Date: Fri, 14 Apr 2017 13:46:59 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE    Chapter  38

DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  38


by  Donny Mumford


After Wednesday  morning's final exam, I help Rob throw some things in a
satchel  and then watch him drive off on his way home. He's always at the
beck and call of his father, but this alleged business emergency  seems silly
to me. I'm not angry at Rob, he's just being his normal  conscientious self.

It's his father who pisses me off. Imagine the  owner/president of a
hundred-employee-business needing to pull his son from  college during finals week
to duplicate a report that Rob completed  ninety-percent of six weeks ago,
but now it's been misplaced. And not  one of the other ninety-nine employees
can do what a  twenty-one-year-old college student can?  Idiotic!
Wandering aimlessly  around the apartment I'm thinking these thoughts while
rubbing what's left  of the hickey Robby gave me Monday. Surprisingly it's
still visible, so it  was a good one. It only stung a little bit when he was
doing it. Huh, I  can't remember the last hickey I had. We had good sex
Monday afternoon and  it was very welcome considering it was our first sex in
four long  fucking days. Obviously we abstained because of Robby's flu and
the  worry that I'd catch it too. Hell, I expected to catch it anyway because
we  gave in to our urges Monday when he was probably still  contagious, and
then had really good sex yesterday too. Now  that he's pretty much recovered
and we have the rest of today and all day  tomorrow to do with what we
want, Robby instead needs to run off to  save his daddy's ass at work. That
blows!
Hmmm, it's lunch time  so I think again about John Smith's invitation to
meet him at Butch's  Sports Bar for lunch then a 'smoke' in the supply room.

He never did  text me though, which I was sort of hoping he'd do. Screw it,
I'll go over there  anyway. To do that I'll need wheels so I text Chubby
who's with some guys  having a few brews at Roth's bar, which doesn't
necessarily mean he drove  the Jeep there. Other guys have cars here at college; the
parking lots are full  of them. I text him, 'Chub, do you have the Jeep with
you?' He texts  right back that he rode over with Jack Clark, whoever he is.

I ask him  where he parked the Jeep telling him I'm using it this
afternoon. He tells me  where it's parked then again tries to talk me into meeting
him and his  buds at Roth's bar. I give him a definite maybe on that. I love
spending time  with Chubby but when he's with his friends and I get only a
diluted  version of him.

With my keys for the  Jeep in my pocket I walk through our parking lot and
across route  114 onto the campus. It's wet miserably-cold weather today  so
thankfully I find the Jeep exactly where Chubby told me it would  be.

Getting in and firing-up the engine I put my seat belt on  and then while waiting
for the heater to warm up I feel kinda proud of myself for  having the
balls to take John Smith up on his offer, especially considering  the disaster I
experienced with the baby-faced gorilla last weekend.  Obviously the safest
thing for me to do is simply join Chubby at the local  bar downtown that's
only a six or seven-minute drive from here as opposed to Butch's  bar in
Haverhill that's more than twice as far away. Yeah, except I'd  be passing up
on the opportunity to have what's a mild version  of sub/dom sex with John
Smith. And I've been missing that  this entire semester. I don't really care
that John may not even be aware  he's doing a mild form of sub/dom sex. And
there's no worry that he'll be  anything like the gorilla. Wouldn't matter
anyway because I'm bigger  than John and surely stronger. He's slightly taller
than me but I'm heavier  and all the free-weight lifting I did last year
plus workouts at the fitness center this year I've never been in  better
shape in my life. Oh fuck, why am I even talking about  this? John's no danger
to anyone. He's too nice, if anything.

So instead of taking  the easy way out of hooking-up with Chubby and his
friends for some beers, I'm  gonna take the initiative and see if John Smith's
for real or if he  was just a one-night stand. I've rarely backed-down
from a sexual  adventure even though there's always the possibility I'll make
a total ass of myself. John may have forgotten all about his  invitation to
join him for lunch. He could have been much drunker than I  realized and
forgotten all about me by now. Or maybe he asks everyone he  has sex with to
meet him at the bar for lunch. Any number of things could make  me look
foolish, and now I'm thinking John probably isn't even at the  bar.

Except when I get  there, I see him as soon as I open the door. He's
sitting at the  end of the bar and his eyes glance over as the door closes like
he's  expecting someone... maybe me. Or maybe not because his eyes meet mine
and he  does a subtle shake of his head like he doesn't want me to go over to
 him. Well fuck!  He's with that same scruffy tough-looking guy he  was
with Friday night. What the fuck did John say the guy's name was?  Something
unusual. Ha, why the hell would I think I'd remember someone's name?  Anyway,
the guy looks to be in his late twenties and he's almost  certainly a
mechanic for the Haverhill Toyota dealership. I make this  brilliant deduction
because both of them are wearing over-sized  mechanic-type shirts with the
Toyota logo on one side and their  first names above the breast pockets on the
other side,  although I'm too far away to read the names.

It feels like everybody  in this joint is looking at me as I walk straight
ahead and take a seat at the  middle of the bar. Three stools to my left are
two older men hunched over  hamburger platters. Their elbows are on the
bar, one on either side of  their food platter, and they're both taking huge
bites from  their hamburgers. With bulging cheeks, they hold the burgers in
front of  them while they chew with their mouths open. Disgusting mouth sounds
and when  one of then starts talking to the other with his mouth full I
slide off the  stool and saunter over to the jukebox as if I'm going to play a
tune. It's a  high- tech jukebox with a touch-screen for browsing hundreds
of songs. From a  quick scan of the instructions it appears to be a
dollar-fifty per song. You  gotta be shitting me! I probably read it wrong, and I
don't want to play a tune  anyway. What I want to do is change seats. I
casually saunter all the way  to the opposite end of the bar and sit in the same
seat I was in Friday night.  Is it my imagination or can I still hear those
uncouth bozos smacking their lips  as they chow-down on those burgers?
A woman bartender comes  over dropping a cocktail napkin in front of me,
asking, "Ya got ID, Hon?" I do,  so I show it to her. She hands it back
smiling, saying, "That's the best picture  I've ever seen on a driver's license.

