Date: Fri, 31 Mar 2017 22:59:03 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE  Chapter  36

DYLAN'S  JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  36


by  Donny Mumford


Friday  night a group of us are at Fuddruckers having dinner: Rob and me,
Chubby, John Beverly, Pony, Golden and Tom Higgins. We're celebrating the
end of  review-week. Rob, Golden, and I got a head start on that  by consuming
a number of beers this afternoon while playing blackjack  at the apartment,
and after that we had a few more beers in Rolf's  bar. None of us got
drunk, although we were all a little 'high'. That  was a few hours ago though, so
now we're having a beer with dinner  hoping this beer will provide our
systems with just enough alcohol to  counteract the minor hangover that's been
creeping in on us from those  earlier beers. And yes, college students drink
too much. Everybody knows  that, but it's sort of a required elective, and I
know, required  elective is an oxymoron.

After a  good time in Fuddruckers we're off to the movies for some laughs
that  will hopefully be provided compliments of the latest Melissa McCarthy
film  currently playing at the Methuen Multiplex. Outside the multiplex, as
planned, we hook-up with Danny Monday and his roommate Phil Cathings, who
are both extremely inebriated. We all go inside and purchase tickets,  then
Rob and I buy outrageously over-priced popcorn and large Cokes. Going  to the
movies is not a cheap night out. Including the price  of our ticket,
popcorn, and Coke we've each spent $34.00 to see  an hour and forty-minute movie.

Date night at the movies is twice as bad  obviously. Then after the movie
you still have most of the 'date' to  do stuff with before any sex can be
contemplated, which is usually the  underlying reason for the 'date' in the
first place. So you buy your date  some drinks at a bar and it's... ka-ching,
ka-ching, ka-ching! That's not our  problem however because we're on a boys'
night out, and everyone  pays their own way.

Watching  the two drunks, Danny and Phil, try to figure out how the
self-serve  soda machine works, Rob says, "What would you guess the chances are  of
Danny and Phil making it all the way through the movie?" I go, "Nil, but
c'mon, let's get  to our seats; I want a seat on the aisle, but don't get
one." When  we're in our seats I'm glancing at the strangers around us
expecting some of  these people to be talking during the movie; talking as if they
were  in their living room at home. Then there'll be the inevitably, "Shhh!"
from  annoyed individuals sitting closest to the offenders and that will  be
followed by back-and-forth  name-calling and threats, and then there's the
occasional fist fight. Yeah,  a nice relaxing time at the movies.

During  the coming-attractions Chubby and John Beverly are leaning over to
whisper  with a group of girls sitting in front of them. That's a shocker!
Rob,  sitting on my right, is talking baseball with Golden; another shocker.

 Pony, who's on my left, leans  over and mischievously whispers, "Do you
think Rob would mind if I hold  your hand during the movie?" I gotta laugh at
Daryl, then the movie starts and  foul-mouthed, Melissa, makes everyone
laugh.

Surprisingly  the drunks, Danny and Phil, are no problem as they both fell
asleep during  the coming attractions. The large bag of popcorn Phil paid
$7.50 for has  spilled all over his lap. Tom Higgins, sitting next to him, is
helping himself  to the spilled popcorn, so it's not like a total waste. As
the talking,  'Shhh-ing', and bickering is going on around me, I conclude
that the best  time to go to the movies is in the afternoon. It's cheaper, for
one thing, but  more importantly there's a lot less people at the movies in
the afternoon  because most are at work or school. This movie is very funny
although with  an implausible plot to a degree that boggles the mind.  Then
there's Daryl, who will laugh at  anything, so of course he's laughing his
nuts off at some funny shit going on in  the movie and his laughter is
contagious making the silliness seem funnier than  it is. By the end of the movie
I'm exhausted from laughing and it's a  relief walking outside to catch my
breath.

College  guys like us are basically pricks to our friends, but in harmless
ways,  like none of us waking Danny or Phil when the movie's over. Daryl and
Tom can't  get served in bars so they hook-up with someone Tom's knows for
a ride back to  the campus. Golden's only nineteen, but he has primo fake ID
so he'll come with  us. We're huddled outside the theater discussing what
bar to go  to when Danny and Phil stagger out. They're kind of embarrassed
about  being awakened by the ushers. To cover that up they're laughing at
themselves pretending it's all cool, then asking if we'd tell them about  the
movie they paid to see, but slept through. There's popcorn still sticking to
Phil's lap, primarily up and down his zipper, which none of us mention to
him,  but we all get a good snicker out of it. After some haggling we decide
to  do what Rob and I intended doing in the first place, which is go to the
bar  in Haverhill: 'Butch's Sports Bar and Eats' where there's pool tables
and  a shuffle board to play while we're drinking. This is the bar where I
met Markie.

Even  after sleeping through the movie, Danny and Phil are still hammered
so they  aren't going with us. A rare common-sense decision for both of them.

Chub's  driving the Jeep and Robby the pickup. I'm with Rob and during the
drive to  the bar I'm thinking about Markie. Mostly I'm surprised he and I
never did more  than kiss. We had a chance at the Halloween party a couple of
months ago,  but the closest I came to having sex with him was in a dream
one night  some weeks ago. A dream that seemed real, but a dream nonetheless.

 Mark's been to a couple of our Friday poker games too, so maybe we're
both waiting for the other to suggest sex. When I was younger my side-sex
opportunities seemed to happen on their own. Nowadays when a rare  side-sex
opportunity presents itself it's as likely as not to turns into a  disaster like
last weekend with the baby-faced gorilla. That wouldn't be  the case with
Mark though, and he may very well be at the bar tonight. I  mean, considering
he lives in Haverhill not far from Butch's bar, but  so what if he is
there. I'm not even close to being as recklessly prolific with  side-sex as I
once was, and I'm with Rob and the other guys tonight so how  the hell could I
slip in a side-sex experience? Ahh, the good old days  though!
Inside  the bar I see Markie isn't here tonight, so that's that. We all
show  our ID and order bottles of Bud, with Golden buying the first round.

There's a  pool table available that Rob plugs some quarters. Since there's five
of us  I volunteer to sit out the first game. It's Chubby and John Beverly
against the  baseball players, Rob and Golden. While they're shooting pool,
I subtly  check-out the other patrons, concluding there are no guys of
interest in  this establishment. I mean, there are college-age guys here, but
none are cute or sexy enough to interest me. There's one guy who couldn't
possibly be twenty-one, plus he's a bag of bones. Nothing of interest so  I'm
now on a bar stool facing away from the bar, my elbows back on the bar,
watching the guys shoot pool. There are no pool sharks among us, so the game is
equal talent-wise, but not competitiveness-wise. The baseball players are
much  more competitive about winning while Chub and John Beverly who are
mostly  interested in laughs and breaking each other's balls at anyone's
miscues...  no pun intended. Chubby has such a funny way about him, plus the way he
says  things... I can't help but laugh.

