Date: Sun, 5 Feb 2017 12:26:58 -0500
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE  Chapter  28

DYLAN'S  JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  28


by  Donny Mumford


The  weeks following my working-weekend at Dickers & Son. Inc. have gone
by quickly in pretty much a repeatable cycle: Mondays are pretty much like
the Monday before it, and the same for Tuesdays, Wednesdays and the rest of
the week. There's been very little to complain about. For one reason  or
another Rob and I haven't worked another weekend together, but we  will for
sure after the first of the year. Academically speaking we're in  very good
shape and basically coasting towards the end of the  semester and final exams.

We're only three weeks from Christmas Recess  which begins December
twenty-fourth. Merrimack is a Roman Catholic College  in the Augustinian tradition
so we're allowed to call the December holiday by  it's true name, Christmas
Recess, instead of the  euphemistic, Winter Holiday. America's
political-correctness-police  begrudgingly allow the word Christmas to be used by
Christian religious organizations, but no one else. The rest of the  world,
fortunately, isn't as hypocritical so they're allowed to  say, Merry Christmas, if
they feel like it, instead  of, Happy Holidays.

Today  it's a bright brisk Sunday afternoon following the short
Thanksgiving  break. Chubby and I are on our way back to college with me driving the
Jeep  and Chubby sleeping in the bucket-seat next to me. Last night we spent
four  hours in the Deluxe Depot Diner on Waverly Street in downtown
Framingham. We had  dinner in the diner section, me stupidly trying their specialty
of home style  meat loaf and real mashed potatoes, which turned out to be
disappointing to say  the least. Then, without planning to  do so, we hung
around afterwards at the bar for a couple of  hours drinking and talking about
our lives together. Ya know, sometimes it  just goes like that where you get
a pleasant buzz-on and the conversation  flows easily and you don't want the
experience to end. Chubby unfortunately  drank stingers the entire time
which is primarily why he's  still sleeping. Barry, the bartender, mixed two
ounces of Cognac with  an ounce of white creme de  menthe and served that
concoction on the rocks as his version of a  stinger. We don't know anyone
else's version as those were the first  stingers either of us can remember
drinking. After one stinger I  wisely decided on draft beer instead. It's
impossible to describe how much  Chub and I mean to each other, but we were in full
brotherhood mode  last night trying to put into words what we feel for one
another. If we weren't  brothers we'd still... well, we are brothers so
there's no 'if' about  it.

College,  like most endeavors, becomes mostly routine after a while and,
like I said,  that's been the case at Merrimack following our working weekend.

Our  routine will change next semester with different courses and
professors.    Our priority for now is to do some preparation for finals that are a
mere two weeks away. Last month's midterms resulted in some  Merrimack
casualties and flunk-outs, mostly freshman. Everyone I know did  okay with their
midterm grades. Rob and I are locked-in solid to the academic  part of
college life this year. We've been religiously doing assignments right  after
last class each day. It's a pain in the ass while were doing it, but
afterwards I'm glad to have it off my mind. As a result of our conscientious  study
routine the workload for junior year somehow seems easier than  previous
years. More students should try staying on top of their studies.  The idea of
cramming for midterms that we witnessed many of our  fellow college students
suffering through made us smile because, instead of  cramming, Rob and I
bumped fists and then went to Rolf's bar for a few  beers.

So,  yeah, it's been mostly a familiar routine for us the past four or
five weeks with one exception: the absence of Frankie and Beth at the
apartment. We hardly see them at all anymore. They're sophomores so we have none  of
the same classes, and there's no baseball activities for them to attend,
and  neither of them are twenty-one so we don't see them in bars. A couple of
times we've bumped into the girls at Tracy's Speakeasy, but Rob and  I
usually go inside to the private club and the girls don't have  a membership.

The few brief encounters we've had were surprisingly cordial  though. I guess
I begrudgingly need to give props to  Frankie in that there's been no
backlash from her. I mean  in regards to that failed experimental sex-episode with
Rob. It ended  badly in a shouting match of name-calling, but that happened
more than five  weeks ago and time has a way of smoothing things over.

Frankie has  given-up her quest to steal Rob from me, but Beth and Golden are
still a  hot item even as Golden and Rob remain very tight in their mentoring
relationship. It's not clear if Golden even knows about Rob and Frankie
fucking that one time. Golden's never mentioned it and I can't imagine
Frankie's  anxious to broadcast her dismal failure to lure Rob into a relationship
with her. I mean, her total rejection isn't something she's likely to brag
about.

We've  continued the Friday night card games, minus the girls. It's not
like we  forbid them to come, they decided on their own not to attend. The
first Friday  without the girls a couple of guys asked about them, but by the
second Friday  night the missing girls weren't even mentioned. Anyway, without
 the girls it's turned into Friday poker-nights. We dropped the other card
games and just play poker. Eleven or twelve guys, usually the same guys,
play at  two tables of five or six guys per table. Usually three or four guys
will switch tables at some point during the night hoping it'll change their
 luck. During the games there's drinking and lots of friendly  ball-busting
without any serious disagreements so far. Fighting isn't  allowed, heh heh,
but then nobody's been caught cheating yet. As far as I  know the most
money anyone's lost on a Friday night was a sophomore  baseball player named,
Mickey, who lost $240. And the biggest winner so far  is John Beverly who
claims to have won $218 the same night the big  loser lost the $240. Who know
for sure though as guys lie about  their winnings and losses. My best night
was the first poker game when  I won fifty-some dollars. Since then I'm down,
but not by very much. Mark  and his friend, Freddie, have played in two
Friday night poker games  although the two closeted gay guys, Mark and Daryl,
have yet to  connect. I can't do more than make sure they're at the same table
and I  can't hint to Daryl that he and Markie would make a cute couple any
more  than I already have, or I'd be in danger of betraying a trust about
Mark being gay. I'm not thrilled at the thought of losing Daryl as my
side-sex buddy anyway, so I'm done trying to be a matchmaker. I have a sneaking
suspicion Daryl is quite happy with our side-sex arrangement and isn't
motivated  to try going out on his own.

Ryan's  still taking his meds and still not having sex with me. I have a
definite itch for his style of sub/dom sex, but it remains unscratched  and I
guess I'll need to be okay with that. When I think back to my  side-sex
heydays, I just shake my head because things are so different now it's  not
even funny. Presently, and for quite some time I've been having  almost no
side-sex at college, or anywhere else. Partially saving  the day in that regard
is Rob's and my hot and heavy sex-life that I wouldn't  change for the
world. We've never experienced this level of frequency  before, and obviously
just the two of us in the apartment has had a lot to  do with that. We can slip
into a sexual encounter anytime we feel like it. For  example, watching a
Sunday afternoon football game on the sofa together usually  turns into a
sexual romp before the game's over. We're in our own world in  that apartment.

Heh heh, so like I said, we keep ourselves pretty much  sexually satisfied.

That being said there's still exists in me a taste for  variety and
currently Daryl is my only outlet for that. He's the  reason I mentioned previously
that I'm having almost no side  sex at Merrimack. He's the 'almost'. I'm the
'top' for him and we do  it one or two times a week if we're lucky. Yep,
embarrassingly that's my  total side-sex world; a mere shadow of my side-sex
history. Sometimes when I'm  daydreaming in class I think about some of my
past side-sex partners and miss  them. Things change though and that became
obvious last summer when Charlie  represented the majority of my side sex.

Maybe I'm more selective than I used to  be, or maybe the opportunities just
aren't there now that I'm older. I'm not  sure why nothing much is happening
on that front this year, but if a good  opportunity popped-up I wouldn't say
'no' to it.

