Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2017 11:06:37 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE    Chapter  55

DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  55


by  Donny Mumford


It's seven o'clock on a  Friday night in the middle of March and I'm
driving the pickup on  my way to Tracy's Speakeasy with Pony riding shotgun. Only
half listening  to his chatter, I'm wondering if Tracy's still humping girls
or if he's  back to humping guys. Rob's in Georgia so what the hell  maybe
smashed tonight, just because I can. Obviously, Pony can't  get served in a
regular bar so that's where the Tracy's Speakeasy  comes in.

Speaking of Rob, I  talked with him a little earlier today and he told me
the baseball team won  its first game, and against a pretty good team  too.

His roommate for the trip is Danny Monday; that's a shocker! As if  reading
my mind, Pony asks, "Do you ever get jealous when Rob's with another  guy?
I'm curious how that works for you two." Glancing at him, I mutter, "Rob  and
I have an arrangement that's worked pretty well for almost four-years now,
but yeah I still get a little jealous at times. I suppose he does too." He
says, "That arrangement is really amazing to me. I mean, I'm jealous that
you have another side-sex buddy and you and I aren't even boyfriends. Not
really." I exhale exaggeratedly and then mumble, "Why are you so sure I have
another side-sex buddy?" He shrugs, "For one thing you never said you
didn't have one or ten, for all I know... so I assume there is  at least one or
two." I go, "You know what they say about the word  'assume', right?" He
goes, "Duh. You mean, to assume something makes an ass  out of you and me?" I
go, "Yeah, that's what I was thinking of."
Here's another shocker,  there's no parking spots available within two
blocks on either side of the  Speakeasy. I coast by the place and hear the music
as Pony emphatically says,  "I'd never be in a relationship with someone
who cheated on me!" I mumble, "Good  for you." He's mostly right though; a
radically serious relationship  would ideally be a monogamist one. I'm sure the
vast majority of  people on earth feel that way. Rob and I, on the other
hand, are part of the  tiny minority who don't subscribe to that thinking.

It's as simple and as  complicated as that.

Avoiding further  discuss on that topic, I ask, "Are you gonna drink
anything tonight?" He  says, "Mostly I'm gonna try scoring some pot, but to be
sociable I'll have a  shot and a beer with you." I go, "We're the perfect pair,
aren't we? I hate  shots, and you hate beer. I don't like pot, and you love
it." He mutters, "Beer  is stupid." I'm like, "That statement is what's
stupid, Pony." He's like, "Okay,  beer can't be stupid or smart, but it tastes
like shit, so the people who drink  it are stupid."
Pulling over to the  curb two blocks down from the Speakeasy, I mutter,
"Another stupid comment from  mister Ponti." He asks, "Well, are you saying
beer tastes good?" Killing the  engine and turning to Pony, I'm like, "No, beer
doesn't taste good. You're right  about that, just like you're right about
everything else, Daryl," and I rub  his head pulling the hair of his
too-long flattop forward so it looks like  he has bangs. He pushes my hand away,
saying, "Stop doing that, Dylan!  And call me, Pony, like everybody else
does." I'm smirking at him so  he grins and chuckles, then mumbling, "You
apparently have a hard time  keeping your hands off me, but try harder." He's
pushing his bangs up, saying,  "When you're giving me a haircut tomorrow do not
fucking touch the hairs on top  of my head. Don't even think about it because
I've decided to comb my hair  like you do, but don't get a big head about
it. Lots of guys comb their hair  like you do."
Walking back to the  Speakeasy Pony has his pocket comb out combing his
hair, saying, "So, what's the  scoop? Do you have another side-sex buddy, or
not?" I go, "Are you  again assuming I do?" He says, "More or less, yeah. The
other day you  said I was your favorite so that must mean there's someone
else who isn't your  favorite, right?" I'm like, "What difference does it
make?" and then, to again  change the subject, I ask, "How do you think you did
with the midterms?" He  says, "Okay, I guess. I finally got my GPA over 2.0.

That's pretty fucking  good considering I sucked freshman year at Drexel.

I've been making-up for  it this year." I go, "Hey, good for you. Seriously!"
He shrugs, "Yeah  well, I've gotta get my parents off my fucking back
about my grades. How'd you do with the midterms?"  I modestly mumble,  "Who
keeps score, but my GPA is somewhere over 3.0 and I'm pretty sure I did  uber
good on the two midterms I had so far. I'm in good shape." He says, "You're
smart, Dylan. I can tell that from just talking to you and it's probably the
only reason I let you hang-out with me." I go, "Ha ha ha! Oh man, you're
priceless. But I've never considered myself especially smart, Pony. I need
to work at it! My roommate Rob has a bit of an obsessive/compulsive
personality  which carries over to me. I mean it's easier going along with his study
habits  than arguing with him about it. He pushes me to put in the time on
the less  appealing aspect of college life, which is obviously the scholastic
 part. I'm good with all the other aspects of college life on my own
though.  Really good!" Pony goes, "He's in-charge, huh? Your boyfriend bosses you
around  like you boss me around." I mutter, "I don't boss you around."
We're at the steps  leading up to the open-deck of the Speakeasy. The
bouncer at the top of the  steps is ushering out some drunk freshman who are
giving him a lot of lip along  with flipping him off with their middle fingers.

Jeez, those guys look  young. Waiting for the drunks to clear the steps I
tell Pony, "Rob and I  compromise about who's in-charge of whatever, but I
usually go along with him.  That's unless I don't want to, in which case he
goes along with me."  Pony  goes, "What the fuck? What you just said means he's
only in-charge when you  let him be, which means you're in-charge." I
chuckle, "If you say so.  You're always right about everything, Daryl." He tries
messing my hair, but I  move my head away as he goes, "I need to admire how
your goal of being the  biggest prick at Merrimack is coming along so
nicely."
Somehow, I remember the  bouncer's name; it's Rex. He's big and
strong-looking but also a very  preppy, clean-shaven and conservatively dressed guy
with a neat  short haircut. He also has a great smile which he's using on the
drunks, saying,  "Oooh, how original. You're giving me the finger. Yeah,
that's what  twelve-year-old boys always do. Off you go guys. I'll see you next
time but  try to be sober when you get here." One of the drunk freshman
stops biting  his fingernails long enough to mumble, "How about returning our
cover-charge?"  Rex goes, "You used the tokens to buy beers so I have to say a
big fat,  NO! to that. Um, do you need me to help you down the  steps?" The
three drunks mutter curse words and insults under their  breath stumbling
down the steps on their own. I'm sure if Rex helped them  they'd be tumbling
down the steps. He smiles but I wouldn't want to make him  mad. We're still
standing at the bottom waiting for the drunks. When  they reach the bottom
two of the guys start giggling and bumping against one  another, slurring,
"Was it something we said, do ya think?" A short little  fellow says, "I've
been thrown out of better joints than this shit-hole." Pony  and I roll our
eyes at each other and start up the steps.

