Date: Fri, 7 Jul 2017 22:24:35 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE    Chapter  50

DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  50


by  Donny Mumford


After a couple hours  of hanging-out with Pony I'm now driving across
campus to  get Rob. He just texted me that practice is over and he's ready  to
go. Odd that he used Danny's phone instead of his own, but I'm expecting him
to be on a baseball high now that spring training is in full swing.  Driving
as close as I can get to the baseball complex I see Rob sitting on the
brick wall in front of the main entrance. He's leaning over with  his forearms
on his thighs and his hands clasped together with his  head down. There's a
pamphlet of some kind in his hands and Danny  Monday's bending over him with
a hand on Rob's shoulder. Well that  doesn't look right so instead of
tooting the horn to get their attention I park  the pickup and get out.

Walking up to them, I'm  like, "What's up, guys?" Danny turns his head and
tells me, "Rob got beaned in  the head with a line drive off Mc Nally's bat,
the asshole." I like, "You're  saying Rob's an asshole?" Danny goes, "Don't
be stupid, Dylan! McNally's  the asshole." Ignoring him, I sit next to Rob
on the brick wall, asking,  "How do you feel, Rob?" He mumbles, "Oh, um, not
good. 'Slats' says I have  a concussion." I go, "Who?" and Danny says, "Dr.

Slatterly. He's the team  doctor." I'm like, "Who's McNaterly?" Danny says,
"Bruce McNally is the team's  home run leader." I'm like, "Okay, would you
take it from the top, Danny,  please. What happened?" Danny snaps, "I just
fucking told you!" I give him  a 'look' and he goes, "Um, okay. From the top.

All the infielders were  jogging to their positions. This was about an hour
into practice. A  freshman pitcher is on the mound warming-up and for some
stupid-ass reason  McNally swings at a warm-up pitch and hit a line-drive
off the back of Rob's  head." I'm incredulous, "What the fuck?" Danny says,
"The coach suspended  McNally for a week. Our best home-run hitter missing a
week of spring training,  can you believe that?" I go, "Fuck spring training!
What about  Rob?"

Danny goes, "I was only  saying..." and Rob whispers, "Please don't shout."

Nobody was shouting. Rubbing  Rob's shoulder, I look at him and then look
at Danny, asking both of  them, "Well, um, what am I supposed to do? Is there
some treatment or  medicine or something?" Rob waves the pamphlet he's
holding so I take it from  him and read out-loud: Do's and Don'ts for
Concussions, then ask Danny, "Was he knocked  unconscious?" I'm thinking of Peter the
gorilla who was knocked unconscious  when he hit his head on the cement
patio. The gorilla claims he was  hospitalized three days because of it.

Danny grabs at the  pamphlet, saying, "Let me see that. Um, no, he wasn't
unconscious."  I  snatch the paper back from Danny, reading from it. "Rest is
the number  one treatment for concussions. For a headache take Tylenol or
something  comparable. DO NOT take an ibuprofen based pain medication.  Avoid
all physical activities, watch for behavior changes, check if the
concussion patient is easily irritated, or..." looking up from the  pamphlet, I go,
"Christ, there's tons of information here. I remember some  of it from my
concussion experience."

Danny grabs the  pamphlet out of my hand as I kneel down next to Rob,
asking, "How are you  feeling right this second, Rob?" He's looking down, but
lifts his eyes to give  me a little grin, murmuring, "I feel better now that
Dr. Newman is on my case."  He's pale and lethargic. I go, "Seriously, how do
you feel?" He shrugs, "I  feel like a jackass getting hit in the head with a
line drive." Danny says,  "Your back was to the batter! You weren't even to
short-stop yet and that  dick-weed swings at a warm-up pitch." I'm kinda
glad to see that Danny's  agitated about this because I certainly am. Rob's
waving his fingers at Danny,  "Shhh, talk lower, okay?" I quietly ask, "Aside
from feeling like a  jackass, how do you feel." He goes, "Walking here I
thought I was going to throw  up, which is why I'm sitting on this fucking wall
and not moving. Also, my  head aches."

I look at the back of  his head, asking, "Did this quack doctor see the
lump on the back of  your head?" Rob goes, "I don't know," so I look at Danny,
who says, "Yeah, of  course he did. The scalp isn't, um, split or bleeding.

The doc had Rob lie down in the  first aid room. That's where he's been for
the past two hours. I helped  get Rob there and Slats told me to stay with
him and report any change  in his, ah, behavior. Whatever that means." I go,
"Well, was there any change in  his behavior?" Danny shrugs, "Not really. He
fell asleep. I told Slats  that, ya know, in case that's what he meant by
change in behavior." I go,  "What'd he say?" Danny shrugs, "He told me that
sleep is good." I go, "You call  the doctor-guy, Slats?" Danny shrugs again,
"That's what he told us to call him  way back when we were freshman.

Everybody calls him that." I go, 'What kind  of doctor is he, a dentist?" Danny
goes, "What difference does it make,  Dylan?"

It's my turn to shrug,  then say, "Well, the doctor let Rob leave so he
must be okay, right?"  Rob mutters, "You're discussing me as if I'm not here."

Danny and I look at Rob,  and then Danny's like, "I had to sit there for two
hours and watch Rob  sleep. I missed most of the fucking practice." I go,
"Yeah, you said that,  but guess what, everything isn't about you, Danny!
What'd the doctor say  just before letting you two leave?" Danny exhales like
this is a  pain-in-his-ass, then says, "First Slats ask Rob questions and
gave him a  few math problems to solve." I'm like, "Math problems, what
the...?" Danny  goes, "He said it's to test Rob's ability to pay attention, or
something like  that." I'm like, "Something like that, huh? How about your own
ability to  pay attention?" He goes, "Hey, you're upset that Rob's hurt, I
get that,  but don't take it out on me!" Looking closely at Rob I mutter,
"Yeah,  yeah. Obviously, I need to get him home and give him some Tylenol  for
his headache, and then get him in bed." I kneel down again and quietly  say,
"Let us know when you feel you can walk without throwing-up, okay?" He
says, "Let's try it now. I really would like to get in  bed."

It's only like ten  yards to the pickup. We slowly walk to it with Danny
and me on either  side of Rob. Opening the passenger door, Danny asks, "Would
you like me to  come with you, Dylan?" In one way, I would because it's
scary dealing with the  unknown alone. It'd be good having someone else there if
Rob, I don't know,  starts convulsing or something. On the other hand, what
if Rob just sleeps  leaving Danny and me twiddling our thumbs and straining
for small  talk. I'm like, "Thank, Danny, but Rob's probably just going to
sleep it  off. I'll read the pamphlet and follow the instructions." He nods,
"Yeah,  okay. Slats says he'll follow concussion protocol with Rob before
Monday's  practice." I mutter, "Protocol, huh? Yeah, okay. Thanks for
looking-out for him.  Sorry if I was a little, um, impatient with you earlier."

Danny looks like he  wants to say something, then just mumbles, "Sure," and
hands me Rob's baseball  cap and glove.

He walks off toward  dormitory row as Rob clicks his seat belt, saying,
"The Doc said I'll probably  feel better in a couple of hours, Dylan. If
not..." and he takes a business  card from his pocket and hands it to me, "Call
him. That's his cellphone number  on the back." Starting the engine, I'm like,
"Is this doctor at every practice?"  Rob lies the side of his head back on
the seat, not wanting to lie on the  bump the baseball caused, mumbling,
"No, he's there at random times. We  have a full-time trainer who's experienced
with medical  stuff." I say, "Okay. Just, um, relax. There's no need to
talk if you don't want  to." He murmurs, "Thanks, babe," and closes his eyes.