Yeah, I  guess I could really go for a good hard buddy-fuck from some
dominant guy,  without commitments of any kind obviously. Ryan used to fulfill
that role but he  wanted too many commitments from me and things went downhill
because of that.  Even though there simply aren't a lot of dominant
Ryan-types around, I'm  not really interested in Ryan  getting off his  meds and
becoming reborn as his old self. That ship has sailed. I have no idea  how it
happens that one day Ryan seemed so sexy-hot to me and the next day,  not so
much. It didn't happen overnight of course, but was a slow lessening of
interest over time. So, like I said, while there's no  dominant sex from Ryan,
I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be  interested in running into some
dominant guy with a big dick who was  sexy and good-looking and knew what he was
doing. Some hot sub/dom sex  say once a week, that would be ideal. Ha ha,
yeah, dream on...

Chubby  interrupts my musings by, without opening his eyes, asking, "Where
are we,  bro?" I tell him, "Route 125, Chub. Fifteen minutes from
Merrimack." He sits up  opening his eyes, stretching and mumbling, "Fucking stingers,"

and I go, "I  tried suggesting last night you might want to switch from
stingers to lite  beer." He puts on his sunglasses, "Yeah, I know, Dylan," and,
grinning, he  reaches over mussing my hair, knocking off the Merrimack
baseball cap Rob gave  me a couple of months ago.  I yell, "Yo bro! I'm driving!
 Jeeezus!" Putting my cap back on, I add, "How ya feeling?" and he snorts
out a chuckle, "Not awesome, Dylan. No, I'm definitely not feeling
awesome."

He  looks like death warmed over as he drinks half a bottle of water. To
perk him  up, I'm like, "So, tell me again how you screwed MJ three times last
 Friday?" He goes, "Oh, Jesus! Did I tell you that last night?" I nod, "Uh
huh,  not that I believed you." He shrugs, "I know I did her once, hee
hee... yeah,  I'm sure of that. As usual, when she and I get together we do shots
of tequila  so that tends to blur one's memory. Ya know, I  was kinda
missing all her bitching. Oh my God, she's a walking minus  sign. Bitch, bitch,
bitch! Everything sucks according to good 'ole  MJ. She's hot in the sack
though, and I'm not shitting you about that.  I've got a couple of scratches on
my back from those long fingernails of  her's that still sting when I take
a shower." I mumble, "You're oversexed,  bro, pure and simple. Jumping in
the sack with any girl you can talk into it  isn't any way to go through
life." He laughs, then says, "If I had half the sex  you have I'd be a happy
camper." Avoiding that topic, I ask, "Didn't you tell me  Mary Jo is going with
someone?" Chub goes, "Yeah, she goes with that  Aronson dick-head. He
manages the Radio Shack in Natick. Richie Aronson... I  think that's his name. He
was a year ahead of us at Farmington High. Big asshole  of a guy. They've
been going together almost two years now." I'm like, "But  MJ comes running
when you're in town, huh?" He nods, "Yeah, she likes a good  fight, heh heh.

She says she has this Aronson weenie wrapped around her  little finger.

Whatever..."

I go,  "I've been thinking about our Thanksgiving dinner, Chub. It was
awesome!" He  goes, "The best part was we didn't need to lift a finger. Our moms
insisting,  they wanna do Thanksgiving dinner this year." I'm like, "Ha!
Bud and Rider  did most of it, but somehow kept the moms involved so they felt
as though  they did it." Chubby nods, "Ain't it great seeing how good those
four get along  together? Always laughing and in good spirits." I mumble,
"I'll say. It  makes me feel good." Chubby yawns, then says, "Yeah, bro, we
can relax knowing  our moms are in good hands, so to speak." I ask, "Do you
think they spend a lot  of time in bed when we're away?" He goes, "Ewww, I
don't wanna know! Jesus  though, I did happen to notice there was a lot of
men's toiletry items in  the cabinet under the sink in my mom's bathroom." I'm
like, "What were  you doing in your mom's bathroom?" He goes, "I wasn't
sneaking around, if  that's what you're thinking. I was looking for a friggin'
roll of toilet  paper for my bathroom." I go, "So you think the guys sleep
over a lot, huh?" He  shrugs, "Sure, why wouldn't they? They stayed over the
night of that family  weekend we had a couple of months back, remember?" I
nod, "Yeah," then, "Well,  here we are, Chub. We're back at college." He looks
over and nods his head,  "Yeah, but fuck! I need to do something about
finals coming up pretty soon. Um,  when are they coming up, Dylan? " I mutter,
"In eight days, Chub," and  I turn onto route 114, then a hundred yards down
the road there's a  left turn onto Merrimack's campus and we're a
quarter-mile drive  to the old section of dormitory-row. That's where Chubby's and
John  Beverly's dormitory sits. Pulling over to the curb, I ask, "You still
happy with  dorm living?" He says, "The initial uniqueness faded quickly, bro.

Next  year I'm moving back to an apartment. John Beverly and I will share
one 'cause I  know you two love birds aren't letting anyone ruin your parade."

I go, "No,  you're always welcome, Chub." He shakes his head, "Three's a
crowd. Hey, help me  get my shit out of the back. I kinda just threw it in on
top of your satchel  and, um, whatever that other shit is that's back
there." That other  shit is three months of fast food wrappers, cups, and candy
bar  wrappers he put there.

We both  get out to sort through the clothes on the back seat for his
stuff. When we  think we've got most of it, I ask, "Wouldn't it be easier if you
put  all your clothes in a satchel or some kind of suitcase?"  Chub's
standing here with his arms full of clean clothes his mom  washed for him. The
clothes were folded and in a neat pile before  he dumped them in the back of
the Jeep. Chub goes, "I couldn't find  the plastic bag I used bringing my
stuff home last Wednesday." I  give him, and his armload of clothes a hug, then
can't help but grin  watching him walking toward the steps to his dorm. A
sleeve from one of  the clean shirts is dragging on the ground behind him as,
then at the steps he looks back at me giving me a big grin. I wave and
continue watching him say something to two girls going up the steps in  front
of him. The girls turn around laughing at whatever he said, then hold the
door open for him and he disappears inside. Yeah, Saturday night with Chubby
was  special.

Getting  in the Jeep, I back up, then drive off campus, just making a
yellow light  turning into the entrance for the Royal Crest Apartments. Normally
I'd drive to  my place first and unload my stuff, then Chubby would take the
Jeep  with him to park on campus. We didn't do that today because Chub and
I are  eating dinner together so I'll need the Jeep to drive back to
campus. John Beverly has a duplicate meal card that I'll use at their  favorite
dining hall. I've eaten there before and believe me it's nothing  special. The
thing is, Robby won't be getting back until tomorrow and I  don't like
eating alone. Our Monday class isn't until one o'clock so Rob will  drive
himself up here tomorrow morning. I didn't see him at all during  Thanksgiving
break. He was away with his family visiting his grandparents  in Maine. I
forget the name of the town, but I know it's near the  Canadian border. After
Thanksgiving dinner with the grandparents, Rob, his dad,  and mom spent a
couple of days in Quebec.

Ah  yes! I'm inside the apartment  and it's exactly as neat and clean as we
left it last Wednesday.  And why wouldn't it  be? I'm nodding my head in
approval of the cleaning we did before leaving  for home. Obviously I've been
missing Robby, but Chubby and I hung-out  together a lot during the break
which kept my mine occupied, except before  falling asleep at night. Then I'd
think about, and miss my boyfriend and lover.  While at home I didn't get in
touch with any of my  Framingham friends because I wanted to spend the time
with Chubby and  our families. The last time we spent any serious time with
them was early in the  semester, and of course Thanksgiving is a family
holiday. Family holiday,  plus a full day and night of NFL football games. For
some time  now Chub and I have included Bud and Rider as family. There's
still no firm date for the marriage ceremonies, but it's inevitable that  our
moms will be getting married. They say it'll be sometime after  Chub and I
graduate. I haven't mentioned Rob's and my condo plans to  anyone in the
family except Chubby. The condo will be ready to move into before  we graduate,
so there's a lot of living to be done before we begin that  next stage of
Rob's and my life together. He'll buy the condo  while it's being built, and
be paying on the mortgage for a year  before we move in. All of that's in the
future though.