Glancing  at the other pool table I see guys in their late twenties who are
more  skillful and more serious about shooting pool than my guys, but the
older guys  don't appear to be having any fun. They don't seem to even like
each other and  then I realize they're playing for twenty-dollars a game, and
they're  contentious about it. What I do not need tonight is a fight
breaking out in my  vicinity with cue sticks used as clubs. Then, even though they
were goofing  around a lot, Chub and John Beverly win the game. Rob and
Golden flip a  coin to see who sits-out so I can take their place, but I'm in
the mood for  watching, so I say, "Why don't you play best out of three
games. Then we'll  switch." They go to it while I buy a round of beers for
everyone. With my new  beer I settle in to watch both tables when someone taps me
on the shoulder.  Turning I see the bag-of-bones boy who doesn't look old
enough to be in a  bar. He goes, "Yo, ya wanna be my pool partner and
challenge the winners?"  I noticed this guy when I was perusing the place earlier.

He was sitting with a  tough-looking guy at the far end of the bar. I'm like,
"Doesn't your buddy shoot  pool?" He looks down at the other end of the bar
where he was sitting, then back  at me, saying, "Nah, and anyway Chester's
leaving in a couple of  minutes. You live around here?" I go, "I'm a
Merrimack student now, but I  live in Framingham, which is about an hour from
here." He gets up on the bar  stool next to me, "Yeah, I know where Framingham
is, and I figured you  were a Merrimack student."
This  kid is very skinny; even his face has sunken cheeks. He has a ragged
burr  haircut of red hair and he's wearing a too-small plain white t-shirt
that further emphasizes how thin he is. His skinny freckled arm is on  the
bar, and the hand holding a bottle of Coors beer looks too big to go  with
his thin wrist. The baggy jeans he's wearing are below his hips  so far that
three inches of boxer shorts was visible when he slid onto the  stool. He's a
freckled-face guy with a prominent nose and a wide mouth. His  top teeth
have a space between everyone I  can see. I ask, "Isn't it a bit cold outside
for t-shirts?" He looks  down at his t-shirt, then back at me, saying, "Not
really, no." I  shrug, and he says, "How about being my pool partner?" I
make a lame gesture at  my guys, like, 'I'm with them.' and he misunderstands,
saying, "Yeah,  we'll challenge the winners at that table. The other guys
are playing for money.  By the way, are you any good at pool?" Shaking my
head, I go, "Nah, I'm waiting  for my friends to finish, then they'll flip a
coin to see who sits out and  watches. Ya know... like I'm doing now."
This  guy's got at least one good thing going for him: he has beautiful
bright blue eyes that he's using right now to stare at me, then he  goes, "You
don't want to be my pool partner? There'd be three teams if you and I  were
partners." There's something about him that makes me feel sorry for him, so
 I go, "Yeah, sure, you're right. Okay, I'll be your partner." He nods  his
head, then gets off the stool and puts a quarter on the edge of the pool
table. All four guys look at him, so he nods his head at me,  mumbling, "We
got the winners." Chubby's like, "You're partners with my bro?"  The guy
points at me, "I'm partners with him. Is he your brother?" Chubby looks  at me,
like... what the fuck? I shrug and Robby asks me, "You, um, okay  with this,
Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, we'll have three teams like my friend here  suggests."
Robby goes, "Sure, okay," and they go back to their game.

The kid  gets back on the stool, muttering, "Cool," then he calls to the
bartender,  "Jett! Two beers down here when you get a chance." I've barely
started  on my second beer, but the bartended goes, "Yeah, okay, Bones." Huh,
the  bartender's name is Jett and this kid's nickname, I suppose, is Bones" I
ask,  "Is bones your nickname or last name or...?" He goes, "Yeah, it's my
nickname.  Can ya guess why?" I shrug, not wanting to insult the kid, and he
goes, "It's  because I'm so skinny. I'm John Smith, by the way, and yes,
that's my  real name." We bump fists as I say my name, then ask, "Is Jett the
bartender's  nickname?" He grins a cute grin, "Nope, I swear to God that's
his real first  name. The name on his birth certificate. He's my cousin." I
go, "Oh, huh.  Um, no offense, but are you twenty-one, or is your cousin
doing you a solid?" He  smells the back of his hand, looking at me over the top
of it with those  incredible blue eyes, then he says, "Someone who looks as
young as you is  doubting that I'm twenty-one?" I go, "Yeah, I see what you
mean."  The bartender puts a bottle of Coors and a Bud in front of us,
saying,  "This round's on me, Johnny." Bones mumbles, "Thanks, man," and then
takes his  wallet out and shows me his driver's license. His picture on the
license is even  worse than what he looks like in person, but he is twenty-one,
 and on my birthday. I go, "Wait'll you see  this, Bones," and take out my
license. He looks at it, then goes, "Yo, we're  practically twins!" and he
high-fives me. His fingernails are dirty and there's  dirt in the creases of
his knuckles. He goes, "Do me a favor though, and  call me, John, okay? I
hate that nickname." I nod, "Sure."
Chubby  and John Beverly win the second game too, so John gets up and puts
quarters in  the table's coin slot asking Chubby, "Do you guys want the
challengers  to rack?" I do quick introductions, "Chubby this is John, John
Beverly  this is John Smith. Rob and Golden, meet John Smith, and yes, that's
his real  name." They all nod at each other and bump fists, as Chubby goes,
"So, how long ya been out of the concentration camp, John?" John laughs, "I
can't fucking put on weight, dude, and I eat everything." Chubby pats John's
 bony shoulder, smiling at him because he likes guys who can take a joke.

Chub tells us, "Yeah, challengers rack," so John does that; a nice tight
rack, and then John Beverly breaks. Standing now, I see that John Smith is
about an inch taller than me.

As we  each take our turns it's apparent that John Smith isn't any better
at pool  than I am, which really surprises me because I assumed he'd be good.

I  mean, why would he ask a total stranger to be his partner if he wasn't
any  good at pool himself? Rob and Golden have already challenged the winner
of  our game, which we quickly lose when John sinks the eight ball
accidentally. It ricocheted in the pocket when he tried sinking the  'one' ball. He
goes, "Goddammit!  Sorry, Dylan!" Then he buys  Chubby and John Beverly
beers. They go, "Jesus, dude! Thanks," and John Smith  goes, "Oh, I assumed we
were playing for beers." John Beverly says to Robby,  "Yeah, we are, and you
guys owe us a beer from the last game."
They  argue about that as John and I take our seats at the bar again. I'm
just  starting on the beer the bartended brought for us when John says, "I
see the  Marlboro box in your top pocket. Wanna grab a smoke?" I go, "Nah,
it's too cold  outside. Maybe later I'll brave the cold to satisfying my
craving for nicotine."  He says, "C'mon, we can smoke in the storage room." I'm
like, "Really? Inside?"  He nods his head, so I tell Rob. "We're gonna grab a
smoke." He does a little  wave with his finger acknowledging he heard me,
then goes back to arguing about  who owes who a beer. They haven't even put
money in for the next game yet. John  pulls on my arm, "C'mon," and I follow
him down a short hall, past the  lavatory and through a door marked,
'PRIVATE".