Pony goes, "Were you  ever like those losers?" I go, "No, certainly not! At
least I don't recall  acting like those guys, but of course it might just
be a convenient  mind-blockage on my part." At the top of the steps, Rex
says, "Well look who it  is! Where ya been, Dylan?" and we do the quick one-arm
hug routine as I mumble,  "Jeez, I don't know, Rex. How ya doing?" He
glances at Pony and then back at me,  mumbling, "It's been busier than ever; a
madhouse this year. We can't  beat the cute little underage boys and girls
away." He doesn't mention anything  about Pony and then doesn't collect a
cover-charge from us  either, but still gives me two free drink tokens.  There's a
group of girls talking loudly coming up behind us so Rex and  I bump fists,
muttering, "Later, dude," and then Pony follows me into the  crowd.

Naturally most of the college students here are underage which is the  main reason
for this private endeavor's popularity in the first  place. The cover-charge
is considered a membership fee so that  legally you're a member of this
private club for the night. Being a  private club might avoid some of the
drinking laws but there's no way Tracy  could get away with this without his
father and uncle having some kind of  influence with the Chief of Police here in
town.

We make our way across  the open deck to the enclosed part of the
Speakeasy. I don't know the bouncer at  this door but I get out the special
membership card Tracy gave me back in  September. As soon as I flash the card the guy
says, "Have a nice time, guys,"  and holds the door open for us. Inside
there's like seventy-five students pretty  much evenly split between guys and
girls. It's a slightly older group than  outside and not as rowdy.

My first thought is to  look for Tracy. I don't see him but that doesn't
mean he's not here; he  could be in the house proper. All the seats at the bar
are occupied so we stand  at an open spot near the end of the bar and a
girl bartender comes over  and asks, "What's it gonna be boys?" I put the two
tokens and a  twenty-dollar-bill on the bar, saying, "Two shots of VO and two
drafts of Bud."  There's loud music of course and some dancing, but mostly
just talking and  laughing. I see a few guys who are in some of my classes
but I don't  make eye contact with them. The lady bartender is kinda cute and
perky. Her name  tag reads, 'Pammy'. She returns and sets our drinks down,
mumbling,  "Enjoy," then she leans on the bar and says, "I haven't seen you
two before. I'd  certainly remember. Are you brothers?" I go, "No, not
hardly. Um, I've been  here a few times earlier this year. I was here all the
time during freshman  and sophomore year." She goes, "Aah! So you're a junior.

I'd never have guessed  that. I'm a junior too. We both look young for our
age." The other bartender  yells, "Pammy, I'm backed-up here, so if you can
pull yourself away..." She  grins at me and saunters away to do some
bartending." Pony says, "She don't  know you're gay... hee hee." I shrug and we lift
our shot glasses. Pony  does the toast, "Studying for midterms sucks,
life's unfair, but here's to  the boys without underwear." I snort out a laugh
and then we flash down the shot  with Pony showing very little after effects
while I'm making a 'face' and  chugging half my draft beer. I go, "That
fuckin' toast was pure nonsense." He  goes, "You're not up on your poetry, are
you?" I roll my eyes.

We drink some beer and  then Pony says, "I saw someone on the deck who I
know has grass for sale.  As soon as I finish my beer I'm gonna go out there
and buy  me some weed." I'm like, "Well you probably won't be able to get
back  in here." He chugs most of the beer and goes, "How about lending me that
membership card of your's." I'm like, "It's got my fucking picture on it,"
and he's like, "So what? We're almost twins." I shrug and give him the
card, but we do not look alike. Pony has dark blue eyes and dark brown hair,
plus a very light, creamy complexion. I tell him, "We don't look alike, Pony.

 Simply tell the bouncer on your way out that you'll be coming right back
in. Ya  know, so he'll remember you. That way you won't even need the card."
He nods at me and makes his way to the door as I order another beer and
stand here wondering what Rob's doing right now. Hmmm, not a good thing to
wonder about so I think about Chubby at that party where he and John Beverly
are  the only white guys. Chubby won't have any problem though, he could make
friends  with a junk yard dog. On the other hand, John Beverly might rub
some guys  the wrong way. He's done that with me occasionally but I'm never
sure if he's  pissing me off or I'm merely little jealous that he gets to
spend so much time  with Chubby.

Checking emails on my  iPhone, I re-read Dodger's from earlier in the week.

He's all geared-up for  getting out of the Army a year earlier than his
enlistment agreement. He's  taking advantage of a program where they cut a year
off your enlistment if you  agree to do two years active duty in the Army
Reserve. That means he's  still in the Army but only needs to do one weekend
a month at an Army Reserve  barracks. Dodger says the Army Reserve's need
experienced soldiers to  continue training the regular reservists after their
six months of active  duty. Connor's doing the same thing but he'll be going
to college here at  Merrimack, mostly paid for by the Army. He'll also be
doing the  one-weekend-a-month active duty along with Dodger. I don't know
what  Dodger's going to do when he gets out though, and neither does he. He
knows  what he's not going to do and that's work for Dickers and Son, Inc.

That family  feud is still a mystery to me. Dodger has something against the
family  business obviously. He'll tell me eventually, but until then I'm not
sticking my  nose into that hornet's nest.

Huh, normally I hate  eating or drinking alone but for some reason I feel
comfortable doing it here in  the Speakeasy. Getting the girl bartender's
attention, I ask, "Is Tracy in  the house?" She rests her elbows on the bar
leaning towards me as she shakes her  head, saying, "No, hon, he's in Boston.

Something about his uncle's  birthday." Hon? I go, "Oh, sorry I missed him."
She goes, "What's your name? I'm  Pammy." I go, "Hi, I'm Dylan." The other
bartender yells again, "Yo,  let's go, Pammy! Ya got  three orders
backed-up." She makes what she probably thinks is a cute face,  like, 'Oh, I'm in
trouble again!'  or some such shit like that,  and asks, "You ready for another
beer, Dylan?" I go, "Almost, but no hurry." She  saunters off looking back
over her shoulder at me.

Gee, I guess she thinks  she's flirting with me. A few minutes later she
sets another draft in front of  me but doesn't charge me for it. Pony comes
back and insinuates himself  between me and the two guys who took his spot at
the bar. They frown at  each other and shove Pony. He's oblivious though,
smiling as he says to  me, "See, no problem, Dylan. Here I am." I ask, "How'd
it go?" He holds up  a little plastic Ziploc bag with an oregano-like
substance in it, grinning and asking, "You gonna smoke with me?" I shrug, "I'd
rather not, but maybe I'll do a toke or two. Hey, that reminds me: why is  it
a 'toke' when you take a puff off a joint and a 'drag' when to take a puff
off a cigarette?" Pony chuckles, "I don't fucking know, Dylan. You're the
smart one." We have another shot and beer that Pam pours for us while
winking  and saying, "Wish I could join you boys for a few." Pony frowns at her,
asking, "Do you mean this," and he holds up the bag of grass. She goes,
'Even  better," but she gets called again and hurries off. Pony goes, "Do you
know  her, Dylan?" Shaking my head once, I mutter, "Not  really."
We finish our drinks  with Pony excitedly telling me about the joints he
going to roll and how the  weed he bought is supposedly really good 'shit'.