I don't  like being in an empty apartment, but there are things I need to
do that  will keep me busy. First I've got dirty clothes to wash in the
basement laundromat. Only two washing machines and two dryers  for eight
apartments in this building, so that sucks. I'll hump a  big basket-load of dirty
clothes, mostly mine, but some of Rob's, down to the  basement. Mom offered
to do my laundry but I didn't want her to spend her free  time doing that.

Chubby immediately agreed when his mom offered to do  his. He claims it made
his mom feel good doing something for  him. He just might have something
there too. Or it might be a clever  rationalization on my brother's part. Hmmm,
which one do I believe? No, there is  something to what he says because
we've been so autonomous,  so independently self-sufficient for so much of our
lives that  maybe it would have made my mom feel good doing me a favor. I
just don't know.  Carrying the basket of dirty clothes down a flight of stairs
and then,  in laundromat it's, "Oh balls!" Both washing machines are being
used and the dryers are full of dry, clean clothes. People put clothes in
the dryer and leave them there long after the drying cycle has completed,
thereby preventing anyone else from using the dryers. Inconsiderate  idiots!
Lugging  everything back to the apartment I'm shaking my head and hoping
whoever  owns of the clothes in the washing machines is the owner of the
clothes in  the dryer. Okay, I'll take a shower and try doing the laundry later.

Before  I finish undressing my cellphone rings; it's Daryl, a/k/a Pony. He
tells me he's  horny, and dammit, so am I!  It's been five long days since I
last had  sex and that's un-fucking-believable, and probably unhealthy. It's
amazing  I've lasted this long. I thought a number of times during
Thanksgiving break about texting Willie, or Sonny, or even Bean with his  long
skinny dick. Seth would be my first choice except I'm not sure of his  status
regarding boyfriends. He's been on-again/off-again with some guy for the  last
year. Plus, I never had the time to do it anyway because I  was with Chub
almost all the time we were home. Then there's my nightly musings  about Rob
before falling asleep, so of course I'm horny. Some of my musings  regarded
next year, our senior year, when we're supposed to  be monogamist; just him
and me having sex... forever and ever.  Huh....

I'm  thinking these past five days is probably the longest span of time
I've  gone without sex since fat Carl first introduced me to gay sexual
pleasures  almost four years ago. He did it rather roughly, and he took terrible
advantage  of me but to this very day I still can't hate him even though I've
reasons  to. I mean if not for him, how much longer would I have lived an
ignorant celibate existence? Anyway, I tell Pony I'll pick him up in ten
minutes and then wash my face and hands, brush my teeth, and gargle with
mouthwash. Looking at myself in the mirror I frown at my hair. It's grown over
the tops of my ears again. Rob and I missed Golden's last haircut day. He
only  gives haircuts one Saturday a month, and it would have been good getting
a haircut before the Thanksgiving break. We could have gotten haircuts at
any one of a dozen barbershops but Rob insists on Golden being our  barber.

He's Golden's mentor and feels the haircuts are a bonding  opportunity.

Plus, as co-captain for the infielders Rob feels the bonding  extends to
freshmen and sophomores. Ya know, Golden is the freshmen's  barber so Rob's right
there with them. He hopes his undergraduate  teammates will see him as just a
regular guy, who just happens to be  their captain. It's like, 'Look guys,
I get my hair cut from Golden too!'  Just like you.' Poppycock of course,
but I'm taking the mature approach  and supporting Rob in this matter.

Considering my past haircut record it'd be  hypocritical of me to cause a fuss
about Golden's haircuts. After my minor  initially negative reaction I really am
fine with it now. Which is  another way to say I don't give a shit anymore.

There  is a side benefit of going seven weeks between haircut: our hair has
 grown enough for us to now comb a part on the left side. So it's still  a
sucky fuck-wad of a haircut, but now it's a sucky fuck-wad of  a haircut
with a part. In that regard we look like every other  nerd with a SuperCuts
style regular haircut. Fuck it though, as I  mentioned, I'm totally over
bitching about it. No more  complaining about this haircut from me. Instead I'm
bonding with the  clueless majority who couldn't tell a good haircut from a
nerdy one if you put a  gun to their head. I told Rob we need to get a pocket
protector and  eyeglasses with a Band-Aid holding it together? Yeah well,
we'll be nerds with  a nerdy haircut. With a resigned sigh, I give up on my
hair  concerns and put my coat on. I'm kinda excited about the prospect of
fucking Daryl. I really like him, which makes our side-sex that much better.

Firing up the Jeep, I drive back on campus to pick up the only side-sex
buddy I have left.

Huh,  when I drove on campus an hour ago dropping Chubby off there weren't
as many  students milling around as there are now. Well, Sunday afternoon is
the time  everyone's returning from Thanksgiving break so this shouldn't
surprise me.  Weaving between the students I drive right up to Daryl's dorm.

Balls! He's not  waiting outside like he said he'd be, so I text him and he
comes right out.  Holy shit, he's got a huge smile and he's wearing those
horned-rimmed  eyeglasses he hasn't needed to wear since like seventh grade.

Goddamn  though, he looks cute with those big glasses. He dumps his backpack
in the  back of the Jeep, then gets in and leans over for a quick hug
'hello',  mumbling, "Yo, Dylan, wasp? How was your break?" I say, "It was  good,
dude. Damn, Pony, you look cool with those glasses, but why are you  wearing
them?" He goes, "Because you once told me I looked cute wearing  glasses." I
go, "Yeah, I guess, but you're over that blurred vision you  had as a kid,
so why do you even still have the glasses?" He  shrugs, "For the fuck of it.

I can see perfectly well with them on or without  them." Backing the Jeep
up, I'm like, "I wish you were into making-out  because I'd like to make-out
with a four-eyed geek as cute as you." He  says, "Fuck making-out! Real guys
don't make-out with other guys." I go, "That's  just so wrong in so many
ways," and then I reach over and ruffle his hair,  saying, "I'm giving you a
haircut before we do anything else, then we'll  see. And why'd you bring your
backpack?" He mutters, "Do I have to get a  haircut? And, oh, I always bring
my backpack." I go, "Yes, you have to get a  haircut."

Then,  frowning, he runs his fingers through his almost two-inch-long hair,
 contemplating a haircut I assume. Way back I gave him the buzz cut he
asked for;  that was like ten or eleven weeks ago. He mutters, "Yeah, okay. I'll
get  a haircut." I'm driving carefully now because college students think
they're bulletproof and brazenly walk right in front of moving  automobiles.

Morons! Of course cars aren't allowed in dormitory row roads  except for
unloading or loading stuff at the beginning and end of semesters, so  there's
that. I say, "You're okay with getting a haircut, huh? I expected you'd
give me a lot of shit about it." He goes, "Nope. You're also suppose to  give
Tom Higgins a haircut." I go, "Huh, your roommate. Well, is he in the  dorm?"

Pony goes, "Yeah, but if he came with us we wouldn't be able to fuck like
minks afterwards." I ask, "Do minks fuck a lot?" He makes a face and adjust
his  eyeglasses, mumbling, "How the fuck would I know?" Shaking my head and
grinning  to myself; it's really nice seeing Daryl again. He was my
mysterious hoodie-boy the first week of the semester, and somehow I knew we  were
destined to be friends. He transferred from a college  in Philadelphia;
Drexel University I think he said. He was like, 'Well,  this college blows, so
I'll try another one', just like that. Free  spirit.