We sit  on cases of liquor bottles and light cigarettes. Both of us smoke
Marlboro;  mine are Marlboro Lights while John smokes full-strength Marlboro
in the  red box. I ask, "Do you go to school?" and he says, "Nope, I'm a
mechanic.  After high school I went to Lincoln Tech and graduated with a full
ASE  certification. I work as a mechanic at the Haverhill Toyota
dealership." That explains the grease in his knuckles I guess. He takes a drag  off his
cigarette, then stares into my eyes, asking, "Have you ever messed  around
with another guy, Dylan? When you were a teen maybe." That totally
unexpected question catches me so completely off guards, I stutter, "What?  You, um,
are you, you mean. What do you mean?" He has the cigarette between  his
lips squinting one eye closed because of the smoke drifting up past it.  He
stands, motioning for me to get up. In almost a trance I stand and he goes,  "I
only top," as he unbuttons his jeans that are so low he could have just
pushed then down. I go, "No, what, um..." He asks, "Do you have a condom?" I'm
 speechless, just gawking at this unattractive young-looking kid and his
dirty  fingernails. He goes, "No condom, huh?" and he starts going through his
 pants pockets.  The cigarette between his lips bounces when he talks.

He  finds a condom, then down come his boxer shorts and there's this
normal-size  penis between his legs. It's about as long as Daryl's, meaning a good
five  inches and maybe fatter than Daryl's but not as fat as Rob's. He
looks at me  while exhaling smoke through his nose, the cigarette still dangling
between his  lips. He says, "Don't leave me hanging here." I'm thinking
it's not  confidence so much as cluelessness on John's part. Who the fuck does
this?  I hesitate and he goes, "I'll help you," then he mutters," Jesus, I
didn't  figure you for being shy," and he unbuttons my jeans as I stand here
dumbfounded.  Considering my unpleasant experience last week at that
party, what are the odds I'd find myself in another compromising position  so
soon? Duh! But do I do anything about it? No! I stand here as John drops my
pants and gets my cock in his hand looking at me, saying with a smile, "Hello!
 Ground-control to Major Tom." I look startled so he says, "Now you take my
dick  and stroke it like I'm doing with your dick. Connect the dots, dude.

Jeez!"  He begins stroking my cock while taking the cigarette from his lips
and dropping  it on the cement floor. I realize I have a cigarette between
my fingers so  I drop it too.

He  says, "You shave your pubic hairs, huh? That's cool," then he smiles
and picks  up my right hand to place it against his limp cock. He does have a
cute  grin and his teeth are very white. Still grinning he nods at his cock
so I get  my fist around it and we stroke, stroke, stroke each other's
penis. As he  strokes mine he slowly drops his head forward until our foreheads
are touching,  and he murmurs, "You smell sexy-good." Since my initial
stuttering  attempt at talking, I haven't said anything. It's so strange the way
John is  doing all this. I simply can't imagine why he'd assume I'm gay
unless  he knows Markie, and Markie described me. A pleasant kind of trance is
drifting over me so I don't feel like talking and maybe asking  him about
Markie. Now he's got one hand in the long hair on top of my head  pulling
gently... maybe to make sure I don't go anywhere as  we continue to stroke,
stroke, stroke each other's cock. His cock begins  boning-up and he says quietly,
"Nice." He's bends over then, pulling his cock  from my hand, but still
holding onto mine. He gets the condom he'd  located a minute ago, and hands it
to me, then guides my cock to  his mouth and sucks it for thirty seconds
and, man oh man, does he  ever knows how to suck cock! He's pushed up my shirt
and his ragged  burr haircut tickles my shaved groin and belly. My fingers
run through his  uneven red hair as my cock quickly gets very hard. His hair,
 sticking straight up from his scalp, is soft and clean.

John  straightens up and takes the condom packet from me, murmuring, "Your
turn." I  stare into those beautiful blue eyes of his until he grins and
gets another  handful of my hair to gently pull my head down to his crotch.

Picking-up  his slightly firm cock I suck it into my mouth noticing his
prominent  personal scent which is a mixture of a body that hasn't showered
recently,  but isn't gross at all, plus a youthful boyish smell that's kind of
sexy.  His pubic hairs tickles my nose. The hairs are crinkly and a bright
shade of orange. I'm sucking on the head, then licking the shaft until  he cups
his hand under my chin and lifts my head pulling his firm  cock from my
mouth. It's fairly hard but not what I'd call a hard boner. He  murmurs, "This
will be good, Dylan. How do you want it?" I've drifted into a  trance even
though he's not being what you could call dominant. He's more  like our guide
during this sex we're having. This could be the  way he does everything, in
a very matter-of-fact manner. It's a bit  hypnotizing to me. He says, "You
don't have a particular choice, huh? Okay,  how about just bending over with
your hands on those two boxes of whiskey  bottles."
He's  rolling the condom on his cock, nodding his head at the boxes of
whiskey,  so I bend over with my hands on top of two boxes. An unexpected wheezy
 gasps comes out of my throat on its own as  I look at his condom-coated
boner thinking that it'll feel really good up my  ass. We've been in here for
only about two minutes by now  and it's a blur how everything happened so
quickly. John's hands  hold my hips as the head of his cock just barely
spreads the lips of  my asshole. I look down at his big right hand that's gripping
my  right hip. The dirty fingernails are partially digging into the skin,
and the grease in the crevasse of his knuckles is a dull black color, while
the rest of his hand is very clean and pale white. I'm sexually aroused by
his hypnotic mannerisms, I suppose, because he isn't being extra cool  and
not at all like some tough bad-ass guy; he's just being himself, which is
intriguing enough.

There's  no preliminary anything. John simply humps the head of his cock in
past my  sphincter and steadily puts pressure on it pushing it steadily up
my ass.  Not fast and not slow, just steady and it hurts a little, but
nothing  major. When it's all the way in he gives a  little extra hump,
murmuring, "Damn, this feels good. Nice ass, Dylan," and he  smacks it hard, "SMACK!"
I'm in my trance-like hypnotic state feeling  awfully good, but saying
nothing, which is probably why he asks, "Hey,  are you alright down there?" and
he leans his head to the side, looking at  the side of my head. I slowly
move my head to look at him, nodding and  managing to mumble, "Yeah, I'm good,
John," surprising myself by remembering his  name. He goes, "I locked the
door so if you're worried someone will drop in  on us, there's no need to.

And, I'll do you really fast so the guys  don't send out a search party for us.

You can relax and enjoy yourself, okay?"  This is so strange... he acts
like we've known each other for years.

With  his cock fully impaling me, he does a few more humps against my
buttock and  I feel his cock growing inside me. Boners are a product of sexual
arousal  causing the release of seminal fluids, mostly blood that floods the
organ which is what makes it hard. John's cock wasn't fully boned-up when it
 went up my ass, but now it feels really hard and a lot bigger. When he
pulls it back I know it's bigger, and not my imagination. It spreads the
walls of my rectum making my shoulders do their little shudder. The second  trip
up my ass is a little faster and accompanied by another slap on  my ass
with his hand. Then the third thrust is faster still, and  even harder with an
extra hump against my buttocks when it's all the way  in. John murmurs,
"Really nice ass, Dylan," and he gives my butt cheek another,  "Smack." I'm
significantly aroused by now, pushing my ass back at him  a little until he says
in a conversational tone of voice, "Don't do that,  okay? Hold your ass
steady for me. I'm gonna do all the work." Oh fuck, I  convince myself there
was a bit of authority in his voice and that  gets my cock to tighten-up
further. It's tightly up against my belly at the  moment with a drop of precum
drooling down the shaft.