During the short trip  down route 114 I'm shaking my head in disgust. Not
at Rob's concussion but at  Merrimack for taking so long to complete the
newest addition to the campus.  Well, it isn't actually on campus. It's the new
traffic light on route  114 installed across the four lanes of traffic that
now allows  students to safely cross the highway to Merrimack from the Royal
Crest  apartments. Why they didn't have a traffic light years ago is
puzzling  since many students, like Rob and I, rent apartments. Until now
apartment  renters without a car had to risk life and limb a number of  times every
day crossing this busy highway. Overhead I see the new  traffic light is
blinking yellow, then red. I come to a stop  along with all the other vehicles
in both directions. We all sit here as a  single student saunters across the
highway taking her good ol' time. Hee hee, it  must piss-off the drivers
going and coming from their jobs every day. Fuck  'em though!
After parking at our  apartment, we go inside our building and Rob
complains that the  lights in here are too bright. Yeah, Rob's a bit of a complainer
when he's  not feeling a hundred percent. Other than that,  though he has
no  problem going upstairs and inside our apartment. Encouraging!  After
taking three Tylenol he undresses in the dark with me standing there not
knowing  what else to do. Rob gets in bed wearing only jockey shorts as I ask,
"Can I get you anything, Rob?" He goes, "No thanks. Sorry to ruin your Friday
night, Dylan." I mutter, "Don't be silly, I'll be here if you need
anything." He  sighs, mutters, "Thanks," and seems to go right to sleep.

While he sleeps, I lie  on the sofa conscientiously reading the concussion
pamphlet front  to back. Okay, now I know what to expect, which is just
about anything.  The pamphlet describes such a wide range of possibilities as to
be  almost worthless. Concussions can last from a couple of hours to, in
some cases,  long-term brain injuries. Yeah, that covers the possibilities I
suppose. Looking  at the doctor's business card I decide... fuck calling this
quack-doctor  Slats. If I see any unusual behavior from Rob, I'll call 911
and let  the professionals decide what to do. That's basically what I've
concluded  from reading the pamphlet.

It's seven o'clock and  I should be hungry but I'm not. Still lying on the
sofa, I surf through  ninety-cable-channels on TV without finding anything
worth watching.  Chubby texts me asking if Rob and I want to go to a party
tonight. It's  probably the same party that the douche-bag bully in the
lavatory asked Pony for a ride to, and then wanted to borrow twenty bucks  from
him before I politely told him to go fuck himself. Anyway, I tell Chub  about
Rob's concussion and he volunteers to keep me company but I encourage him
to go to the party. The fact is I'm kinda glad I have a valid reason  to
stay in tonight. I wish it was some other reason, but I'm not upset about
staying in. I'll take this opportunity to chill and finish my  John Sandford
book. That's what I do and then just before ten  o'clock I make a fried egg and
cheese sandwich on toast. That's all I feel like  eating for dinner.  After
a shower, I ease into bed trying not to disturb  Rob. Sliding over to him I
put my arm over his side and go to  sleep.

Saturday morning, I  wake-up a little after nine o'clock feeling good
except for...  something. Oh yeah, Rob's concussion. He isn't in bed though and wh
en  I hear the refrigerator door close I know where he is. This is
probably a good sign. Getting up I pad into the kitchen glancing out the sliding
glass doors to see a gray gloomy March day. Turning on the  lights, I ask,
"How ya feeling, Rob?" He says, "Oh fuck! Would  you please turn off that
fucking spot light." I flick the light  switch, "The light is a problem huh?" He
goes, "Well yeah! It's too fucking  bright! Jesus!" Huh, easily irritated
is one of the symptoms to watch  for.

I quietly say, "Except  for the light being too bright, how do you feel?"

He goes, "A little  dizzy but nothing major,  and please stop asking me how I
feel." Well fuck you too, but I go,  "Yeah, I suppose  hearing that
question would get irritating after a while.  Remember when I had a concussion
and...?" He shrugs, "I guess, um, where'd you  hide the Tylenol?" I hand him a
couple of Tylenol that I shake from the  bottle that's been in plain sight on
the kitchen bar three-feet  from him. He swallows them with a glass of
orange juice. "Do you want something  to eat, Rob?" He says, "No thanks. I'm
going back to bed. Sorry I yelled at  you." On the way back to the bedroom, he
mumbles, "That fuckin'  idiot, McNally! I'm gonna kick his ass..." Huh, I'll
take  Rob's vitriol at McNally as a positive sign. I mean, he's not  as
lethargic as he was last night.

Rob and I recently  cleaned the apartment and did the laundry so I don't
need to do that. Instead  I plop on the sofa and try the TV again. Oh fuck!
Saturday morning is  absolutely the worst time to try watching television.

That's unless you're  four-years-old in which case it's the best possible time
to watch TV. I didn't  even like cartoons when I was four years old. Oh man!
I check on Rob  and see he's sleeping soundly. Huh, it makes me think of
Chubby the day  before Christmas break. He'd been up all night drinking so
when I got him home  and in my bed I was checking on him all day. And every
time I checked  on him he was sleeping. This is going to be another day like
that one I  suppose. Then my cellphone rings. Caller ID is Daryl Ponti. Oh
shit! I was  supposed to take him  to get his nipple pierced this morning. I
tell Pony about Rob and then  say, "And don't you fuckin' go over there on
your own, Pony! I'll  probably be able to get out later this afternoon." He
says, "You have a hard  time keeping your word, Dylan. Are you sure you'll go
with me later?" I'm  pissed, "I always keep my word. Daryl! This is an
emergency unexpected  development." He's contrite, "Yeah, I'm sorry. Okay, later
then." 'Later'  is a vague term, so we'll see.

Then the buzzer  buzzes in the apartment so I go over and hit the button,
"Yes?" the voice  from outside the backdoor goes, "Hi, um, is this Rob
Dickers' apartment?" I go,  "Uh huh. And who are you, if you don't mind me
asking?" He goes, "Is that  you, Dylan?" I go, "Uh huh." He says, "This is Lawyer
Ross, um, ah,  just wondering how Rob's doing. Ah, I was elected by the team
to  check-up on him." Oh, Lawyer, huh. Cute black guy. Well he's light-brown
 actually. I go, "That's cool, Lawyer. I'll buzz you in,"  then tell him,
"We're up the steps. Apartment  201."

I'm waiting for  him in the hall holding our front door open when he comes
through the door at  the top of the steps. He  turns and looks down the hall
the wrong way. Lawyer's wearing a backpack  and carrying a white pastry box
in both hands. Smiling, I go, "Hey,  Lawyer!" He turns and sees me as I
say, "So, you finally worked up the  balls to let me give you a haircut, huh?"

Walking towards me he reaches up with  one hand feeling his Afro, grinning,
then mumbling, "Oh, actually  I'm here to cheer-up Rob, but maybe get a
haircut too. Yeah, not a bad  idea." When he's at the door, he adds, "The team
chipped-in and bought a  get-well cake for him. And there's a card that a lot
of the guys signed." A  fucking cake? Lawyer holds up the box that's
wrapped with string the way  bakeries do it. I go, "C'mon in," and inside he goes,
"Nice place," as he looks  around.

Taking the box from him  and putting it on the kitchen tables, I go, "Take
your coat off and  we'll look in on Rob." Then I hear, "Who is it, Dylan?"

We walk to the bedroom  and I open the door, "It's Lawyer Ross from the team.