What can I get ya?" I order a Miller Light  draft, then steal a glance down
the other end of the bar at John Smith. He and  Scruffy both have a draft
beer in front of them but no food,  so I'm wondering if John's finished his
lunch or maybe  he hasn't ordered it yet. Looking at my cellphone I see it's
ten-minutes of  one, so it could be either option. I've got my cellphone out
as a prop because  I'm self-conscious about sitting here by myself. The
bartender brings my  beer, asking, "Would you care to see a lunch menu?" Her name
tag reads,  'Judy'. I shake my head giving her a little smile, mumbling,
"No thanks,"  so she goes off to replenish drinks for three youngish-looking
women who  probably work in one off the many office buildings in this area of
 Haverhill.

I've got this  irrational notion, one I always get when I'm doing something
by myself,  that everyone in here is watching me and thinking what a shame
it  is I have no friends. Then it occurs to me that this is the first time
in my life I've ordered a drink in a bar alone and I find that I don't like
it  any better than I like eating out on my own. I'm paranoid in that regard
 and I know it's insane, but nevertheless I'm almost chug-a-lugging this
beer so  I can get the hell out of here. I've got John's cellphone number so
I'll  text him later asking him what the fuck's up? But wait a minute! A
waitress has  just come up behind John and set a platter of food in front of
him. He  smiles and says something to the waitress, who grins and takes one of
John's  French fries, eating it she walks away. Huh. John's father and uncle
own this  bar so maybe John knows everyone who works here.

I'm just about done my  beer when the scruffy-looking tough guys gets up,
bumps fists with John,  and then walks out the door. When the door closes
John looks  down the bar at me and does that wiggly 'come here' thing with his
forefinger. Okay, I won't need to text him to find out what the fuck's
going on.  Bringing what's left of my beer I walk the length of the bar and sit
on the  other side of John; not in the scruffy guy's seat. I have this thing
about  sitting on a seat someone's just vacated because it still retains
the heat from  that person's ass. Yeah, I have a thing about not sitting on an
ass-warmed  seat. Obviously hundreds of people have previously sat on the
seat I'm sitting  on, but not recently. John says, "So you finally showed up,
huh?" I'm like,  "Yep, it appears so. We're taking final exams this week at
Merrimack so this is  the first..." and he interrupts, "Yeah, I know. My
sister's a freshman there.  She commutes." I go, "Oh yeah? Um, why didn't you
want me coming over when  that guy was here?" He goes, "He wouldn't like
you, and I knew he had to leave  soon." He wouldn't like me? That's not much of
an explanation. Well I  didn't want to meet the guy anyway.

John holds his hand up  to get the lady bartender's attention. She looks
over, and John says, "Two  beers when you get a chance, Jude." I ask, "How ya
been, John?" He goes, "Good!  How 'bout you?" Shrugging, I mumble, "Okay,
I've been better I guess." No sense  in telling him how the abortion is still
a cloud over our heads and  how Rob been sick with the flu and I had to
nurse him like forever.  Plus I still can't get over that bitch, Beth, trying to
scam Robby  out of $200. It's like those two girls switched personalities
and  Frankie became the sensible cooperative one while Beth turned into a
conniving  bitch. Those reasons are basically why I gave John that half-ass
answer about how I'm feeling. I should have just said a generic, 'Good, I'm
good' because now he looks at me with concern, asking, "What's wrong?" I
shake  my head, "It's something my friend's dealing with. I'd rather not talk
about it  if you don't mind." He nods his head, and eats a French fry, then
looks me in  the eyes, asking, "Who gave you the hickey?" My hand goes to the
hickey as my  face gets red. I mumble, "Oh, um, my boyfriend, why?" John
says, "They're  kinda faggy, don't ya think? Hickeys I mean." I shrug, "No,
it's not faggy,  it's.... um, I don't know. It's almost gone anyway." He grins
at me showing his  super white teeth and his pink gums.

As I continue  thinking this was probably a bad idea, John asks, "Have you
had lunch  yet?" I go, "No, I'm good though," and he goes, "C'mon, have
something to eat.  Share mine," and he picks up half his BLT and holds it out to
me. His hands and  especially his fingernails are dirty. Well, he did just
come from changing  a car's oil or tire, or fixing an engine, or whatever
the fuck a  mechanic does. He sees me hesitate staring at his hand so he
chuckles, then  says, "I washed my hands." When, yesterday? Oh fuck it, I take
the half  sandwich, saying, "Ha, no, um, I wasn't..." He grins shaking his
head, then  takes a bite from his half of the sandwich. The sandwich was cut on
the  diagonal so each half is shaped like a ninety-degree triangle. He's
still  grinning at me while chewing with his mouth closed, thank God. Judy
puts two  draft beers in front of us, saying, "One Miller Light for your
friend, and  a Coors for you, Johnny." He says, "Thanks," as I'm willing myself
not to  look at his hands.

A waitress walks by and  John leans back from the bar tapping her shoulder,
saying, "Sis, I need a  plate for my friend, and, um, I guess a fork too."

She takes a plate and a fork  from one of the unoccupied tables against the
wall and puts both on the bar  in front of me. Flustered, I mutter, "Oh, no
I'm not um, but thanks." John  picks up half his pile of French fries and
puts them on my plate using the  same dirty hand he used passing me half his
sandwich, that I'm still  holding. I look at him, "You didn't need to do
that, John." He points at the  half sandwich he gave me and mutters, "Eat that.