Then, all of a  sudden, I want to get out of here and away from the noise.

Pony has no  objection so we make our way out after I leave four dollars on the
bar for  Pammy's tip, and then something occurs to me. I'm like, "Pony, are
you at  all familiar with the concept of: I buy a round of drinks, and then
you buy a  round, and then it's my turn again?" He goes, "What the fuck ya
talking about? I  bought the grass." I chuckle,  "Oh, yeah, that's right.

Guess we're even." Even my ass!
We make our way through  the crowded deck. At the steps Rex pats my back,
"Don't be such a stranger,  Dylan. Tracy was asking if I'd seen you just the
other day." I nod, "Good seeing  you, Rex. Say 'Hi' to Tracy for me," and
then we're going down the steps to  the sidewalk where it's relatively quiet.

We can still hear the music  as we walk toward the pickup but it not so loud
that anyone is likely  to complain. The house with the huge deck, that
Tracy turned into a  Speakeasy, is located perfectly. There's a three-store
strip mall on one  side of it and a town 'common' area on the other side.

Neither get much  use after dark. At the pickup Pony asks, "Can we stop at my dorm
so I can  get some rice papers?" Nodding, I drive us to the beginning of
dormitory  row and wait in the pickup while Pony runs down to his dorm. He
comes back  with his roommate, Tom Higgins, right behind him. Pony holds the
door open,  saying, "You get in the middle, Tom." As Pony gets in the shotgun
seat I  bump fists with Tom while Pony's telling me, "Tommy lost big, often,
 and early at the card game. I hope you don't mind if he joins us. He needs
 a couple of hits off this premium shit I just bought." I go, "No, I don't
mind."  Imagine how awkward it would be if I did mind.

At the apartment I  again find a parking spot in our lot. Twice in a row,
whoopee! As we go up  the stairs, I'm saying, "Ya can't smoke those fucking
joints in the apartment."  Pony goes, "No shit, Dylan. Ya don't smoke
cigarettes in the apartment so why  would I think we could smoke pot inside?" I
give him a 'look' and he goes,  "Don't be mad at me, I'm just saying..." Tom
goes, "How about smoking  out on your balcony?" I mutter, "Of course." Huh,
I've just now  realized that with Tom here Pony and I can't fuck. I sort of
wanted to do  that. Pony, always ready with a complaint of some kind, goes,
"My freaking  nipple still hurts, Dylan." Like it's my fault. I unlock the
front door and  we go inside where I say, "Let me see it, Pony." He unzips his
jacket and pulls  up his shirt. His nipple is red and a little swollen. It
does look sore, but  it's definitely not infected. I go, "That's how mine
looked for like a week  after getting pierced. And, hell, you've still got
six-weeks before it's  completely healed, and that's at the absolute earliest."
He mutters, "Why  does shit like this always happen to me?"
Tom's gawking at the  nip ring reaching a finger over, so Pony yells,
"Don't touch the fucking  thing, Tom!" I ask, "Do either of you want a beer?" Tom
does but Pony takes a  shot from the bourbon bottle I bought earlier in the
week. I'm sipping a beer  sitting at the kitchen bar watching Pony and Tom
huddle on the sofa  rolling joints on the coffee table. After putting a CD
on I mostly listen  to the music and some of what the two sophomores are
talking  about, which is normal college conversation about their classes and
midterms.  They're sounding very much like I did last year. Yeah, but there
seems to be a  big jump from sophomore to junior year as far as maturity goes.

It probably has  something to do with turning twenty-one for junior year. Ya
know,  being legal now for, well legal age for just about anything  and
everything except running for president.

I've noticed that this  year I'm not getting nearly the charge out of being
at Tracy's.  Nothing like I got the first two years of college. Back then
it was cool  being in a bar environment, but now the Speakeasy seems kind of
like  amateur-hour and the younger students seem silly for the most part.

Not all of  them, but enough of them to be annoying. Daryl and Tom smoke a
joint on the  balcony while I lie back on the sofa slowing drinking my beer not
thinking about  anything except the music. They come in off the balcony
bouncing off the walls,  giggling and laughing at anything either one of them
says. It's kind of  funny actually. Their highs don't last long though and
then they  both get the idea of me doing their haircuts tonight. I'm a little
high from the  shots and beers but still capable of giving them haircuts,
and I'm kinda glad to  do it because otherwise I'd have to do five haircuts
tomorrow for Pony and  his friends and roommate. Plus it's fun for me doing
haircuts for guys around my  age 'cause with a few exceptions I generally like
guys around my  age.

I get the barber stuff  out and have a good time with the haircuts. Pony's
hair only requires some  trimming around the sides and back while Tom needs
a full haircut for his  date tomorrow night, or so he claims. I give both
guys regular preppy-type  haircuts and I even add a touch of hair gel so I can
comb a little  pompadour in front on both of them. They're kinda cute
actually and I  have to chuckle to myself seeing them with identical haircuts,
and  neither of them apparently realizing it. They share their second joint
while I have a cigarette on the balcony with them. Both Tom and Pony are
telling  me stories of their roommate escapades. Things like one of them hiding
under the bed until the other one comes in and then scaring the shit out of
him  grabbing an ankle, and shit like that. Huh, as a freshman I used to do
that with  Chubby and Rob in the apartment. They'd retaliate until it got
so we were  all jittery all the time so we stopped doing it. You walk into a
quiet  empty bedroom not thinking about anything as you open a closet door
and, with a  loud scream, out comes someone wearing a Halloween mask or panty
hose  pulled over our face. Jesus! Enough to give you a fucking heart
attack!
Pony bought a  gram-and-a-half of pot so that's barely enough for three
joints. They're  both real giddy after sharing their third one however, and I'm
starting to get a  headache. I made the mistake of not drinking enough to
get loaded so I'm hazy  and in-between drunk and sober, which is probably why
I'm getting a  headache. By eleven-thirty the guys have had some booze,
they got their  haircuts and smoked all three joints so they're mellow and
don't argue too much  when I say it's time to go. During the short ride to the
campus they get  into a very annoying fit of giggling, poking at each other
and screaming dumb  shit out the window. I drive illegally right down
dormitory row to drop Pony and  Tom off at the door to their dormitory ignoring the
shouted insults and  curses from the students hanging around outside who
need to get out of the way  of the pickup truck. Flashing the finger at them,
I back up fast scattering some  students and then drive sensibly back to the
apartment. Not a real satisfying  night, but it wasn't horrible either. I
usually enjoy being with Pony; I  especially like that he gives back as much
shit as I give him. What's  slightly disconcerting though is one minute he's
a twenty-year-old college  student exchanging fun-insults with me and then
the next minute he acts  like a sixteen-year-old with a crush on me.