The team bought a,  um, cake for you." Rob goes, "A cake?" Well yeah, I
think that's a bit odd  myself. Lawyer walks into the bedroom, telling Rob,
"Yeah, it's a  fucking cake. Let 'em eat cake, mother-fucker. How ya feeling,
Rob?"  and they slap palms. Rob mumbles, "I'm not sure. I've been sleeping so
much  I'm, ah, I guess I feel a little better. What's with the cake?"

Lawyer looks at  me, "Um, should I get it, Dylan?" I go, "I'll get it. Have a
seat," as I  point to the desk chair.

I bring the box to the  bedroom and hand it to Lawyer. Leaning against the
door jamb I watch Lawyer sets the  box on the desk and hand Rob the envelope
that was under the string. Rob sits up  lying back against both our pillows
and opens the get-well card. He reads some of the  comments out-loud and we
all get some laughs at the creative way his  teammates have of breaking
Rob's balls. He's looking better now. His color is  better than earlier this
morning.

Lawyer opens  the box and shows Rob the cake. On top of the butter cream
vanilla icing is a picture drawn in different colored icings of a baseball
player getting, 'Boink!' on the head with a baseball the size of a
basketball. The caption says, 'That's what your glove is for!' Rob has a  laugh and
then grimaces. I say, "I'll get a couple of Tylenol, Rob." He takes  the
Tylenol with a glass of water and then I fake being  interested while Lawyer and
Rob talk about the baseball team. Later  I cut the cake and see it's
chocolate cake under the icing. We all have a  piece at eleven o'clock in the
morning and this is one delicious  cake! After eating two slices of cake I leave
the teammates to talk and go  in the living room feeling very encouraged
that Rob's on the  mend.

I'm on the balcony  smoking a cigarette when I hear the sliding doors open.

Turning I see Lawyer. He  grins, "Hey, Dylan... um, Rob wants to rest. Can
I bum a cigarette?" I hold the  box of Marlboro Lights out as he says,
"Haven't had a smoke in over six  months. I don't think one cigarette will get me
back in the habit though...  do you?" I hand him my Bic lighter, "Ya never
know, Lawyer. It might." Taking a  drag and then blowing it out, he says, "I
really liked smoking but all  those warnings about lung cancer ruined it
for me." I go, "Yeah, it was  way better back in the sixties when smokers
could believe the  lies the cigarette companies told them." He chuckles, "Yeah,
ignorance is  bliss." I ask, "Having any luck with your love life?" He
shakes his head, "Nah,  I'm still deep in the closet and still too much of a
pussy to do anything  about it. You and Rob are they only guys here that know
I'm gay." I  go, "Yeah, well maybe you're not gay after all. I mean
considering you've lived twenty-two years ignoring it." Lawyer is a  senior. He
shrugs, "I don't know about that. Anyway, how about  that haircut you promised
me?" I go, "Get outta here! You're  actually going to let me give you a
haircut?" He runs his fingers  through his long Afro chuckling, then mumbling,
"Somebody's got to. Why not  you?"

Lawyer has a big head  of hair. He's my height or maybe a tad taller.

Really nice guy with a sweet  manner. He has a pretty milk-chocolate light-brown
complexion of  very smooth blemish-free skin. He told me his father's white
Irish and his  mother's African American with a Japanese Grandfather. Quite
an interesting genetic ancestry. His mother was a model until moving from
London to America with her husband and son. Lawyer  was thirteen-years-old
at the time and he still has a little touch of  that cool English accent. I
guess I'd describe him as having European  facial features even though I'm
not quite sure what that means.  Actually, I think Lawyer's kind of exotic
looking; that might be a better  way of describing him. Exotic in a
good-looking way. I ask, "What kind of  haircut did you have in mind?" He says what
most guys say, "I don't know. What  do you suggest?" I tell him, "Let's look
online for trendy hairstyles." He  says, "For black guys, right?" I shrug, "If
you say so."

We go in off the  balcony and from his backpack Lawyer gets his laptop and
Googles  'Trendy haircuts for young black men'. There's quite a selection
but he  finally points at one that's titled, 'polished fade'. It's very  short
hair on the sides faded to slightly longer hair further up the  sides. Then
there's a shaved-in 'part' on the left side of the model's  head. On top
the longer hair is combed to the side. A very preppy and  clean-cut look and
it's a haircut I've seen on quite a few  professional athletes as well as
some young movie actors in  People magazine. I go, "Oh man, that's a fade
haircut and while I've  done a couple of haircuts like that I think you'd do
yourself a favor  Googling barbers in this area who specialize in fade
haircutting It's  quite a unique talent that most barbers can't do well." He says,
"Are you saying  you won't do it for me after all the times you asked me to
let you cut my hair?"  I go, "Um, I believe I asked you a total of two times.

If you  wanna call that, 'all the times you asked me?' I don't know what to
tell you." He chuckles, "It seemed like more than twice. So you're saying
you can't do it?" I go,  "No, I can do it, but," and I tap the computer
screen, "not  as perfectly as the stylist did on this model's  hair."

Lawyer would be only  the second head of African-American-type-hair I've
cut. The first one  was Sam Workman's half-brother, Sly. That was last summer
in  Georgia when Sam and I worked together under Ryan, along with a number
of  other guys. Sammy has this cute hot-shit little half-brother,  Sly, who's
dad was black. Their mother is white. Anyway, Sly's hair was  like
Lawyer's, which is to say soft, fine, and loosely  kinky. Sly wanted  the haircut
his brother got, which was that stupid new style everyone seems  to be getting
nowadays: the shaved sides and back with a big pile of hair on  top. No
fading necessary at all with that haircut. Anybody with  clippers could do
that.

I go, "I'll do my best,  Lawyer, if you're sure you want me to do it." He
goes, "You're not making  me feels real confident about this, Dylan." I go,
"Oh fuck it, I can do it,  no problem," and then I point at one of the white
models at the lower  part of the computer screen, saying, "Talk about
dumb-ass haircuts. Look at that  'seventies' hairstyle on that young guy. It looks
like  a hairstyle for a middle-aged woman." Lawyer laughs, "I know what you
 mean. Hey, have you ever heard Alan Partridge's song, 'Ladyboys'?" I shake
my  head and he Googles it. The song goes, 'Looks like a lady, when in fact
 it's a chap. Yo what's that G? Some homey's been dissing my bitch....' and
 so on. It's funny but I don't like the line, 'God made Adam and Eve, not
Adam and Steve.'
Lawyer says, "It's all  a spoof. For one thing there is no Alan Partridge.

He's a fictional character  played by a funny English guy name of, Steve
Coogan. He goes way back before my  time in the early nineteen-nineties." I
nod, "Oh yeah, a funny  guy, huh?" Then, "Shall we get started?" he nods, "Yes
let's, I am so ready for  a different look I can't even tell ya." After
pushing the kitchen table against  the wall, I do his haircut on the living room
side of the tile floor.  It's still technically part of the kitchen but
away from the food  preparation and eating areas. I'm glad I have the barber
cape for  Lawyer 'cause it's a touch of professionalism hopefully giving
Lawyer a  little peace of mind.

His hair is pretty much  the same length all over his head. Reminds me of
John Smith's hair that grew out  from a buzz cut the same length all over.

Lawyer's hair has a much different  texture than John Smith's hair though.