He's  doing a version of the way I fucked Rob recently, and then Rob did it
the  same way for me this afternoon. It's a fairly hard hump up my ass with
that  extra thrust when it's all the way in making me grunt, "Umpth."  John
 adds a smack on my right butt cheek and it almost seems dominant to  me.

My shoulders do another little shudder as nerve endings around my anus,  and
especially my prostate gland begin vibrating nicely and it's  all feeling
really good. Deliberate hard thrusts and hold, then the extra  hump upward and
my, "Umpth." Yeah, this feels dominant to me and I've got  buzzing all
around my cock and balls now, plus the submissive trance sliding  over my mind
intensifies. A dozen deliberate thrusts with the extra hump at the  end has
me going up on my toes with each of the extra hard last thrusts. The ass
smacks are stinging now as John lets out a low moan, then says, "You're
dropping  your ass, Dylan. Keep it up for me!" Another half dozen hard deliberate
thrusts  gets a groan out of John, "Oooh, fuuuuck, yeah," and now he starts
doing steady,  quicker humping with his cock feeling much larger than it was
when  limp.

His  thrusting is consistently fast now and all the nerve endings in my ass
are  firing out tantalizing sensations. Oh yeah, this feels really good and
I  begin squirming and moaning quietly feeling deep sexual pleasure.

"Slapslapslapslap," with John putting both hands on my back pressing down as his
hips smoothly drive his cock back and forth in my ass until I could scream
at  how good it feels inside me. He's pressing my back with both hands so
hard  that my chest is now flat against the top of the box. Looking back at
his smoothly moving hips I can see part of his hairless thigh and butt cheek
and  both are bone white. It makes me shiver with pleasure watching his hips
moving  so smoothly with me feeling the results of that motion; his hard
boner sliding  tightly back and forth in my ass with every one-second move of
his hips. Oooh,  it's so fucking sexually satisfying!
Two  then three minutes and my orgasm comes flying up on me reaching the
tipping  point almost as soon as I sensed it approaching. My boner's sticking
straight  out now, barely moving in its tightness  as I'm humping my hips
trying not to squeal with cum pumping out in a  strong stream splattering
against the cardboard box that I'm basically  laying on. John's grunting and
pressing hard against my back squishing my  chest against the top of the box as
another streak of cum shoots from my boner  and I shake and shiver from the
sheer pleasure of orgasm. Then it fades  quickly and I realize I've lost
track of John. Blinking my eyes I realize he's  already pulled his cock out of
my ass. Gasping I straighten-up and see him  pulling the condom off with a
serious expression on his face. I still have a  lingering submissive sense,
although it disappears when he says, "I heard  someone rattle the door." I'm
like, "Shit," and he pats my shoulder, "No, don't  worry. Pull up your
pants."
With  our pants up John drops the condom in a trash barrel, then opens the
door  and looks out. With that cute grin he looks back at me and shrugs,
"Nobody's here." He walks out  and I follow him into the men's room. He goes,
"It could have been the wind.  When someone comes in the front door it
creates a wave of air against the  door we were behind." He's washing his hands
looking at me, smiling now, "That  was really good, Dylan. Thanks." I go,
"Jesus, you must think I'm dorky for  spacing-out like I did, but yeah, that
was a good fuck, John." He says, "Well  listen then, I have lunch here every
day between noon and one o'clock.  During the week, I mean. If you can get
yourself over here any day of  the week we can make it a regular thing. I'd
like that! Whaddaya think?" I think  this is the strangest encounter I've ever
stumbled into. I don't know how I feel  about his proposition, so I go,
"Yeah, I'll see what I can do," and he says,  "We'll alternate buying the
condoms though. Okay? No reason I should always need  to be the one who buys
them." Is he for real? I mutter, "Uh huh." After  this strange sexual encounter
he's worried about the cost of condoms? I  wash my hands, then we walk back
to our seats at the bar. The bar is  fairly crowded, but no one says
anything to us. The pool game is still  going on at both tables. It's all a little
surreal.

Sitting  at the bar, John taps the back of my hand with his forefinger,
saying,  "Give me your text info, or better yet give me your cellphone. I'll
type in my  info and get yours." Still in a bit of a trance I hand him my
phone and he  taps on it, them looks at me, "What's your pass code?" I tell him
as if it's the  most normal thing in the world to do. Why not give him my
password for my debit  account too?
Ya know  what? It's my behavior that's surreal! Still, that was very
enjoyable buddy-sex,  and I was just recently lamenting my lack of it. Damn, that
felt good and  while he doesn't apparently think of himself as a dominant
'top', I think he  qualifies as one if only in a mild sort of way. The oddness
of it is just  sinking in, so I ask, "Does your bartender cousin know you
just fucked me back  there?" He goes, "Fuck, no!  He's engaged to be married.

My dad and his  dad, my uncle, own this bar jointly." I go, "Huh." Now that
I'm thinking  straight again, I'm wicked curious, asking, "Do you know
Markie?" He leans  his face close to mine, grinning, "Markie who?" I shrug, "I
forgot his last  name." I describe him and John shakes his head, saying, "No,
sorry, I don't know  him."
I shrug  again, not sure if I believe him. He taps the back of my hand with
his  dirty-fingernail-finger again, saying, "I think you wanted to ask me
how I  knew to come-on to you in the stock room the way I did, right? And you
 thought we knew the same gay guy and he told me you were gay." I go,
"Yeah,  that's what I thought alright. So why did you assume I'd go along with
you?" He grins again, "I didn't assume anything. I didn't know if you would
or not. Hell, I figured you were probably straight, but why not  try?
You're very attractive, as I'm sure you know, so I had  to give it a try." I'm
shaking my head slightly, still not fully  comprehending. He pats my shoulder,
saying, "You and I went back for a  cigarette, right? We could smoke there
because I know the bartender. So far so  good, right? We light up and ask
each other a question or two, then I  casually ask if you'd ever messed around
with another guy. Anybody would  know what I meant by that. You didn't say
'no', and your eyes were saying 'yes',  so I carried on right away with the
assumption you were gay or bi. You  know, before you got over the shock that
someone discovered your  secret...." Huh, it's that simple? Damn. I say,
"Me being gay isn't a secret  among guys I know." He goes, "Oh, you're 'out'
huh? I admire you for that. I'm  deep in the closet." I say, "Lots of guys
are," then, looking at him I'm like,  "Jesus, a person needs a big set of
brass nuts to pull that off  the way  you did." He says, "I've got regular nuts
but they felt like they were full of  cement right before I had my orgasm
fucking you. And anyway I'm usually  disappointed because very few guys admit
to being gay. You're my first success  in like two months; no, make that
three months."
Robby  calls over, "Are you guys challenging the winner?" I go, "Did you
win, Rob?" He  goes, "Yeah, sore throat and all. Golden and I finally beat
these two hustlers."  I go, "You've got a sore throat?" He shrugs, "I'm getting
a cold I think. You  guys shooting pool, or what?" I'm like, "Um, yeah,
we're next then, right,  John?" He nods, saying, "Yeah, Dylan, but it's your
turn to pay for the  game." This kid sure is money conscious. I put in a bunch
of quarters  and John and I win the game rather easily. It's amazing how
much better he  shoots pool after sex. If I had a suspicious mind I might
think he purposely  lost that first game because he was anxious to try his
assumption act on me.  According to him he assumes perspective desirable sex
partners are gay  until they prove they aren't, which most of them do. What did
he ask me in the  storage room? Something like, 'did I ever mess around with
guys as a teen,' or  something to that effect. And I can see how easily he
could back-track if  I'd said something aggressive, like 'What the fuck you
talking about? Are you  queer?' He'd go, 'No way! Jesus, cool yourself off,
dude. I'm talking about a  circle jerk, or something when you were a kid and
blah, blah,  blah...'
We  don't lose another game until John inadvertently sinks the eight ball
again.  Chubby goes, "About time your luck ran out there, skipper." We
surrendered the  table and sit at the bar drinking beer and watching the guys
shoot pool poorly.  I'm sneaking sideward glances at John looking for some
redeeming features in his  appearance, but without much luck. He has a ton of
freckles and a mouth  that's too wide for his narrow face, while his nose is
too prominent. Those eyes  though; they're really something. Never mind his
looks though, he's a good  buddy-sex partner. Oh, here's a redeeming feature:
he look youthful in a Tom  Sawyer sort of wide-eyed gosh-oh-gee way. He acts
like your normal, very  average, straight guy except he doesn't have a lot
to say. When Chubby and  John Beverly win, Robby turns to me and says, "Do
you mind if Golden and I try  it again against these two ball-busters?" I
look at John Smith and  he goes, "Sure, we'll get the next game." Rob mumbles,
"Thanks," and puts  quarters in the slot for the next game, still arguing
who owes who  beers.

