Date: Fri, 4 Aug 2017 21:48:02 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE    Chapter  54

DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  54


By  Donny Mumford


Taking a bite out of my  fifth slice of pizza I say out loud, 'You can't
eat a large pizza  by yourself, dummy!'  I should have ordered a small one but
 from habit I ordered the large like I do for Rob and me. Whenever I think
I'd like more time to myself when I'm on my own it just doesn't  feel
right. It feels weird being in the apartment alone. Covering three  left-over
slices of pizza with plastic wrap and putting them in the  refrigerator and now
I'm wondering what I'm going to do the rest of the night? A  then, ah ha,
my cellphone rings. Rob? No, the caller ID shows Dennis  Raymond. Huh, an
unexpected call considering we had sex a couple of hours  ago, and he seemed
anxious to leave. Never even a hint about getting  together later for a couple
of beers or whatever. Dennis is a good guy with  those soft eyes and
pleasant manner. I admire the way he's making the  best of his weird real-life
situation too. I can't even imagine handling  what he's got to deal with.

I answer my  cellphone as if I'm asking a question, "Dennis?" and a man
with a deep  voice goes, "How'd you know I was an asshole, asshole?" and just
like  that he cuts-off the connection. What the fuuuuck? That had to be
what's-his-name, Dennis' forty-year-old roommate. I'm pissed that the old fuck
would use Dennis' cellphone to say that bull-shit to me. Angry, I
immediately  call the number back and Dennis answers, saying, "I'm so sorry, Dylan,"
and  then I hear garbled voices, or is that laughter? Rolling my eyes I
'end' the call. I do not need to get in the middle of that; whatever  that is.

Poor Dennis...

Two minutes later I'm  on the sofa reading my latest Sanford pocket-book
when my cellphone pings.  Glancing over at it lying there on the cushion next
to me I see a text  from Dennis: 'So sorry! Can I call you?' What now?
Rolling my  eyes, I text back, 'Yeah, sure' and my phone rings. With annoyance
in my voice, I'm like, "What's happening, Dennis?" He says, "That was Wayne
trying to be funny. He's goofy. I'd really like you to have a couple of
beers with me  tonight." Oh balls! Well, I don't have anything else to do, so I
go, "Yeah,  okay. How about Rolf's bar?" He says, "Great! Fifteen minutes?"
I mumble,  "See you then." I'm not really up for whatever it is he has to
tell me, and  I say that without having a clue what that might be. Those two
are maybe too odd  of a situation even for me.

Putting on one of my  hoodie sweatshirts and grabbing the pickup's keys off
the kitchen bar, I  pat my back pocket to be sure I've got my wallet and
then I'm on my  way. Walking into Rolf's bar I've gotta wonder what the hell
I'm getting  myself into now. The damn door slams shut, "BANG!" behind me
making  everyone look over at me. Jesus, I hate that! The bartender nods at me
like  he remembers me. Huh, I do like that, but what the fuck is his name?
It's right on the tip of my tongue. Glancing quickly at a loud-mouth  group
of older guys, I take a seat as far away from them as I can get  and put a
twenty-dollar bill on the bar. I've always hated being anywhere alone
because I assume everyone is staring at me. One of the loud-mouth older guys
waves his hand at the bartender, saying, "When you get a second, Tony," and he
twirls his finger indicating the loud-mouths are ready for another round.

They're doing that over exuberant laughing, big boisterous guffaws so
everyone  will know they're having the time of their life.

Tony nods at the guy  and drops a cardboard coaster in front of me, asking,
"What'll it be,  sport?" I'm feeling stupidly self-conscious as I mumble,
"How's it going, Tony?"  just to prove I remembered his name even though I
didn't until the  loud-mouth said it. I order a draft of Bud resisting the
urge to tell him  that someone will be joining me shortly; as if he gives a
shit. I never  feel comfortable eating or drinking alone so I'm checking the
door every five  seconds wondering what's taking Dennis so long to get here.

Tony puts the draft  beer in front of me and takes the twenty-dollar-bill.

Returning with the change,  he asks, "Is it raining out there yet?" I shake my
head, mumbling, "Not yet, but  it feels like rain." He's a friendly
middle-age guy with a goofy looking  handlebar mustache that he obviously waxes.

Give me a break with that!  Ya just never know what some guys think is a cool
grooming-statement.

I glance at the door  again as a weary-looking waitress says to Tony,
"Another round for table  six." Tony's just finished getting the loud-mouth's a
round of  drinks and now he gets busy with the waitress's order.  There's a
group of five college-age guys drinking pitchers of beer  while playing liars
poker at one table and three other tables with a man  and a woman at each.

Six guys at the bar counting me so it's kinda busy for  a Thursday night.

I'm almost done my beer  when Dennis comes in all smiles and looking extra
tall. He's six-feet-four  normally but tonight he's incongruously wearing
pointy-toed cowboy  boots that add a couple inches to his height. Hmmm, cowboy
boots. Maybe I  need a pair. We bump fists as he slides onto the stool next
to me, saying,  "Thanks for meeting me, Dylan." I nod, "Sure, what's up?"
The bartender comes  over with a cardboard coaster for Dennis, saying, "Ya
got some ID, cowboy?" Huh,  he didn't card me but he cards Dennis, who
actually almost looks legal  age. I'm mystified how Tony and the afternoon
bartended both remember me  when I haven't been in here that often. What the hell
though, it sure makes  for a convenient place to have a beer or two.

Dennis smiles and shows  Tony his driver's license. Barely glances at the
license, Tony goes,  "What'll it be?" Dennis says, "Same as him," and then
Tony looks at me  raising his eyebrows like, 'Another beer for you?' I nod and
he goes  off to get our draft beers. I ask Dennis, "What the hell was that,
um,  thing with your roommate calling me?" He grins, "Wayne is such a dork.