Pony  says, "I'm not sure I want a buzz cut though. I was thinking I'd get
a haircut  like the one you got from Golden. I thought that looked cool."

Jesus  Christ, am I the only person on this planet with any haircut-sense?
Pony smirks  and reaches over to pinch some hairs growing over the top of my
ear,  "By the way, Dylan, I'm not the only one who needs a haircut. It  looked
good two months ago when Golden gave you the haircut, but now it  looks
raggedy." I mutter, "Yeah, yeah I know." See, he's another brainwashed-guy  who
is okay with a so-called regular haircut. Like I said earlier though,  I'm
one of them now too. All us regular haircut guys should join arms and sing
'Kumbaya' while dancing in a circle showing off our regular
farmers-looking-home-haircuts. I'm done bitching about it though because  obviously no one
'gets it', but me.

As  I'm pulling into the apartment parking lot, Pony says, "Well, what do
you  think about me getting the same haircut you have?" I say, "Do you know
the words  to 'Kumbaya'?" He goes, "What? What's that? How about my haircut?"

Turning  off the engine, I reach over and squeeze his cheeks together
using my thumb and index finger, saying through clenched teeth, "I'll  give you
whatever the fuck haircut you want, my hoodie-buddy." He  goes, "I'm a big
fan of hoodies, aren't you?" We get out of the Jeep and I'm  like, "Love
hoodies! They outline and emphasize a cute guy's face." He  mumbles, "They
outline and emphasize a goofy-looking mother-fucker's face too."  Walking to the
back door, my arm goes across his shoulders, "Well, Pony  Boy, I'm clever
enough to advert my eyes from those goofy-looking  mother-fuckers, and I
advise you to do the same." He goes, "Also, old people  shouldn't wear hoodies,
um, ever." Huh, another hoodie aficionado.  Freakin' Daryl and I share a
brain on an amazing number  of topics.

Inside  the apartment we take off our coats, then push the kitchen table
against the wall and pull a kitchen bar stool over onto the tile floor. "Take
 off your shirt, Pony. I'll get my barbering equipment. And, ta da, I'm
using my professional barber tools today. The ones  I recently reclaimed from
the person I lent them to over six  months ago." He nods his head, then
asks, "Don't you have a cape or a sheet, or  something. I don't want to take my
shirt off." I go, "No, I don't have a cape or  sheet. Just take off your
shirt and don't give me any shit about it." Carrying  the toiletry kit from the
bedroom, I see Pony sitting on the stool.  He's shirtless, his shoulders
rounded, and his hair sticking out all over  his head. How could anyone be
okay with that? Then I grin to myself and,  imitating Ryan, sternly say, "Sit
the fuck up straight, Daryl. Don't slump!" He  laughs, muttering, "What are
you, my gymnastics' coach?"  but he sits up a little straighter.

Putting  my hand on his  bare shoulder, I'm like, "One of the reasons I
don't use a  barber's cape is I like looking at a hot guy's torso. Now your
torso is quite sexy with subtle, but really nice muscle definition." He  says,
"No shit, Sherlock, I'm fucking hot." We both chuckle, but yeah, he does
have a hot body. Gymnast and swimmers usually have awesomely hot  bodies.

Taking the barber tools out and plugging both clippers into the outlet  on the
front of the kitchen bar, then I try combing through Daryl's  hair. It won't
lie down because he did the same thing after I gave him a  buzz cut that he
did after the buzz cut he got last Easter, which  is to say he did nothing
with it. His hair just grows out in all directions. I  ask, "How come you
didn't train your hair to lie over. See mine, it lies down."  He looks at my
head, pointing to the left side, saying, "Yeah, okay, I'll train  it this
time, and I definitely want one of those faggy parts on the  side of my head
like you have." That makes me laugh out loud thinking about  all the bitching
I've done about that part, then I'm like,  "Perfect description of the part,
and ya know what? I like that you want  the same haircut that fifty percent
of our peers are rocking. Be one  of the guys! It's awesome to be a member
of the regular-haircut  clueless clan. And, dude, I say that knowing full
well how shitty  this haircut is." He goes, "It's not shitty. It's a good
haircut!  What's wrong with it?" I go, "I'm not going to try to explain it to
you. Instead  I'm going to duplicate it on your nicely shaped head and let you
continue with  your delusional opinion about what's a good haircut." I
ruffle through his hair  with the fingers of both hands massaging his scalp. He
goes, "Dude, that feels good!" I massage his shoulders too, and  he goes,
"Holy shit, I've got goosebumps all over me."

I  ask rhetorically, "How come you don't have a sexy body-scent, Daryl?" He
 ignores the rhetorical part, and goes, "Hey, I'm clean!" and I'm like,
"Yes  you are, but never mind that. That wasn't what I meant." He goes,
"You're slightly crazy, you're aware of that, right?" Daryl has a  faint scent,
but nothing like Rob's or Ryan's. Actually I used to think  Chubby's personal
scent was number one, but I've backed-off on that in recent  years because,
oh my God, Ryan's and my pheromones were uber compatible.  Too bad he's
taking his pheromones to the University of  Georgia.

I say  to Pony, "We're all slightly crazy," then, with a half inch guide on
the  clippers, I begin running the clippers high up the right side and
back of Pony's head. One-and-a half-inch hair clippings slide repeatedly  off
the clipper blades. Soft, clean hair slides over my hand and onto Daryl's
shoulders and back. Clipped hairs that are straight as a poker. Daryl doesn't
question what I'm doing, so I ask, "Is your lack of concern  about my
haircutting ability an indication that you have  total confidence in me as a
barber, or is it that you basically don't give  a shit about your hair?" He
shrugs, "Um, a little of both scenarios, Dylan, but  mostly it's having
confidence in you." I start on the left side of his head, not  taking the clippers
up this side as far as I did on the right side. I need  to leave some hairs
long enough for a faggy part, as Pony calls it. I say,  "You're really good
for my ego, Daryl. You having confidence in me makes me feel  good.

Well-founded confidence I might add." He goes, "If you say so, ya crazy  bastard."

Finished the left side, I go, "Yes, good for my ego, except for  the crazy
part. Plus, I'm getting a little randy from cutting your hair and  seeing your
shirtless torso and slumped shoulders." He laughs,  straightening his
shoulders. Holding the running clippers to the side, I  put my left hand on the
right side of his head to hold it there while  I give the side of his forehead
a three second smooch. He says, "As much as  I'm opposed to kissing between
gay sex-buddies, I feel good that you like me  enough to kiss me." I
mumble, "Progress..."

Unlike  the haircuts Golden does, I take the time to do some  blending of
the short hairs with the much longer hair on top of Pony's  head. I do that
using a comb and scissors. It's impossible to make it look  right though
because the difference in length is  too severe. This is an incredibly
stupid-style of a haircut, but you don't  hear me complaining about it. I mean, what
are ya going do? It is what it  is, as Bill Belichick likes to say. He also
likes to say, 'That's not what  we're looking for', which is the bottom line
as far as my feelings  about this style of haircut. Yeah, except I've
joined the ranks now so I need to  keep those thoughts to myself. Using the
trimming clippers, I outline around and  behind Pony's ears, and then square off
the hairline at the back of his head.  Some time ago I read a blog online by
a lady hairstylist who claims  squaring-off hair at the back of a guy's
head is a huge fashion  blunder, especially when done above the natural
hairline at the neck.  It should be tapered for a natural look. So this woman and I
agree,  although we're apparently in a tiny minority of that opinion. She
cuts  hair in some snooty salon doing $150 haircuts, which is where we part
company,  no pun intended.