It's fine and dense with a slight  wave rather than what I'd call nappy, like
the hair some black guys  have. The hair on the sides and back of Lawyer's
head is much too long for me to  begin doing a fade so I spend four or five
minutes combing it up and  running clipper across the comb until the hair is
just over an inch-long on the  sides and back of his head. The short hair
really looks funny  with seven-to-eight-inch hairs on top. It's looks like a
clown hairdo,  or a parody of the current popular style of shaved sides with a
long  hair on top.

With Lawyer's watching  my every move in the handheld mirror I gave him,
I'm using bare  clippers up the sides and back, going up about an
inch-and-a-half above his  ears. Then I start the fade process by using, first the
one-sixteenth-inch-guide to blend with the bare clipper cut, then a little
further up I use the one-eight-inch-guide, and finally  the one-quarter-inch
guide up to about an inch or so  below where I'll make the part. Halfway
through this 'fade' procedure  Rob comes out of the bedroom wearing pajamas and a
bathrobe. He gets  something to drink and then, sipping a bottle of Pepsi,
sits on a stool watching  us. No one says anything, so all we hear is the
buzzing  clippers.

It takes  twenty-five-minutes of meticulous clipper-cutting before I'm
satisfied  it's a good fade cut up the sides and back. I use the trimmer
clippers to  shave in a straight part on the left side of his head, then use  it to
outline around and behind his ears. Done  that Lawyer finally speaks, "It
looks exactly like the picture, Dylan.  What where you worried about?" Rob
says, "Really cool looking haircut,  babe." I shrug, "No, I had confidence I
could do it. If I didn't I  wouldn't try it." Yeah, but the truth is it's not
perfect and not as good as the  fade haircut on the model either. It's
close enough  though that hardly anyone who isn't proficient at haircutting
would  notice the differences. I see one huge difference: the professional
hairstylist started by using the trimming clippers for the first
inch-and-a-half cut above the ears. From there the fade to bare clippers is  done
perfectly on the model, but I couldn't do it. That's why I omitted  that first step.

They can't tell though, and the rest of the differences  are picayune ones.

I'm very pleased with the 'fade' I was able to  do overall.

The hair on top I begin  cutting by combing up bunches and holding it
between my index and  middle fingers then cutting off the hair above my fingers.

I'm not sure how  short it should be to have it comb-over properly so I cut
the hair down an  inch at a time. Another tedious process that I wouldn't
want to do very often.  Normally cutting guy's hair is a rush for my haircut
fetish, but this  is too tedious and nerve-racking to get the fetish buzzing.

When I've cut the  top hair down to about two-inches the hair combs over to
the side nicely. I  leave it that length then taper it where it meets the
quarter-inch hair in  back at the crown and on the side opposite the part and
then, whew, it's  done.

Lawyer has the so  called 'polished fade' haircut that's like the model's
haircut. He  holds the screen up next to his head, asking, "Is it identical,
Rob?" Rob  says, "The haircut, yes, although you're much better looking than
that  guy." Lawyer says, "Obviously, bro, but Dylan's haircut is the same,
right?" I  interject, "Yes, it's the same, Lawyer. That'll be a hundred and
eighty-five dollars please, and don't be a shy tipper." He laughs, then
says,  "I'll catch you next Thursday with the hundred-and-eight-five dollars,
dude." Chuckling, I'm feeling proud of myself, but act blasé. Lawyer  helps
be sweep up a big pile of his cut hairs and then says, "All kidding  aside,
I'm fucking thrilled with how this turned out, Dylan," and he  hugs me, then
kisses me on the lips. We both laugh and blush a little  remembering the
kissing-lesson I gave Lawyer months ago. Rob's like,  "What's so funny?" I
tell him and then take cellphone pictures of Lawyer's  fade haircut.

It's after twelve  o'clock by now and Lawyer wants to get lunch in the
dining hall so he thanks me  again and tells Rob to get well soon, then takes
off. Rob and I talk a little  about the haircut I did for Lawyer. He's
impressed and that makes me happy.  It's not long before Rob yawns, hops off the
stool and says, "Believe it or not,  Dylan, I'm heading back to bed. I'm
really am starting to feel better though. No  dizziness and the Tylenol are
keeping my headache manageable." I nod, "I'm  glad, Rob." As he walks down the
hall, he says over his shoulder, "If I was  a hundred percent I'd do your
haircut for you since the barber stuff is  out." I go, "Whenever, Rob."

The bedroom door closes  and I check my hair out in the mirror over the
sofa. The hair on the  sides of my head is over the tops of my ears. Short
haircuts like Rob gives  me look ragged after two-to-three-weeks whereas with
long hair styles  you can't tell the difference after eight-weeks. Rob's been
doing an okay  job with his barbering and I actually like that he's doing it
for me.  I don't complain like I did with Ryan, but then Rob's haircuts are
ten times  better, so why would I complain. Plus, I also didn't like
Golden's assembly  line haircuts and for those two reasons I'm okay with Rob being
my  barber. Hmmm, although my long wavy blond hair on top of my head was
kind of a pain to deal with I did kinda like it.

Not  especially hungry I grab a Pepsi to drink on the balcony while I  have
my second smoke of the day. It's like fifty-degrees outside, damp and windy
 though, so not a great day but there are guys and girls yelling and
playing  touch football in the area between the parking lots; drinking too
undoubtedly.  My cellphone pings so I take it from my side pocket and see a text
from Lawyer.  'Dude, my haircut is a huge hit with the brothers! Can I tell
them you did  it?" Ooh no! I smile because I'm pleased that other guys like
the  haircut enough to want one like it, but I don't want to do those
haircuts, so text back, 'No, don't tell anyone!' I tell him  that because there's
simply too many ways to fuck-up a fade  haircut and then there's no way to
correct the fuck-up. He texts  back, 'Mums the word, bro, but you gotta keep
doing mine or....'. Ha ha!  Ya gotta admire an effective implied threat.

With nothing better to  do, and Rob sleeping again, I watch a cooking show
on TV concluding I  wouldn't eat anything Chef Ming prepared, and then
there's a knock  on the front door. That's either our neighbor or Chubby.

Everyone else  would need to buzz our apartment to get in the back door. I  gave
Chub the code for the back door so I'm hoping it's him. Opening the  door I
see Chub and his shadow, John  Beverly. John's holding a bag that I recognize
as a  D'Angelo's bag. The D'Angelo chain of fast  food restaurants promotes
grilled sandwiches, none of which I've  ever ordered, but they also make
Italian cold subs and cheesesteaks.  I'm hoping either one of those is in the
bag. Chubby says, "Bro, we thought you  guys might enjoy Italian subs for
lunch. How's Rob doing?" We hug briefly and as  I bump fist with John Beverly,
I say, "He's improving. Lots of  sleeping."

John Beverly holds up  the bag, like, 'What do you wanna do with these
sandwiches?" I take the  bag, saying, "Jeezs, thanks, guys. I've got some hot
cherry  peppers slices we can put in the subs." Chub says, "Don't thank me. It
 was John's idea and he bought the subs." Rob comes out of the bedroom
putting on his bathrobe, mumbling, "Did I hear someone say something  about
D'Angelo Italian subs for lunch?" Chubby and John bump fist with  Rob, as John
goes, "This is not a contagious situation you've got, I assume."  Rob
chuckles, "Um, no. You can't catch a concussion." John wants to know  how it
happened and as Rob tells him I unwrap the subs and add sliced hot cherry
peppers and some olive oil and dry oregano to each one. D'Angelo uses  Italian
cold cuts and provolone cheese, sliced red onion, tomato, and  lettuce but
doesn't use olive oil. They use vegetable oil so we always  order the subs
'dry'. They also offer mayonnaise which no one in their  right mind would put on
an Italian sub. I ask Rob, "You're hungry, huh?" He  says, "Yes, I'm really
hungry." I'd imagine that's a good  sign.