I merely  mentioned that my friend, meaning you, said he, meaning Wayne, is
an asshole for  cutting my bangs off and Wayne wanted to know who you were.

I told him and,  kidding around, he grabbed my cellphone from me saying
what he  said to you. That was his idea of 'funny'." I'm frowning at how weird
that  is. Dennis goes, "He isn't upset you called him an asshole or
anything. No offense but he doesn't give a shit what you or anyone  else thinks of
him. Being really rich must be fun."
Making a 'face' at  that, I'm like, "And that's why you wanted to have a
beer, to tell me that?" He  goes, "No! I was just about to call you when Wayne
grabbed the phone from me. I  wanted to tell you something cool." I go,
"Yeah, what's that?" and he's all  smiles, "Wayne's paying my way through
college starting this summer!  It's surprising good news for me and I wanted to
tell someone and  since you're my closest and dearest friend, who better to
share the news with  than you. I wanted to celebrate a little." Hmmm, I've
had quickie-sex  with Dennis twice and I'm his closest friend? I'm not sure if
he's breaking my  balls with that, so I go, "I'm your closest friend?" He
chuckles, "Pathetic,  huh? No, it's just that the guys from work I go
drinking with sometimes are  more like co-workers than friends and I have a bud in
the apartment who I  hook up with some times. I should have said you're the
friend I like  the most." I go, "Um, thanks, I think. Anyway,
congratulations!!" and I  high five him, then ask, "Have you decided on a college?" He
goes, "Right  here at Merrimack for freshman year. I already put my application
in for a few  summer courses getting a head-start for the fall semester." I
go, "Cool! I'll  get to haze your freshman-ass from my lofty position as a
senior." He  chuckles, "I'll look forward to that."
We drink some beer,  then I go, "Let me asks you something, Dennis. You say
you had close to a  4.0 GPA all through high school, so how come you didn't
get scholarship  offers from at least a couple of universities?" He shrugs,
"I applied to  five but not even one responded back." I look at him
suspiciously,  mumbling, "Um, it's been my experience they always respond back one
way or the other." He shakes him head, "Nope, not a one." Can he be this
naive? I go, "Well, obviously, your cold-hearted parents intercepted your
mail and threw the college's responses out while you were at school. You'd
have been accepted at most colleges and offered a scholastic scholarship  from
some. Maybe not all because you didn't have any extracurricular activities
in high school, but one or two would have definitely offered you a
scholarship."  He nods his head, "Yeah, I can see that now, but back then I wouldn't
dare  accuse my parents of doing that. Every fucking day through my junior
and senior  years I half-expected that would be the day I'd be thrown out of
the  house." I can't even conceive of something like that, and I don't want
to talk  about it either. It's too sick!
We drink some beer and  then he goes, "Hey, I'm not stupid. I realize how
hard it is for you to  believe this shit I call my life, but it's true. Both
my parents are  deeply into their Southern Baptist religious upbringing.

They were brought-up  bigoted. They're opinionated and continuously positive
they're right  about everything. I did not have a happy childhood as it was,
but it really  got bad when I told them I was gay." I go, "Why'd you tell
them?" He shrugs,  "They asked me and I was taught to always tell the truth." I
mumble, "That's  often the worst thing you can do." His eyes open wide, so
I mumble, " Nah, not  really, but I mean sometimes it's better to skirt the
truth if the truth is  gonna cause problems. There's such a thing as little
white lies, ya know." He  goes, "Well I didn't know about them at the time."
He's being a bit  defensive so, on a more upbeat note I pat his shoulder,
saying, "Anyway, you're  finally going to college!" He smirks, "Yeah, Wayne
came through like he promised  he would, so that'll be my scholarship." I
ask, "Are you boarding at Merrimack?  I mean your apartment is only two-miles
away." He says, "I'm definitely living  on campus in the fall. Wayne's moving
back to his Texas ranch and I'll only  see him during holiday breaks. I'll
be taking courses year-round to graduating in three  years." I go, "Good for
you! So, you and Wayne are sort of splitting-up, huh?"  He says, "It's more
like a family with the only child leaving the nest, or  however that saying
goes." Weirdest family I ever heard of. He adds,  "So I better practice the
basic reason for going to college by ordering both of  us a shot and a
beer." I go, "You're implying learning to drink is the  primary reason for going
to colleges?" He goes, "For most students,  yes." He orders us shots of VO
with our next beers.  Balls!
Tony sets the drinks in  front of us, Dennis and I click shot glasses as I
say, "All the best  of luck in college, Dennis!" and we flash down the shots
and  immediately grab for our beers. He coughs, muttering, "Holy shit, I
suck at  doing shots. Thought I was gonna toss my cookies for a second there."
I mutter,  "Pussy," and then chug a little more beer. I ask what courses
he'll be taking  and discover Dennis is into astronomy. He wants to be an
astrophysicist, so  I'm like, "Yeah? Damn, I love reading about space. I like
getting my  mind boggled reading articles from Yahoo Science about the
vastness of  the universe." He goes, "Ya know, Einstein was right about space and
time  bending." I go, "Uh huh, I guess." He says, "Merrimack isn't an ideal
college  for my major, but there are courses in Quantum Mechanics and
Electromagnetic  Theory that I'll take freshman year. After freshman year,  I'll
transferring to MIT to finish my bachelor's degree, and then I'll  go for my
masters." I'm frowning, "Why not do your freshman year at MIT?"  He shrugs,
"I want to get a general feel for college-life first, plus I'm  familiar with
this area, and um, you're here... heh heh." Surprisingly I  think some of
that makes sense. Easing into higher education in a  comfortable situation is
smart especially after being away from school  for three-years.