Speaking  of parts, I say, "We'll need to wet your hair, Daryl. I say that
because without  water I can't get the hairs on both sides of this faggy
part to  lie down. Hair gel will help to keep it down when it dries. In a few
days  it'll be trained to lie flat on its own.  Then your hair will be like
most other guys' hair." He says, "Hey! Was that  a shot at me?" I go, "Yes it
was. You need to spend a minute a day on  your hair; one lousy minute will
do it. That's all it takes, and you're  lucky to have really good hair to go
with your cute looks." Except for Rob and  Chubby, Pony and Lawyer are the
only two guys I've seen on campus who  I feel qualify as cute. That's out of
a couple thousand guys.  Unfortunately most everyone loses their cuteness,
assuming they ever had any to  begin with, late in their teen years and
early twenties. As for Daryl,  he has the dark brown hair and dark blue eyes
that contrast  awesomely with his pale complexion. That combo is striking, and
the only  other person I can think of who matches that combination of pale
complexion, dark brown hair, and dark blue eyes is my good  friend Connor,
who is one of my two favorite Army guys in all the  world. Well, Connor and
Dodger the only two Army guys I actually know,  but if I knew more those two
would still be my favorites. Plus Pony has a  random scattering of a slowly
developing beard on his baby face. There  obviously was a fortuitous gene
combination involved in producing  him.

Brushing  hair clippings off his shoulder with my fingers, I'm thinking
back to the  two strangers, basically strangers, who I gave free haircuts to
and who said  they would buy a barber's cape and soft barber's brush online.

They're  supposed to  bring these two gifts when they come for their next
free haircuts. I  haven't seen or heard from them since then, but that's not to
say I won't see  them like tomorrow, or whenever. Daryl gets up off the
stool brushing cut  hairs off his lap, asking, "Do you want me at the sink to
wet my hair now?"  I mumble, "Bathroom," and we walk down the hall with Daryl
asking, "Does this  haircut look like yours?" I go, "No, I obviously need a
haircut, but it  will look like the haircut I last got from Golden except
you also have a  part." In the bathroom he leans over the sink and I cup some
water in my hand to  wet his hair, then pat excess water off his head with
a hand towel. Combing  the hair down for the part on the left side, and then
the hair on top  over to the right, I add some mousse. Not a lot, just
enough to keep his hair in  place. Handing him a handheld mirror I show him how
to check out his hair, front  and the back by looking at his reflection from
both the mirror in his hand  and the mirror over the bathroom sink. He
goes, "Yeah, it's like  what yours  looked right after Golden cut it. Thanks,
Dylan." I pat his shoulder, mumbling,  "Surprisingly it actually doesn't look
too bad on you. C'mon and help me  sweep-up the hair clippings." Horrors, I
may be getting used to this hair  style because Pony's haircut actually
looks okay.

Walking  back to the living room, he says, "So I gotta buy gel or mousse,
huh?" I mutter,  "Yes, we can go to the Rite Aid down the street a little
later and get some." It  takes less than two-minutes to sweep up hair clippings
and move the kitchen  table back where it belongs, then Daryl asks, "Have
you borrowed the sex toys  yet?" I shake my head, "No, and I'm not going to
borrow them because I  wouldn't feel comfortable using them on you." He goes,
"Why not?"  I rub  his shoulders, shrugging and mumbling, "I don't want to,
that's why." He goes,  "Yeah, but I get off on that shit. I mean when I
watch it on my computer it  makes me jerk off." I mutter, "That's just a tad
too much information  for me, Daryl." He then says something that I often say,
"Balls! I  thought you'd have some sex toys." I'm like, "Okay, tell me what
 specific sex toys turn you on?" He goes, "Butt plugs and, um,  paddling,
and  being tied-up and helpless." I mutter, "Oh, just your run of the mill S
& M  shit, huh?" He shrugs, "I like getting it up the ass too. I had a dildo
 once but got paranoid my mom or dad would somehow find it, so I threw it
out. I got the dildo right after Sam dumped me and I needed  something."

I'm  shaking my head, asking, "Why are you telling me these private
personal,  um, details about your sex life." He says, "Well, it's you who got me
all fucked-up, Dylan. Before I met you I fantasized about those times I  used
to get it up the ass from Sam. You know, I'd fantasize while  playing with
the dildo. I'd smack my own ass and then fuck myself hard with  the dildo."

I go, "And you think I'm crazy?" He chuckles, "Heh heh, no not  really.

You're awesome. Anyway, now you'll occasionally spank  my ass and then fuck me,
so I know how awesome it feels in reality and  fantasizing about it doesn't
cut it for me anymore. You've ruined me  for fantasizing." I go, "Well, I'm
terribly sorry to inform you of this, but  buddy-sex isn't supposed to
include obligations on either person's part, and  now you're laying a guilt trip
on me." Pony's patting his hair, mumbling,  "It's drying already." I nod,
smirking at him, and he snorts out a laugh,  adding, "Laying a guilt trip on
you was my intention. You're too nice so  I figured you'd cave-in and do some
S & M on my ass." I go, "Ya know,  that would have worked on me not too
long ago, but not anymore. You're too late  to take advantage of my sweet
obliging nature since I've recently  decided to become an unobliging prick." He
goes, "You can't pull that  off," and I mumble, "I know," and we both
chuckle. Then I'm like, "Well, what's  it gonna be, Daryl, I mean buddy-sex-wise?"

He says, "Well, I have a  surprise for you." I give him a blank stare, and
he says, "No,  seriously... I have a surprise for you! Just a second."

He  walks over to his backpack, saying, "I knew you'd disappoint me with
the  sex toys so I took matters into my own hands. Um, have you ever heard of
Adam  & Eve Sex Toys in Boston? They provide discreet packaging for  mail
orders." I snicker, "Um, no, I can't say that I have." He chuckles too as  he
opens his backpack and pulls out what looks like a butt plug. He holds it
up,  saying, "A barely used, 'Naughty Silicone Butt Plug'. I go, "Barely used?
 Is it second hand?" He shakes his head, then chuckles before blushing a
little,  "No, I barely used it on myself a couple of times. Just trying it
out."  Then he pulls out a foot-long paddle. It's like an inch wide. Pony says,
 "Ta da, a 'Spank Me Paddle' that you really need to use on my ass  because
I've been quite naughty." I'm shaking my head again, but at the  same time
feeling a tightness in my groin remembering a few guys using sex toys  on
me. They really got me off, and then there were some  toys that weren't too
cool. I ask, "What else have you got in there?"  He asks, "You're not
pissed-off at me, are you?" I shake my head, "Not yet, no.  You have a right to your
own toys, I guess."

Pony  grins, "Good," and pulls out a roll of two-inch wide black tape of
some  kind. He says, "This is 'Pleasure Tape' and it acts like Velcro. You
wrap it around my wrists, for example, and I'm bound-up." I nod, thinking this
 is fairly harmless stuff. Especially since I have no intention  of being
rough with him in the first place. Doing it to someone doesn't get  me
excited. I get more turned-on the other way around. He holds up a  short black
sleeve with about a one-inch opening and a strap behind  it. All Daryl's sex
toys look cheap.  Nothing like the stuff Willie used to buy, or the toys Ryan
put on me that time  in his dorm. Pony goes, "This I've tried on too. A firm
dick goes in the  sleeve with the strap tied behind your nuts. It's a
three-and-a-half-inch-long ribbed sleeve to slide your cock in, and then  you
fuck somebody while wearing it." I'm like, "What's it supposed to  do for
you?" He says, "No, I don't wear it. You put it on before fucking me. It  helps
keep you hard, and see these ribs on the outside of the sleeve. Hee hee,
they might feel good up my ass." I go, "Uh huh, no dildo though?" He shrugs,
"No, I'm afraid my roommate might spot that. Tom isn't even a tiny bit gay
so he  probably wouldn't know what the rest of this shit is, and anyway these
are small  items and easy to hide. Um, except the paddle," and he whacks
the  palm of his hand with it. His eyes get big as he laughs, then says,
"Jesus, that  hurt! Go easy on me with this fucking paddle, okay?" I nod,
mumbling, "Okay,"  not sure I'm even going to smack him with it.