In the bathroom I take  a piss, wash my hands and face, and then brush my
teeth. It all takes about two  minutes. Stripping to my boxer shorts I get in
bed and sleep  straight through until eleven o'clock Saturday morning. Holy
shit that  was awesome! Laying here alone I'm missing Rob but at the same
time I had a great night's sleep, unlike last night. So that's swell except
I  feel odd somehow, like I'm depressed or something. I've been noticing
this weird feeling on and off recently, but I can't figure out what's causing
it. Hell, maybe it's not depression at all.

Hmmm, I'll use Google  and see what I can find out about depression. I hop
out of bed smiling at the  fact I do not have a hangover. Sitting at the
desk in my boxer shorts  I access Google and type in 'depression'. It comes up
with,  Symptoms of Depression:  feelings of sadness, helplessness, and/or
worthlessness. Apparently if you have one or more of those three symptoms  it
means you're  one depressed mother-fucker. Yeah, but for some there are
different  symptoms, such as restlessness, irritability, trouble concentrating,
and/or  some kind of sleep disorders. Any of those could be symptoms of
depression  too, as well as, unusual fatigue and/or experiencing a radical
change in  your appetite. It goes on to say, 'Of course depression symptoms
overlap  symptoms for people who are experiencing anxiety or are bipolar, or
experiencing post-dramatic stress disorder, or they're addicted to something.

Well, fuck, that sure covers just about every possibility. I'm surprised
stubbing your toe isn't a possible symptom of depression. Reading this
information is what's depressing.

Hmmm, I'm probably  not depressed so I'll chose one of the alternatives,
and no, not the addiction  one either. Being slightly over-sexed isn't an
addiction. I don't feel sad  or helpless or worthless, but I was a little
irritable last night. I  don't have a sleep disorder because I just had a great
night's sleep,  so hmmm, what's that leave? Anxiety, I guess. Well yeah
because I've never been to war so the post-dramatic thingie is out. Here's  what
I'll do: I'll keep my eyes opened, metaphorically speaking, for something
that might cause some anxiety in my life. Maybe it has something to do with
Rob although I don't know what that might be. Wait a second! My subconscious
 mind is probably merely fucking with me again. Getting up from the desk I
need to admit that Googling didn't clear anything up.

Hmmm, Rob won't be  back until sometime Sunday so what I'd like to do  is
take the opportunity to hook-up with Chubby tonight. I'll see if he can
think of a reason for me feeling sort of blah at times. With that  decided, I do
all the necessary things one does in the bathroom, including  a shower, and
then get dressed before calling Chubby. He goes, "Omigod, it's my  favorite
person ever! Good morning, Dylan!" I say, "Hi, Chub. It's actually the
afternoon but, um, you doing anything tonight?" He goes, "Nothing I can't
change  for you, bro. Why?" I mumble, "Oh, I sort of was hoping we could hang-out
 tonight. Just you and me." He says, "Then we will. I'll need to break a
date but that's no big deal. I hardly know the chick and she has this
girl-mustache that you can hardly see but I noticed it  while making-out. So I'm
glad you called and rescued me." I mutter, "You  need to break a date? I
don't want to cause..." He interrupts, "Consider it  already done, Dylan. Where
and when tonight?" I go, "Um, how about picking  me up around six and we'll
have dinner someplace." He goes, "Absolutely the  perfect idea! You got it,
bro, I'll see you at six." I mumble, "Thanks,  Chubby." Huh, just like that.

Funny how I feel better  already. To prove I don't have a radical change of
appetite I'm going to have  two or three bowls of Froot Loops for breakfast
just like I did yesterday  morning... depression can go fuck itself! I do
feel bad Chubby has to break a  date though, but dinner with him will
probably cure any blahs I have. On  the balcony after my nutritious breakfast I
have a smoke while looking at  all the cars in the parking lot feeling a little
foolish for thinking I've been  depressed. Huh, I guess John Beverly will
be slightly depressed  though. I mean with Chubby's blowing-off double-dating
with  him tonight to have dinner with me. Ha ha, too fucking bad for him.

Chub's my brother, not his.

Done my smoke I flick  the cigarette butt off the railing and it comes back
and hits off my sweatshirt.  Jesus! Swiping at my sweatshirt I kick the
butt off the balcony and hear  someone below go, "What the fuck?" Heh heh,
going inside I grab my cellphone off  the kitchen counter and see a text from
Pony. 'Can I bring my friends over  for haircuts now, pleeeease?' Oh yeah, I
forgot about that. I text back  telling him to bring them over anytime he
wants. Depressed my  ass!
I push the kitchen  table against the wall and pull a stool over. Then get
out the barber tools  expecting the guys any minute now. As it turns out
Pony's 'now' isn't until three o'clock when I'm eating a cheeseburger that I
cooked  on the outside gas grille. When I hear the buzz coming from the back
door I  let them in and have a mouthful of burger opening the door. Pony's
standing next to that guy, Mark. He's the kid in the  parking lot last night.

I don't recall his last name. There's two  guys behind them who I don't
believe I've ever laid eyes on before in my life.  If I had I wouldn't look
twice. Oh man, that's so unfair of me. Looks  aren't everything! And anyway the
fidgety little guy in back  might be cute in a goofy kind of way. I'll need
to check him out a little  closer.

Pony comes in first and  we do a one-arm-hug, as he's saying, "G'morning,
Dylan. Um, I mean, good  afternoon." I mumble, "Yeah, hi, Pony. I thought you
were coming right over  after you texted me. I was thrown off by the word
'now'." He says, "It's  complicated. Um, you remember Mark Colvechio, right?"
I bump fists with Mark as  he mutters, "Whassup?" He's a couple inches
shorter than me with a  swarthy complexion and very dark brown hair. Mark has a
fully  developed beard that's a dark five-o'clock-shadow this afternoon.

He's  probably one of those guys who needs to shave twice-a-day. Big nose on
the  guy but he's average looking other than that. After Mark is a guy  who's
a little taller than me. Pony goes, "This is my boy, Ryan Flynn." Ryan  only
nods, looking a bit surly as he gawks around at the apartment. He has  long
brown hair that he runs his fingers through every ten  seconds to keep it
out of his eyes. His hair looks clean  though.

At the rear is the  little jittery guy. He has short blond hair that isn't
particularly in need  of a haircut. It's combed neatly with a part, looking
very much like Pony's hair  after last night's trim. Pony introduces the guy
as Paul Matthers.  Paul is very slim and maybe five-foot-five-inches tall.