John  Smith, looks at me, " C'mon, we'll have another smoke, Dylan." I
don't hesitate  because his way of fucking has a touch, maybe more than a touch,
of sub/dom  sex that's making-up for my bad experience last Saturday night.

So, yes, there  can be safe and sane sub/dom sex with a stranger. Everyone
starts out as a  stranger anyway. You're best friend in the world was a
stranger until you  met him and learned all about him... or her. When we turn
into the hallway John  puts his hand on my shoulder like he's guiding me. I
interpret it as him being  the dominant one. Inside the storage room he pulls
down his pants, mumbling,  "I'll use another one of my condoms, but next
time you bring two to even  things up, alright?" I nod, pulling my pants down
and he right  away takes my cock in his hand. Then he gives me a 'look' and I
go,  "Oh, yeah," and take his cock in my fist and we repeat what we did the
 first time. As I've observed through my rather wide experience, a conf
ident  leader-type guy will be only slightly in-charge at first, but  then when
he sees I'm willing to play the follower, the submissive  role, then the
dominance from my partner gets more pronounced each time we  do it. And as long
as it doesn't reach a point where I feel it's over the line,  I'll enjoy
the hell out of it.

The  thing is, I'm suspicious that John isn't even trying to be dominant.

He did  take the leadership role right from the start though, and he does
smack my ass,  which is being a little dominant right there. But still, for all
I  know he isn't even thinking he's doing sub/dom sex. He told me when we
first  came in here that he only 'tops', and since I had no objection he
naturally  assumes he'll 'top' again this time. So, I look to him to tell me
what  we're doing and he goes, "Go ahead and suck my cock now." And he seems
comfortable telling me, "Yeah, that's good," when I've sucked on his cock
for half-a-minute. Putting on the condom, he goes, "Instead of bending over
the  boxes, how about if you get on all fours and I'll do you doggy style this
 time." Assuming I'll do that, he adds, "Go ahead and do that now if you
don't  mind, and remember what I said about keeping your ass up, okay?"
Everything  is said matter-of-fact, spoken in a normal speaking voice.

My  pants are around my ankles as I get on my hands and knees. He nods at
me  and then slaps my ass a couple of good hard smacks, "Smack! Smack!"
almost  casually, and then he fucks me pretty much like he did the first time
beginning with the hard thrust and hold, then the extra hump. With me on my
hands and knees, that extra hard last hump sways me forward as I go,
"Umpth." After a number of deliberate humps with the extra trust, he gets  into
that really smooth rhythm of his, continuing with the  coordinated smacks on my
ass with each thrust and it really is a turn-on  for me. He grunts, "Oooh,"
after each drive up my ass. A minute into it he  gets to doing really fast
hard thrusts and in maybe two minutes we're both  gasping from our climaxes,
almost at the exact same time. He's breathing  deeply as he reaches down to
runs his fingers through my hair  while kind of smiling at me, but without
saying anything. He messes my hair  now, saying, "Get up off the floor,
Dylan, and pull your fuckin' pants up,  dude."
Whoa,  the way he said that gave me some electric buzzing in my balls for a
second  there. We stop in the bathroom again to wash up; then, walking back
to the bar,  he asks, "Do you know what time of the day you were born? We
might have the  exact same, to the minute, horoscopes." I mutter, "I don't
believe in that  shit." He goes, "Neither do I." Jeez, I really like the way
he fucks me and  then talks about some nonsensical thing like horoscopes.

Yeah, but it is majorly  weird that we were born on the same day. Oh, and we
never did have a  smoke.

Sitting  at the bar again I'm thinking how his boner is an awesome size for
my rectum.  There's very minor initial pain, and no lingering pain at all
afterward. He  grins at me a few times and I feel really good about getting
fucked  twice tonight in sort of a sub/dom manner. All the 'topping' I've
been doing  with Daryl seems to make 'bottoming' for John even better than I
remembered. I'm strictly talking about side-sex here. My sex with Rob is on a
 completely higher level of pleasure then side-sex with Daryl or John
Smith. Side-sex-wise though, John is very good because there's almost nothing
except the sex act, and then while we're sort of cordial, there isn't even a
buddy aspect to our relationship. I like the buddy aspect of Daryl's and my
 relationship, but even so, for simplicity sake it's okay John and I aren't
 into that. Aside from the sex, I'm not sure we have a lot in common, and
he's not much of a conversationalist, so....

We  drink beer and shoot pool until closing. We're all drunk, but  not
incapacitated like Danny and his roommate were at the movies. We  can function
okay. As we're leaving the bar John and I bump fist, with him  quietly say
ing, "Lunch next week, Dylan. Don't forget." That was it from  him. I look at
Rob and feel a passing tidbit of guilt, but side-sex has  been part of our
relationship for three-and-a-half-years now. Plus Rob and I had  sex twice
earlier today and, like Rob said, we'll have lover's sex in the  morning. He
knew he'd be too drunk to do it tonight. Obviously I'm good  with that. After
a cautious drive back to the  apartment, we do our bathroom stuff after
which I'm feeling as sexually  satisfied going to sleep as I've felt in quite a
while. Great sex with Rob  earlier today, and then side-sex with a nice
stranger, who probably won't  be a stranger for long. At last I may have found a
sub/dom  side-sex partner to partially replace Ryan. Partially because I'm
not sure  John Smith even knows the term sub/dom sex.

Saturday  morning Rob and I don't get out of bed until noon. We both have
hangovers so we don't have lover's sex, or any other kind; not this morning.