I'm  calmly looking at Daryl, so he grins shrugging, and I ask, "Is that
it? No  more toys?" He says, "Yeah, that's all I bought. I spent fifty bucks
online  for these babies a week ago. The package came yesterday. Fast, huh?"

I nod,  then ask, "You want me to use these toys with you, is that it?" He
goes, "Yeah,  let's try  it," I go, "Okay, I'm game. They look harmless
enough, but you say 'stop'  at any point, and I'll stop whatever we're doing.

Let's go to my bedroom."  Walking down the hall he says, "It kinda takes the,
um, the uncertainty out of  it if I know you'll stop whenever I say, "stop'."

I go, "I'm not the 'master'  dominant type, Daryl. Fuck, you're one of only
four guys I've ever  'topped' in my life, and the other three only on a
very rare occasions. I'm  basically a bottom like you.

In my  bedroom he drops his pants. He never put his shirt back on after the
 haircut so he's almost naked already. I go, "You look different with this
haircut. A preppy hoodie-boy." He goes, "Fuck the haircut, don't you like
being  the 'top' for me?" I go, "Sure I do," and he goes, "You're too easy.

Ha ha,  I was prepared to make-out with you if  I had to, you know... to get
you using these toys. I expected you to  object." I shake my head, smiling,
"I'll be okay. I'll survive somehow without  making-out with you, Daryl. I'm
good, no problem." He leans over and kisses me  on the lips like you might
kiss your sister before she flies off to get married  or something. A
brotherly kiss. I say, "Oh man, that was a thrill for me,  Daryl. Thank you." He
goes, "You're always laughing at me." I'm like, "No  I'm not. You're too
sensitive." He goes, "I'm too sensitive?! What about you?"  Ignoring that
absurdity, I pick up the paddle, asking, "What do  you want me to start with? How
about this narrow paddle?"

Daryl  takes the paddle from my fingers and smacks the palm of his hand
again, saying,  "Ow!" Then, "How about putting the butt plug up my ass and then
paddle the shit  out of me." He's so serious I have to laugh, then quickly
say, "I'm not  laughing at you, per se, Daryl." He goes, "Call me 'Pony' fer
chrissakes! That's  what my buddies call me." I go, "I'll try to remember
that, Daryl." He laughs,  "Hey, you're getting pretty good at being a prick."

I'm like, "Enough of  this chit-chat. Take everything off," and as he takes
his underwear,  sneakers, and socks off as I'm getting Rob's tube of
lubricant. Picking up the  butt plug, if the truth  be known I'd like  Pony to
stick this up my ass.

He's  naked and I'm like, "Jesus, nice body, Pony!" He holds out his penis,
"My dick's  too small, don't ya think?" I shake my head, "Nope, it's the
perfect size.  I told you that before." He goes, "If my dick is perfect, then
what's  with your dick? I mean you and I are the same size and yet your
dick is bigger and longer." I mutter, "My dick is freakishly oversized, so you
can't go by that," and he laughs, adding, "You're freakishly nuts." Putting
 lubricant on the butt plug, I go, "Bend over, Pony, and we'll see how this
feels  going up your ass with me twisting it in." He grins, mumbling, "Oh
boy. Isn't this fun? Goofing around with sex toys I mean." I'm like, "Well,
if you consider perversion fun, I suppose so." He bends forward, his hands
on  his knees, his head looking back at me. It makes me chuckle, so  Daryl
chuckles  too, then mutters, "Put the thing in already." With one hand on
Daryl's back, I  twist the butt plug in past his spinster and watch his
shoulders shudder  the same way mine do at times. Twist, twist, twist with Daryl
going, "Umm, ummm,  mmmm." One last push and the plug, all three-plus-inches
of it is  snugly up his ass. With his back arching, Daryl grunts, "That feels
good."  He straightens-up and take a couple of steps making a face and
pulling on his  cock, saying, "I jerked-off with that thing up my ass last night
when Tom was  taking a shower." I mumble, "Then what do you need me for?"

He chuckles, "It's a  hundred times sexier and more fun doing it with you."

He walks around the room  grinning and making a face like he's in ecstasy. I
can't help but  laugh.

It's  sick, but kinda funny too. Daryl says, "I'm getting a boner from this
fucking  plug. It's rubbing my prostate with every step." I plop down in
the desk chair,  muttering, "Let me know when you want a spanking." He does a
couple of deep knee  bends and we both burst out laughing. "You've found
your boyfriend at last,  and it's that cheap butt plug, which, by the way,
isn't very big as far as  butt plugs go." He says, "I wanted to work my way up
to the bigger ones." I'm  like, "Uh huh." He reaches back and pokes at the
plug, then says, "Okay, I'm  getting aroused. See, I don't need any girlie
making-out to get me  turned-on," then he brushes his fingers at the back of
his neck, muttering,  "These damn hair clippings are itching." What a fucking
character. I go, "It's  damn lucky for you you're cute or I wouldn't put up
with this goofiness." He  says, "I wish you had a full length mirror. I'd
like to see what the plug looks  like up my ass." I go, "Open that closet
door. There's a mirror on the back  of the door, but it's not an X-ray mirror
so you won't be able to see the plug up your ass." He opens the door,
mumbling,  "You know what I meant." His back to the door and his head turned, he
goes, "I  should have bought the red plug." I stand up and take the paddle off
the desk,  saying, "This activity is more suitable for middle school kids."

He  murmurs, "I didn't have the balls to experiment with this shit back
then."

Lightly  smacking the palm of my hand with the paddle, I'm like, "Ready for
your  paddling?" He nods, "Oh yeah, but I'll probably cum." I go, "In that
case let's  go in the bathroom. You can clean your spunk off the tile floor
easier than off  the carpet." He says, "I think you better take the plug out
first though,  okay?" I go, "You take it out." Reaching back, looking at
his backside in the  mirror again, Pony twists and pulls it out, exclaiming,
"Ooooh, fucccck!"  Then chuckling, he goes, "I've got half-a-woody already."

Looking at the sleeve,  I go, "Let's put this sleeve on your dick." He goes,
"That's supposed to go on  your dick." Shaking my head, I go, "Nah, we'll
put it on yours," and he shrugs,  "Okay, but I've already tried it on, and
you haven't." I'm like, "Screw that!  These are your toys, not mine." He's
holding the butt plug he just took out of  his ass so I grab some tissues and
say, "Drop that thing in these  tissues I'm holding." He does, and I drop the
plug and the tissues in his  backpack. He goes, "Hey!" and I'm like, "What
else was I supposed to do with  it?"

Then I  spot the so-called pleasure tape, and say, "Let me tie you up
first." Pony goes,  "Good idea!" He holds his wrists together and I wrap the tape
around a few  times. It is like Velcro; each turn adhering to the previous
one. I'm  like, "Do I tear it now, or what?" He shrugs as I try ripping the
tape, then get  scissors off the desk and cut through it, asking, "Can you
get your  hands free?" He tries, then giggles, "Fuck no, I'm your captive."