He gives me a  nervous grin, murmuring, "Nice to meet ya. Um, I've, ah,
never had anybody  but, um, you know, a regular-barber cut my hair." I'm not
sure what to say  to that, other than... don't do me any fucking favors, which
I don't say.  Instead I pat his shoulder and grin at him because up-close I
was  right, he's actually kind of cute in a funny sort of  way.

I ask, "You guys want  flattop haircuts, is that right?" Two of them look
at me like I'm  speaking Chinese. The surly guy, Ryan Flynn, goes, "Why would
you think  that?" I glance over at Pony, who says to Ryan, "You said you
liked my retro  flattop look, so I told Dylan..." and Ryan goes, "We were
being sarcastic,  Pony." Pony goes, "You jerk-off! You asked me where I got my
haircut and I told  you." Ryan goes, "Jesus, ya don't need to jump down my
fucking throat. We  were interested mostly in the 'free' aspect of the
haircut." Oh  man! I go, "Whatever the fuck. Just tell me what you want. Ya know,
like  you would if you were at a barbershop." They all shrug, and as they're
taking  off their jackets, surly Ryan Flynn goes, "I'm first. I gotta  meet
someone in twenty-minutes." Pony says, "Then you'll need walk  back to
campus." Ryan shrugs again, muttering, "So what? It's  only a ten-minute walk."
Mark asks, "Okay if we turn the TV on, Dylan?" I  nod my head at Pony and he
turns the TV on and, as they argue about what to  watch, I tell Ryan to take
a seat on the stool.

As I'm putting the  barber cape around him, he asks, "You know how to do
all kinds of haircuts,  right?" I go, "Probably, what'd you have in mind?" He
says, "A real short  haircut that I don't need to mess with, but not like
Pony's flattop or a burr  haircut. Nothing like that." I ask, "Well how about
a haircut like the one  Pony has now? It's not the flattop anymore." He
goes, "Nah, that haircut is slightly  gay-looking, heh heh. I want a short
haircut without a part. Do you know  what I mean?" I go, 'Yeah, I guess," and put
a half-inch guide on the clippers  and then cut the hair on the sides and
back of his head to a half-inch  length halfway up his head. Seeing all that
hair falling away from his head  gives my fetish a really good buzzing. As
I'm doing it, Ryan says, "The last  haircut I got was just before coming to
college last fall." He doesn't  appear the least bit concerned about the pile
of hair accumulating on the  cape at his lap. Using clippers over comb I
blend the remaining hair from the  half-inch length to three-quarters-inch
length the rest of the way up the sides  and back of his head and then use the
thinning scissors for all the long  hair on top of his head the way Robby
did for the first haircut he gave me a few  months back. What a rush it is for
a haircut fetish guy, like me, to be cutting  all this clean hair off this
kid's head!
When I've evened-out  the remaining long hairs on top of Ryan's head the
hair is just long  enough to lay forward with short tapered bangs he could
flip up if he  wanted to. I leave then as short tampered bangs. Passing the
hand-held  mirror to him I then use the trimming clippers outlining around and
behind  his ears. After a little bit of taper at his neck's hairline it's
done. He  moved the mirror around giving his haircut a quick look, for like
three-seconds, and mutters, "Yeah, that's good. Thanks, um... I forget your
name." Ryan, like a surprisingly number of guys, basically don't give  a
shit about their hair. I mumble, "No problem," but wow, a lot of hair  hits the
floor when I take the cape off him. He runs his fingers through  his short
hair while Paul Matthers gawks at Ryan while adjusting his  junk, licking
his lips and then stares at Ryan Flynn's pile  of hair on the floor. And Ryan
isn't acting surly anymore. He  acted shy when admitting he forgot my name.

He very well could be one of  those guys with no confidence who tries
covering that fact up by  being grumpy or surly.

Paul definitely seems  aroused looking from the pile of hair on the floor
and then to Ryan's very  short nondescript haircut. He's the one Pony told me
is all squirmy  about getting his hair cut by me. He surely has some level
of haircut fetish  whether he knows it or not. Ryan mumbles, "I'm taking
off. See you guys later."  Pony turns away from the TV to look at Ryan, and
says, "Omigod, you  look normal, Flynn," and then Mark goes, "You look like you
did last  year, Ryan." Ryan's putting his jacket on, asking, "Where ya
gonna be later,  Pony?" Pony says, "I don't know. Text me." This scene reminds
me of the  haircuts I gave to Sam Workman's brothers in Georgia.  Sam's
brothers didn't know me, just like these guys don't know me. I'm  just the barber
and they're in a barbershop. Sure, they mutter thanks after  the haircut,
but then ignore me and talk to their friends. I'm perfectly  good with that!
Ryan leaves  and Pony says, "Go ahead, Mark. You're next." Mark says, "No,
send Paul  next! I wanna see the college football highlights from last
week." Paul  says, "So do I," and Pony says, "Mark, what'd I just say? You're
next! You can see the fucking TV from there." Huh, Pony's the leader just
like I guessed he would be. Mark comes over saying to me, "Just a regular
haircut for me. That's what I always ask for." I go, "Fine," and take ten
minutes giving him a regular haircut with the back squared-off the way I  can
tell his last haircut was." He mutters, "Thanks," and goes back to sit  on the
sofa again watching ESPN's Sports Center.

Paul Matthers looks  pale when he comes over and sits on the stool. As I'm
draping the cape over him  he takes a deep breath and then murmurs, "Whew,
I'm short of breath." I  ask, "Why are you short of breath?" He shakes his
head slowly, muttering,  "Fuck if I know. Haircutting gets me sort of feeling
funny or something. It's  weird." I ask, "Feeling funny, how?" He shakes his
head again, mumbling, "I  don't fucking exactly know how to describe it.