 Robby's complaining about his sore throat too. I put my hand on his
forehead  and he does feel hot. So, shit, if he has a cold or the flu, I'll
probably  get it too. We both drink a glass of orange juice along with three
Advil. The  Advil for our headaches and Rob's possible fever. Then Rob  wants
tea, which I make for him using a tea bag and our Keurig machine. Then use  a
K-cup making a cup of coffee for myself. Neither of us feels like eating
anything so we mope around for an hour reading the paper with very little
talking.

The  Advil has kicked-in and done its job  for me by now, so I'm starting
to feel better and therefore have a growing  interest in eating something. I
ask Rob if he could eat something now, and he  goes, "Nah, my nose is
starting to run and I ache all over, babe. I'm going  back to bed." I'm like, "Oh,
jeez. Is there anything I can do?" He shakes his  head, "Nah, I've got a
cold or something," and he wanders back to our bedroom.  This blows! We're
done with that horrible review week, and we're on top of  our studies for
finals week, so we should be enjoying ourselves. Sure, the  hangover was a
temporary set-back, but I'm starting to feel fine and I'd like to  do something
today. With Rob's  flu or cold however, I need to stay with him and do what I
can do to help him  through whatever it is he has.

Looking  in the refrigerator for something to eat, I settle on three
scrambled eggs  and a toasted English muffin with butter. A second cut of coffee
with my  very late breakfast; then, as I'm finishing cleaning the kitchen
around two o'clock, Chubby calls asking if I want to go into Boston with  him
and John Beverly for some bar hopping. I tell him about Robby being sick and
 how I'm gonna hang in here for him. Damn, I would have liked doing that
with  Chubby.

Checking on  Rob I see he's sleeping so I bring my laptop to the living
room and surf on it  for an hour or so, then feel good enough to have a smoke
on  the balcony. Daryl sends me a text: 'Ya wanna hangout, Dylan?' Huh, even
though Rob and I didn't have sex last night, or this morning, I'm  not
especially horny and I can thank John Smith for that. Still,  a recreational fuck
with Daryl is always fun so I text back: 'Is  Tom out and about?' Pony
texts right back, 'Afraid not, but do you wanna  hang-out anyway?' Hmmm? I don't
want to leave Rob. If Pony's roommate  was out I could have a quick fuck
with Daryl in his dorm room and I'd be back  here in fifteen minutes. His
roommates there, so that's out. What to do?  Then I get an idea and text Daryl:
'You want that haircut you were talking  about? Like the haircut I gave Tom
last Saturday night.' He says,  'Yes! Can you pick me up?'
Oh  good! Something fun to do. I text him that I'll be over to get him in
a little while, then get Robby's keys to the pickup. He's still sleeping
soundly. Hmmm, should he be sleeping this much? Fuck if I know. Oh  well, I'm
still wearing PJ bottoms and an old t-shirt and I really should  have a
shower before doing anything else, so I undress in the bathroom and take  a long
hot shower. Feeling pretty damn good after that, I get dressed,  again
looking at Robby sleeping. Hmm, I go over and put my hand lightly on  his
forehead again and it feels really hot this time. That settles it; when he
wakes-up I'm gonna insist we go to the walk-in clinic on route 114. It's better
to be safe than sorry, don't run with scissors, and all that  kinda shit.

Before leaving him I get the barber stuff and bring it into the  living room.

It's a  definite 'no-no' to drive onto dormitory row in the daytime. Bad
enough when we do it at night, so I park the pickup at the nearest campus
parking lot to Daryl's dorm and walk from there. Tom answers the door when I
knock, saying, "Hey, Dylan! Last night was fun, huh?" I go, "What'd you guys
do  after the movie?" He says, "Pony and I scored some weed and got high.

What'd you  do?" I go, "Nothing much. Both you guys smoke too much grass, you
know that,  right?" He shrugs, "It's better for us than getting drunk." I
go, "I wasn't  aware either one was good for us. Where is Pony?" Tom sits at
his desk where  he's apparently studying for a final. "Pony went to the
lavatory twenty  minutes ago to take a shower and double shampoo his hair for
the  haircut. Hey, that reminds me: would you cut a lot of hair off the top of
 my head? I don't like the sides being so short and the other hairs being
so  long." I go, "That's the current 'in' hairstyle, but I don't like it
either." He  says, "Can I ask you something?" and without waiting to find out if
 it's okay, he asks, "How come you're a barber but yet you need a  haircut
worse than I did last Saturday?" I shrug, "I don't give myself haircuts,
numb-nuts and, um, ... it's a little confusing. I'm getting it cut next
Saturday, let's leave it at that." Tom mutters, "As if I really give a shit,"
and I go, "Hey! You asked." He grins, "I'm just kidding with you."
Tom's  tapping on his computer now, then says, "Look at this, Dylan," and
nods his head  at the screen, His computer screen is full of different men's
hairstyles. I point to a picture, "That's the goofy style you basically
have  now. It's the best I could do after Pony butchered your hair with the
scissors."  He's nodding his head, saying, "What's with all these dudes being
so good  looking? Any haircut looks good on them." I go, "They're models,
numbie! Ya  think they chose ugly guys to model?" Pony comes in carrying his
toiletry  kit with only a towel around his waist, saying, "Hi, Dylan. Sorry to
keep  you waiting dude, but I wanted to be uber clean so you don't get
grossed  out giving me a haircut." Ha! He looks good enough to eat. I say, "Why
the fuck  didn't you take your shower right after we talked on the phone?
I'd have  come over a little later and I wouldn't need to be harassed by Tom
about  his haircut?" Tom goes, "I wasn't harassing you," and I run my fingers
 through his hair, muttering, "I'm fucking joking with you, Tommy. Where
are  those scissors? I'll cut some hair off the top for you." As he's looking
for the scissors, he says, "My roommate offered to do it, but I'm never
again getting near him when he has scissors in his hands. Once was  more than
enough."
Pony's  laughing as he starts getting dressed. Tom finds the scissors and a
pocket comb.  He goes, "Let me use that towel, Pony." He gets the damp
towel around his  shoulders, clutching it in front of his neck like he did last
time. He has great  hair. Not the brown color; that's very common, but the
texture; that's  what's special. Fine hair, but millions of then for a thick
head of hair  that naturally he takes for granted. I cut about two inches of
hair off the  top of his head leaving him with a preppy-looking haircut
that doesn't need  much combing. He runs off to check himself out in the
lavatory mirror. As Pony's  tying his sneakers, I'm like, "Don't you guys have a
single mirror in  here?" He's dressed in jeans and a hoodie-sweatshirt with
the sneakers,  saying, "No, we don't." Standing now, he puts his arm across
my shoulders and  leans his head over and kisses me on the lips, then says,
"That's for being  so nice to me and my roomie." I'm grinning, mumbling,
"That wasn't  much of a thank you." Tom comes in, saying, "Perfect, Dylan!
Thanks."  Daryl's kiss made me think of our make-out not too long ago when he was
 showing way too much affection. Buddy-sex isn't supposed to  include a lot
of that. Affectionate making-out is for serious lovers, or those  falling
in love, not buddies. It's funny too because Daryl's the one who  initially
was emphatic that guys don't kiss, and now he likes doing it with me.  I've
got no problem with that.