We eat at the kitchen  table using the waxed-paper the subs were wrapped in
as our dishes. After taking  a bite of his sandwich, Chub goes, "A beer
would sure go good with  this sub." I get him and John beers while Rob and I
have Pepsis. Chub  asks, "Why Pepsi, Dylan?" I go, "Something different, and I
 think Pepsi is sweeter  than Coke. Plus Pepsi was on sale, so...." Chub
goes, "No, I mean why a soda  instead of beer?"  I'm like, "Soda taste better
than beer. Unless I'm gonna  get a high, or I'm subject to peer pressure I'd
always choose a soft drink  over beer when eating." John goes, "I agree
although I'm a follower, so when  Jeff asks for a beer that's all the peer
pressure I needed to have a beer too."  Lots of drinks taste better than beer.

The thing is though, being  twenty-one and college students there's a certain
obligation we  have to uphold the tradition of making poor choices. Rob,
being  concussed, has an excuse for drinking soda, but myself having no excuse
 I put the Pepsi back in the refrigerator and succumb to peer  pressure by
having a beer. Chuckling, I use a church key to take the cap  off a bottle
of Bud. John, Chub, and me tap bottles and chug some beer. I  go, "Let's keep
my choice of soda with lunch to ourselves, okay? I wouldn't  want that to
get out and get a reputation as being an individual  thinker. I'm with you
lemmings."

We continue drinking  beers after lunch too with Rob going back to bed.

After two beers  each we're out of beer so the three of us flip a coin and I
lose.  Driving the Jeep to McGoon's package store I buy a 30-pack case of Bud
cans on sale for $17.99. Safely back in the apartment John and Chubby admit
to  an ulterior motive for buying the lunch today. They want haircuts with
John saying, "The subs were basically a bribe, Dylan." I'm like, "Are you
saying  the purpose of your visit wasn't all about seeing how Rob was doing,
but  rather to get free haircuts from me?" John goes, "Yes, that's it
exactly." I  jokingly go, "Suckers! I would have done the free haircuts without
the subs."  Chub goes, "Yes, but we wouldn't have a 30-pack of beer to drink
while getting  the free haircuts." I'm like, "Hmmm, outwitted again by
superior minds. What  kind of haircuts do you guys want?"

They look at each other  and then Chub laughs, saying, "I know how you hate
this, bro, but we were hoping  you'd suggest something. We've got dates
tonight. Me with my  black chick, Jasmine, and John with Jasmine's sister. We
want to be  'down with it bro'." I go, "You're both embarrassing yourselves.

There's a  name for a couple of poseurs like you two," and Chubby goes,
"Yeah, we  know. Jasmine called us wiggers." They laugh, then Chub says, "So,
what have you got for us? We're going to a surprise birthday party for
Jasmine's  best friend and we'll be the only white boys there. Jasmine likes to
shock  people." Looking smug, I show them the pictures I took with my
cellphone of  Lawyer's haircut this morning. They both yell, "That's it! Perfect!"

John  says, "I'll go first." I'm like, "Oh balls!" It's my own fault though
for  showing them the pictures. Chubby's like, "Oh man, Dylan, you never
disappoint." Well, I always like when I can impress him.

After I get the  barbering stuff out again, John pulls the stool over and I
put the cape  around him. John's an okay looking guy with brown hair and
eyes. I say  'he's okay looking' but on the nice-looking side of okay. He's
taller  than Chubby but an inch shorter than me. Nice body, at least from what
I  can tell seeing him fully clothed. I've never seen him naked or even in
a  swimsuit. I have seen his legs a couple of times when  the weather was
warm enough sophomore year to wear shorts.  Average hairy legs. I did John's
last haircut for him too. Just a regular  haircut with a part so I'm
basically just going to follow that same pattern  only making the sides and back
much shorter, which is what a 'fade' haircut is  all about.

Both Chub and John  Beverly have medium-brown straight hair that's easy to
cut, but doing  fade haircuts for them is no easier than doing it for
Lawyer. I'm just as  meticulous with both guys so it takes almost an hour to do
the haircuts. They talk and  laugh and drink beers while I'm concentrating my
ass off doing the haircutting.  When done I personally think the hairstyle
looks better on Lawyer but both  John and Chub are very complimentary so I
feel pretty good about that. I'm  looking at Chub and, damn, he does look uber
cool. Ryan could have done 'fade'  haircuts, no problem. That's if he
wasn't such a bastard about taking it  way too far cutting the hair on top too
sort. Damn, I guess  I miss him but can't get it out of my head how mean he
was to his  roommate, Steve, and me too the last weeks Ryan was here. I hate
that that's  the last memory I have of him. And it looks like he's gonna be
right after  all, I apparently do miss him more than he misses me. If I had
it to do all  over again maybe I should have just let him be the boss. What
was the big deal  anyway? As for the haircut, nowadays guys are asking for
almost the  same haircut Ryan was giving me. Plus, nothing about him ever
effected  Rob's and my relationship. Yeah but that ship has fucking sailed, so
that's  that.

As I'm thinking about  that John and Chubby are admiring their hairdos and
Rob joins us again.  It's a little after three o'clock. I go, "Rob, how are
you..." and he anticipates the question, saying, "Feeling better by the
hour, Dylan. What are you guys doing?" I go, "Drinking and  talking. How do
you like the boys' new haircuts?" Rob goes, "Just like  you did for Lawyer.

Very cool!" Chub says, "Your boyfriend is  very talented." Rob grins,
muttering, "So is your brother." He goes in the  kitchen and I'm like, "You're not
getting a beer, are you?" He's like, "Yes,  mommy, I am." I say, "Is that a
good idea, Rob?" He snaps off the cap, saying,  "I guess we'll see," and he
drinks some beer, then goes, "So far, so  good." I'm shaking my head but glad
he's feeling better.

The four of us watch  the end of a spring-training Red Sox game on TV and
then Chub and John  Beverly leave to get ready for their dates. I watch them
go, admiring my  barbering. They're styling alright and I can't wait to hear
Chubby tell me  about being the only white guys at the party. Then I think
about how I  never wonder how Lawyer feels being the only guy of color at
affairs I seen him  at. It never entered my mind before now.

Rob only has the one  beer but he claims it didn't affect him one way or
the other. I ask, "Do  you think it'd be okay if I left you alone for an hour
or two? I promised Daryl I'd  drive him some place," and then explain where
and why. He goes, "Jesus, a  pierced nipple. He probably wants to do that
because you have one." I  shrug, "Yeah I suppose, um, would you mind?" He
shakes his head, "Absolutely  not, Dylan. You've nursed me past the worst of it.