To show I'm no dummy;  that I know something about the vastness of space, I
go, "Trying to comprehend  how big our galaxy is gives me a Popsicle
headache. I mean our Milky Way galaxy,  which by the way has a great candy bar
named after it, is so large that  traveling at the speed of light it would take
you a hundred-thousand-years  to go from end to end." He smiles, "I prefer
Snickers over a Milky Way  myself. But yeah, the speed of light is hard to
wrap one's head around.  It's approximately a hundred-and-eighty-six-thousand
miles per  second." I yell, "Brain freeze!" He laughs and then says, "It
would  take less than two-seconds to travel from here to the moon. That's
really  fast!"  I go, "Stop that!" he laughs again, and adds, "Think about how
big you said the Milky Way Galaxy is. Then try comprehending this: there's a
 galaxy named, IC 1101, that fifty of our galaxies would  fit inside it." I
go, "Get the fuck outta here with that!" He  chuckles, "This might
completely pop your Popsicle head. In the observable  Universe, there are
two-trillion galaxies."
He goes on to tell me  things about black holes and dark matter, and other
things, but he may  as well be speaking Greek as far as me comprehending any
of it. I mean, I have  only a curiosity, a casual interest in the general
topic. He goes on  about Spacetime,  Relativity, Quantum Physics and Quantum
Gravity until I put my hands  over my ears, begging, "Mercy! Mercy! Dennis,
my brain is unable to hear this  shit." He laughs, "Sorry, I get carried
away." Smirking, I radically change  the subject, "How 'bout those Red Sox,
huh?" Then Dennis spouts  off statistics about current and past Red Sox teams
until it gets my head  spinning again. He talks about Red Sox trivia in a
nonchalant manner as if  I'm aware of all the facts and figures he's somehow
memorized. I don't dare  mention the Patriots.

We're on our fourth  beers, well it's actually my fifth, as he asks about
my grades. I shrug,  feeling kinda proud to be able to say, "Well, nothing
like your  4.0 Dennis, but I do have a GPA a little over 3.0. That's better
than my GPA for high school." He says, "That's nothing to sneeze at, Dylan.

It's  way above average." I go, "Hey, how about you doing my term papers for
me.  That'll help me get where I'd like to be, which is a 3.5 GPA." He
laughs,  "That's very Machiavellian of you." I go, "How's that?" and  he's like,
"Machiavelli's 'The Prince', ya know?" as if  everyone knows that. I'm like,
"Um, yeah that sounds familiar I  guess." He nods, "His political treatise
basically is... the end justifies the  means. Like me doing your term papers
so you can get the GPA you'd like to  have. And it doesn't matter if the
'means' are unscrupulous or  whatever." I go, "That's me, Dennis.

Unscrupulous." He goes, "Oh no! I wasn't  implying that..." and I interrupt, "Actually
that sounds sort of like my  brother's and my philosophy regarding fighting.

Our goal is to win the  fight using whatever's at our disposal. We didn't
realize there's a  name for it though." He frowns, probably not sure if I'm
serious or  not.

Leaving that topic  behind, Dennis goes off on the probability of
intelligent life  elsewhere in the Universe stating a probability-equation that's so
far over my  head, I mutter, "Earth to Dennis, it's usually a good idea to
keep a  conversation totally free of equations?" He chuckles again, mumbling,
"I'm  being obnoxious again, sorry." Getting back to sports I'm like, "Some
guys are  born with unfair advantages for sports; awesome reflexes and
eye-hand-coordination that's off the charts. Like Tiger Woods, for example. A
child prodigy in golf." Dennis says, "At the risk of being obnoxious again
there's only two kinds of child prodigies: mathematical and musical
prodigies,  and just to set the record straight, I'm not in either category. Also,
since music is so closely related to mathematics it's almost like there's
only  one kind of child prodigy." What the fuck? He adds, "There are
precocious  children though, ya know with other talents such as writing, painting,
and  athletics." I order another round taking Dennis' word for all  that.

It's getting late but  I'm having fun listening to stuff that sounds smart
when I hear it but  then when I think about it I realize I have no idea what
it means. Dennis  is telling me about an autistic kid he knew who was a
genius in mathematics, but  in any kind of social situation he was unstable. I
nod, mumbling,  "Unstable," and Dennis grins, saying, "Oh, you're using a
psychologist's trick  on me, huh?" I'm clueless again, mumbling, "Whaddaya
mean?" He goes, "Repeating  the last word I say in a sentence to keep me
talking. That's how  psychologists keep their patients talking." I say, "Talking,"
and grin at him. I  like hearing intelligent conversation that I haven't a
clue about. Like my  brother and his obscure factoids. They're fun to hear,
but are they accurate?"  Dennis could be telling me total bull-shit for all
I know. I don't think he is  though.

Later Dennis starts  repeating some Red Sox factoids he mentioned earlier.

He stops in mid-sentence  to say, "Wait, I already told you that, huh?" I
laugh and he goes, "I'm drunk.  Hey, are you too drunk to give me that buzz
cut like you mentioned in your  apartment? I told Wayne I was gonna ask you to
do it for me and he doesn't care,  so..." I go, "Yes, I'm too drunk to do
that now." He asks, "How about tomorrow?"  We leave it at that; he'll text me
tomorrow.

The bartender goes,  "Last call guys," and I shake my head as Dennis
mutters, "I'm good," so we skip  last call. Outside I light a cigarette and Dennis
goes, "I'm guessing you'd  rather not hear me tell you all the things that
are wrong about  smoking cigarettes." I go, "You guessed correctly. I don't
fucking wanna hear  it." He chuckles and then we bump fists, "Thanks for
helping me celebrate,  Dylan." I go, "It was fun. Text me," and he points at
me, mumbling, "Tomorrow."  Getting in the pickup I'm telling myself, 'You're
drunk, numb-nuts, so drive  like a little old lady'. And that's what I do,
plus  I find a parking spot in our parking lot. How about  that!
Sleeping alone blows  and all night I keep waking-up thinking I'm late for
something when I don't  even have classes on Friday. I stay in bed until
eleven-twenty and then  stagger up with a hangover. Taking three Advil I get in
the shower and stay  there for quite a while. When dressed and drinking
coffee at the kitchen bar I'm  thinking the apartment is so quiet. So, quiet I
hear the ambient sound of  the heater cycling on, and a little later cycling
off. Huh! I'm trying to  decide if I want to cook something for breakfast
or just get a bowl of Froot  Loops and then my cellphone 'pings' signifying a
text message. It's from Dennis  asking about a haircut today at five
o'clock after his day at work. I  tell him fine, I'll see him then.