Um, you want some ketchup for  the fries?" I do a fake cough, then mutter,
"No thanks," although I always dip  French fries in ketchup. Damn, I'm
discombobulated. Taking a bite of my  triangle of BLT and, huh, it's very good
with only a faint taste of motor  oil. John's clothes smell like tires. Yeah,
like when I got new tires for the  Jeep at Sears. The building smelled like
the tires that were stacked  all over the place. It's not an unpleasant smell
though.

As we eat in silence  I'm thinking that the baggy mechanic's shirt John's
wearing hides how  skinny I know he is. I mean I saw him in a small t-shirt
Friday and this  boy is rail-thin. He looked stronger than a rake handle
though, and he  definitely sexier. There's a grease smudge on his forehead and
another  one on the side of his chin, plus he's not clean shaven like he was
Friday night. He has a sparse beard pattern of pale reddish whiskers on his
 upper lip and chin. There's a baseball-style cap pushed back on his  head
with the word 'NAPA' on the front just above the bill. I know from the
other night that his red hair is in a longish burr-style haircut, one  that's
strangely very uneven on top. His hair's grown over the tops of his  ears too
so it's obviously been some time since he's been to the  barbers.

I'm stealing sideway  glances at him hoping he'll be better looking than I
remembered but I'm not able  to convince myself that he is. He's not ugly or
funny looking, I'm not saying  that. His facial features just aren't
special. He has a prominent nose and  wide mouth, although not outlandishly so in
either case. He's  average-looking I guess you could say, with freckles.

What isn't average  though are those beautiful blue eyes of his. They're very
bright and shiny in  various shades of blue. And he has thin eyebrows too,
like Robby's. So there are  a couple of things special about John's 'looks',
and his mouth is uber clean  looking. He has those very white teeth with a
small space between the  top ones. Also a pink tongue and pink gums. And while
he does  have many freckles on his face they're smallish freckles, which
are  better than large ones I suppose. He's got a long-sleeve-shirt on so I
can't see his arms but I know they're covered with freckles too. The skin
color in between his freckles is very pale like most redheads'  complexion...

it's a creamy white color.

There's also a  disconcerting calmness about him that makes me feel
fidgety. He appears perfectly  comfortable sitting next to and sharing his lunch
with basically a total  stranger. I'm the opposite of calm and comfortable, so
for something to say, I  ask, "Was that guy a coworker? The guy who was
sitting with you." John says,  "Chester? Yeah, well, he's not a coworker so
much as he's my boss."  Damn, I was hoping that question would be a
conversation-starter but I  guess I'll need to try again, "Heh heh, why wouldn't
Chester like me?" John  looks at me and, in a matter-of-fact manner, says, "He'd
think I'm fucking  you and he'd take it out on you. Give you a lecture or
something. Chester's religious." Frowning, I absently pick up a French  fry
and eat it as I'm contemplating that response. Does it mean Chester is  John's
boyfriend? What else could it mean? I go, "He's a jealous boyfriend,  huh?"

Finished the last of his half sandwich, John grins, muttering,  "Christ no!
Ha ha, no way." And that's all he's going to say about it? No  other
explanation? I finish my half sandwich determined not to say anything  else until
he says something.

John doesn't say  anything though, not until he's eaten everything on his
plate except the cole  slaw. There's a paper cup filled with cole slaw that
he picks up and  then forks some crispy cole slaw into his mouth. Holding the
cup  towards me, "Have some cole slaw, Dylan. My aunt makes the best cole
slaw you've  ever eaten." He wants me to eat out of the same cup? Well, I
don't want to be  insulting so I use my fork to taste the cole slaw and it is
good. He takes some  more while still holding the cup towards me so we end-up
taking turns  eating forkfuls of cole slaw until John scrapes the last of
it. He wipes his  mouth with a paper napkin, then says, "Judy," and when the
bartender turns  to him he nods his head toward the hallway that leads to
the supply room.  She says, "Why don't you give up your smoking habit,
Johnny?" He says, "I'm  thinking about doing just that, Jude. Keep on top of me
about it, okay?" then to  me, he says, "C'mon," and he gets up. My dick moves
in my pants and my  heart beats faster. A shiver slides all over me as I get
up and follow him. He's  an inch or an inch-and-a-half taller than me, but
with those work  boots he's wearing it  seems more like he's three inches
taller.

Last Friday when we  went for our second 'smoke' he guided me back to the
storage  room with a hand on my shoulder. Today he has a grip on the back of
my neck  walking me back there with me slightly in front of him. I get this
strange feeling that I'm being taken to the principal's office after I  got
caught smoking in the boy's room again. There's no real reason for it,  but
I feel this gooey submissive sense towards John and it makes me shudder. I
really like how it feels. There's a swinging door at the beginning of the
hallway that we go through, then we walk by the two lavatories, male and
female,  and then at the door to the storage room, John says, "It's not
locked," so  I open it and we go inside past the sign that says, 'Private'. He
takes  his hand from my neck and turns around to close and lock the door. I'm
taking my pack of Marlboro out of my pants pocket. Then it hits me: I didn't
get  the condoms I was supposed to buy. Oh fuck! It's like I have this
feeling I'm in  trouble now.

Nervously I'm just  about to light my cigarette when John says, "Sorry,
Dylan, but we don't have  time for a smoke. I got here late and my lunch hour
is almost over." Putting the  cigarette back in the box, I'm like, "I
fucked-up! Um, I  forgot to bring the condoms with me." He shakes his head, then
chuckles muttering, "Air head. Now you owe me three," as he takes a condom
packet from his back pocket and hands it to me, saying, "Drop your pants and
I'll do you fast. Tomorrow why don'cha get here by twelve-thirty." I nod,
"Yeah, okay, I'll try." He pushes his pants and underwear down to his
knees, and then pulls his shirt up. He reaches over and gets a fistful of my
hair and pulls my head down, murmuring, "Go ahead," so I bend over and  pick up
his limp penis. Surprisingly his body smells fresher this afternoon  than
it did Friday night. I lick the head of his cock a few times  before sliding
it into my mouth on my tongue while my lips are sucking  on the shaft. I'm
moving my tongue all around the head as my lips make  slurping sounds sucking
his cock.