I'm feeling better." I go,  "Thanks. Um, do you want to do something
tonight. It's a Saturday night..." He  says, "Oh, not really. Would you stay in
with me tonight? I don't want to  push it. I'd like to be ready to go for
Monday's afternoon practice." I'm  like, "Sure, I'll stay with you after I do
this favor for Daryl." Rob mumbles,  "I'm gonna take a shower and finally put
some actual clothes on.  See you when you get back." I put my coat on as Rob
starts walking to the  bedroom, then stops, and says, "Oh fuck! This is the
 only Saturday Golden's doing haircut for the month. Would you  mind
driving me over there. Can you get the Jeep so I  can drive back in the truck?" I
shrug, "Of course, no problem."  Rob mumbles, "I'll throw some clothes on
real fast and take my shower  after the haircut." Why Rob still insists on
that stupid haircut I'll never  know! I mean he's done with mentoring Golden
and I can't  believe the other teammates give a shit where Rob gets his hair
cut.  Whaddaya gonna do though?
While he's getting  dressed I call Chub and find out where the Jeep's
parked. Then, with Rob, I  drive the pickup to the campus. Parking near dormitory
row, we  both get out with me asking, "You okay to drive back, Rob?" He
grins hugging my shoulders, "Of course. I love how you take care of me
though. I think I'm pretty much past the worst of the concussion." I gently  feel
the back of his head, muttering, "The lump is still there. Tell Golden  to
go lightly over that." He smiles, saying what he said earlier, "Yes, mommy."

I grin, "You're so cute, Rob. Now that I'm sure you'll live I'm afraid I'm
gonna need to insist you participate in some sex with your roommate
tonight." He  says, "Count on it. See you later, Dylan." Watching him walk down the
 sidewalk I'm a little bit jealous he still wants Golden to be his  barber.

After watching him go  into Golden's dormitory, I need to walk over two
parking lots to where Chub  parked the Jeep on the other side of dormitory row.

Getting in the  Jeep and firing up the engine I'm wondering how I'm going
to talk Pony out  of this piercing bull-shit. Then I'm wondering why the hell
I feel I need to  talk him out of it. I got my nipple pierced so why is he
different than me? He's  twenty-years-old and he wants a nip ring. I was
nineteen when I got mine.  If the place looks sanitary I'll hold his hand and
stop badgering him about it.  Oh man though, he's gonna be screaming in pain!
Ha ha, I told him it hurts  like a mother-fucker so he only has himself to
blame.

Damn, I should have  texted him first. Driving the Jeep back to where I
just walked from, I park  and walk down to Pony's dorm. I knock and he's here
so I go, "Yo, 'sup, Pony?"  Smiling, he takes my arm pulling me inside,
saying, "Omigod, you  actually kept your word for once." He's wearing pajamas. I
go,  "You haven't left the room all day?" He says, "No, I ate lunch from the
 vending machine. Didn't want to be out when you came to get me. Look," and
he  opens his pajama top and squeezes his nipple, "This tit has no idea
what  it's in for," and he laughs. I'm like, "Laugh now, Pony, and we'll see
how much  you laugh when that needle pokes through your super sensitive
nipple." He goes,  "My nipples get hard when you're fucking my cute ass so imagine
how quick this  one will get hard with a nip ring." I mumble, "Hard to even
imagine." He takes  his pajama top off and I get a whiff of BO. "Pony, when
did you take your last  shower?" He goes, "Ooops, I've got some BO going
for me. I  forgot deodorant yesterday." It's not bad and actually almost a
sexy smell... far from an offensive one.

He drops his pajama  bottoms and I'm shocked how horny I am. I didn't
realize I  was horny until this very moment glancing briefly at Pony's  naked
body. Maybe there's some left-over haircut fetish arousal that I  didn't notice
because I was concentrating on doing a good haircut. I grab Pony's arm and
pull him  against me, saying, "Maybe I better give you a hard fucking before
we go out."  He leans against me putting both his arms around my neck and I
 get more of that body odor scent. It's like a musk scent; that's  how my
olfactory glands interpret it. He kisses my lips, and says, "I know  how much
you were dying to kiss me on the mouth so I did it for  you," as he humps
against my junk.

We're the same size so  our package of sexual organs hump together very
nicely. I run my fingers  through his recently barbered hair by moi, and
murmur, "I'm beginning to  think you're slightly sexy. Imagine that." He goes,
"You like me a lot, and I'm  more than slightly sexy." Reaching behind him I
give his bare ass two smacks  grinning at the sound my hand makes against his
left butt  cheek, "Smack! Smack!" Then two more, "Smack! Smack!" He gasps,
looking  flush, mumbling, "I need to suck your dick now," and he drops to his
knees  and fumbles the button of my jeans open and then pulls down the
zipper. I  run my fingers through his short hair again feeling undeniable hot
arousal and desire. Well what the fuck, it has been almost two days since
I've had sex with anyone. It was with Pony I think. Hard to remember that far
back when sex is involved.

Pony's making  wet slurping sound sucking my cock as it scraps on his sharp
bottom  teeth which gets my penis really hard, really fast. I take a deep
breath puzzled by my quick arousal. The sexual heat I'm feeling is insane
and I can't wait to fuck this cute and eager buddy of mine. I never thought
when I first spotted hoodie-boy the he'd turn-out to be such a big  part of
my junior year. Pony's always aroused around me so we're good to go. He
takes my saliva-soaked boner out of his mouth and holds it in his  fingers.

Looking up at me, he says, "I've got a hard boner myself  now." Damn, he's so
much like me in a number of ways.  I go, "Good for you. Now get on all fours
 and I'll give you the hardest fucking of your life." He nods his head,
and mutters, "Do it," and gets on his hands and knees, then lifts his  ass up
towards me. Jesus!
Without lubricant, but  with Pony's saliva and my pre-cum's assistance I
plug the head of my cock  right in past his sphincter muscle and he goes,
"Oooh! Fuuuuck!"  and squirms on his hands and knees pushing his ass back at my
cock. Smacking his left butt cheek so hard it leaves my hand print,
"SMACK!" get him  to hop on his hands and knees yelping as I hump a
couple-of-inches of  boner up his ass.  His back arches as he grunts, "Ahhh, that  hurts,
but don't stop." After giving his ass three more hard smacks I ram  the rest
of my throbbing boner up inside him. Groaning, he pulls his ass back  off my
boner a little, and goes, "Aaaah, fuuuuuck this feels good!"

I'm so fucking  aroused it's crazy, but it happens to me like this at
times.  Daryl's got such a hot slim hard body too! His buttocks are really firm;
almost  hard and they squeeze my boner when he tightens his buttock's
muscles.  Grabbing both his hips I pull him back towards me and start fucking his
ass like  beating a drum. He's groveling and groaning with his head back as
he moans,  "Oooh! Ooh! Oooh!" at each thrust up his ass. One, then
two-minutes of  hard thrusting and it feels so fucking good on my cock my shoulders
are going  crazy shuddering like mad. My eyes are squeezed closed so I can
concentrate on  the world of pleasure coming off my hard cock. The pleasure is
rolling all  around my stomach now and it's almost too much as the, "Slap,
slap, slap, slap,  slap," sounds fill the dorm room. I'm thrusting my
swollen boner back  and forth in his tight ass as hard as I can... and then
harder.

In less than  three-minutes Pony lifts up as he thrust his hips making a,
"Shhhhhh,  aaah," sound and I see his streak of cum fly out and splatter
three feet in  front of him, then another steak of creamy cum and then another
before  he sinks back down on him hands shaking, his head hanging between his
 arms now. Another body shudder and he begins stroking his cock doing  low
moans and sighs. I was so into my own impending climax with a  million
awesome sensations roaring all around my groin I didn't even  do my normal peek
at Pony's boner when he climaxed. It gets so hard it  looks like it'll
break-off. Climax is my whole world now as I'm humping against  his butt cheeks,
then my high squeal as cum blows up his ass with fireworks  going off in
front of my eyes. Another hump pushes Pony so hard he drops his  head to his
hands as more cum shoots scintillatingly out  from my six-inch rock-hard cock
and my whole body does a shudder. Then, for  a few seconds, I'm an immobile
statue absorbing all the incredible  sensation of orgasm.