I don't leave the  apartment, just lie around watching some TV and reading.

When Dennis arrives  around five o'clock he's all smiles and full of energy
having put in a  full day on the job while I basically did nothing all day.

Getting out the  barbering tools it takes a mere six-minute to do his
buzz-cut and as  we're sweeping up his cut hairs, he asks, "Would you be up for a
slower version  of the quickie sex we've been having?" The thought makes my
pecker shrivel-up a  little. I shrug but can't resist saying, "Sure." We go
in the bedroom and  get mostly undressed. Dennis has another over-sized,
extra lubricated  condom handy and we fuck in my bedroom with me holding onto
the bureau like  yesterday. He forces that big boner of his up my ass
slowly, like before, and  goddamn I feel really wide open back there and every
second that big  cock is going up my ass it hurts.

Fully impaled, I'm bent  over holding my breath waiting for my rectum to
stop complaining. Dennis  rubs my back leaving his huge cock up my ass. He's
considerately allowing my  rectum to adjust. He murmurs, "This feels better
for me every time I do it with  you, Dylan. I can't begin to express how
wonderful I feel having sex with you,  and I don't mean just while we're doing
it. It's awesome anticipating its  and it feels great all day afterwards
too." I nod my head mumbling, "It's  buddy-sex, Dennis; it's supposed to feel
good." He finally pulls his  large boner back and then casually pushes that
large hard penis back  up my ass with me grunting at the electric sensations
buzzing  pleasurably inside me. I gasp, "Oooh, fuuuck, that's starting to
feel  good now. Damn that's tight..." He leaves his big log-of-a-cock fully
impaling me again to squeeze my shoulders giving me chills, as he murmurs,
"None of the dozen-or-so guys I've picked-up at bars or paid for from the
escort service have expressed as much pleasure at having my cock up their  ass
as you. That's one of the best things about having sex with you. And just so
 you know, you have a fabulous ass." With tantalizing sensations flickering
in my  ass I go, "You don't say," then ask, "Have you ever 'bottomed'?" He
simply says,  "No, I never have," so I ask, "You wanna try it sometime?" He
goes, "No  thanks," as he's pulling his big boner back, then slides that big
boy back and forth in my  ass twice. I shudder and moan, "Ummm, oooh."
My cock is pretty hard  already but when Dennis gets into a steady smooth
rhythm moving his  hips while continuing to squeeze and sort of massage my
shoulders it gets  my cock sticking straight out and so hard it makes me grunt
and stare at it.  This is the third time I'm feeling his big boner inside
me and it's  feels better each time. It reminds me of that dumb summer I
spent primarily  with Ray Reeves. His huge mushroom-headed cock, pound for
pound, isn't as large  as Dennis' boner but the head on Ray's was maybe even a
little  bigger. With Ray it was rough going at first, but once he got me
opened-up, and  he was dominantly rough about it too, he got my ass shaped-up and
 used to that large hard mushroom head and fucked me regularly without any
complaints from me. With all his faults, he fucked me spectacularly and he
knew  it too. He had me right where he wanted me because pretty soon I
couldn't get  enough of it that summer, which is primarily why I stuck it out
with Ray so  long. And that's even though Ray was, and still is, a ginormous
asshole  himself.

This sex with  Dennis is my only sex since Rob left for Georgia. It was a
one-timer with  Dennis yesterday and then nothing today until this, so I
expected to  climax quickly but it's not turning out that way.  Dennis is  doing
steady but slower thrusting than the first two times he fucked my  ass. I'm
noticing as the novelty of being filled-up with a hard cock the size of
Dennis' wears-off, there's a growing sense of being dominated by  its size. I
can't help  but feel submissive to it because once it's in my ass I have no
choice but to be  submissive. Dennis himself doesn't have an intentionally
dominant bone  in his body except for the one up my ass. I literally need to
bend  way forward when that bad-ass-boner is pushed up my ass. It's
stretched my  anus and the inside my rectum significantly, and now that's it's been
accepted by my body, and the initial pain has passed, the million-and-one
nerve  ending around and inside my rectum have begun sending out
increasingly delicious sensations of sexual pleasure. Then, when  Dennis presses down
on my shoulders, squeezing them with his big  hands, telling me, "I need you
t to get down lower for me, Dylan. Bend  over further." That brings on a
full-blown submissive trance and it feels so  fucking good I do a long
embarrassing moan, "Oooooh, ummmmm,"  while doing as I'm told. He murmurs, "It makes
me feel so  good knowing I'm giving you pleasure, Dylan." I go, "Ooooh,
yeaaaah..." gritting  my teeth at the awesome vibrations coming off my prostate
 gland.