My cock is  tightening-up along with John's. When his is fairly firm he
lets go of my  hair and puts his hands on either side of my head holding it in
place and  begins moving his hips fucking my mouth by sliding his cock back
and forth  on my tongue as I struggle to keep my teeth covered. He does that
 for maybe thirty seconds before moving my head, then tightly sliding  his
cock into my throat. Not expecting it I'm gagging like mad.  Ignoring my
gagging he does a deep thrust all the way down my throat with  my nose squished
against his orange/red pubic hairs that  are surrounding my nose and mouth.

His boner goes deep in my throat,  then pulls back, then down deep in my
throat again. I stop  gagging when his hard boner is smoothly sliding in and
back. Oh, the dreamy  submissive curtain that slides over my mind is so
awesome. My  cock gets as hard as stone and pulls away from my belly to stick
straight  out. It gets ridiculously hard. Oh God, it feels so good! It's
dreamily  sexy but John only deep throats me for maybe forty-five-seconds more
and,  in my delicious submissive trance, I'm on the brink of climaxing
already. That'd be really embarrassing so I'm half relieved and half  disappointed
when he pulls his cock entirely out. It's sticking straight  out like mine.

He ruffles my hair,  saying, "I didn't know whether you could do that or
not. Really nice job,  Dylan!" Incongruously I feel so proud of being
complimented by John  Smith. He doesn't suck my cock like last time and it's a good
thing too  because I would have cum in his mouth in five seconds. Instead,
he puts his  fist around my boner, saying, "Jezz-usss, that baby's really
hard. Damn, that's  awesome!" I shrug, not sure I need to explain that I get
aroused sucking  a young guys' cock. He goes, "How 'bout you getting down on
your hands  and knees now," as he's leaning over pulling my pants down to my
ankles. I start  getting on all fours and John gives my ass a hard, "SMACK!"

It caught me by  surprise and I yelp out, "Oh!"

When I'm on my hands  and knees he walks in front of me and puts his hand
under my chin lifting my  head. His other hand guides his hard cock to my
mouth again, as he murmurs,  "Just a little more," and he slides his boner
inside on my tongue again. I  hungrily suck and lick it and almost immediately
my tongue is coated with his  precum. He grunts, moving his feet as he pulls
it out and says, "Whoa!  Go ahead and roll the condom on my cock now." I've
been holding the condom  packet in my hand ever since he handed it to me.

Ripping it open between my  teeth, I roll it out on his cock and he ruffles my
hair again, muttering, "Your  hair's so fucking long I can't resist pulling
it," and he gets another  fistful and yanks on it, saying, "Turn around
now," and I do that awkwardly  because he doesn't let go of my hair.

I feeling a thick  submissive sense building as I submissively push my ass
up for him to  mount. Instead John spanks me, "Smack smack smack," about a
dozen  smacks and then he pushes the head of his cock at my asshole with a
hard hump. It goes inside me a couple of inches with my back arching and me
grunting, "Aaah!" Cupping my shoulders, he basically pulls me the rest of
the  way back onto his boner with my rectum burning and for the second time in
 the last minute I almost cum. Considering the short period of time we've
been in here he has me ridiculously aroused and almost floating in a
submissive trance.

Oh God, there's  something about this random sex with someone I don't know
that's thrilling.  Meanwhile he's so relaxed about everything, it's like
we've been  fuck-buddies for years. There's no meanness in John at all, but
something  about him that makes me feel like I'm inexperienced in sexual
matters and  he's teaching me while I'm trying hard to do good. He's most
definitely  in-charge if nothing else. Everything John does is like there's nothing
unusual about it, but this is unusual. Maybe that's it;  maybe that's the
reason I feel submissive to him. It's like he knows what  he's doing and I
don't. No, it's more like he's doing exactly what he wants  without the
slightest doubt that I'll do what he wants too. He's nice  enough about it, but he
never feels the need to asks anything  like, 'Do I mind smacks on my ass?'
or 'What do I think  about him fucking me doggy style?' In a normal
conversational voice, he  merely told me to get down on all fours and then smacks my
ass hard  while I'm obeying him. He said for me to get on all fours the
same way he'd tell  his apprentice at work, 'Pass me that monkey wrench'. I've
got no problem  with any of it though; it's absolutely awesome!
His hands cupping my  shoulders pulls me tight against his orange/red pubic
hairs and then he  grinds his hips while exhaling and making a "Swoooch"

sound. He humps  against my buttocks as I feel his cock growing inside me,
then two hard, "SMACK!  SMACK!" on my ass and more grinding of his hips against
my buttocks. His  hands slide from my shoulders down my sides to grip my
hips and lift me so now  I'm more or less on my hands and toes with my knees
still bent. Another "SMACK!  SMACK!" on my ass and now my right butt cheeks
is stinging and hot. My  submissive trance feels so good and I'm so aroused
there's copious precum  drooling from my quivering piss slit making a quiet,
"Plip" sound as  it drips drop by drop onto the cement floor. Still holding
my hips up, he  does six full thrusts with his boner spreading the walls of
my rectum  and stimulating the nerve ending around my anus and over my
prostate until  I can't catch my breath. Two more hard thrusts and I try muffling
my squeal  as my hips hump and a long stream of cum shoots from my boner
with my body  shaking. I moan and hump forward as another stream of cum flies
out, followed by  three little spurts. Oh man that felt so good but my face
is on fire with  embarrassment for climaxing so fast like I'm a novice doing
sex for  the first time.