Pony  puts on his coat, then his backpack that he insists on wearing most
places. We  leave Tom studying for his first final exam. Outside, Daryl bumps
against my  side, asking, "Did you miss me last night after the movie?" The
words 'last  night' makes me immediately think of John Smith and how
unexpected it  was having sex with him. I get a little buzz in my dick thinking
about that  strange, but enjoyable encounter. I give the back of Daryl's neck
a  squeezes, saying, "Sure I missed you, Pony," and then put my arm across
his shoulders for a squeeze. He melds against my side making me smile. It's
nice being liked the way Daryl likes me. It's sort of puppy love, but come
to think of it he is twenty-years-old so maybe that's too old for  puppy
love. It's probably that old conundrum; is it love, or love of the  sex? We've
know each other for three-months but he's one of those guys that make  me
feel we've known each other longer than that. Some guys are just like  that
somehow. We've only been able to hang-out sporadically since  we stopped
doing our three-mile run four or five days a week and  we've only  been screwing
usually once a week since fall baseball practice ended. I can  feel his
affection for me though, and that's so even though we're always arguing  about
something.  Pony's very easy to like and I'm very fond of him,  so I give
his shoulders another squeeze.

During  the short ride to the apartment he talks about getting high with
Tom and a few  sophomores friends last night, and how this morning he felt
awesome. "Yep,  got up this morning feeling great, Dylan. And you know what I
was thinking?  There will be a morning, mark my words, when I wake-up feeling
awesome and I'll  roll over and give you a good morning kiss." I grin, "And
you being a guy who  doesn't think guys should kiss." He goes, "So I was
wrong about that, but what  about me rolling over in bed and kissing you
good-morning?" I shrug,  grinning at him, "Fantasies can be fun." He goes,
"You'll see!  and I'll bets you woke-up this morning with a  hangover." Parking
the pickup at our apartment's lot, I'm like, "What are you, a  PR
representative for legalized marijuana? Different strokes, Daryl!" He  goes, "Damn, why
won't you call me, 'Pony' like everyone else does?" I  laugh, "Sorry! I
forgot."
Walking  to the back door, he goes, "Do you think it's faggy for gay guys
to  hold hands?" I go, "Not if they're boyfriends, no." He smirks, "I was
thinking of sex-buddies holding hands." Opening the backdoor, grinning, I tell
 him, "Sex-buddies do not hold hands," then I take his hand and hold it
going up the stairs and down the hall to our apartment door. Daryl  chuckles,
muttering, "I'm getting a boner." Ha ha, he's a lot of fun.  Inside he takes
off his backpack and coat, then pulls his sweatshirt over his  head as I
get the barber tools out of the toiletry kit, saying, "Wait here a  minute, I
want to check on Rob. He's sick." Quietly walking into the bedroom, I  see
he's still sleeping so I tip-toe out, closing the door behind me.

Daryl's  standing there fiddling with his right nipple when I get back. He
says,  "Will you come with me today to get my nipple pierced?" I'm like,
"No! I told  you before I won't help you get your nipple pierced. Now, how
about your  haircut?" He goes, "I'm not sure," and I'm like, "Well, ya know, Tom
had me  adjust the haircut you said you wanted." He goes, "Yeah, I saw the
revised  haircut and now it looks so, um, un-special." I give him a look and
he  says, "That's a word." I mutter, "No it's not. Do you want the haircut
Tom had  before I just changed it, or not?" He laughs, and goes, "Or not!
Now I've  decided I want something different. I had that buzz cut for so many
years,  so now I want to try different things." I go, "Yeah well, um, hmmm.

Wait, there's a haircut I haven't done for anyone in like a year, but it
would look good on you." He says, "Do it then. Aren't you going to offer  me
a soda or something?" I nod my head at the refrigerator and  Daryl gets
himself a peach Snapple as I plug in the  clippers.

He sits  on the stool I just pulled over from the bar, asking, "What's the
haircut  you're gonna do for me?" I go, "It's short, but long enough to
comb. The hair on  top gets combed down toward the front, and the bangs get
flipped-up."  He swallows three gulps of Snapple, then says, "Oh, a middle
school haircut,  huh?" I laugh because he's right. It is for younger guys, but he
looks  young. I say, "Okay, you tell me what you want." He says, "How about
 this. You give me the haircut you want Golden to give you next Saturday."
I  go, "Done deal," and turn the clippers on but only use them sparingly at
the  back of his head at the hairline. After that it's mostly a comb and
scissor  haircut. Golden called it a tapered-layered-cut, with a part on the
left side.  The bangs can be either combed over, or combed back, or in a
small pompadour. It's both preppy and a little nerdy at the same time.  When I'm
done Pony checks himself out in the mirror over the sofa,  saying, "I don't
like it," and I burst out laughing, totally not expecting that  response
and surprised at his honesty without concern about hurting my  feelings.

After  laughing, I say, "Of all the fucking nerve! And after I told you
it's the  haircut I'm getting." He goes, "Where's the pocket protector that
goes with  this haircut?" That makes both of us laugh, and Robby comes out of
the bedroom  looking like shit, asking, "What's going on?" I go, "Daryl
doesn't like his  haircut." Robby's groggy as he looks at Daryl, mumbling, "It
looks good,  Pony. Why don't you like it?" He says, "I'm just breaking your
boyfriend's nuts, like he's always doing to me." I mutter, "That's  just so
wrong." Then I ask, "You feeling any better, Rob?" He goes, "No, I  feel
worse " so I say, "Get dressed and I'll take you to that  walk-in clinic on
114." He moans, "Oh fuck, I don't wanna do that." I nod,  "Yeah, we gotta do it
if only to confirm it's just a cold." He goes, "I'm  feverish so it's gotta
be the flu. You don't get a fever with a cold, do you?" I  shrug and Pony
says, "No, I don't think you do. Not with a plain cold." Rob  makes a face,
then says, "I need a shower. I'm sweaty." I say, "Then we'll  go, right?" He
mutters, "Yeah, okay," as he goes back into the  bedroom.