I'm bent over so much  my face is almost against my knees with me now
holding on to the handles  of the bureau's middle drawer. Dennis murmurs, "That's
good for  me right there, Dylan," and he does a half-dozen harder and
faster thrusts.  Oh man, I slide deeper into a submissive frame of mind moaning
quietly at the  pleasure I'm feeling inside me. His cock swells even more as
he grunts, "Ooooh,  ummm, fuuuuck. My climax is coming on pretty quickly, so
here we go,"  and it's hard fast thrusting now with loud,
"Slapslapslapslap," sounds in the  bedroom with my body bumping against the bureau with every
hard thrust. Dennis  is holding my hips now to keep me from falling on my
head as he rams that huge  cock back and forth in my ass. I'm making squeaky
sounds of submission  as my hard cock quivers getting ready to blow, and
then, "Eeeeiii," with  cum spurting from my cock shooting straight out against
the bureau. It's like a  one-foot shot that splatters spraying all three
bureau drawers with creamy white  cum. I'm trembling as another streak of cum
hits the  bureau. Shuddering all over, I'm stroking my cock tightly  and
whining, "Ahhhh, mmmm, oooh Dennis..." Millions of nerve  ending buzz with
pleasure and then quickly subside leaving me so limp now Dennis  is mostly
holding me up as he humps against my butt cheeks, gasping, "Ooh!  Oooh! Ohooooo!
Aaaaaaah!" filling the condom with his load of spunk. I can  feel his tall
body shaking for like three-or-four-seconds. Then a long sigh from  Dennis as
he pulls his softening cock out making me shudder all over  again.

He lifts under my arms  helping me to straighten up as he takes a deep
breath, mumbling, "Fucking  unbelievable. That was, um, something else
altogether... Holy shit." I'm leaning  my back against the bureau now, my elbows back
resting on top of it gawking at  that big cock as Dennis pulls the condom
off. Still sensing fleeting remnants of  submissiveness in my head my body
quivers a little. And there's not a trace  of dominance in Dennis as he smiles
at me, "That was awesome, Dylan." I nod  as now my trance slips away
completely. My ass is dripping lubricant  so I go in the bathroom, saying, "Jesus,
Dennis, good fuck, dude." He flushes  the condom down the toilet, saying,
"You couldn't have enjoyed it as much  as I did. Damn that felt good!"
After cleaning-up and  getting dressed I offer him a beer or a soda while
thinking he looks good with  the buzzcut. He's got the perfect hairline
across his forehead and he has  dense, very light blond hair, with no scalp
showing like it does for guys with  thinner hair follicles. He takes a Pepsi and
tells me about the  hangover he experienced this morning and I tell him
about mine, adding,  "This is the best I felt all day. Nothing like a hard
orgasm to perk me  up." That's about all we have to say about our buddy sex.

Curious, I ask  him why he's never considered 'bottoming' and he shrugs, "I'm a
'top' only.  I couldn't imagine someone fucking my rear end. It's just, I
don't know, it's  not like guys haven't asked me to bottom, but I always
insist on doing the fucking." I go, "My advice is for you to try it once at
least." He shrugs  again, "Nah, I'm not feeling that at all. I'll stick to
'topping'."
Swallowing some of my  soda, I ask, "Um, do you feel dominant when you fuck
a guy with that large dick  of yours?" He looks puzzled, "Dominant? How do
you mean?" I wave a hand, "Oh,  nothing." We talk a little about our science
conversation  from last night and then, using my laptop, Dennis shows me
science sites he visits regularly. Right away I can see they're too  advanced
for me. I read one paragraph and realize I have no idea what I  just read.

Too technical and not the kind of articles I read on Yahoo at all.

Jokingly, as a counter point to Dennis' intellectual articles, I bring  up a
computer-game that Rob and I play once in a while, and Dennis knows  the game. We
play it and it's soon apparent he's better at it than either Rob or  me.

At six o'clock he says,  "I gotta get home for dinner pretty soon. Ya wanna
try it again before I go  though?" I assume he means the computer game, so
I'm like, "Nah, you're too good  at it." He laughs, "Thanks, but I think
we're talking about two different  things." I go, "Oh, duh. You meant
buddy-sex. Jesus, we did it an hour or  so ago! I'm not sure my ass is up for it."
Dennis is  Johnny-on-the-spot with a second condom though, saying, Please."
Ah, what the  hell...

We're back in the  bedroom with just our pants down this time for what I
assume will be a  quickie. Adjusting my junk, I mumble, "You carry two condoms
with you,  huh? You're an optimist I see." He grins, "Nah, I bought a
six-pack of  condoms on the way over here. Usually I carry only one, which for me
is  being optimistic." We follow the same procedure as earlier except this
latest boner of Dennis' goes in easier because my ass hasn't nearly  closed
up after the first time. Plus, his big cock is training my ass to  accept
it. As I thought, it's fast and hard fucking right from the  start and Dennis
gives my butt cheeks a few slaps as he's thrusting. I notice a  more
confident manner in the way he does everything now.

My second climax of  the day holds off for a long six-to-seven minutes so I
was wrong  about it being a quickie. The world reduces to the size of a
pin-head at my  astounding second climax even though there isn't a lot of semen
 shooting out. Dennis, on the other hand, pulls his large boner out and
when he takes the condom off there's another big jism ball at the nipple  end.

After this second fuck within an hour-and-a-half my ass is sore.  Really
sore, but what did I expect? Dennis notices me walking kind of funny  into the
bathroom and says, "You're sore, huh? I figured you would be. I mean,  I
did give your asshole a pretty good workout this afternoon.  Some guys I've
fucked hard for like two-or-three-times in a  night have been hurting pretty
badly, although most say their anus closes  back to normal in a few hours and
their ass feel okay in about the same  amount of time." I shrug, "I'll be
fine. That was some damn hot sex." He  nods his head, "I'll say. It's the
best I've ever had."
Dennis leaves to get  home and make dinner for him and weird Wayne. I'm
lying on my stomach on the sofa thinking  about my sore ass, but grinning to
myself too. That super-sized boner felt  good plowing my ass. Then, using the
remote, I get Comcast Sports Center on the  TV thinking how the only thing
I've had to eat all day was that bowl of Froot  Loops. When Rob's home
there's a routine to our lives. With just me here it's  the opposite. Then I get
that feeling I've been noticing lately. It's like  there's a problem or
something I need to do or fix. It's not really depression,  it's, um, I don't
know exactly what the fuck it is...