Letting out a held  breath I go, "Oh fuck... that was good," and thrust in
Pony's cum-filled  rectum for another minute. His forehead is resting on his
forearms that are flat  on the floor, Pony still on his knees but no longer
pushing his ass up at me.  He's been fucked good and he's contented for the
moment.  Pulling my cock completely out of his hot sloppy rectum I'm a
little dizzy. Stepping back, I plop down on his desk chair. We  both breathe
deeply  for a few seconds, then he looks back at me, asking, "What was that?"

I shake my head, "It just came over me. I got so hot to fuck your ass it
got a bit wild. I don't know, but it happens like that with me sometimes." He
 goes, "Oh, so it's not just me, huh? You get like this with other guys
too." I  go, "It was with you just now, wasn't it? What do you care about
someone  else?" He does two more strokes on his now flaccid dick and gets up on
his feet,  saying, "It'd be nice to think I'm your only side-sex-buddy." I
go, "Settle for  being the best one. And have I mentioned  how hot that sexy
naked body of yours is, Pony." He goes,  "Yeah, it is nice. Some candy for
the gay boys, huh?" Chuckling, I nod my head,  "Yeah, sure."

I reach down and grab  either Pony's or his roommate's t-shirt from the
floor and wipe my dick with  it as Pony says, "Hey, maybe it was my BO that
turned you on like that." I  shrug, "It could have had something to do with it
I guess." I don't want to  mention the haircuts, but I think they had
something to do with it too. Like I  said, I don't actually know why sometimes I'm
so hot for sex... but  this was one of those times! Pony's rubbing Mennen
Stick deodorant under  his arms, mumbling, "In lieu of showering I'll apply a
dab of this." I go, "Hey,  is that Mennen original scent?" He goes, "Yeah.

I saw that you used it  so I got a thing of it too. Really cool smell." I
mutter, "You've got good taste  copying me." He grins muttering, "Yeah, when I
grow-up I wanna be just like  you." I mumble, "Yeah, but that'll be
four-or-five years from  now."

When dressed, he's  like, "Ready to go?" Shrugging, "Yeah, okay," and he
says,  "Wait! Aren't you gonna try talking me out of this?" I mumble, "Nope,
let's go. I gotta get back to check on Rob right after your nipple
piercing." As  we're walking out the door, he's like, "Wasn't that incredible sex,
Dylan?"  I nod, "Amazing, Pony. You've got a spectacular ass on you!" He says,
"Yep, I  do." I fight off the urge to ask for a compliment about my
'topping' and  instead mess-up his hair. "Goddammit, Dylan! You're always doing
that." I go,  "Don't be such a baby," and hug him around the neck. I got a
thing for  Pony.

We drive right to the  joint that Pony picked-out the other day. It's way
past all the good  Malls and stores on route 28 in Salem, New Hampshire.

There's the big sign,  'Ed's Heritage Tattooing and Piercing Parlor'. The sign
is attached to an old  building with two broken-down pickups and a tow truck
parked outside. I go,  "No fucking way are you getting anything pierced in
that shit hole." Pony  has an expression on his face like, 'Ewww'. He says,
"Can we at least look  inside just for the fuck of it?" I make a, "Sssshhhh,"

sound noisily  showing exasperation, but then say, "Yeah, c'mon, let's take
a look." Pony  mutters, "Thanks," and we get out of the Jeep.

When I open  the door, it sets off a buzzer. We're in a waiting room of
sorts.  I gaze around and everything in here: the chair, coffee table,
automobile magazines, big old TV looks like it belongs in a building that  looks as
run-down as this one does on the outside. Old, beat-up, and  neglected.

Through another door a man wearing a sleeveless 'Motley Crue'  t-shirt with an
enormous pot belly distorting the 'Motley Crue' logo  appears. He has
corn-row hair with braids to his waist, and tattoos every place  I can see on his
body. A full black beard reaches below his neck and he's  got matching bushy
eyebrows. There are big eyeglasses perched on his  large nose and when he
breathes I can hear the inhale and exhale like  maybe he has a deviated
septum or some kind of sinus problem. He reeks  of pot. I'd be leery of this guy
picking up my trash, never mind piercing  anything on me or Pony.

In a deep voice, the  man says, "Let me see some ID, boys. Ya gotta be at
least eighteen for a  tattoo." Pony says, "I was, um, thinking about getting
my nipple pierced." Pot  belly says, "Ya got a hundred dollars in cash on
ya? I don't take credit  cards." Pony says, "How 'bout a debit card?" The man
says, "Cash only for  piercings," and he opens Pony's jacket and then pulls
up his shirt to rub a  fat finger over Pony's nipple. Meanwhile I've got
Pony's arm pulling him  toward the door, saying to fatso, "Sorry we wasted your
time. He changed his  mind." The man's hand comes away from Pony's nipple.

He shrugs and says to  Pony, "Fuck, son, my big brother tried running my
life too until I kicked  him in the nuts when I was about your age. Word to the
wise,  kid."

We're out the door with  Pony zippering up his jacket, saying, "His finger
felt like sandpaper." I knew  this was a fool's errand from the start. We
get in the Jeep and Pony asks,  "Where can we go?" I mumble, "Of fuck, Pony, I
don't know about nipple  piercing, but look," and I point to both my
earlobes, saying, "I've got  earrings. Why not get that done first?" He frowns,
"Both ears?" I go, "No, start  with the left one. That's what I did and you
can have it done at the  Mall with sanitary conditions." He says, "Okay," and
I go, "What the fuck? This  is the tenth time I suggested the earring to you
and you never  said 'okay' before." He says, "Look, mister big brother, if
you don't want a  kick in the nuts drive us to the Mall. I changed my mind,
that's  all."

Starting the engine I  mumble, "If you were actually my little brother you
wouldn't be such a  wise-ass, I can tell you that right now." He goes, "That
guy thought we were  brothers. Do we look alike?" I mutter, "If so, I'm
flattered." He changes  the radio station from sports talk to music, asking,
"Is it okay if I  change the station?" I chuckle, "What an ass-pain you are."

He goes, "Don't  give me that shit. You're crazy about me." A car almost
T-bones us backing out of a convenience store  parking lot. I slam on the
breaks, then say, "Put your fucking seatbelt on,  Pony. Fer chrissakes we're in
New Hampshire."

The Rockingham Mall is  five miles from here but the traffic on route 28
blows! It takes us  twenty-minutes to get there and when we're inside Pony
says, "I don't want to do  this." I naturally assume he's kidding, as I tell
him, "There's a kiosk  right there that will pierce your ear and include an
earring  for thirty-five bucks. And they take all credit cards." He says,
"Fuck a  whole bunch of earrings. I changed my mind again. It's a pierced
nipple or nothing." After staring at him hard for two seconds, I stalk over  and
ask the girl with a ring through her nose, "Do you do nipple piercing?"  She
says, "I wish, but no, we're not allowed. They'll pierce your nipple at
the Piercing Pagoda kiosk around the bend there," and she points to her  left.

Her fingernails are painted black and they're over an inch long. How  the
hell does she do ear piercings with fingernails that long? I go,  "Thanks,"

and tell Pony, who didn't even come to the kiosk with me. He looks  scared
now, so I say, "Goddammit, you don't need to do this. C'mon, let's get  out of
here." He goes, "No, I want to do it," so I make a 'face' and we start
walking in the direction the lady pointed.