John left his boner up  my ass as I was bucking and shooting my load. I'm
gasping, feeling very  foolish as he quietly asks, "You okay?" I flip a hand
backwards at him like no  problem and he resumes hammering his hard cock
back and forth in my  ass. I'm a limp rag-doll now flopping forward at his hard
thrusts. My body's  swaying back when he pulls back and then I slide
forward when he thrust his cock  hard up my ass.  My body's in constant motion as
the sensations in my  rectum soar into the upper stratosphere. Two, three
minutes of hard fast  fucking and my cock begins firming up again, but John's
tight against my  buttocks now humping against me. Grunting quietly, he
fills the condom with his  load of spunk. He gasps, humps against my ass again
and I look back to see his  freckled face scrunched-up and red, his eyes and
mouth tightly closed. Another  hump against me and then his grip on my hips
loosens. Opening his eyes, he  takes a big deep breath  while backing-up
pulling his cock out of my ass. I feel opened-up back  there as I stare at his
cock that looks longer than my initial estimate of  five inches. There a
nice size ball of cum at the end of the condom. He looks me  in the eyes and
smiles, nodding his head in approval. Then he murmurs, "Nice!  That was good,
but you were pretty quick on the trigger there, buddy." I nod,  "Yeah, that
surprised me but it felt awesome."

Pulling off the condom,  he says, "You can stand up now if you'd like,"

with another grin he adds, "Do  you wait for me to tell you what to do?" I'm
still feeling some buzzing around  my groin and shocked I climaxed so fast.

Standing, I'm like, "What? Asking you  what?" My shoulders do another little
shudder. Looking at him I feel this  sense of closeness with him, plus some
kind of admiration that he's somehow able  to get me submissive and extremely
aroused. He goes, "No, it's was like you  we're waiting for me to tell you
it's okay to get up, or something." Shaking my  head, I'm like, "Hey, that
was a good fuck, John, but I don't need your okay to  stand up." He pats my
shoulder, "Of course you don't."

We're pulling up our  pants as he goes, "Let me ask you something. How do
you think I'd look with  extenders in my earlobes? Or is it expanders?" Ha,
that's buddy sex for you!  Climax, take a couple of deep breaths, then go on
to another  subject. We're walking out of the supply room, and  then into
the men's room as I'm like, "Jesus, no! Extenders,  expanders, whatever...

they're freakish looking. They disfigure you for life."  Flushing the condom he
goes, "Yeah? I've got mixed emotions about them.  Sometimes I think they
look cool and sometimes not so much. Depends." I'm  washing my hands, saying,
"Ya don't even have an earring and you want to jump  into earlobe extenders?
Don't do it. That's my advice." Drying his hands he  goes, "Yeah, you're
probably right. I just needed someone cool, like  you, to talk me out of doing
it." He seemed sincere when he said that, but then  everything is
matter-of-fact with him.

As we walk out of the  bathroom I go, "Why not get an earring. That'd be
cool on you." He says, "Do  earrings seem right for an auto mechanic?" I
shrug, "Don't see why not." Both of  us had our coats on the entire time we ate
and fucked. As we walk past the  bar toward the front door John says to the
bartender and waitress, "Be good,  ladies!" and they go, "See ya tomorrow,
Johnny." Outside he says, "Get here  earlier tomorrow, Dylan. I can do you
before lunch and maybe after, if you  want." I nod, and he gets in a pickup
truck with 'HAVERHILL  TOYOTA' stenciled on the door. Backing the truck up, and
off he  goes. Getting in the Jeep I'm shaking my head and thinking this is
my  oddest connection yet and that's really saying something considering
I've had a  few odd ones over the years. I feel really good about John though
and he reaffirms my belief in sex  with the right stranger, but be sure to
only do it with one of the right ones.  John brings on the strangest kind of
submissive trance in me; like one I've  never experienced before. And
literally there's no major reason I should  feel a sense of submission to him in
the first place.  Sure, he dictates mostly what we do, and he's in control of
our sex  but it's so fast and except for four or five smacks on the ass,
it's fairly  routine fucking. I don't get it, but I like it, and I like him
too, grease and  all.

Driving back to the  apartment I'm thinking about Robby again, thinking
there's always a silver  lining and maybe this business thingie he needs to
deal with back  home will get him back to his normal self. The pregnancy and
abortion  rattled him quite a bit, and I see that; I get it too, but there's
nothing he  can do about it now. He's talked with Frankie a few times on the
phone. She  likes talking to him but doesn't want to see him although I
think Robby  would like to remain friends. He's such a good guy, so
conscientious about  everything but I can't see how Frankie and Beth could possibly have
anywhere  near the relationship with us they used to have. Robby needs to
let it go, and  with time he'll see that too... I hope.

In the apartment I'm  not sure what to do with myself and I already miss
Robby. Lying on the sofa I  think about John Smith again and how I'm
definitely going to Butch's Bar for  lunch again tomorrow. He fucks good although I
still don't get why I felt that  degree of submissiveness towards him during
our quick sex. It's probably  all in my head. I mean we're really not doing
any kind of  noticeable sub/dom sex that I'm familiar with. Huh, did he say
he'd 'do  me' before and after lunch. Hmmm? Damn, that sex today was
unusual in that I climaxed way too quickly but oh my God it felt good. That's  how
desperate for sub/dom sex I am. That's probably the answer... me being
desperate for sub/dom sex so I'm mostly imagining it with John. I mean there's
nothing really coming from John in the way of pronounced dominance although
 there's always something inherently dominant in 'topping' and deep
throating. He's just doing his normal thing though, and if I said no,  he wouldn't
do whatever I said 'no' to. Yeah, but I like everything he does and  his
cluelessness kinda makes it even better in a weird way.