Finally, I work-up the  energy to get off the sofa and walk oddly into the
kitchen being  careful not to tighten my ass muscles. I check what we've got
in the  freezer that I could have for dinner. Hmmm, I shrug and take out a
frozen  Stouffer's lasagna  package that's been in the refrigerator since
our first week in the apartment.  Taking the lasagna out of the box, I
microwave it and eat the whole thing.  Now what? I practice walking without
sticking my ass out but that makes me walk  bowlegged. Yeah, but my rectum is
actually feeling better by the  minute. I'm soon walking around the apartment
almost in a normal fashion  wondering what it is I'm forgetting. I can't figure
it out and then Rob  calls. It's great hearing his voice as he tells me
about the first game and how  Danny won the game hitting a ninth-inning double
with the bases loaded. He's  rooming with Danny, who takes the cellphone
from Rob to tell me it  was Rob's two hits in the earlier innings that drove-in
three runs but  Rob's too modest to tell me that. Huh, those two have a
mutual admiration  thingie going for them tonight. They're high on baseball and
sure sound  happy.

Rob gets back on the  phone asking what I did all day and I tell him
truthfully that I never left the  apartment, and then fast-forward to my eating
the Stouffer's lasagna that we bought during  our first shopping trip the
first week we were here. We talk for ten  more minutes and I finally wish him
luck in tomorrow night's game and  hang-up. That's funny: hang-up. That's what
people used to literally do;  hang up the phone when they were finished the
call. Now we tap a  button.

Okay, I've made a big  decision: I'm staying in for the night. That's my
plan. I mean, I'm feeling  sexually satisfied, with a slightly sore ass, so
I'll do something sensible  and rest up. Ten-minutes later Pony texts: 'Your
#1 fan, Pony Ponti,  wants to know if you can come out and play?' Oh balls,
do I wanna go out  after all? Hmmm, I'm flexible so I text back, 'What do you
want to  do?' and he texts: 'Anything you wanna do.' I text: 'Where are u?
I'll pick you up.' He's leaving the dining hall on his way back to his dorm
 room. I tell him that I'll be over shortly. Texting is the best form of
communication ever invented! There's no obligatory chit-chatting involved
like with a phone call. Texting is right to the point.

My ass is still a  little sore from that second fuck with Dennis but now I
can walk more or  less normally. The lube off the condom from inside my
rectum has  oozed out and made my underwear sticky so I gotta do something about
that. In  the bathroom, I dump my underpants in the hamper and wash my ass
with soap and  water. After rinsing it well and drying my backside I put on
clean jockey  shorts, wash my hands and face, and comb my hair. I've been
wearing flimsy  sweatpants and sweatshirt all day so I change clothes putting
on faded  jeans, a black t-shirt, and a hoodie. I don't know what Pony and I
will do, but  it's probably good to get out of the apartment for a while.

It's after  seven o'clock, hmmm. Hey, maybe do some candlepin bowling. I
haven't done  that like forever. Tom Higgins, Pony's roommate, can join us if he
wants. It's a  long shot for a Friday night but I text Chubby to see if
bowling interests  him. He tells me he has a date tonight but he'd love to go
bowling with me any  other time. I text him, "Yeah, okay. Don't do anything I
wouldn't do on your  date tonight, Chub." He texts, "Oooh, jeez, bro, I
can't promise to be  good."
Driving the pickup on  campus I need to drive carefully because the place
is jumping on a Friday  night. As the weather improves a lot more students
are now fucking  around outside their dorms and as the state of Massachusetts
has convinced  everyone, the pedestrians have the right away on the streets.

Just walk right  out to cross the street 'cause it's up to the drivers to
run into a tree  to avoid you. Stupid! Ya  know, if I asked around I'd surely
hear of a party happening some place. Chubby  would find one in three
minutes but I'm not Chubby. Anyway I'd like to  avoid drinking tonight, which
will be quite an accomplishment at  college on a Friday night.

Parking legally near  dormitory row I saunter down past a group of students
passing a joint  around. At Pony's dormitory I go inside the front door and
down to his  room to knock on his door. He opens it, asking, "What took you
so long,  Dylan?" I laugh, then say, "Hey, nice to see you too, Pony." Then
I go,  "Hey, Tom, 'sup, dude?" He grins, saying, "Not much, Dylan. Oh,
except I need  another free haircut. I've got a date tomorrow night with this
girl who's kinda  classy." Pony says, "You mean, kinda doggy," and Tom
mutters, "Fuck you, Ponti."  I ask, "Does this either classy or doggy girl give a
shit if you have a haircut  or not?" He shrugs, "It's never a bad idea to
look my  best."
Pony's reading  something on his cellphone and Tom's lying on an unmade
bed. I think he was  playing with himself. I ask, "Do you sophomores wanna try
your hand at  candlepin bowling?" Without looking up, Pony says, "I know I
don't," and  Tom says, "I'm playing poker tonight in about, um," and he looks
at his  cellphone, "About an hour. We play fifty-cent ante with a dollar
limit on bets."  I go, "Jesus! How big do the pots get?" He says, "We've have
hundred dollar pots  a couple of times every night." Still reading something
on his  cellphone, Pony mumbles, "Higgins has a gambling addiction." Tom
goes, "I  do not! I simply like some gambling action to spice up my life. Hey,
 Dylan, I'm up over two-hundred-bucks betting on football games last
season.  I bet like fifty-bucks a game against the spread. Maybe two or three
games a  weekend; mostly college football. The pros are more unpredictable." I
ask,  "Where do you get your money to do all this gambling?" He goes, "I
worked all  summer. I'm responsible for my spending money at college and the
'rents pay the  tuition." I'm like, "Well look at you!"
Messing Pony's hair, I  say, "Whaddaya wanna do tonight, hot-shot?" He
pulls his head away frowning, and  asks, "You gonna give Tom a haircut?" I go,
"Yeah, but not now." He says, "I  want one too. I'm tired of rocking' this
flattop." I go, "Well, you  actually don't need to. Wet your hair and comb it
any way you want. It's  long enough now on top to lie over. I purposely left
it longer than a normal  flattop because I know you can never decide what
you want." Tom says, "Do you  date, Dylan? Pony doesn't." I go, "Yeah I
date," and then with a grin, "Why  don't you date, Pony?" He gives me a dirty
look, muttering, "I date when I meet  someone worthy of dating. Higgins
indiscriminately goes out with any bow-wow he  meets." Tom goes, "I've got
standards, Pony! Hell, you know the girl I'm  going out with tomorrow night. Cheryl
McFadden." Pony says, "Oh, yeah, from  Economics' class. She's  okay. I
thought you were going out with that 'hoochie' bitch with the tattoo on  her
shoulder." Tom goes, "Get real!"
I go, "Well I simply  can't take any more of this childish sophomore
chatter  and since Pony doesn't want to do anything I'll be on my way." Pony says,
 "I'm coming with you." He puts his cellphone in his backpack and slings
the  backpack over his shoulder. I'm like, "Why do you need your backpack?" He
goes,  "Because I like it," and Tom asks, "Okay to text you tomorrow
morning about a  haircut, Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, okay, Tom. See ya." As Pony follows
me out  the door, I'm like, 'Aren't you and Tom getting along?" He says,
"Whaddaya  mean. Tom and I are tight! He's an awesome roommate." I shrug and
we walk  outside the dormitory.