Picking up the cock sleeve, I'm like, "Do you want this on?" He shrugs,
"Yeah, why not?" I pick up his dick and he goes, "Ouuuu," your fingers feel
good." His dick is semi-hard, like he said, so I push it into the sleeve and
he  taps his feet, mumbling, "I'm gonna cum." I stop, "You cum easier than
anyone I've ever met." He goes, "I'm very sexual." Nodding, I finish sliding
the  sleeve on his dick, then stretch the strap back tightly behind his nuts
and  his body gets stiff. I half expect him to cum, but he doesn't. His
cock gets  hard though, as he mutters, "That thing's tight but feels awesome."

We both  watch as his cock becomes a hard boner stretching slightly past his
 normal five inches. With his boner sticking straight out, the head at
least  two-inches past the end of the sleeve, a clear tiny bubble of precum
forms  at his piss slit. He goes, "I told you I'm a very sexual guy. I go, "Uh
huh,"  and, bringing the paddle and tape, I pull him into the bathroom,
saying, "Your asshole really looks opened-up by the butt plug." He fakes  being
alarmed, "Oh no! You're not going to take advance of me,  are you?" I go,
"Probably, yeah."

In the  bathroom, I say, "Reach your hands down toward your ankles," and
when he does I  wrap a few loops of tape in between his wrists and then around
his ankles.  He goes, "What the fuck? My boner is poking my chest and I'm
gonna fall  over head first." I mutter, "Not if you don't move." He says,
"Stop! Undo  that tape," so I undo it, muttering, "You big baby," and he
straightens up,  saying, "Wow! Good to see that you 'stop' when I say so. I can
trust  you." Nodding, I go, "Over there. This will be better," and I wrap the
tape I  had around his ankles around the doorknob. He's bent over a  little
with his hands ties to the doorknob. "There, now you're in  a good spanking
position, you naughty boy." Pony says, "Oooh, this is  perfect. My boner
feels so fucking good." Trying not to laugh, I mutter,  "You sick fuck! Now
you're gonna get it," and whack his ass with the paddle. Oh  my God, he yelps
arching his back and pulling at the tape around the bathroom  doorknob, as I
whack him again. Pony's yells "Stop! STOP!" I stop, asking,  "Two whacks?
That's it?" Then I watch a welt puff up on his  pale buttocks looking harshly
red. He goes, "Get me off this  fucking doorknob. No more paddling." I want
to make fun of him, but  the second welt is forming, crisscrossing the first
one. Holy shit! I undo the  tape from the doorknob and then from around his
wrists. He reaches back  gently touching the welts, saying, "What the
fuck's wrong with you?" I go,  "What? What's wrong with me? It was your fucked-up
idea, not mine." He's  hurting, mumbling, "I know. I'm sorry for yelling at
you, but oh man that really  hurts." Incongruously, his boner is still as
hard as ever, sticking straight out  like before... pain or no pain.

Looking  in the medicine chest over the bathroom sink I find Rob's tube of
Arnica  Gel. He used it for a painful bruise when he got hit in the arm with
a fast  ball last year. I read on the tube where it claims to reduce pain
from a  number of injuries. I say, "Wasn't there a warning with that paddle?"

He  mutters, "I don't know. I didn't read the little instruction pamphlet
that came  with it. A paddle is used for paddling; so what else would the
instructions tell  me?" Staying behind him, I'm gently rubbing the gel on the
welts, mumbling,  "The instructions probably had a warning, 'Do not use on a
pussy-boy'. He  laughs, muttering, "You prick," then, "Oh, dude, that shit
is working already.  Oooh, put more on, please." I coat his left butt cheek
with the gel, then screw  the lid back on and put the tube back in the
medicine cabinet, saying, "You  really should leave the sex toys to professionals,
Pony." he goes, "You  misused that paddle," and I go, "I hardly moved my
hand. That thing's like a  blackjack, fer chrissakes!" I feel bad although I
don't have any reason to. He  asked for it. I guess I did swing the thing
like it was a ping pong  paddle, my arm behind me as I swung it forward with a
little speed.

He  unties the strap behind his balls and pulls the cock-sleeve off his
dick.  His boner quickly goes soft. Washing my hands, I'm like, "Have you had
enough fun with the sex toys yet?" He's in the bedroom now looking at his
ass in the mirror, saying, "Yeah, I guess. Talk about a disappointment
though."  Walking into the bedroom drying my hands, I go, "You should keep that
paddle  under your bed in case of intruders. It's better than a gun." Pony
grins, "That  fucking gel really worked, Dylan. Look at my ass; the welts are
going down  already." I nod, "Good. I'm sorry you got hurt, but don't blame
me,  it..." and he finishes my sentence, "It was my idea." I go, "Well, it
was,"  and he says, "I know, and I'm sorry for yelling at you... like I
already fucking told you!" I go, "Where's that paddle? You need a couple more
whacks." He chuckles, then says, "Maybe making-out is better than sex  toys
after all." I toss him his boxer shorts, saying, "Put  your underwear on and
let's have  a beer and start over." He puts on the shorts, saying, "You're
really the nicest  guy, Dylan. Seriously." He's looking at himself in the
mirror again, mumbling,  "Nice haircut too. Gee, maybe I'll hire a hit-man and
eliminate your boyfriend  so we can be boyfriends. You can cook, cut hair,
and you know  medical stuff, plus you fuck good. Damn, all in one package
too."

I'm in  the kitchen, I'm yelling, 'What are you mumbling about?" I actually
did  hear him, and I'm kinda flattered. Pony walks into the living room as
I'm  snapping the tab on a can of Coors beer, saying, "You probably would
prefer a  Coke, huh?" He nods, "Yes, please. I don't like beer." After giving
him a Coke  we stand next to the sliding glass door to the balcony. It's
opened about six  inches so we can exhale smoke as we share a cigarette. I ask,
"You okay now,  Daryl?" He nods, "Yeah, thanks to you. Who knew that paddle
could inflict such  damage?" I exhale a drag from the cigarette and watch
it being sucked out  the door along with the heat from the room. "Well, I
shouldn't  have swung the paddle like it was a ping pong paddle. A ping pong
paddle  spreads out the area it hits, but that narrow paddle hit with impact
on a strip  of skin, plus it has some flex to it." He nods, "Yeah, I knew it
was something  you did wrong." We laugh as I'm muttering, "Asshole, it's
your  paddle."

We  finish the smoke and Pony flicks the butt over the balcony railing,
then I close  the sliding door. Pony says, "Let me have a swig of that beer." I
pass him  the can and he makes a face after taking a swallow, then says, "I
did that  so your mouth wouldn't taste like beer. The swallow of beer I had
will  counteract that." I go, "So you want to make-out, is that it?" He
goes, "Yeah, to make-up for bringing these fucking toys. You're right; I
should  play with these things by myself." I go, "You'll probably  hurt yourself.

Then who's going to take care of you?" He says, "I'll call  you, that's
who," and he kisses my mouth quickly. I say, "No, Pony, we do it  like this."

Holding his head between my hands, I give him a ten second kiss with  my
tongue lightly sliding on his. He says, "That didn't totally suck, I  guess." We
do another kiss which he breaks off after two seconds, saying, "No,  no it
still doesn't seem right to me. I'd much rather suck your  cock." Now I know
how Frankie felt when Robby told her he was revolted by her  kiss. Ha ha!
No, not really. I say, "Sure, Pony, different strokes and all  that."

