticking up  from his head like a clown wig, his face now
becomes the focal point,  and he's a cute dude.

As I finish outlining around and behind his ears, I tell him, "You made a
good choice, Pony. A buzz cut looks really good on you." I do a little
tapering at the neckline hairs because I'm not abandoning that  concept
entirely. I'll go to the trouble for special guys. When I  mumble, "All done," and
start brushing long hair clippings off his  shoulders, he rubs his head with
both hands, saying, "Oh yeah! That's what I'm  talking about." He stands,
brushing hairs off his lap, asking, "Do you have a  broom? I'll clean all that
hair off the tile floor?" I point to the utility  closet, "Sure thing,
Pony. The cleaning stuff is in there."  He gets a  brush and dustpan out, then
does a nice job sweeping up the cut hairs as I  finish my Coke. Running my
fingers through my hair, I sigh, thinking how good  that buzz cut looks on
Pony.

Damn,  that was fun and I even got half a stiffy cutting all that hair off h
is head. He  comes out on the balcony with me while I have a cigarette.

Lighting my  Marlboro, I ask, "Did you check yourself out in the mirror yet?"

He goes,  "Of course! You sure know how to do buzz cuts. Somehow it looks
better than  the ones I get at Frank's." I'm like, "Oh, you don't go to Super
Cuts," and he  shrugs, "Frank's Barbershop is closer to my house." I ask,
"Where you from  anyway? Where's your hometown?" He says, "The last year and a
half we've lived  in Worcester, Massachusetts, but the first eighteen-plus
years of my life  was  in  Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. The Plaza District to be
specific. I was a cowboy,  Dylan, yahooooo, ride that steer, motherfucker!"

I go, "Really?" and he shakes  his head, "Nah, I never saw a horse or a
steer in our neighborhood. We were  in the suburbs. I liked Oklahoma better than
Worcester though, but my  dad got what they call 'downsized', which means
he got his  ass fired, All that summer he was sending  resumes all  the fuck
over the country, he finally got a job offer from a firm here in
Massachusetts and we moved after I graduated high school." I go, "No shit?" He  says,
"Yeah, and I wanted to attend a college someplace other than  here, and
finally settled on Drexel University in Philadelphia because it's a  big-ass
city, and I thought I'd like that. Didn't especially like it though, so  I
transferred here and didn't exactly love here either, not until I  met you last
night... and now Merrimack rocks!" He's still talking fast,  but not like
when he first got here. He's calmed down a lot since  then.

I  chuckle at his implied compliment, but feel good about it too, mumbling,
 "Thanks, I think." Then, just like that, it's a quiet awkward time with
neither of us having anything else to say, and I know why. It's  because last
night we both expected that we'd have sex again after his haircut,  but
when he saw me this afternoon he got all flustered about last night,  thinking
he acted like a dork. Consequently he can't bring himself to ask  me to fuck
him again. It's no major loss as far as I'm concerned  because Robby and I
had that smoking hot sex this morning, and I'm not  all that horny. Daryl
probably is though and, horny or not, I'd like to feel my  dick in his special
rectum again. It's probably not going to happen this  afternoon though
because I can't see him asking, and I don't feel right  suggesting it myself. I
say that because he's so inexperienced I'd feel like I'm  taking advantage
of him.  Instead, to break the awkward  silence, I finally ask, "Do you wanna
check out the baseball game at  the ballpark? That's what I'm about to do.

My boyfriend is the shortstop on one  of the teams, and wait'll you see him!
He's gorgeous." As I flick my  cigarette butt over the railing, Pony asks,
"Who they playing?" I give the  back of his neck a squeeze as I get him
walking in off the balcony, telling him,  "It's an informal inter-squad game.

College baseball season  doesn't begin until next  March, dummy." As we walk
inside, he mutters, "That's what I  thought."

At  the front door he stops and says, "Um, I've been wanting to ask you
something ever since I got here. At the risk of making an ass of  myself all
over again, I've got to ask you this." Looking me in my  eyes, he says, "Do
you think I'm more gay than just slightly bisexual?"  That's certainly not
the question I expected, so I hesitated, and he  adds, "Please be honest with
me." Nodding my head, I say, "Ahh, yeah,  Pony, I do think you're closer to
gay that just being slightly  bisexual, and I think you do too. You'd know
better than me though." He  rubs his nose, and looks down but I  feel I
should be honest with him, so I add, "To be brutally honest about  it, the only
thing you can be sure of is the gay part. I mean, you've  experienced orgasms
with three different guys. It's the heterosexual part  of bisexuality
that's unresolved." He nods his head, "That's exactly what I  was thinking about
in bed this morning. It's scary thinking I might be a  homosexual. When you
knew you were definitely gay, did it scare you?" I go, "No.  It made me come
to terms with things I didn't even realize I'd avoided  thinking about. The
guy who took my cherry was far from the ideal  first time sex partner, but
he actually did me a favor. After  that I could be honest with myself about
my sexuality." Pony's nodding his  head again, then says, "In my mind I've
always skipped over the part about sex  with a girl, assuming it was a given,
but now I'm seriously doubting  that." I give him a one-arm shoulder hug
again, mumbling, "You'll figure it out,  buddy," and walk him out the door.

Going down the steps, he goes, "I'd like to do it again with you  sometime,
Dylan, if you're willing. I know I can do the oral sex better.  You know,
covering my incisors better." I don't know why it should, but  that strikes
me funny so I'm doing two fake coughs to cover up a laugh,  then seriously
say, "Yeah, you've got some sharp incisors alright, but I'm  willing to put my
dick in dangers way again." I was kidding, but he gives me a  serious,
"Thanks, Dylan. I was right about one thing; you're a really nice  person."

Rubbing his buzzed head, I go, "I already know that,  Daryl. It's what everyone
tells me." He grins, saying, "Hey, stop  stealing my compliment
comeback-line." Getting in the pickup, hoping to get off  the topic of how gay he is, I
say, "Pony, that fucking buzz cut looks cool on  you. Let me see you with
your glasses on." Shrugging, he reaches in his pocket  and takes out his
glasses, saying, "Sure, I'll go along with you making fun of  me again." He puts
on his glasses and I go, "Dude, you're a cute  motherfucker!" Blushing
slightly, he muttered, "Fuck you, Dylan." Inside the  truck, still trying to keep
to light banter, I go, asking, "You ready to see  some college baseball?"

He shrugs, "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess." I back the  pickup out of the
parking spot, asking, "Don't you like baseball?" He goes,  "I don't follow it
very closely. I'm a swimmer and Lacrosse player and a  gymnast; none of
which is a big spectator sport. Baseball's okay, but you  know what I've decided
I'd much rather do right now? I  mean, since no one is in your apartment
and your boyfriend's  accounted for, and you and I both agree that you're a
really nice guy?"  I'm like, "What would you rather do right now....?"


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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