It's fifty-some  degrees, so not really nice weather although it seems nice
compared to the  weather we've had the previous three months. Pony goes,
"Why did you embarrass  me asking if I dated? Tom will get suspicious that I
might be gay." I do a  long exhale, then say, "Pony, you haven't been with,
or even mentioned a girl  all year. Don't you think Tom might be suspicious
of you already?" He shrugs,  "No! He hasn't said anything about me being gay.

Nobody has." I go,  "That's because nobody  gives a shit if you are or
aren't." Pony bumps into my side and then hugs me  with an arm around my waist
for a second, saying, "You're so wise. I hope  I'm as wise as you when I'm
twenty-one." I mutter, "Considering you act like  your sixteen you've got
quite a wait before you find out what it's like." He  mutters, "Jesus, Dylan,
you're really nailing that prick thing!"
As I'm lighting a  cigarette Pony says, "Oh, can I bum one off you, Dylan?"
Passing my just-lit  cigarette to him, I ask, "Do you smoke when you're not
with me?" He goes, "No,  of course not! Smoking is disgusting. I told you
that before. It's just  that I know how badly you want to kiss me on the lips
and if I  don't have a smoke your cigarette breath is gross. If I smoke,
it's a  little less gross." I chuckle, "That didn't hurt my feelings at all."
Grinning,  he blows smoke in my face without inhaling it first, and says,
"You smokers  should be used to being insulted by now. Don't you notice when
you smoke all the  frowning faces of people around you? All the waving hands
at your  cigarette smoke while they mutter rude comments under their
breath." I go, "Oh, those people! They can pound nails up their ass for all I
care." He laughs out loud and bumps into my side again.

At the parking lot,  we're leaning against the pickup finishing our
cigarettes. Watching Pony smoke,  I go, "You smoke like a girl." He laughs and
leans against me, saying, "My  fucking feelings get hurt easily. You know that,
so stop being a prick for  once." I get my arm around the back of his neck
and pull his face to mine  kissing him on the lips. I feel his face get hot
as he struggles to  get away, sputtering, "Somebody will see us. For fuck
sake...!" I'm  smirking at him as his face blushes a bright red. I say, "You
should grow a pair  of nuts and come 'out' of the closet. Then you wouldn't be
constantly  afraid someone will discover you're gay-as-May." He goes, "If I
did, the gay  boys would be lining up to make it with me... and you'd be
left in the dust." I  say, "Yeah, I'm so sure. Hey, put your hood up, Pony. I
want to remember the  first time I saw your cute face." He grins, muttering,
"What an asshole you  are," as he puts his hood up. Damn, with warmer
weather we're  almost past hoodie-season already. Yeah but there aren't many
college  students that still look cute with their hood up anyway. I miss high
school  where there were many more cute guys than here at college. Hoodie-boy
is  still cute though.

Pony asks, "Well, how  do I look with my hood up?" I go, "Never mind. You
can put it down. You looked  cuter six months ago." He mutters, "Prick..." As
he's pulling his hood off,  then asks, "Did the hood mess-up my hair." I
go, "No, but I will," and I rub his  head. He leans into my hand like a gay
boy should, and says, "Are we gonna have  sex tonight?" I ask, "Do you want
to?" He nods his head, "Yeah, of course I  do now that you've ruined me. I
think about you spanking  and fucking me all the time, especially in class
where I get wicked  hard-ons and a couple of times I almost  shot-off in my
pants. You're the sexiest person I've ever met or seen in  the movies... or on
TV." I go, "Yeah, I know," and he laughs bumping  against me again. I drop my
cigarette butt and step on it so Pony drops his too.  "What'll we do
tonight, Dylan?"
Before I can answer a  guy calls over, "Yo, Pony," and we both look over to
see a guy jogging towards  us. Pony says, "That's Mark Colvechio. He's one
of the guys who wants a free  haircut." Mark is dark complexed complexioned
with longish dark-brown hair.  He's got a compact body and he's about
five-foot-eight-inches-tall. He  stops in front of us, "Whasup, Pony? Um, is this
the barber?" Pony goes, "Where  the fuck were you this afternoon, Markie?
Flynn and I were waiting for  you at the basketball courts. We were supposed
to challenge one  of the three-on-three games." Mark goes, "Oh yeah, don't
get mad, Pony. I  forgot. Hey, you should have been there when Burton and I
did that  skank, Tina Burgeon. She was willing so we take her in Burton's dorm
room.  It was slam-bam-alakazam... like that. We took turns." Pony goes,
"Get the  fuck outta here with that bull-shit. You and Burton more likely took
turns  jerking each other off." Mark mutters. "Think what you want, Ponti.