For something to do I'm  texting Daryl, who texts back that he's staying in
for the rest  of the day studying for a final he has tomorrow. Good for
him! Hmmm, it's too late to hook-up with Chubby. Anyway those guys  will be
too far ahead, drinking-wise. It's no fun being sober with guys who are  not.

I found that out a couple of times. So, for a change I stay in for the rest
of Wednesday. Robby calls after he's finished his dinner saying it looks
like he'll be working all day tomorrow and won't be back until Friday around
noon, just in time to make his last final exam. Then he needs to go back to
 Framingham and work. He says, "You'll need to get a ride home with your
brother,  Dylan." I mumble, "Sure, Rob, but I sure miss you. Um, are you going
to make  your deadline for the state of Massachusetts report thingie." He
goes, "No, but  today I filed a form for the state for an extension until
next Tuesday. Can  you believe my original one was lost and I need to do the
whole fucking  thing all over again. I'm so pissed-off I got into a shouting
match with Dad."  Wow, that's a first!
Checking my watch I see  it's ten-after-seven so I ask, "What are you doing
tonight, Rob?" He says, "I'm  in my bedroom getting dressed to go out and
have a couple of beers with this  guy, Greg Peters. I ran into him coming
home from work. Just a coincidence  that I was driving down his street on the
way home and he was outside  cutting the grass so I stopped. I can sure go
for a few  beers after today, and then it's work all day tomorrow." I go, "Un
huh, you mentioned that you'd be working all day tomorrow already. Who's
Greg  what's-his-name?" Rob  mumbles, "Um, Greg Peters. Ah, he's just an old
neighborhood friend.  He lives one street over from mine on Summers Street. I
don't think you  know him." I go, "Hmmm, that name might sound familiar."

Rob says, "He and  I were buds in high school then he joined the Navy after
graduation. He's  home on Christmas leave or something." Hmmm? Then Rob
quickly adds, "Oh,  probably next week, our first full week of Christmas break
would be the best one  for you to work with me, babe. Same pay and all." I
nod, not that he can  see me nodding, as I'm mumbling, "Sure, Rob. We'll talk
about that when I  see you Friday. Say hi to Greg for me." Rob goes, "Yeah
okay, but like I  said, I don't think you know him. See you Friday around
noon." I go, "I  miss you," and he goes, "I love you," and we end the call.

Greg Peters, huh?  Should I go online and see what I can find out about
this character? This guy I  don't know who lives one street over from the
Dickers. Funny I've never seen in  at any of the pool parties the Dickers have
thrown over the years. I don't  recall seeing the guy in high school either.

Yeah, but maybe he wasn't at any of  the pool parties because he's in the
Navy. No, I'm not that petty to  go searching for info on the guy. Hell, I'm
hooking-up with John Smith again  tomorrow so I've no room to be jealous or
suspicious of Rob getting it on with  someone. One thing I know: Robby isn't
the kind of guy who just runs into  someone he hasn't seen in almost four
years and then goes out for a few  beers with him. I might do that, but only
for the same reason Robby would,  meaning there's some kind of sexual history
to maybe be revisited.  Otherwise he'd need to have been very close friends
to the guy to hook-up  for a couple of beers after four years. To a high
school chum you haven't seen  for years, you'd say, "Hey, whassup, dude?"

Exchange a few comments and move  on... unless, like I said, there was some
sexual history way back  when.

What the hell, Rob's  alone and so am I so our side-sex 'arrangement' comes
into play.  We've both acknowledged we're basically too sex-craved for our
own good,  but that's what we're dealing with so whaddaya gonna do? I dwell
on Rob's phone  call for another twenty minutes fighting with myself about
going on Facebook and  looking-up Greg Peters. Yeah, I can picture in my head
Robby, Dodger  and this Greg Peters character fucking each other's brains
out in the  pool house as thirteen or fourteen-year-old kids. The lucky
bastards.

Finally giving up on  daydreaming about pool house fucking, I order a pizza
for dinner, watch a  movie on HBO, and get to bed before ten o'clock. After
not sleeping well without  Robby to hold onto, I wake-up Thursday morning
and lie in bed  staring at an entire day ahead of me without one single thing
I  need to do. Checking myself out I'm delighted to discover I don't have a
single  flu symptom. I'm apparently not going to get Robby's flu because
I'd  surely know by now. Heh heh, that makes me feel good. It has to be the
flu  shot I had in September that saved me.

Getting out of bed and  walking around wearing jockey shorts and Rob's
raggedy-ass old bathrobe, I  finally make a couple of scrambled eggs to have
with toast and coffee for  breakfast then lie on the sofa wondering if I really
should go to  Butch's Sports bar for lunch. Maybe I'd seem too eager or
something and John  might start losing interest. That's how it works sometimes.

If  something's too easy to get, then it doesn't seem as desirable. But
then he's the  one who asked me to have lunch with him again and he even
reminded me  twice to be there by twelve-thirty. I hop up off the sofa and text
Chubby: 'Bro, do you mind that I need the Jeep again today?' I don't  get a
text back until I'm drying myself after a shower. Chubby's text says,
'Absolutely no problem, Dylan. Bro, I'm so hungover!' I text that he  needs his
roommate to take care of him, and he text back that he think's John  Beverly
may have passed away because he won't wake-up. I text, 'Ha ha. Good  luck,
Chub. I feel awesome because I can control my drinking!' Hee hee, poor
Chubby.

I finish getting  dressed and then stare in the mirror at my head of hair.