Daryl's  messing with his hair using my barber comb, saying, "This is okay,
but kinda  too, um, common." I go, "It's about as far from common nowadays
as you can get!  What the fuck ya talking about?" He asks, "Can you still do
that other  haircut? The middle school one?" I go, "Well, yeah. That's a
lot shorter."  He nods, "But I still get to comb it, right?" I go, "Every
fuckin' day you'll  need to comb it, yeah." He grins, "Do that one then, if you
don't mind," and he  chuckles, mumbling, "Hee hee, I like you cutting my
hair, so I planned on  getting a longer haircut first, then say I want another
shorter one,  and you fell right into my trap." I go, "Well aren't you the
sneaky little  fucker though. The fact is I like cutting your hair, so two
haircuts on the  same head of good hair, like you have, is like a bonus for
me."
I hear  the shower running, so Rob's just started; I have plenty of time
for  this. Daryl sits on the stool again and this time I use the clipper with
a  half-inch guide for the lower half of the sides and back of Pony's nicely
 shaped head. After that it's the clippers over comb, tapering from a
half-inch to an inch length where the head begins curving.  The hairs on top get
cut to about an inch-and-a-quarter length. When  I'm finished I get a
little dab of hair gel to rub through the hairs on top of  his head, then comb
the hairs forward on top and flip up his bangs, saying,  "It's easy to train
your hair like this in just a few days." He says,  "Let me see," and I pass
him the hand held mirror. He looks, then asks,  "What do you think, Dylan, do
I look twenty-one yet?" I go, "You look  closer to sixteen." He mumbles,
"That's what I meant! I was  being facetious." I'm like, "Do you wanna go for
a third haircut? I'll buzz  it for you." He looks at me, "Would you?
Seriously?" I shrug, "If you want me  to, but I was only joking. Look, why not try
getting used to this  haircut for a couple of days and tell me what you
think then. Okay?" He  nods his head, "Yeah, I'll probably keep this. You're
right, but next time try  to think of another style for me." I go, "Other than
the three or  four we've already discussed " He laughs mumbling, "Yeah,
other  than those." Muttering, "What a pain in the ass," I start putting the
clippers  and scissors back in the toiletry kit. He goes, "You don't mean that,
do you?" I  look at him, "No, I don't, Pony. Giving you those two haircuts
was  fun."
Robby's  out of the shower, so I ask Daryl, "You want me to drop you off at
the dorm real  quick?" He goes, "Can't I keep you company at the clinic?"
I'm like, "You can if  you want, but it'll be boring as hell just sitting
there." He shrugs, "I  don't care," so I say, "Sure, come with us." And he
does. Any time  I've heard anyone speaking about the walk-in clinic they always
complain  about the long wait to see a doctor. Without getting dramatic
about it,  fuck the wait. I think Robby needs to see a doctor no matter how long
we need to  wait. If it turns out to be nothing, then that's great! If it's
 something more than a common cold however, he needs to get on medication
as soon  as possible.

When we  get there Rob checks in at the desk with his medical insurance
card, which  is the first thing they want. Only when they verify the insurance
is in order,  do they ask, 'What are you here for?' You could be carrying
your severed  hand with you, and they'd ask, 'Do you have medical insurance?'
When that's  settled, they'd ask, "Okay, is that your other hand you're
holding?  And, sir, you're bleeding all over the place!' Rob sits next to me
after  checking in, saying, "The lady said they've been getting a lot of flu
patients  this week." I go, "Fuck, but at least there's medicine for the  flu,
right?" He shrugs, "I don't know. I hope so because I feel like shit.  I'm
hurting all over and I'm not sure how much of that is a result of my
hangover and how much to blame on the flu." I say, "Forget the hangover; I've
been over mine for a few hours, so you're probably over your's too.  Your
discomforts must all be flu related." Daryl says, "If you smoked pot  neither of
you would have had a hangover." I go, "If you don't behave  yourself, Pony,
you'll have to wait in the car." He goes, "Yes,  daddy."
We're  here almost two-hours before Rob's name gets called. I pat his back
as he gets  up, then watch him slowly walking down the corridor with the
nurse. Pony  says, "Jeez! I didn't want to say anything when Rob was here. Ya
know, him  feeling so bad and all, but could you please drive me back to the
dorm? Why I  thought this would be a good idea I can't fucking imagine now."
I go, "I told  you it'd be boring! C'mon, I'll give you a ride back." We
get up with him  whining, "Don't be mad at me. I thought this would take like
twenty minutes or  something." I am a little pissed-off, but it's a
combination  of worrying about Robby, and now needing to drive back and forth to
Merrimack.

Back on  campus Daryl and I bump fist as he's getting out of the pickup. He
says,  "I'll text you, Dylan. Maybe I can hook-up with you later and we
can... you  know." I nod, "That'd be nice, but I doubt it'll work out today.

See you, Pony."  At the walk-in clinic again I wait another loooong half-hour
before  Rob reappears. They just don't give a shit about patients or the
patient's  concerned friends at this clinic! Only one slow-moving doctor to
handle all these people; they simply don't give a rat's ass. Assholes, or  as
guys from New Hampshire call us guys from Massachusetts; massholes.  Fucking
hicks from cow-hamshire!
Rob  takes a deep breath as he walks over to check-out at the desk, then
gets his  coat as I stand up, asking, "What'd they say?" He goes, "Yeah, it's
the  influenza virus alright." I go, "How do they know?" and he shrugs,
"They did a  RIDT something or other; that's what the nurse said." We're walking
out as  I ask, "What's that?" and Rob goes, "I don't know, but I have all
the symptoms: fever, sore throat, runny nose, muscle aches, headache,  and
I'm tired... I got the whole ball of wax." Too much information, but I  don't
say that. Instead I ask, "Did he give you a prescription?" He nods, "Yes,
they called it in to Rite Aid. We can pick it up on the way back to  the
apartment."
Good! I  feel better now that he'll be on prescription medication. The Rite
Aid  drugstore is on our way home. After parking I go inside with Robby and
walk to  the pharmacy section at the back of the store. You could food shop
in  this Rite Aid, or buy a hat, or almost anything you need; it's not just
 for prescriptions and over-the-counter drugs nowadays. We both  stand in
line behind a customer at the pick-up counter. As we wait, I ask  Rob, "How'd
you catch the flu? Did they say?" He goes, "It could've been  anything.

Touching the surface a person with the flu touched, someone with the  virus
sneezes within six feet of me, or even talking with someone who has  the
virus." He coughs a few times, muttering, "Fucking sore throat." Covering my  nose
and mouth while he coughs, I back away, saying, "I'll get you  some throat
lozenges for your sore throat and coughing." Leaving him to get  his
prescription, I wander up and down the aisles looking for  throat lozenges and come
upon a whole row of them. Shit!  I start  reading the information on the
boxes and decide on a box  of cherry Chloraseptic lozenges  with soothing
liquid gel centers. They claim fast-acting pain relief for  sore throats. Huh,
nothing about his cough though. Well what the fuck do you  want for only
$4.95. Jesus!
As I'm  paying for the lozenges Robby comes down the aisle carrying a
little white bag.  He holds up the bag and I go, "Good. Let's go home and I'll
make  that Campbell's boxed chicken soup for you." In the pickup, with me
driving, Rob's reading the instructions for his meds, then says, "The  doctor
was concerned about the slight asthma I had as a kid. So he prescribed,"  and
he's looking at the brown pill bottle's label, "Tamiflu, Oseltamivir
Phosphate 75 Mg. Take twice a day with food for 5 days. Finish the five day
prescription even if you feel better." I go, "Huh. I wonder why medicines  need
to have unpronounceable names." Robby sneezes and there ya go, I've  got his
flu. Balls!
Rob  sucks on a lozenge, then back in the apartment he takes two  more
Advil, then lies on  the sofa as I make Campbell's chicken noodle soup by adding
water  to dry ingredients and bringing it to a boil. I serve  it with
saltine crackers and a glass of Coke with lots of ice. Salty  soup and crackers
for his throat and a cold drink to cool down his  fever. He eats and drinks
everything, then takes one of  the Tamil capsules and back to bed he goes. I
nurse him the rest of  Saturday and all day Sunday. Rob likes being taken
care of, but then  so do I. We manage to put in an hour of study for Monday
afternoon's final  exam.

Monday  morning I'm still not feeling flu symptoms, so I've got my hopes up
that I  won't catch it. Rob's feeling a little better, but not good, as I
drive us to  our first final exam of the first semester of our junior year at
college.  What sucky weekend...

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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