At the Pagoda Piercing  Kiosk Pony says, "You  talk to the guy, okay?" I go
up to a nice looking young man, not much older than  me, and say, "Excuse
me. He's interested in getting," and I point over my  shoulder at Pony, "His
nipple pierced. Do you do that here, and if  so what's it cost?" This guy
has his ears pierced in a couple of places but  that's all the piercings I
see. He's about Pony's and my size with a nice  face and a very nice grin as he
asks, "Is his nipple piercing your's or your silent friend's idea?" I go,
"I tried to talk him out of it, so it's definitely his idea, although he's
shy." This guy has a name tag that reads, "Shawn," and I'm assuming he's gay
 from the way he moves. I could be wrong of course and it makes absolutely
no difference if he is or isn't.

Shawn has  a recent short faux-hawk haircut that's very well done. Brown
hair and big green eyes. He says, "Yes, I do it there," and he points to an
enclosed area behind the booth, adding, "But right now my partner, Bobby,
is getting something to eat and there's only me here. I need to be in the
front  of the kiosk in the unlikely event someone wants to buy something. At
least  until Bobby gets back." I go, "How much do you charge?" He says, "It's
$45  for the piercing but we insist you buy the jewelry here so we're sure
it's top  quality and won't cause an infection. The jewelry is from $30 to
$100." I  shrug and he adds, "Your friend should start with a barbell because
that  easier on a newly pierced nip. They only cost $30." Pony says from
behind me, "I  want a ring like he has," pointing at me.

Shawn says to me, "He's  cute," and I go, "Ya think so?" He does a really
cute grin and then,  raising his eyebrows, he asks me, "Do you mind if I see
yours?" I unzip my  jacket and pull my shirt up exposing my nip ring. He
nods his head,  "Very good job of piercing and that's at least a $100 nip
ring." I ask,  "How long do you think Bobby will be?" He says, "He should've been
back by  now, but Bobby isn't the most reliable partner, so I'm not sure."

I look back at  Pony, "You wanna wait?" He nods, then says to me, "Ask him
how much it  hurts," and both Shawn and me snort a laugh. He says, "Go ahead,
ask me." I go,  "He'd like to know if it hurts." Shawn says, "Yes, but not
as much as everyone  would have you believe. Did it hurt you?" I go, "Of
course not. A pinch and  maybe I screamed for a fraction of a second before
fainting, but afterwards I  realized it wasn't any worse than a root canal." We
chuckle again and  I look back at Pony, "Do you want me to repeat all
that?" Pony goes,  "Very funny."

It's kind of awkward  standing here but in a minute or so a husky guy who
looks about  thirty-years-old walks up behind us and slips through an opening
in the  kiosk to stand next to Shawn. What a disappointment! Shawn deserves
better  than this brutish looking guy with his nose pierced and a dragon
tattoo on his  neck. Shawn says to me, "Bring your friend around to the side,"

then to  the brute, "He wants a nipple piercing. Oh, and Larry called. He
wants  you to call him back." Brute has this high-pitched voice that totally
doesn't go with his  appearance, "Fuck what Larry wants. You want me to do
the piercing?" Shawn  smiles and says, "Don't make me laugh," then motions
with his head that we  should follow him to the side. Their relationship may
be nothing like  I imagined. I knew Shawn wouldn't have a boyfriend like that
 guy!
We go inside and  Shawn says to Pony, "Please take your coat and shirt off
and sit  there," pointing to a stool with a back and arms. Pony frowns
looking at me  and I say, "Go ahead, Pony." He frowns again almost making me
laugh. He takes  off his jacket and shirt and gets in the chair. Shawn says,
"Are you sure you  won't go with a barbell? It'll heal better than a 14-gauge
ring." Pony croaks out, "A ring like his."  Shawn pats Pony's shoulder, "Sure
thing," and brings over a sample case of nip  rings with a price on each
one. Pony says, "Which one should I get, Dylan?"  Puffing out my cheeks while
exhaling and again trying not to laugh, I  glance at Shawn who's grinning,
then point to a $40 stainless steel ring,  saying, "This is good. You can
always change it later after your  nipple piercing heals, but it's a nice
looking ring to start." Pony says to Shawn, "That  one," pointing at the one I
pointed at. Shawn mumbles, "Good choice," and gets a  sterile package
containing that ring, then asks, "Which nipple?" and Pony  looks at me. I mumble,
"The right one."

Shawn puts  on gloves and then carefully puts a dot on either side of
Pony's right  nipple using a fine point magic marker, saying, "You have small
tight  pecs, Pony, which will help the piercing heal quicker. Maybe as soon as
six to  eight weeks but don't be alarmed if it takes longer." He wipes
disinfectant  around the nipple, gets a serialized thing that clamps on the
nipple  pulling it out and sticks a needle right through at the base."  Just like
that, bang! Pony's face gets red and scrunches up. His eyes water  and then
he makes a funny face at me, saying a quiet, "Ow," and that was it. A  drop
of blood at the most. Wow, way to go Pony! When Shawn's threading the ring
through the piercing though Pony's squirming and holding his arm out. I
take  hold of it as Shawn says, "One more second," but Pony's almost sliding
out  of the seat. Then, "There," says Shawn, "All done. You were awesome,
Pony!" and  he pats his shoulder again.

Pony looks pale  now, saying to me, "That last part really fuckin' hurt." I
go, "Pretend it  didn't. I mean it's over now so you can make up any lie
you want." Pony goes,  "Like hell it's over. It still aches!" Shawn say, "Only
for a couple of  hours. It'll settle down." he hands Pony a pamphlet, "Read
this and follow  the directions in there. You'll be fine. Salt water soaks
early on.  They will soothe the sore nipple." He holds up a plastic pouch,
"This is an after-care kit I strongly suggest you buy. It's only $7.99."

Pony nods his head and slides off the stool."

All that remains is him  putting his shirt and jacket on and paying with
his debit card. We thank  Shawn who smiles again saying, "No problem. You guys
make a really cute couple."  Pony blushes a dark red.  I shrug, not about
to clarify our  situation.  We walk away with Pony saying, "Shawn thinks
we're a  couple and the fat guy thought we were brothers." I go, "That's not the
worst  thing anyone could think about us, huh?" He says, "Man, I cannot
fucking  believe I just did that! He was so fast I didn't have a chance to
change my  mind." I go, "Yeah, I didn't expect it to go that fast either, but
it's over."  He says, "Now I feel like I'm going to throw up." I go, "Pretend
you don't  feel like that," and he chuckles, muttering, "You're such a
prick. Like I can  pretend I don't feel like throwing up." I go, "Try pretending
you can pretend  that," and he goes, "Try pretending you're not a prick,"

and he bumps  against my side grinning at me. I put my arm around his
shoulders,  muttering, "You did good, Daryl."

Outside as we're  walking to the car he's pinching his jacket away from his
nipple, saying,  "You're going to stay with me tonight, right? I just
basically had surgery." I  go, "You can hang out at the apartment until the
aching subsides. I gotta  keep watch on Rob for concussion symptoms although I
think he's on the  mend." Pony says, "Do you think Rob will mind if I'm
there?" I go, "Don't be  silly. Of course not." Inside the Jeep he goes, "I'm so
fucking excited I did  this, but mostly I happy it's over!" I go, "No shit,
you were really good  though. Better than I was when I got my nipple
pierced." He says, "I don't  believe that for a second, Dylan, but when he was
putting the ring through  the just pierced hole... mother-fucker!"

This should be an  interesting night. I wonder what Rob would say to a
three-way? Ha ha, that'll  be problematic of course since Pony doesn't want
anyone except me  knowing he's gay. We can probably work something out
though...

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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