Wow! I pick  up a few strands from my bangs and when I pull them up straight
they're  like four inches long. When I let go the hairs go back to being
wavy  again. Who knew I had wavy hair? Robby's hair is straight so I guess
we're not the Bobbsey Twins anymore, not hair-wise anyway. And, huh, John
Smith doesn't like my long hair which is a little odd. Why should he care?
Anyway, I need to put some gel in my hair and comb it back on the sides or
else it hangs over my ears and looks like I badly need a haircut, which I  do
and will get one from Golden on Saturday.

What about Robby  though? He won't be here Saturday. Yeah, I'm sure he said
he'll be going  back home right after his final tomorrow and therefore he
won't be here for  Golden's Saturday barbering day. Wonder what he'll do
about that? Will he  wait another month for a haircut? Not likely considering he
needs to look  professional for work. I'll bet anything his father ragged
on Rob about his hair  needing a haircut as  soon as he saw him yesterday.

I'll cut it for Rob tomorrow and go to Golden  myself on Saturday. Looking in
the mirror again I'm like, so this is what  it's like having long hair.

Yeah, ya always need to fuss with it. I fix  a sort of curl hanging down on my
forehead and grin. I look like a  bad-ass kid from the fifties. I'd look like
a tough guy back then. In this  century however, a curl on my forehead
makes me look like a fruit, as they  used to say back in the day. Then I get a
premonition: Robby didn't say it, but  I'll bet anything he got a haircut
before even going to the office  yesterday. Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch! I
would have loved giving him a  haircut. Of course my premonition could be
wrong.

I've got enough time,  so I text Daryl hoping he can come over for a
quickie before I go to Butch's bar  for a quickie. I'm thinking that this is what
it'd be like every day if I  were single. I'd never be sure when my next
chance for sex might happen.  Single guys can go on droughts without sex
lasting months. Oh, the horror!  Poor bastards. Daryl doesn't answer my text,
probably because he didn't  charge his cellphone again. For something to do
before lunch, I drive on campus  to see if anyone's in the Quad. Huh, there are
a lot fewer of my  fellow students wandering around. Some of them have
finished their finals  and have taken off for home, wherever that may be. Daryl's
leaving tomorrow  after his last exam. Gee, I really need to make a point
of seeing him before he  goes. Oh hell, I'm betting Daryl will make sure that
happens. Then I'm thinking  that tomorrow might be the last time I ever see
Ryan Wilcox. After our exam  he's probably flying out to Georgia to maybe
never return to this state as  long as he lives. That could be an awkward
farewell, or it could be a bumped  fist and, 'See ya around someday'... like
that. With Ryan ya never  know.

Hey, I could go see him  right now if I want to. I'm here on campus.

Parking the Jeep I walk down to  Ryan's dorm, then hesitate. What will I say? Oh
fuck it, I'll think of  something. At the door to his dorm I take a deep
breath, then knock and hear  something muttered from the other side of the door,
but nothing happens  for like fifteen seconds. I'm just about to knock
again when the door opens  and Ryan's roommate, Steve Church, is there. He
startles the shit out of me  because half his head is a wickedly-short burr
haircut, unprofessionally done.  Looking guilty, he goes, "Dylan! We, I, um,
didn't expect it to be you."  I'm gawking at his head so he blushes, mumbling,
"Oh, Ryan's giving me a  haircut." Steve reeks with the smell of pot. He
goes, "Ryan's not quite  finished yet as you can see." He sticks his head out
the door looking up  and down the corridor, so I ask, "Who'd you think it was
knocking on your  door?" He goes, "Oh, nobody," then he looks inside the
room, saying, "It's  Dylan."

I get the distinct  impression he is stalling about letting me enter. I go,
"I can come  back some other time. It's just I thought, um, you know...

Ryan's  transferring and I thought..." Now Ryan's at the door looking
uncomfortable and  reeking of weed. "Dylan? Hi, c'mon in." He and Steve grin at each
other, then  Ryan grips the back of Steve's neck and pushing him inside. The
room, as  always, is neat as a pin, but there's a haze of pot smoke
floating near the  ceiling. They have a newspaper spread out under the desk chair
with  lots of Steve's cut hairs on it. I gave Steve his last haircut very
recently so he didn't need a haircut. This is bizarre! Ryan says, "Sorry we
can't share a joint with you, Dylan. I know how much you like pot, but too
bad  because we just finished the last one. Didn't we Stevie?" Steve looks
totally cooked. I look at Ryan's latest SuperCuts haircut for the trip  home,
to impress his father I suppose. It looks like shit, by the way, but it
definitely was not done by Steve. It's look horribly authentic as a  SuperCuts
job. I wish I'd hadn't come to see this. That fucker, Ryan, knows I  like
giving him haircuts but he's intent on sticking it to me right up to the
bitter end.