Um, I think I'd like that  retro haircut you did for Pony a few weeks ago."
Shrugging, I say, "Ya sure?" He  lets out the breath he's been holding. Takes
another deep breath and grunts, "I  guess I'm sure, yeah. I've never had a
really, really short haircut before  and I'm kind of.... ooooh, fuck." I ask,
"Are you okay?" He nods his head  blushing and muttering, "Uh huh." Jesus,
I feel bad for him. I go, "Relax, Paul.  You've got a good head of hair so
any haircut will look good on you," and I pat  his shoulder, adding, "Now, I
can do the longish flattop like I did  for Pony, or a regular length flattop
that's shorter?" He takes another  deep breath and squeaks out, "The
regular one."
While putting a  quarter-inch guide on the clippers, I casually ask Paul,
"Do you ever watch  haircuts on YouTube?" Paul turns his head to look at me
with a startled  expression on his face. Blushing a dark rosy color, he
stammers, "How'd you, um,  know that?" I grin at him shrugging, and as he
continues blushing,  mumbling, "I mean, yeah, I do. Um, do you?" I go, "On
occasion, yeah." He's  excited, "Oh man! Dude, I think Michael Ryan Cassidy's videos
are the best  haircut videos on YouTube. Have you ever see those?" I shake
my head, "No, I  don't think so. I watch instructional videos trying to
learn the technique for  doing new hairstyles that get popular." He nods his
head, "Uh huh, because  you're a barber, right? That Cassidy guy's videos
though, um, I  mean the ones where he cuts young guys with long hair to really
short  haircuts. They're awesome! He's merciless." I mumble, "Huh! Okay, here
we  go..."
I'm a little merciless  myself giving him a short flattop. Cutting his hair
to one-quarter  inch by running the clippers way up the back of his head
and over  onto the crown three or four times, Paul cums in his pants like a
haircut-fetish-person does at times. Well, I'm pretty sure he did because I
saw  his body stiffen and heard his quiet grunting moans as his hips moved
forward a little. Most people probably wouldn't notice him doing that but I
was looking for it. The last thing I'd ever do is mention it to him though;
he'd probably faint with embarrassment if I did. Poor guy. I don't let on I
know  what happened as he now slumps on the stool  limply, apparently
savoring his orgasm. Fucking fetishes, ya  know?
His hair wasn't very  long to start with so even with a three-quarter-inch
flattop there isn't a  lot of hair on the cape when I'm done. Handing him
the hand-held mirror, his  hands are real shaky as his eyes get big gawking at
his reflection. He  squeaks-out, "Omigod, that's awesome..." Oh, God,
it's..." and he gasps-in a  deep breath. I again pretend not to notice. He rubs
both hands from the  back of his head over the top and takes another deep
breath. Jesus,  Paul has it worse than me. He quietly says, "If you get a
chance,  Dylan, you should look at that guy Cassidy's video titled 'Flip  up cut.

How to!!!!" I mutter, " Yeah okay, sure, Paul," without ever intending  to
do that.

When I take the cape  off him I glance at his lap but don't see a wet spot.

He probably put  a sock in his underpants expecting to shoot off during his
haircut. Pony  looks over and says, "Oh fuck. Copying me again, huh Paul?"
Paul frowns,  muttering, "Fuck you, Ponti," and Pony goes, "Well, is it what
you expected,  Matthers?" Paul nods his head, "Yeah, pretty much," and he
runs his hand over  his head again, murmuring, "It's really short and just
what I wanted." The last  word caught in his throat.

Pony and Mark are  completely oblivious to Paul's sexual
haircut-experience. They get up  off the sofa as Paul, sliding off the stool, quietly asks me,
"Can I come next  time I need a haircut, Dylan?" Patting his shoulder, I
go, "Of course, Paul."  Like I said, I feel bad for him and would like to
reassure him he  isn't the only guy with that fetish, but not now with the other
guys  around. Next time I'll commiserate with him about how neither of us
knows  why we're affected like we are. I say, "Here ya go, Paul," and show
him my  cellphone's number. "Log this into your cellphone and text me when you
want  a haircut." He mutters, "Thanks!" With jittery fingers he punches my
number into  his phone as Pony's saying to Mark, "You and Paul drive to the
campus. I'm  hanging out with Dylan a while. Text me in an hour or so."
Bossy  Pony!
When Paul and Mark  leave, Pony goes, "Do you think we can do it, Dylan?"
I'm like, "Yeah, if we can  skip the spanking part. I'm not feeling like
doing a spanking on your awesome  ass today." He goes, "A few smacks at least,
okay?" I go, "Yeah, but let me  ask you something. Weren't you kind of
abrasive to your boys today?" He frowns,  "Whaddaya mean abrasive?" I go, "You
weren't nice and that tone of voice! Don't  try using it on me. Plus you were a
bossy pain-in-the-ass to them." He looks  befuddled, "What? No, I was nice.

They're my buds!" I shrug, "A word of  advice; don't take friends for
granted." He goes, "I don't, and who's  being bossy now?" I mutter, "Just saying.

Now, help me clean up your  friends' cut hairs."
We sweep up most  of the cut hairs and then I run the vacuum over the tile
area. Big deal, it takes one minute and so what  if Robby's got me
brainwashed about keeping the place neat! Pony says, "You  had lunch right? Is that
what you were eating when we got here?" I nod, "Uh huh,  why?" He goes,
"Well I didn't have lunch so do you think I could grab something  to eat here?"
Looking in the refrigerator, I'm like, "How about a peanut butter  and jelly
sandwich?" He comes over to put his hand on my shoulder looking inside  the
refrigerator, mumbling, "Um, that hamburger patty looks pretty good, and
with a slice of that Kraft American cheese I could have a cheeseburger." I
mumble, "Unless I was planning on having that later myself." He grabs both
the patty and cheese, smirking at me, saying, "This will make-up for me
paying  for the grass last night." I go, "I didn't have any of your pot!" He
says, "But  you like me best out of
all ten of your side-sex buddies, so  I can have the cheeseburger, right?"
I'm like, "Go ahead, but cook it on the gas  grille so we don't dirty a
frying pan. I'll defrost a hamburger roll." He says,  "Because you're so
generous you get a prize; one you've always value  greatly," and he kisses me on
the lips. I mutter, "Oh, it's my lucky day  again."
Pony's on the balcony  now, yelling in to me, "It won't start." I go out
and get the grille  started and he goes, "Okay, I can take it from here." The
hamburger is on the grille and we're  inside sharing the last Pepsi. Each
time, before he takes  a swallow, Pony wipes the mouth of the bottle with his
hand. I go, "That  hand of your's has a thousand-times more germs than my
lips. Lips you just  kissed I might add." He goes, "Yeah, I just do the wipe
from habit. Most  guys aren't as clean as you." I go, "You always look clean
yourself, Daryl. That  pale creamy complexion of yours and that same skin
all over your hot  little body." He goes, "Little? I'm the exact same size as
you,  but my body is even hotter than yours. And you're crazy about me,
admit it!" I  say, "By now that hamburger is a piece of charcoal." He goes, "Oh
shit!" and  rushes outside yelling, "What'll I put it on, Dylan?" I take the
hamburger  roll out and he uses a spatula to transfer the very well done
hamburger  onto the roll. I plop a piece of American cheese on it and put the
top on the  roll.