Ask  Burton when you see him." Oh brother... sophomores!
Then Mark holds out his  fist to me, saying, "I'm Mark Colvechio," I bump
his fist mumbling, "Dylan, and  yeah, I'm the barber." He nods at Pony,
"Ponti here says you give free haircuts.  I liked that fucked-up retro flattop
you did for my cool friend here. Do  you think I could get one?" I shrug, "I
don't know, and Pony doesn't like his  now anyway." Mark looks at Pony, "You
don't? I thought it was cool."  Pony looks disgusted, muttering, "Like you'd
know what cool is, Colvechio." Mark  looks at me, "How about a regular
haircut then?" I go, "I guess," and he runs  his fingers through his long hair,
asking, "What haircut do you think I  should get?" I shrug, "Do you have
wheels?" He goes, "Yeah, I got a car." I say,  "Bring Pony and his roommate to
my apartment tomorrow afternoon sometime  and we'll come up with a haircut
for you." He makes a face and mutters,  "Whoop-de-doo. You look like a girl."
I go, "What, you forget your glasses today?" and Pony  goes, "He does not,
dick-head." Mark whines, "I was joking,  fucccck."
Pony tells Mark, "Yeah,  well I'll text you tomorrow. Flynn's coming too."
I roll my eyes and  Pony goes, "What the hell, Dylan? You told me you'd do
it for them, so why  are you rolling your eyes?" I go, "No reason. Fine,
bring this guy Flynn  too, but that's it. Nobody else!" Mark goes, "Hey Pony,
you told Butch Burton  you could get him a free haircut too and he needs a
haircut way worse than us."  Pony looks at me and then bursts out laughing.

"Um, Dylan, I did sorta  promised all three of them. C'mon, don't be your
normal prick self." I snort out  a laugh, "You asshole. Okay, three of your
friends, plus you and your roommate,  Tom, but that's positively it."
Mark goes, "No offense,  but what's the big deal if one more guy comes?
Haircuts take ten-minutes at  most." He's a pushy bastard. As I turn to look at
him I must have an expression  on my face like I'm gonna say something Pony
doesn't want to hear because  he jumps in saying, "Jesus Christ, Mark,
Dylan's doing us a favor. Don't be such  a dork! If you don't think it's a big
deal, then pay a hack-barber  downtown twenty-bucks for a fucked-up haircut."
Mark goes, "Okay, I'm  sorry, Pony. Um, I appreciate it, Dylan. I didn't
mean... jeezus." I say,  "Okay, that's about all I can take of you two
squabbling, so I'll be taking  off now. Pony, shoot me a text tomorrow," and Pony's
like, "Shoot this,"  and he grabs his crotch, adding, "I'm coming with
you." Mark goes, "Wait a  second. There's a booze bash at the Knights of
Columbus hall tonight. We could  see what's up with that. Booze and mara-joo-wanna.

Whaddaya think, Pony?" Pony's  eyes light-up as he goes, "Who has the pot?"
I'm getting in the truck so Pony's  conflicted: pot or me? He goes, "Wait
up, Dylan," then to Mark, "Buy some grass  for me if you can. Text me
tomorrow, Mark," and he gets in the passenger  seat. I'm flattered that Pony
passed-up pot to hang-out with me. Mark says, "See  you tomorrow, Dylan. Nice
meeting you and, um, thanks for the  favor."
I wave a finger at Mark  and fire-up the engine, asking Pony, "That's one
of your crew, huh?" Pony goes,  "He's okay. There's four of us who mostly
hang-out together. We smoke a lot of  dope, but none of us is stupid enough to
smoke cigarettes. Pot is better  for you than cigarettes." I mutter,
"Neither one is good for you and I'll  remember how stupid smoking cigarettes is
the next time you ask to bum one off  me." He snorts out a laugh, "Who you
kidding, Dylan? You're too nice.  You'll give me a cigarette if I want one...

won't ya?" I go, "Probably," and he  asks, "Where we going?" I say, "Away
from the campus for starters." He goes,  "Oh, ya know what? My bud who really
wants a haircut is Flynn. He says he's  never had a short haircut and he's
real nervous about it too." I go, "Well  please tell him not to do me any
fucking favors." Pony goes, "Oh, he's nervous,  but more excited than nervous.

Oh, and get this; he told me he gets a boner  in the barber's chair when some
old barber's cutting his hair." I go, "You say  he gets a boner getting his
hair cut." Pony shrugs, "He's probably lying through  his teeth about that,
but yeah, that what he claims. He told me that last  month when he was
really fucking high on some super weed, really high!  I don't know that he
remembers even telling me."
Hmmm, that's very  interesting. If this kid, Flynn, has a haircut fetish
he's only the second  guy I know with the fetish, other than me, and I forget
who the other one is.  Interesting. What I also find interesting is how
differently Pony is with  his buddies. Different than he is when it's just Pony
and me. He's the  prick. I'm guessing Pony's the leader of that group.

There's always one guy  in any group that's the leader. That kid, Mark,
definitely deferred to  Pony.

I drive off campus as  Pony again asks, "Where we going, Dylan?" I say,
"Um, I told myself I wasn't  drinking tonight but I changed my mind. First, I
want to stop at the  Speakeasy because I haven't checked it out for like
three months, and then I've  got a bottle of bourbon and a case of beer back at
the apartment." Pony goes,  "Maybe I can score some grass at the Speakeasy."
I mutter, "Whatever, and then  we'll get drunk and see what happens." Pony
goes, "Fuck, college  rocks!!"

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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