We're sorts of just  standing here with those two grinning like they just
got caught with their hand  in the cookie jar, or maybe like I almost caught
Ryan's dick in Steve's  mouth. I ask Ryan, "So, ya stopped taking the meds,
huh?" Ryan goes, "Yeah,  I told you that a couple of Fridays ago." I mutter,
"No, you didn't." He's  like, "Whatever, the 'rents have taken a two-year
lease out for the apartment I  want, so no need for the meds anymore. Jeff's
ready to move in with me January  first." Well it's interesting he's been
off the meds for three weeks and  never once suggested we get together for
some buddy sex. Ryan  says to Steve, "Why are you still standing there? Sit the
fuck down  and I'll finish your haircut." Steve sits on the desk chair,
saying,  "You're gonna continue my haircut with Dylan here?" Ryan makes a face,
 "What'd I just tell you?" Steve nods his head muttering, "Sorry," and sits
down.  I'm shaking my head picturing me acting the same way towards Ryan in
 Georgia. What magic does he have to get guys kissing his ass?
I must have  an incredulous expression on my face because Ryan goes,
"What's with  that look, Dylan? You disapprove? For your information Steve's
agreed to my  specialty haircut. Heh heh, unfortunately the barber clippers are
for shit  and it's been tough going." Why is he acting pissed off at me? I
frown  at him like, 'What's your problem? and he grabs the back of Steve's
neck again and roughly pulls his head over so far it bumps Ryan's hip,  then
he holds it there as Ryan asks, "Aren't you happy to get this haircut,
Stevie?" Steve blushes, "Well, I didn't really need a haircut, but considering
the circumstances I...." Ryan says, "Never mind the circumstances," and  he
keeps Steve's head in that awkward position, saying to me, "So what can  I do
for you. Um, why are you here?" I go, "Just to say 'hi'," then I point  at
Steve's butchered hair asking, "How could you do that to him? Steve's been a
 good roommate to you." Letting go of Steve's neck, Ryan rubs Steve's
butchered hair, saying, "What I did to him? Steve and I have an agreement," and
Steve goes, "No Ryan! It our secret! Jesus, I'll be coming back  here after
the break." Ryan swats the back of Steve's head, mumbling, "Shut  up," and
Steve frowns, but he does shut up.

This whole scene  disgusts me! I ask, "What the fuck happened to your,
Ryan? Why would  you treat him like this?" He mutters, "Fuck you. What do you
care?" I'm like,  "Well, yeah, why would I care you're being horrible to your
roommate? Maybe  because there's something seriously wrong with you and you
need to get help." He  smirks at me, "You miss me and you know it." Blowing
out a noisy exhale, I  go, "Okay, you two are busy so I'll leave you to it,"

and Ryan turns  on the cheap clippers, saying, "Yeah, I'll see you at the
final exam tomorrow,  unless you wanna stay and I'll do your haircut next."

He turns to smirk at  me, "I know you'd love that, but you no longer have the
balls to  follow your true nature." I go, "An enticing offer for sure, but
I'll  pass. Steve, don't worry, you'll be fine next semester. This will be
between us  and no one else." Ryan runs the bare clippers up the back of
Steve's head  with lots of brown hair tumbling off the head of the clippers.

Looking at me,  Ryan mumbles, "Is there something else?" I shake my head
looking disgusted,  and he says, "You know where the door is," and Steve says a
pathetic,  "Thank you, Dylan." I go out the door feeling a little sick to my
stomach.

Ryan can be such a  sick mean prick! Poor Steve. He'll go home with that
abomination of a  haircut and not only freak out his parents and friends, but
his girlfriend  too. Fucking sicko Ryan! I recall now that Steve was hinting
around  how he'd like to experiment with gay sex. It was the first haircut
I did  for him when he asked me to blow him. I had no interest in that, but
told  him he could suck my cock. Ha ha, but that was of no interest to  him.

Ryan though, he has that mysterious something that  apparently got through
to Steve. He put Steve under his spell somehow  so that Steve's not even
complaining about the butcher-job of a haircut he's  getting, plus he may have
already sucked Ryan off and is probably getting  fucked up the ass later.

It's unbelievable! There's some  mysterious magnetism that Ryan has for
certain guys, and I admit that  I used to be one of those certain guys. Jeff too,
and now poor Steve. Well,  now I won't have any problem saying goodbye to
Ryan tomorrow; none at all.  I haven't seen him much these past three months
because of his depressed  personality and now I don't want to see him in his
manic one.

Lighting a cigarette, I  can't believe how fucked-up he's become. Or was he
always fucked-up and I  refused to see it because of the sex? Hardly anyone
else I know likes Ryan,  except his friend, Felix, and Felix seems like a
good guy; a  straight regular guy with no apparent fetishes or anything out
of the norm.  Of course Ryan has different acts, different personalities he
can dial up and be  that guy for a while. I don't even know who the real Ryan
Wilcox  is.

Thinking again about  that scene in their dorm room and, damn, as bad as
that was my  goddamn haircut fetish was buzzing a little seeing the hair Ryan
cut  off poor Steve's head. I was glad to get out of there though. Leaning
against  the Jeep to finish my smoke I still can't get my head around how
much  Ryan has changed. Thinking back I can remember times when he had a
schizoid  personality, shunning almost everyone except me, and then other times
he's  this confident bossy guy dominating the likes of me, and Jeff from
Georgia, and  apparently Steve now too. It's scary, is what it is.

Damn, that was  unsettling! I feel shaky and yet I still remember how
sexually aroused Ryan  could get me and, oh my God, the climaxes I had with him.

It's impossible  that he's that same person now though. The meds or maybe
some  new chemical in his brain has changed him. It has to be something like
that. I couldn't have been so wrong about him all this time; could I? He
seemed  like a different person from the very first day he arrived  here at
Merrimack this year. Still, I could cry thinking about the good  times we've
had together, and will never have again. I loved him in a way there  in
Georgia, but he was much different than this current Ryan. This version  of Ryan
wouldn't interest me at all. Damn, I wish I could save Steve's  haircut for
him, but there won't be a thing I can do for him because he'll  have hardy
any hair left on his head. Shit, what am I talking about? I  wore that haircut
for months! Did Ryan hypnotize me somehow? Everyone was so  used to my
goofy short haircuts, and I mean going all the way back to my  days with Willie,
that they'd just roll their eyes at my latest ridiculously  short haircut.

Fuck though, I feel so stupid now!

That visit to Ryan's  dorm put me in a gloomy frame of mind. Depressed, I
get in the Jeep  and start the engine figuring I'll skip Butch's Sports bar
for now.  I'm not in the mood, but then my cellphone beeps and it's a text
from  John Smith, 'I'm leaving work now. Meet me at the bar, I have a favor to
ask  of you.'  A favor? I barely know him...

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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