Pony looks at  me, so I ask, "Do you want some ketchup on that?" He nods,
"Yeah,  thanks," and carries the super-well-done burger inside. He sits at
the  kitchen bar, setting the burger on a napkin saying, "I can't wait."
Without  the ketchup he takes a bite of his cheeseburger and then spits it out
on the napkin, saying, yelling, "Fuckin' hot!" I'm shaking my head, mumbling,
 "Feeb," and he goes, "It's still a little pink inside." I look at the
piece he  spit out, "That color is called gray the last time I checked." He
picks up  the cooled-off piece he spit out and plops it in his mouth. I go,
"Lucky you're  cute, Pony, cause you're a lot of trouble." He frowns, "I am  not
a lot of trouble, but you got the other part right." Watching  him eat gets
me horny. The haircuts earlier aroused me some, especially  Ryan Flynn's
haircut, and now I'm thinking Pony looks sexy-cute  as he eats with his mouth
closed. Oooh fuck, I just noticed he tried  duplicating the pompadour I
combed in his hair last night. That makes me  grin... that's cute. He looks up
at me grinning and then grins himself,  asking, "What?" Shaking my head, I'm
like, "Nothing. Finish your burger."  His pink tongue flicks across his lips
and then he plops the last of the burger  in his mouth and says, "It needed
ketchup but it was pretty delicious  anyway. You got another one?" I go,
"You saw what I have in  the refrigerator." He nods and then smirks, saying,
"How about that  peanut butter and jelly sandwich you promised me."
I tell him where the  bread is and he makes the sandwich himself, asking,
"You keep peanut butter  in the refrigerator?" I go, "Yeah, where do you keep
it?" He goes, "The  pantry at home. It's too hard to spread coming out of
the refrigerator." I mutter, "You'll work it out," and he does too.  Done
that sandwich he goes in the refrigerator again and gets the last  bottle of
Peach Snapple, asking, "Do you mind?" as he's holding the bottle  up. I shake
my head, "No, but ya gotta share it with me... and without  wiping the
mouth of the bottle." We drink it passing the bottle back and forth  with both
of us wetting the mouth of the bottle with as much saliva we  can before
passing it back. No talking but lots of eye contact and halfway  through the
Snapple he goes, "I'm getting a boner." Leaving the half bottle of  Snapple on
the kitchen bar I take Pony's arm and pull him off the  stool. He's standing
there looking at me for a few seconds and then he  drops his pants to his
knees and turns around bending over looking back at  me, murmuring, "You were
right, I was very abrasive to my  friends earlier and need to be punished."
After a half-dozen,  "Smacks!" I say, "Bring your smacked ass into the
bedroom; I'll get some  lube." He nods and follows me holding the waistband of
his pants so he doesn't  trip over them. After dropping my pants to my knees,
I take the lube from  the drawer in the bed-side table. Getting a glob of
it on my finger, we  both look at my finger and then at each other. I nod my
head toward him and he  turns around. With a hand on his shoulder I smear
the lube on the lips of  his asshole and then push my finger in past his
sphincter as he grunts, "Ooh."  I'm rubbing around in there with Pony squirming
and then he  starts stroking his cock. With the pad of my finger I rubs over
his  prostate and his body jerks a little as he goes, "Oooh, mmmm," and
then, "Nooo,  Dylan! I'll cum!" Pulling my finger out, I say, "Time to suck my
dick." He nods  and while turning around, mumbles, "Absolutely," and drops to
his  knees still holding his cock in his fist.

Lifting my dick with  his thumb and forefinger Pony pushes it inside his
mouth sliding it in on  his bottom teeth and I snort out a laugh. He looks up,
asking, "What?"  which sounded like, "Whom?" with my cock in his mouth. I
grin  and shake my head, mumbling, "Nothing. You're doing great, Pony." Those
 sharp incisors scraping on the underside of my cock caused shivers all
around my groin and the inside of my thighs. When he has more than half my
dick  in his mouth he begins making lots of slurping wet-mouth sounds. Glancing
 to my right I see our profile reflected from the mirror over the bureau.

The reflection shows me from my ass up and Pony from his shoulders  up.

Pony's eyes are closed with the tip of his pink tongue appearing  between his
lips and then disappearing only to appear briefly again as he  licks and sucks
my cock. His profile is almost pretty. He has very  well-proportioned
facial features; chin, pink lips, cute nose, long curving  eyelashes,
perfect-sized forehead and an almost perfect hairline  along with his attempt at a
pompadour in front. Seeing it makes me  grin again. He's pretty special and he
knows it too.

More wet mouth sounds  as my penis takes notice and then he starts stroking
my foreskin and  sucking on just the head and it gets me really hard. He
looks up holding my  dick in his fingers, "How's that?" I go, "Awesome," and
as soon as he  stands I get him turned around so his back is against my
chest. My right  arm goes around the front of his neck pulling his head back. He
goes,  "Ouuuweee, I like this." Tightening my arm on his Adam's apple I jerk
his  head up with my arm sliding up and under his chin." The side of our
faces  slide together and now I smell peanut butter on his breath as he pants
in short quick bursts. This boy gets aroused easily and he  really enjoys
having sex. Makes me feel good and, just like me, Pony gets  hard-ons sucking
a guy's dick. His boner is up against  his belly, straight up!
Pony reaches back with  both arms to claps his hands behind me at the small
of my back, murmuring,  "I'm your helpless captive now, Dylan. Show me no
mercy." Unable to  see between us, I've got my boner in my fingers moving the
hard  head across his butt cheek until I feel it slip into his ass crack
and  then the head is at his anus. I hump in half the head, spreading the
lips of his asshole and he squirms in my arms making a whining  sound. Looking
at our reflection from the mirror again I see his  five-inch hard boner
sticking straight out now; just that quickly it tightened  really hard and moved
to it salute position. That was really quick!  His boner is a creamy-white
color contrasting starkly with his  dark pubic patch. The foreskin is pulled
back and then there's the  swollen rosy-pink one-eyed head; it's a very
cool-looking  boner.

A half-inch of my boner's head is docked with Pony's  slippery asshole so
all I need to do is thrust my hips slightly to get Pony  arching his back as
the head pokes in past his sphincter muscle. Pony  makes another quiet
whining sound as he's pressing the side of his head tightly  against the side of
mine. I'm teasing him by not pushing my cock further up his  ass and he take
in a long inhale and now I smell his normal scent  from the side of his
face; it's boyishly youthful and sexy. The  short hairs on the side of his head
are brushing against my ear. I  turn my head towards him and give his cheek
a five-second kiss and  then murmur, "My very favorite buddy-sex partner."
He moans a little  pushing his ass back on my boner getting it to slide
tightly  three inches up his ass while both of us do noisy inhales. He murmurs,
"Kiss me  again, Dylan." His body is as much against mine as it's possible
to be,  including the back of his legs against the front of mine.

While kissing his cheek  again I hump the rest of my boner up his ass and
his back arches again as he  makes a,"Ssssshhh," sound drawing air in through
closed lips. Oh man, my boner  feels so good surrounded tightly from the
root to the swollen head by  Pony's tight youthful rectum. Very tight and I
imagine in my mind his  prostate throbbing against my hard member about an
inch-or-so up from the  root end. Pulling my hips back, slowly retracting my
boner gets Pony  leaning back hard against me making his, "Sssssshhh," sound
again. I pull back  until I feel the swollen neck of the head caught in the
tight lips of his  anus. I wait two seconds and then push it back up his ass
and we both go,  "Mmmm, ooh fucccck." My shoulders shudder against his and I
feel his body shake  a little.