Just  inside the sliding door, he drops to this knees as I'm dropping my
jeans. I  run my fingers through his fairly short hair, slightly stiff from
the dried gel,  while he licks and sucks my pecker. I like playing the 'top'
role with Daryl,  and it has something to do with him liking the 'bottom'
role so much. It's  mutually arousing, and that's important to me. Maybe I'm
learning something.  Damn, his lips and tongue, and yes even his teeth, feels
good on my dick. I'll  try to be the tough dominant type like he fantasizes
about, so I grab a  fistful of his hair pulling his head away from my
semi-hard cock, saying,  "Get on your hands and knees, boy!" He looks startled for
a second, then nods  his head and scrambles around on his hands and knees
with his ass towards me. I  pull his boxer shorts completely down to where
his knees meet the floor,  thinking, 'Damn, I can't spank his ass after the
two paddles'. Instead I  try sounding dominant, "Push that pussy of yours up,"

he exaggeratedly  lifts his ass as he makes an audible, "Gulp," sound. Of
submissiveness? Hee  hee, that's me, the dominant prick.

Gripping  his hips, I use my foot to kick his knees wider apart and then
rub my  cock up and down his ass crack. There's quite a lot of lubricant in
and around  his asshole from the butt plug, so I don't need to add more.

Leaning down I  get my hand between his legs and grab his nut sack. He goes,
"Ooooh!" While  squeezing his balls a little, I guide the head of my cock to his
asshole,  then plug it in past his sphincter. He again moans, "Ooooh," and
his  shoulders shudder. I grin thinking how this is kinda turning me on, so
I  squeeze his balls a little harder while pushing my not-quite-hard cock up
his  ass two more inches  or so. Pony's whole body shudders now, as he
moans, "I'm gonna cum." I  stop everything, but still hold onto his nuts. Pony's
taking deep  breaths for ten seconds, then murmurs, "Go ahead, Dylan,
squeeze my nuts  harder and fuck me." I give his nuts a hard squeeze and push my
boner all  the way up until I'm tight against his firm buttocks. My cock is
definitely hard now! Humping against his buttocks and squeezing  his nuts
makes Pony groan, "Aaaah, oooh..." as his body trembles. I can  easily see
myself in Pony's place, but mostly I feel the power of being a  dominant
'top'. It's so different from being the 'bottom boy', and almost as  arousing. A
final hard squeeze of his nuts, then I let go and hold onto his  hips with
both hand and start driving my boner back and forth in his ass,  gritting my
teeth at the incredible sensations coming off my hard  penis.

"Slapslapslapslap," sounds for two minutes with Pony moaning and humping  his ass back
into my thrusting.

"Slapslapslapslap,"  with my eyes closed to better concentrate on the
intense sexual  pleasure coming off my hard boner. By now I'm not even thinking
about  who I'm fucking, instead I'm concentrating on the pressure of his
tight  rectum up  and down the shaft of my hard cock and the tightness
constantly  stimulating nerve endings creating sexual pleasure unmatched  by anything
else in this world except; well, except when I'm the  'bottom'. There's
especially intense pleasure coming off the pulsating  hard head of my boner as
it vibrates and swells getting ready to  launch the churning cum in my nuts.

The ass I'm fucking clutches  tightly at my hard-as-stone boner making me
moan with the pleasure of  it all. I can't stop the moans; they're
involuntary and they intensify the  thrill of impending climax that's quickly
overtaking my mind and  body even as the ass I'm fucking humps and humps back at my
thrusting. I  hear the long moan from Pony now as he lifts his hands off the
floor and  his orgasm erupts even as cum explodes from the head of my cock
filling his bowels. Lightning is going off behind my eyes.  Someone squeals
again as I'm humping against his buttock, humping with  more cum streaming
from the piss slit of the swollen head of my  boned-up cock. Sizzling
sensations making my cock head throb with pleasure, then  another hump against
Pony's buttocks and another streak of cum  with unimaginable sensations
sparking all over my body. I gasps, and go,  "Oooh, ummm," as reality begins
returning to my overloaded brain and I shudder  at a last tightening of muscles
around my groin squeezing out another  shot of creamy semen.

Shaking  a little, I open my eyes and everything rushes back into my brain.

Daryl's  forehead is resting down on his arms that are against the floor.

All around his asshole is shiny cum that I dragged out after the  initial
orgasmic flood of cum up his ass. I'm holding onto his hips, basically
holding his ass up. Letting go of him, his ass drops and my cock pulls out,
sloppy with cum. I see the white impressions my fingers made on Pony's
pinkish-white skin from where I was gripping his hips. I'm a little dizzy,  then
realize this was my first orgasm in five days. No wonder it was like a
firecracker exploding in my groin. Pony rolls over on his side, looking up  at me
and smiling. "Awesome fuck, Dylan. You really surprised me by crushing my
nuts like that. I shot off a short precum blast when you squeezed hard. It was
like a mini climax. That was so awesome! And then later it  was the hardest
I've ever cum in my life." I nod, taking a few more deep  breaths. Then,
holding my hand down, Pony takes it and I help him up, then hug  him for
sharing that sex with me, and it occurs to me how fond I've become of  him. I
mumble, "I'd kiss you except I don't want to see you throwing up in  here." He
hugs back, then kisses my lips quickly, saying, "It's not as  disgusting as
it used to be." I laugh, then mutter, "How flattering." We let go  of each
other and I pull up my pants but don't button them or pull up the  zipper.

We're still just inside the sliding glass balcony door and we need  to clean
up a little. Well, Pony needs to clean-up a lot. His orgasm  is drooling down
the glass sliding door. Wow, lots of cum on that  door.

Nodding  my head at the hall, we walk together to the bathroom. I help
clean his ass,  saying, "We both had quick orgasms because it's been a while
since our last  sex." He goes, "Hell, I climaxed before you did." Damn, I was
so deeply  into myself I missed his climax, and I like watching him cum. His
cock looks  like it's going to crack it gets so hard. Let this be a lesson
to me: don't go  five days between climaxes. After we get as cleaned-up as we
 can without showering, Pony uses Windex and paper towels to clean  the
sliding glass door, asking, "When's your boyfriend coming  back?" I say,
"Tomorrow, before lunch," and he goes, "You don't suppose I could  spend the
night, do you? With you, I mean." Huh, that sounds really  inviting, but I can't
do that to Rob. Not in our bed. I say, "Not  here, Daryl, but how about I
spend the night in your dorm room?" He shakes  his head, "Nah, Tom's back,
remember? Why can't I stay the night here?"  Shrugging, I mutter, "It wouldn't
be right. Rob and I are in love and while  some buddy sex is okay, I don't
feel right doing it in Rob's and my  bed."

What  the fuck is wrong with me? Minor details like that never used to
bother me.  What's the big deal anyway? I'll change the linens. He goes, "Well,
can we  have dinner together at least, and do it again later?" I go,
"Absolutely, my  favorite side-sex buddy." He goes, "I'm your favorite? Are you
saying there  are others?" Huh! I go, "Nope, you're it, Pony," and he goes,
"Good." Putting my  arm across his shoulders, I say, "Ya know what I'm going to
do? I'm taking you  out to dinner tonight. My treat." He says, "Oh boy!
I'll pretend I'm your  boyfriend." As I put the Windex away, I mutter, "Let's
not get carried away  here." Chuckling at Pony's expression, I text Chubby
that I need to take a  rain-check on dinner in the dining hall tonight, and
I'll park the  Jeep near his dorm tomorrow around noon.

Coats  on, going down the steps to the parking lot, Pony asks, "Where we
gonna have  dinner?" I say, "First we'll have a few pops at Tracy's, then
we'll eat at a  bar/restaurant I know." He goes, "Oh goodie, I'll have a shot of
whiskey."  Whatever, then he goes, "Hey, have you ever fucked in the
shower? I've  often thought that'd be sexy. Or in a bathtub full of water." I go,
"What  an unusual couple of ideas...."

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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