As I'm pulling my boner  back a second-time Pony's head shakes slightly as
he murmurs,  "Fuck me hard, Dylan," and I go at it with, "Slapslapslap,"
sounds in our  ears as steady delicious vibrations sizzle off my sensitive
boner,  especially the head. Steady fast hard thrusting that gets faster and
faster  as we moan and groan quietly together. Pony's body is getting jostled
around a little as my arm around the front of his neck gets tighter until I
hear him gasping for air. Holy shit, I let up on the pressure around his
neck  and then drop my arm altogether. He moans and, bringing his arms from
around my back, he bends forward putting his hands on his knees. With my
hands  gripping his hips I start pounding my hard pole up his ass,
"Slapslapslapslap."
Two, three, and then  four minutes of sexual pleasure until Pony tightens
the muscles in his buttocks  as he humps his hips forward and I see a fat
string of creamy white cum fly  from his boner almost hitting the desk chair
about four-feet in front of him.  The tightening on my boner causes my climax
too erupt three-seconds after  his and it, "Eeeetiiii," with cum pumping out
of my cock to spatter inside his  bowels and then again, and again. My eyes
are tightly closed and my face  scrunched-up so I didn't see the follow-up
shots leaving Pony's cock. I'm  concentrating instead on the sensations from
my follow-up orgasmic sensations.  Pony's limp now as I thrust in his
cum-filled ass a few more times and then  pull my cock out and smack his ass
hard, "SMACK!SMACK!" then get  my hands under Pony's arms pulling him upright.

He lays back against me  feeling warm and limp. There's some perspiration on
the side of his  forehead; the sides of our heads are together. Pony quietly
 sighs.

A few more deep breaths  and I drop my arms from around his belly and we
step apart. He murmurs, "Omigod,  what an awesome climax." I mumble, "Uh huh,
me too." I watch  with fascination as my cum begins drooling out of Pony's
opened-up asshole. It's  still creamy white as it drools down wetly under his
left butt cheek  and disappears to become clear a little later. I mutter,
"Let's clean up," and  we walk toward the bathroom with Pony and me holding
our pants halfway  up our thighs so we don't trip over them.

He's wiping my cum off  his ass as I clean my cock of cum and lubricant
with some soap and  warm water using a washcloth. Pony says,  "I loved that!
Can I stick around so we can do it like that again later? I wish  you'd be
even rougher with me." I've plenty of time before my dinner  with Chubby and I
like Pony's company so I'm like, "Sure, but won't your  boys be wondering
what we're doing?" He says, "Nah, I'll text and hook-up with  them later.

Whaddaya doing tonight? There's another party at that frat  house near Stop &
Shop. It's a twenty-dollar night with all the beer you  can drink." I shake my
head, "I had a bad experience early on at that  place. I mean before you
and me got together near the end of the  night. Are you going?" He pulls up
his pants, saying, "I'm thinking  about it but I'll definitely ago if you're
going." Shaking my head, I say,  "I don't know. I'm going out to dinner with
my brother tonight. Maybe we'll  stop in later but I kinda doubt it. I don't
want to run into a certain  gorilla." He goes, "Gorilla?" and I mutter. "I
told you about it."
We finish the Snapple  that we left on the kitchen bar earlier, and then he
lays against me  on the sofa texting his boys. A few minutes later, still
lying against  me on the sofa, Pony does most  of the talking. He's telling
me about him growing up in  Pennsylvania and more about his experiences on
the swimming and gymnastic  teams in high school. He was apparently very good
although it's not like he's  bragging. In fact I'm thinking he was better in
both sports than he's  letting on. I don't tease him this time about
swimming and gymnastics not  being actual 'sports' per se. Some time ago I was
breaking his balls saying they  were more individual skills than sports because
nobody is trying to prevent you  from doing the best you can. I do consider
them both sports because there's  competition, but not sports the way
contact sports are SPORTS. Ha ha, if you know what I mean. Ya know, the four
biggies of baseball,  basketball, football and ice hockey. They're sports!
Pony's in a talkative  mood and goes on to tell me about some of his
freshman experiences at Drexel  University in Philadelphia. Nothing ever clicked
for him there. He  didn't form any kind of real friendship; just never
connected with the  right guys I guess. Zero sex and as far as he knew he was the
only gay kid  there. Ridiculous assumption of course but you only get to
interact with a very  small part of the large university population, and by
happenstance Pony  didn't connect with the right small part. He was miserable
but his parents just  thought it was Pony being homesick so he had a hard
time convincing his parents  he needed to transfer to another college. I go,
"Lucky for me that you  convinced them," and he goes, "Yes, lucky you. You
need to show me a  little more appreciation for transferring here. Without me
your junior year would be a dismal failure." I grin, mumbling, "How  true."
He's good company and  after like two hours of talking with him lying
against me on the sofa, Pony  says, "I think this might be my favorite afternoon
at college so far. You know  what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna let you make-out
with me. It goes against  my core beliefs about gay guys kissing, but for you
I'm gonna make an exception  so you better jump at the chance." I say,
"Well, you are quite the delicious gay  guy, but I'll only do it if you promise
not to get romantic  about it." He goes, "Oh it's going to be romantic
alright! For me anyway." I say,  "Well okay then," and he lifts his head off my
shoulder and we kiss. It turns  into a pretty good sloppy spit-involved
make-out but it doesn't last long  and I knew it wouldn't because Pony is easily
sexually aroused. We do the  sex like we did it two-hours-or-so ago but it
isn't as hot as it was the  first time. It's almost impossible to replicate
an extemporaneous experience when you're purposely trying to copy it.

Still, we had really good second climaxes and neither of us are complaining
about it as we clean-up in the bathroom for a second time this  afternoon.

Pony has three text  messages from his friends when he finally checks his
cellphone. He asks for  a ride to the campus and I drive him there. We bump
fists as he gets out saying,  "You're awesome, Dylan," and I go, "Right back
at you, dude." He nods grinning,  and then goes off seemingly happy. I feel
good too. That was really good  buddy-sex, but more importantly to me is the
fact Pony's a really cool  buddy. Back at the apartment I lie around
thinking how strange that I can't  even envision earlier being depressed or  glum,
but yet at times I know that's how I've felt. Certainly not after a  really
nice afternoon doing haircuts for some sophomore guys and then the sexy
afternoon with Pony. But yet this morning I was feeling weird. It's a  new
weirdness that I've been noticing the past couple of weeks. What is  there that
would cause me to have anxiety?  Maybe nothing; maybe it's  not anxiety at
all... but something else.  Forgetting about that I go in  the bedroom to
decide what I'll wear tonight. Chubby and me having dinner  together sounds so
fucking perfect!

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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